#image of himself to get blue and yellow to trust him and follow him into. A Throne Room. Yeah. Totally Not Sus. and he just Hangs Out with

[roseverdict]

hi i can't believe i ran out of tags. might make a specific post at this point lmao.

Let's construct Alan Becker's videos' timeline.

First, a base : AvAnimation I to VI.

But in AvA V, AvPokémon, and AvSMB, the Minecraft Icon is missing from the taskbar. It went missing during AvMinecraft, featuring the charaters of AvA IV.

(Note : Diverging arrows DO NOT indicate a splitting timeline; arrows indicate an ordering, diverging arrows indicate an uncertainty.)

Now, the AvM episodes. Indicated by their number, in green, they will be assumed to be in order. They obviously happened after AvM.

(Note : "~" means that the episodes are directly following one another

But in 19, Blue tries to open the lucky blocks by jumping under it, mimicking what the Marios did in AvSMB ; and at the end of the 20~30 arc, the Minecraft block is put back in the taskbar, meaning that if the block was missing, the event happened in between.

Ho ! And AvLoL happens after they met with purple during 8~14

Now, the problems :

First : AvYoutube. Minecraft is in the taskbar, but we can't know if it happen before AvM or after 30. Both possibilities will be shown in purple.

Second : During the #TeamTrees, Discord replaced the Youtube icon, so it happened after all of that ; and #TeamSeas has references to #TeamTrees.

Finally : Noone has any clue where is Av∑ath.

There. That's the timeline of the classic videos. I'll do the shorts (which some will be helpful) later.

[blue--ingenue]

Ominis Gaunt headcannons - {Pt. 2}

Author's Note: i had so much fun writing hc for Ominis, so here's a part 2 :) starts out very fluffy, but becomes pretty angsty at the end (sorry, loves 😭). might mess around and paint what i visualized for the synesthesia hc later

he has synesthesia. combined with his heightened senses, he can conjure up whole worlds using his observations that others could only dream about

you ask him about this one day at lunch. every so often he’ll take a bite of something different on his plate, but no two expressions are ever the same. he tells you that different tastes conjure different images in his mind. one afternoon you smuggle an assortment of foods from the kitchens to his dorm (courtesy of the kitchen elves. he and Noctua were always kind to the elves at the Gaunt household and word reached the house elves at Hogwarts. once he became a student they vowed to look out for him.) you hand him a bit of everything, and he uses different colors of light to paint what he sees. spicy foods cause him to paint a whirlwind of red and orange: quick sharp slashes of red and pinpricks of orange as the pepper settles on his tongue. a slice of cake, with light buttercream icing and fluffy yellow sponge yields a beautiful palette of layered pastels: fluffy strokes of baby blue and powder pink rest upon a glowing gold background. puffs of magenta, green, and red pop up between the cloudy swaths as he detects the sugared flowers the elves sprinkled atop the frosting

you take turns describing the world to each other. it doesn’t start out as a date, but ominis decides to indulge himself and imagine that it is (little does he know you’re equally as smitten with him). he mentions that the stars are too far away for his wand to sense, so he settles for reading astronomy books to get through class. you decide to lay outside the castle on a clear night, armed with a wide checkered blanket and a basket of his favorite foods, to describe the stars to him

the basic shapes and distances between stars can be found in any old textbook, but it’s the way you describe them that has him transfixed. you detail how they twinkle and contrast with the navy sky around them. you tell him the myths and origins of each constellation, how different cultures wove them into myths and fables. he adores your voice and naturally gravitates toward you. he shivers a few times as the night’s chill settles in, and you decide to wrap your cloak around the both of you. he positively melts, and you swear you’ve never seen him look more at ease

in return, he decides to play piano for you. this is something Noctua taught him, and something he refuses to do unless he trusts those around him. you tell him that you don’t have a favorite song, so his natural response is to try everything. you spend hours in the music room, letting the sun warm your backs as you rest your head on his shoulder. his playing is impeccable, but the moment he feels you against him his fingers splay across the keys and his face flushes furiously. you apologize, but he insists his hand merely cramped up. you spend the rest of the afternoon like this, you humming along when you recognize a piece and his hands dancing across the keys. his heart feels so full it could burst, and he swears he feels Noctua smiling down on him

speaking of Noctua’s ghost, I have a headcannon that Noctua’s ghost is trapped in the castle. for some reason (maybe an extra curse Salazar Slytherin put on any of his descendants that refused to obey his legacy of pain), she can’t speak to him. so she follows him around, occasionally. she’s unable to speak to him, and he’s unable to detect her

growing up his family treated him as a pawn. they treated his blindness and refusal to embrace the dark arts as weaknesses. they only family member he truly loved was Noctua. his parents forced him into various lessons to “polish” him off for high society, but other than that he was left to his own devices. left alone to face their cruelty and sequestered to their manor and property, the Noctua became the only parent figure he had

she would read to him, bring him toys and sweets, and spirit him away from the manor on trips to London. she told him stories of the outside world, how there was so much more to life than the mundane existence his parents promised him he would endure. she would give him hope; she was once in his shoes, treated like an object and refusing to conform to the Gaunt bloodline’s cruelty. she promised him that if he was patient, if he was strong, he could be like her, one day: free from his family. free to pursue a life of his own

this makes it all the more heartbreaking when he discovers that she died in pursuit of the belief they shared: that one could escape the Gaunt name, the shadow of Salazar Slytherin, and live on their own terms. if Noctua, the strongest, bravest woman he knew, couldn’t do it, what chance did he have?

[part-time-zombie]

Insult To Injury

pairings: BROTHERLY creativitwins

summary: Roman has been feeling rather worse for wear after the wedding fiasco, and it's getting harder for him to bounce back when his pride is constantly wounded.

tags/warnings: whump, hurt/comfort, the other sides are kind of unsympathetic, remus is a good brother, angst with a hopeful ending

word count: 5140

A/N: This was my first attempt at writing a whump fic, so I hope I did a decent enough job.

Normally, Roman loved taking his time in the shower. It offered him the perfect opportunity to indulge in all the best parts of life: singing, spa-like treatment, recreating his favorite scenes from media, and all things involving performance and personal time.

Lately, though, he found himself just wanting to get his showers over with as soon as possible.

Each minute spent by himself and completely exposed like this only made him all that much more aware of the steadily increasing number of bruises that covered his skin. The hot water helped to ease the dull, ever-present soreness that accompanied them, but it also meant he had to see them in all their ugly glory. Deep blues and purples that would look regal in any other context meshed horribly with putrid yellows and greens all over his skin. They were all just another shameful blot on his image, one he's had to hide from the others for God knows how long now.

It’s hard to say exactly when it got this bad, he just gradually became aware of it worsening over time. At first it was small, a side effect of his wounded pride after failing an audition or losing an argument. They healed quickly, and he moved on from them without looking back.

Now it was like every mistake was a harsh blow to the chest, cracking ribs and knocking the wind right out of him with each humiliating failure. Each one was horribly painful, and he spent most of his free time curled up in bed waiting for the stinging ache of the new wounds to pass or at least lessen. There were so many bruises now that it was hard to find an inch of skin that wasn’t marked, safe for his face. For whatever reason, the injuries never traveled anywhere too visible, and he didn’t know if he was thankful for the discretion or desperate for it to be noticed.

He didn’t understand why it was getting so bad for him lately, but he had his theories.

After the disaster that became of the wedding incident, he returned to his room and nearly passed out from the intense pain that blossomed across his skin. There, spreading rapidly across his ribs, was the first major bruise of several. It seemed the bruises lasted longer after that, especially when it was something that he specifically did wrong. If Thomas messed something up he would still hurt, but it wasn’t nearly as intense as what happened when Roman made yet another mistake.

He would try to win Logan over in a request for prioritizing something other than work, and when he was outvoted he’d have to struggle not to fall over from the severe pain that followed. He would see Patton talking happily with Janus in a way he used to do with Roman, and his lungs would ache with every breath he tried to take as he felt another deep bruise form. Virgil would agree with the others instead of him or laugh at his expense, and he would grow so sore it became a challenge just to get out of bed the following morning.

The worst was when it was from Thomas.

Thomas would favor Remus’ ideas over his, or trust Janus instead of Roman, and the pain would become so unbearable that all he could do was lie on the floor in his room and wait. Wait for the pain to ease up or just let him pass out, either way he wouldn’t be able to do anything other than lie there miserably for hours, sometimes even the whole day. He once wound up fainting the second he made it to his room, and when he woke up later the next day, he had to all but drag himself to the bathroom to examine and patch up the wounds.

Every mistake hurt, but it hurt so much worse when it was because of his own flaws. It was all just another reminder that he had failed Thomas. He wasn’t a hero to him anymore, or even a prince. He wasn’t good enough for Thomas or for any of the other sides, and this was his punishment.

He couldn’t tell the others about it, he just couldn’t. If he did, it would only make things worse. They would know that he was so weak that even something so simple as name-calling would wound him, and then the judgement would begin again. They would tell him to get a grip, grow a thicker skin, and move on. Move on just like how they all did from him.

It became routine for him. He’d go downstairs, be hit with a barrage of painful insults from the others, and keep smiling through it until he could retreat to his room and lick his wounds alone.

The bruises would eventually heal, though it seemed to take far longer than usual lately. Still, he found ways of managing the pain, if not fully lessening it. Where insults damaged, encouragement mended. He’d lie there in bed and play his most inspirational songs as loudly as he comfortably could, ensuring the others didn’t hear him whispering small reassurances to himself. It didn’t make the bruises go away, but it would dull the pain enough for him to carry on with the rest of the day or at least sleep through the night without hurting too badly.

As time went on though, those emotional band-aids became less and less helpful. The insults became more personal, more deliberate, and it became harder for him to believe it when he told himself he still mattered. What’s one person’s word against everyone else’s? If they all really mean it when they say he can’t do anything right, then it must be true.

It is true, isn’t it? Roman had messed up far too many times now, each time worse than the last. He failed Thomas, and no amount of private pep talks would erase that fact. That realization was what hurt him the most, far more than any of the still tender marks on his skin.

Roman really didn’t want to leave his bed. It’s not like he was just too comfortable, far from it actually. He was stiff and achy, and every inch of his skin was still sore from a rather brutal couple of days. As bad as he felt right now, though, it was better than going out there and receiving new wounds on top of the ones he’s still recovering from.

It hurt because it was true, and he couldn’t pretend it wasn’t anymore.

It would only be worse for him if he stayed in here, and he knew it. If he spends all day in his room then someone will eventually come looking for him, and when that happens they’ll tear him a new one for being so lazy and lying around in bed all day. It would be better to just face the music now.

Roman took his time getting ready, partially to stall and partially because moving too much risked agitating old wounds, and he wanted to put off the pain as long as he could. After finally being somewhat satisfied with his salvaged appearance, he slowly crept into the living room.

The others were all in the middle of breakfast, calmly enjoying their food while huddled together over a small kitchen table that really ought to be replaced with something larger to accommodate everyone. Especially since it looked like Janus and Remus were here to stay.

Virgil looked up from his plate and saw him, a teasing smirk spreading across his face.

“Looks like sleeping beauty finally woke up, guys,” he joked. “This might be the first time I was actually out of bed before him.”

“Now, you know how important our beloved prince’s precious beauty rest is,” Janus sarcastically cooed. “After all, his ‘looks’ are just about all he’s got to offer anyone lately.”

The others let out a few amused chuckles, but Roman hardly registered any of them past the swift and sudden pain that radiated from his torso, as if someone had just swung a large baseball bat into his chest. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from wincing, ignoring what they had said the best that he could as he tried to lessen the intensity of the injury.

it’s fine, you’ve got lots to offer them, you’re still valued…

The day carried on as normal, with everyone now going about their business and working on future projects. At any other time, Roman would have loved bouncing ideas off of the other sides, but now he only felt a heavy pit of dread. His ideas had been degrading lately, and no matter how hard he tried to focus on his work he couldn’t come up with anything worth using. He needed some time to rest and heal so he could get rid of this horrible creative block that thwarted him, but he had already put his work off for far too long now and he had to have something that worked. Unfortunately, he didn’t really feel like he had anything to offer, creative or otherwise.

The worst of the pain faded to a low but constant ache as Roman kept his head down and quietly plated himself some food, working to stay out of the spotlight he once coveted.

Logan called him to the living room to discuss video ideas, and the pit in his stomach turned into a sinking weight as he all but dragged his feet to the couch.

“Go ahead and share what ideas you’ve got,” he started. “Quickly, though, I don’t have all day.”

Roman bit his lip before handing over his folder, one that should normally be bursting at the seams with creative ideas, but was now utterly barren. Logan’s expression soured as he noticed the distinct lack of finished work.

“Are you seriously telling me you haven’t come up with a single idea?” he snapped, slamming the folder shut for emphasis. “You’ve had weeks to come up with something we could use, and you couldn’t think of anything? Even a bad idea is better than no idea at all, Roman. You know that.”

Roman turned his flinch into a nod as he felt the sharp, searing sting of another large bruise forming, this time on his back. He struggled not to clench his fists or screw his eyes shut as the hurt started to spread and dig into the muscles in his shoulders, instead focusing on keeping his breathing deep and even while the worst of the ache passed through him.

“I know, and I’m sorry, Logan. Really, I am. I just need a little more time and I- “

Logan cut him off with a sigh. “Never mind, I’ll just ask Remus. At least he still acts as creativity.”

Roman could only watch as Logan walked away, utterly unaware of the small whimper that escaped the prince’s lips as the bruise was struck at once again.

it’s alright, you haven’t failed, you’re still useful…

Dinner came and went far too slowly for Roman’s liking, and he was next in line on the chores list for doing the dishes. Normally that wouldn’t be an issue, but the injuries on his arms had yet to fade and he really didn’t need anyone seeing them when he rolled up his sleeves to start cleaning. He doubted he could put any proper elbow grease into the dishes anyway, considering the dull throbbing ache that awakened in his arms whenever he so much as wielded his sword lately.

The sting of the bruise stopped screaming at Roman long enough for him to gather his folder, but he still couldn’t help but groan in pain when he got up to put it away in his room.

“Please, I promise I’ll do them tomorrow,” he begged.

“C’mon now, you know we all gotta do our parts around here,” Patton scolded. “It’s just a couple of dishes, and the more time you spend complaining about it the longer it’ll take to get it done.”

“Stop being a child and pull your own weight for once,” Janus added, already pouring himself a glass of wine. “I’m not in the mood for yet another whiny Roman rant.”

Roman’s side flared up at that, a white-hot pain searing him as if he had just been branded. He gritted his teeth through the pain the best he could as he plunged his hands into the sink, ignoring the soapy water soaking into the sleeves of his outfit.

it’s okay, you’re still wanted…

Eventually it was time for a quick movie before bed, with the others already cozied up on the couch by the time Roman had changed into his own onesie. He was getting ready to gather some scrap paper for the votes when Logan stopped him.

The bruise calmed down a little bit after he finished the dishes.

“Actually, Roman, we’ve already decided on what movie to watch.” He stated.

“What? But we haven’t voted yet.”

“It’s not like it’d matter,” Virgil grumbled. “You’d just end up rigging the votes anyway.”

Sure, he was planning on it, but he just really needed to indulge on one of his comfort movies right now to recover after today. “But I wanted to watch- “

“Too bad,” Janus hummed. “We’re going to watch what we want, because believe it or not there are other opinions out there that aren’t your own.”

Roman barely had time to react before his other side tensed up with the emergence of a new bruise, and he could barely stop himself from grunting in pain as the wind was all but knocked out of him.

“Oh, by all means please moan and lament not getting your way,” Janus droned. “You totally aren’t acting like a spoiled brat right now.”

Another laugh, but Roman wasn’t paying attention. His aching legs were starting to shake, surely threatening to give out on him at any moment as the pain worsened. It all hurt so bad, so horribly bad, and he just couldn’t bear it anymore. He needed to get out of here, before it got any worse.

Roman turned and raced back upstairs, knowing full well this strategic retreat of his looked like a tantrum, but he didn’t care. He just needed to be alone when he inevitably fell apart in the next few moments. He didn’t want an audience, not for this.

He firmly shut the door behind him with a shuddered gasp, struggling to take some deep breaths.

you’re still needed…

The first thing Roman became aware of was the dull pounding in his head. The throbbing pain in his bruised body came next, harshly pulling him from the hazy state he was in and forcing him back to full consciousness. He didn’t know for sure how long he had been lying on his bedroom floor, but it couldn’t have been for very long. It was still dark outside, so he must have been there for only a few minutes or an hour at best. Either that or he was out for a whole day.

His legs finally buckled beneath him, and he collapsed.

He may as well just stay here for the rest of the night. It’s not like he had enough strength in him to stand right now, and they probably don’t want him coming back downstairs anyway.

The door opened with a startling bang, dragging Roman back into focus for the second time tonight. Remus bounded into his room with a grin on his face, fortunately dressed.

Sighing, he crawled across the floor until he could drag himself back into his bed on shaking limbs, hoping the pain would just let him sleep for a few hours…

“Shame you missed the movie,” he mused. “We all had so much fun watching it together!”

“I’m sure you did,” he muttered, slowly sitting up to face him and ignoring the sting in his arms from the movement. They probably had all that fun because he missed the movie.

“Yeah, well, you’d have known for yourself if you actually stuck around instead of running off to mope in your room all night. Last I checked that’s not the most heroic thing to do.”

Not heroic. Roman isn’t heroic. Janus said it first, and now so did Remus. Patton agreed with him, and no one else tried to argue otherwise because it was true. He’s not Thomas’ hero anymore. He’s not a hero at all now, he’s a failure. Another pathetic failure.

A disembodied blow struck harshly at Roman’s face with a resounding crack, and he howled loudly in pain before he could think to pretend he hadn’t been hurt. His eyes watered in an instant and his hands came flying to his face, half trying to hide his reaction and half trying to assess and remedy the injury. He lurched forward until he was nearly doubled over as an intense piercing sting spread out from the center of his face, and he let out a hiss as it sank in. He became acutely aware of the taste of blood in his mouth, and it was hard to get himself to breathe past how badly his head hurt.

“Shit, what the fuck happened?” Remus shouted, pulling Roman’s hands away from his face to get a clear look at the damage. “I didn’t even touch you!”

Roman could hardly see past the tears that stubbornly refused to stop forming, but he recognized the all too familiar sheen of blood on his hands.

“How the hell did you break your nose like that?” Remus asked.

Roman tried to talk despite his lack of an answer, only to end up spitting blood all over his onesie.

Remus responded by taking Roman by the arm and half leading, half dragging him to the bathroom. “Alright, hold on a sec. Let’s get ya cleaned up real quick. I mean, I wouldn’t care but for whatever reason you do,” he explained.

Roman tried not to wince at the intense pressure Remus had put on one of his bruises when he grabbed him and the stiffness in his residually sore legs, focusing instead on washing off the blood that had smeared across his face and rinsing the rest out of his mouth in the sink.

He straightened himself back up and nearly did a double take when he got a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Sure enough, his nose was badly broken and still slightly bloody, but it only fit in with his dark, sunken-in eyes, pale, almost fevered skin, and now blood-stained onesie.

“Y’know, it almost looks like you’re tryin’ to steal my look,” Remus joked, leaning against the counter with a bemused expression.

More blood dripped from his nose as the injury painfully flared up again, and Roman didn’t bother cleaning it up.

“Anyway, do ya wanna tell me what all that was about?”

Roman shook his head no, heading back to his bed.

“Aw, c’mon, why not?”

“Please, just leave it alone, Remus,” Roman muttered, turning back to face him. “I really don’t need to deal with this tonight.”

Remus clicked his tongue. “You and your damn pride.”

Roman’s bottom lip split clean open, but Roman hardly winced. It wasn’t the worst pain he was feeling at the moment, and he hardly even felt it at all.

Remus’ eyes grew wide in response (well, wider than they usually are) as a look of recognition and realization crossed his face.

“Oh. So it is about your pride, then, huh?”

“I said leave it alone,” Roman grumbled.

“I always kind of figured you’d take those terms literally. Y’know, like ‘bruised ego’ and ‘wounded pride’ and all that, but I didn’t think it could go this far. I didn’t think you’d let it.”

Roman crossed his arms and let out a huff, refusing to meet his eyes. He knew Remus wouldn’t let it go now, but he was hurting too badly to cater to him tonight.

“How bad is it?”

“What?”

“The bruises,” Remus explained, walking closer and crossing his arms to match Roman’s stance. “You’ve been tense and twitchy all damn day. At first I thought you just had some bad leftovers again or something, but it’s definitely because of how everyone’s been acting lately.”

Roman really didn’t want to talk about this tonight, especially not to Remus. “It’s nothing, really.”

Remus quirked an eyebrow. “Do you really want me to go and haul Janus in here to run a good old fashioned lie detector test on you?”

Roman grimaced at the mere mention of his name. He’d rather die than talk about this to that horrid bully that Remus for some reason considered a friend. “Absolutely not.”

“Then either start fucking talking to me or show me where it damn hurts.”

Roman let out a low sigh. Try as he might, it seemed there was no getting out of this one.

“Fine, just… just don’t say anything.” He muttered, moving to sit on the bed. His sore legs seemed to appreciate the brief respite, throbbing with a dull pain now that there wasn’t any weight on them.

Remus nodded and took a seat next to him, idly fidgeting with a loose string on his sleeve as Roman slowly, reluctantly, unzipped his onesie and took off the shirt he was wearing beneath it.

The room fell dead silent as Remus examined the myriad of messy bruises that littered Roman’s skin. Deep blues, dark purples, ugly yellows and lurid greens, all covering his body like paint haphazardly thrown at a canvas, only much less appealing.

“There’s more on my legs, but I’m not stripping down in front of you,” Roman mumbled, looking for any way to break the awkward silence.

“Why not? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“And you had no right to recreate the shower scene from Psycho like that,” Roman snapped. “It’s been years now and I can’t even close my eyes in the shower anymore because of you.”

Remus let out a high-pitched chuckle. “You gotta admit it was funny, though.”

“Maybe to you.”

Remus rolled his eyes and gave him a playful shove. “You’re such a damn buzzkill.”

Roman winced as Remus pushed down on another bruise.

“Oh, shit. Forgot about that,” he said, quickly removing his hand. “Does it still hurt?”

As if to check, Remus poked on a different bruise, this time eliciting a yelp out of Roman.

“Of course it hurts!” Roman exclaimed, moving further down the bed to set some more space between them. “That’s what bruises do!”

“Yeah, but… I didn’t think you’d stay sore so long,” Remus pondered, an odd look on his face. “I mean, you’d totally get all sore like this over another failed audition or something, but name-calling never really got to you before. At least, not this badly.”

Roman ran his tongue over his teeth, refusing to reply to that. Remus isn’t as dumb as everyone thinks he is, and if he figures this out then Roman may as well stay in his room for the rest of his life.

“So do ya wanna tell me what changed?” Remus asked him, resting his chin in his hand.

“Not really.”

Remus’ eyes lit up with the spark of a challenge he knew he’d win. “Then how about I go ask Logan and see what he thinks? Or maybe Virge or Patton, I’m sure they’d love to hear all about this.”

There it was. Remus knew the last thing Roman would want was for someone to see him looking anything but his best, and he wasn’t afraid to use that knowledge to his advantage. If Roman tried to call his bluff, Remus would surely go through with it.

Remus sighed and got up from the bed, clasping his hands behind his back in a casual yet resolute stance. “Welp, I guess I’ll take your silence as you not having an answer for me, which means I’m off to find someone who does,” he said, already walking to the door.

“No, wait a minute,” Roman started, grateful that Remus stopped before he could leave. “If you really aren’t going to leave this alone, I’ll talk.”

Remus smiled before closing the door, returning to his spot on the bed. “Alright, then I’m listening.”

Roman took a moment to pull his onesie back over himself, feeling much less exposed now that his bruised and battered skin was covered up and hidden away again.

“If it’s something that I did, you can say so,” Remus said, a startlingly sincere look in his eye.

“It wasn’t you,” he started. “You weren’t even there.”

“Well, who was?”

Roman swallowed back the lump in his throat. “It was Janus, alright?”

Remus cocked his head to the side. “What the hell did he do?”

“Just confirmed what I already knew,” he explained, wrapping his arms around himself. “I’m not Thomas’ hero anymore, and I’m not even sure I count as a prince now, either.”

Remus’ eyes narrowed. “I don’t follow. Firstly, you’re not making sense, and secondly, what’s any of that got to do with you getting painted with all the colors of the wound?“

Roman bit his lip again, only to wince when he agitated the fresh cut on it. Why did he have to spell it all out like this, isn’t being seen in his miserable state enough?

“I’m saying being a prince meant everything to me,” he started, already regretting his confession but too committed now to stop. “No matter what the others would say about me before, I could just ignore it because I was still important to Thomas. I was his hero, and that made me feel like I could rise above anything, but now?” Roman threw his hands out to his sides, as if he were putting all of his mistakes on display. “Now I’m nothing. I’m not the favorite, and he doesn’t care about me anymore. The names the others call me are true, and I don’t have anything left to say otherwise.”

Remus just stared back at him, his face completely open and unreadable.

“They’re allowed to say it,” Roman hastily added, not wanting to slander the others too harshly. They were still his friends, even if he wasn’t theirs. “They’re right, after all. I’m not being very helpful around here, if you haven’t noticed. I only make wrong decisions every time, and I make everyone else’s jobs so much harder for no reason. I’m not a hero, I’m hardly even half a side. I deserve this.”

“Bullshit!”

Roman stopped to look at Remus, whose eyes were aglow with frightening intensity.

“I’m not gonna hear you say any of that crap anymore, y’hear me?” he shouted, grabbing Roman’s face between his hands and forcing him to meet his gaze. “You’re literally beating yourself up, Ro, and I won’t let you keep doing that! Everyone knows you’re the better creativity, alright? You’re better than all of us and you know it too. You do so much for Thomas, more than any of us! You’re his romance, his ego, his passion, his whimsy, and the best part of his creativity all at fucking once! Not even Janus could juggle all of that shit, and he’s got six fucking hands! You make all of his dreams a reality. Fuck, you’re the reason he’s even got any dreams at all! You’re goddamn vital, Ro, and you ain’t gonna forget that, got it?”

Roman’s vision went hazy again from the stinging tears that threatened to spill at any second. Why was Remus saying this, like it was true? He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force them back down, only for Remus to shake his head in his hands like it was a magic eight ball.

“Hey, I wanna hear you fucking say it.”

Roman opened his eyes again, though he found it hard to meet Remus’ forceful stare. “Say what?”

“Say that you’re goddamn vital and you’re not gonna forget it.”

Roman tried to squirm away, but Remus didn’t let go. “Say it.” he repeated.

“I’m vital,” he weakly choked out. “I’m not going to forget it.”

“Try saying it like you mean it,” Remus said. “You’re goddamn vital, and you fucking know it.”

Roman forced down the lump in his throat and repeated again, this time firmer. “I’m goddamn vital, and I’m not gonna forget it.”

“Again.”

Roman’s voice rang out, steady and clear. “I’m goddamn vital, and I’m not gonna forget it.” As he said it, he realized he was starting to believe it.

Remus smiled before finally releasing his face. “That’s fucking right!” he cheered, pulling Roman into a tight hug before he could stop him.

Roman pulled away at first, not just because he knew of what Remus’ idea of cleanliness counts as, but also in dreaded anticipation. He had spent weeks grinning through the crushing pain of Patton hugging him or Virgil giving him a friendly slap on the back, trying his best to pretend it didn’t open up the bruises and hurt him all over. Now, with Remus trapping him in a tight hug, Roman squirmed and held his breath as he waited for the familiar flare of pain.

A flare that never came.

Remus must have realized the reason for Roman’s flinching, as he quickly let him go and inched away from him after mere seconds of contact.

“Shit, I forgot again,” he groaned. “Did I hurt you too bad?”

Roman slowly shook his head, pulling up one of his sleeves to examine the bruises on his arm.

They were starting to fade. Not quickly, and they were still very much there, but the bruises had reduced in size and shade until it was much less noticeable, and far less painful.

“Hold up, look here,” Remus said, pulling Roman’s face back to him. “Your nose isn’t broken anymore,” he muttered, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “And your lip isn’t busted up either.”

Roman pulled his face away and examined it himself, surprised to see that it was in fact intact.

“Wait, did I fucking fix you?” Remus asked, voice raising to an excited shriek.

“I think so,” Roman mused, lightly pressing on one of the larger bruises on his ribs and finding that it didn’t hurt as badly as it did a mere hour ago. The pain was still there and likely would be for a while, but it was lighter, only acting up when agitated and quieting down the rest of the time.

Remus let out a loud whoop as he pulled Roman into another hug, one that lasted much longer than its predecessor. “Holy shit, I did a good thing!” he exclaimed.

Roman returned the hug, feeling the best that he had all month. “Yeah, you really did.”

taglist:

@britt-ish123 @holdnarrytight @nico-the-overlord @lio-the-chaotic-nonbeanie-weenie @oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat @rougeside4 @can-i-take-a-stab @new-zee-land @yuckypuppie @keitaisghost

[blinddreams24]

Reconciliation

A Mermay Prompt

(Note: kind of a short chapter, sorry)

Masterlist

Prev / Next

The next few weeks were full of pleas and complaints to get out of the meeting with Dream. Nightmare reminded each of them that they didn’t have to come which sent them grumbling about danger and not leaving the Boss to deal with Dream by himself.

Of course, everyone came.

Wherever Nightmare went, everyone followed. It was cute, you thought. Like a bunch of ducklings following the first adult they see. Ducklings with teeth. To be fair, you were one of those ducklings now.

Heh, ducklings with teeth.

. . .

Maybe that image wasn’t as cute as it sounded…

Anyways!

Today was the day. The meeting was set up, the time was picked, and everyone was anxious.

“Boss-?”

“Killer, for the hundred twenty-seventh time, no. We’re going to the meeting, discussing peace, and not stabbing anyone.” Nightmare glared. “For today, no shenanigans. I don’t care how much you want to. If you so much as bare your teeth unprovoked, I will send you home. Understood?”

Killer pouted. “Yes, Boss…”

“If you must talk to anyone, be courteous and respectful. No dark jokes or gruesome stories. Polite conversations only.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That goes for all of you.” Nightmare glanced around at the others. “Y/n, feel free to roam how you wish. You and Blue are our neutral party. So get comfortable, we’re going to be there a while. As for the rest of you, if you leave my sight, you’re going home. If you start to go into a frenzy, you’re going home. If you taunt or threaten anyone, you’re going home. This is a professional setting and I need to trust that you will act like it.”

“Yes, sir.” Everyone echoed.

Nightmare nodded. “Good. Let’s depart now. We’ll be late if we don’t.”

The trench and currents shook as Nightmare lifted himself out into the open waters. Thick black tentacles curled and struck out to heave him into the open and out of the magical darkness in the trench.

He was…

Smaller than you imagined.

The darkness had definitely done him a few favors but now that he was in the open, he wasn’t quite as intimidating. Sure, if it was your first time meeting him, you’d be scared. But the darkness of the trench added to his intimidating appearance and twisted his form to look more mysterious and vague. Which was terrifying to the untrained eye.

While everyone swam out of the trench, Horror struggled to pull himself over the edge fast enough to keep up, his tentacles flailing. Nightmare turned, scooped Horror into his hands, and continued, Horror hugging his fingers.

You smiled.

He might look terrifying, but he was still just a big softy. If people saw how he treated the guys, they’d think he was a father. He might as well be.

Blue, Ink, and Dream were already waiting. Dream was not in his leviathan form that he apparently had. He’d showed it to you the other day. It was weird seeing a kraken-sized seahorse. He hadn’t moved much either, scared of accidentally smacking you with his tail while his head was too far away to see you properly against the grey rocks, and quickly shrank again when he got anxious.

He spotted you coming and waved. You smiled and waved back.

Blue was entertaining Ink whose body was a rippling grey with streaks of yellows, greens, and blues. You recognized those as his happy colors. Dream had obviously talked to him because when he looked up and saw Nightmare coming, he grinned and waved happily. Cross and Killer sheepishly waved back. Ink was very excited and hurried over to chat with Cross.

Blue seemed a little tired and very relieved when you arrived. When Ink shot away, he drifted over to Dream to properly greet you.

Nightmare stopped right in front of Dream, towering over him. “Dream.” He greeted.

“Nightmare.” Dream nodded.

The water was tense. Well, except for Ink, who was darting between each of the boys and chatting. He eventually ended up following Killer around as the shark desperately tried to avoid him.

Nightmare hummed. “It was self defense, Dream.” He started. “And I did not touch her. She was already dead when I ate the first apple. I would have told you this if you’d asked. But you never did. Dream, you came at me in a frenzy. We were both in a frenzy. What did you think would happen?” He scolded.

Dream nodded again. “I wasn’t thinking…” He gave Nightmare space to continue.

“They attacked me. I very nearly died. Dream, the people you trusted were vile from the beginning. Why do you think I stayed away from them? I could feel their intent. They wanted the fruit. They wanted her dead. And we were just obstacles. They even hated Life. Why did you leave me with them? They beat me, Dream. They broke my skull and dashed me against the rocks I had so foolishly beached myself on. Where were you? Why weren’t you there? What was so important that you left me to die?” Nightmare accused. The boys grew agitated but a stern look from their Boss shut them up.

Dream bowed his head. “���I was but a foolish child, Nightmare. I was looking for flowers. I had been for weeks. One of the land dwellers, a young woman, told me that she’d given her sister a flower when she was upset…”

Nightmare’s scowl slipped. “…so you were looking for a flower… for me?”

“Yes. But turns out the ocean doesn’t really have flowers so I was kinda grabbing at the horizon for stars. I did not mean to leave you in danger. I did not believe you were in danger.” Dream’s tail curled and fidgeted. “I am sorry for my foolishness.”

“Hm. It seems we both lack the ability to communicate. Let us discuss in private before continuing negotiations. Boys.” He addressed his group. “Give us a moment, stay in sight.”

Multiple ‘yessir’s were given, no matter how grumpy, and you all moved a distance away so the brothers could talk, including Blue and Ink at a nod from Dream.

“Why does your soul stick out of your chest?” Ink interrogated Killer.

“Why does your tongue stick out of your mouth?” He grumbled.

“There’s stuff leaking out of your eyes. Are you crying?”

“Am I what?”

As Ink went on to explain and loose his train of thought again, Blue approached you.

“So, How Are You Doing, Y/n?” He asked politely.

You smiled. “I’m doing great, thank you. How are you? You look exhausted.”

He sighed. “I Am. Ink Has Been Very Excited All Day. So Excited The Stretch Kicked Him Out Of The Den. Stretch! My Lazy Brother! He Doesn’t Get Up To Clean Anything And Ink Managed To Make Him Move.” He sighed again. “I’ve Been Distracting Him All Day, Trying To Keep Him Off Dream, Because Lord Knows He Doesn’t Need More Problems Today.”

“Sounds like it sucks.” Came Dust’s voice beside you. He glanced over, as if noticing you for the first time, and nodded. “Hey, Blueray.”

You burst into laughter even as Blue sputtered.

“I’m Not A Ray, Dust! I’m A Dolphin!” Blue puffed his chest up.

Dust gave you a knowing grin and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Do you even know what a blueray is, Dust?” You questioned.

He smirked. “S’a type of DVD.” He answered easily, as if it was common knowledge to him.

You stopped laughing. “How do you know that?”

His grin widened. “Do you really wanna know?”

“Yes?!? How did you know that??!?”

He just laughed and swam away.

“Wait!! Dust!!! What do you mean?!?” You called after him.

Killer swam between you and Dust, startling you. His usual grin was pressed into a thin line as Ink chased him.

“Why does it wiggle so much?” Ink was asking. “Does it hurt? Why doesn’t it look like a heart? Can I touch it?” And on and on.

Killer swam faster.

Blue sighed. “Poor Killer. Though, I Wouldn’t Switch Places With Him. I’m Done For Today. He’s Stuck With That.”

You also sighed. “I should help him.”

“Nah, leave him. That’s the quietest I’ve ever seen Killer. He’ll be fine. How you doin’, Blue?” Cross drifted into the conversation.

“Mweh! I’m Doing Well, Cross! Thank You For Asking!” Blue puffed up proudly. “And How Are You, Friend? It Feels Like Forever Since We’ve Been Able To Talk On Good Terms.”

“It has been a while, hasn’t it? Sorry about that, by the way.” Cross smiled nervously.

Blue waved it off. “Don’t Apologize, Cross! You Did A Good Thing Following Nightmare! Dream Never Did Have Time To Listen.”

The orca looked confused. “What do you mean?”

Blue gave a knowing smirk. “Dream Had To Learn That You Couldn’t Be Hauled Around Everywhere. He Would Not Listen To Me. Always Moving Around And Working. Busy, Busy, Busy. You Woke Him Up To Reality. It Was Only After You Left That He Listened To Me. Also, Why Do You Think Nightmare Offered In The First Place?” He grinned and looked over at the twins.

Cross stared in shock. “…You didn’t.”

“Don’t touch me!!” Killer finally snapped, yanking his tail away from Ink.

“Ah, Looks Like My Help Is Needed Elsewhere.” Blue nodded to you and Cross. “It Was Nice Talking To You Again. Now If You’ll Excuse Me. INK!!!”

You both stared after Blue. Each in a different state of shock.

“Huh.”

“. . .”

“You okay, Cross?”

“…I don’t know anymore…”

[mimiplaysgames]

The Bed Story, ch. 7 (Oaths)

Terraqua Week 2024, Day 7

Terra/Aqua | Terra/Anti-Aqua Rating: M Word Count: 3,486 @terraquaweek

Summary: Terra meets Anti-Aqua, and he's sorry for what they did and didn't do.

Read on AO3

A/N: y'all this fic was my companion for the last 5 weeks. I have finished editing the rest of the fic for the most part already I feel hollow about this being over.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

This was one of Aqua’s favorite dreams. Yes, there was the one where she elevated to become a Master, alongside the best friend who had been there for most of her life. Yes, there was also the one where she wished to be more with him, to trade their oaths between their hearts and bodies. 

But this was the one she thought about so often. And the Realm of Darkness finally (finally) responded. 

This was playtime. She was at Radiant Garden, but with time reversed, back to moments before they fought and Terra turned his back on her. Aqua chose a cottage inn where the wood was painted lavender and the porch was decorated in flowers.

Aqua sat on a stool at the railing that separated the inn’s porch from the cobblestone street. Right by her side was a basket of blue flowers: regal, calming, pleasant. Radiant Garden was empty—the Realm wasn’t in the interest of reality. But that wasn't important right now. Aqua wanted this. She waited for this. 

The flowers by her side were yellow: vibrant, excitable, pleasant. She thought of Ven and where he was, and she worried about his sleep. Back then, she worried about who he followed and to where. But now he was safe, so in this fantasy, Ven was tucked away where he couldn’t be hurt. She trusted that. She could have this moment to herself, knowing that.

The flowers by her side were red: powerful, bountiful, pleasant. Aqua brushed her hair with her fingers, adjusted her sleeves and straightened her posture.

Terra finally arrived, his shoes stepping on the wooden steps with a crunch. 

Aqua’s heart pounded at the sight of him, pushing hard on the precipice of her esophagus. He's here. Aqua smiled and it hurt her cheeks.

“Like you promised,” she said.

“Like I promised,” he said. He smiled back, and Aqua could cry at the sight of it, if the Realm of Darkness allowed crying. But the Realm instead numbed the feeling out, even when she grasped for it to stay. 

She patted the stool next to her. He sat, but when he reached to touch her jaw, she said, “Don’t.”

Terra didn’t say anything. Just took his hand back. 

There was no use explaining herself to the Realm, but she said anyway, “If you touch me, you’ll disappear.”

She wished time would freeze at this moment: evening, where the sun and the stars shared the same sky before nightfall. She asked silently, so she had a phantom to talk to. But the Realm liked to tease.

Or maybe this was Aqua teasing herself. False hope in a manifestation because sometimes, only sometimes, she lost control of herself. 

“I’m sorry.” He rested his elbow on the railing, his chin on his hand. She loved him with this expression—like he was stopping himself from laughing. Confident (or cocky, depending on the day). And the way he looked at her with mischief... The Realm knew this—it stole this image from her mind so the Realm could package that and send her a gift. 

But not the gift of him staying. 

“No, I…” she said, then stopped herself. This was no use either, but the possibility (the reality, she should say, but that was too much of a bitter potion to swallow) that she was never going to see the real Terra again meant she would never get the chance to say this to him. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be sorry.” 

He smirked into his hand. Cocky, today. Her heart wanted to jump on him. Bring him into her arms and kiss him. “Are you?”

The Realm mimicked the teasing right. 

Aqua laughed before that faded. If only the Realm could provide her with food she could share with him, like a real date—she was never hungry, but she missed taste. Oh, she missed taste.

“Would you believe me if I said, Yes?,” she said seriously, and if he could push her right now, he would. And she would push back. 

Terra pretended to think. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay. How about this.” She tucked her hands under her thighs. “What if I said you, perhaps, kind of deserved it?” 

“Your snappery?”

“That is not a real word.”

Terra shrugged a shoulder. “Now it is.”

She leaned forward. The Realm even got the color of his eyes right. The color of the open ocean far from shore—deep, intimidating, gorgeous. “Submit that to the person who writes dictionaries first, and if they agree to add it, then you can claim that honor.”

He leaned forward, too, and his nose almost touched hers. Aqua frowned, jerking back. She almost lost him. 

“You don’t even know who that is, Aqua,” he went on, as if he didn’t register her reaction. “But if you find someone like that, you can introduce me.”

But she couldn’t get back into the mood, her hand gripping her chest. She staggered out of her seat.

Terra blinked, and slowly turned his head to where she was standing. The flowers by his side were black: stunning, foreboding, unpleasant. 

“What are you doing over there?”

She bit her lip shut. She had lost herself in his taunts when they weren’t real. This Terra wasn’t real. His voice wasn’t real either, just a figment of her imagination. The real Terra would ask her if she was okay.

“I wish you were real.” 

Terra stood up to come near, and Aqua stepped back, hitting her back to the wall, next to the doorway that would be the rest of the inn.

But the inn did not exist either. That door was locked. 

Terra, standing too close, raised his hands to rub her arms.

“Don’t touch me,” she whispered, and he stopped midair. “I can’t bear to see you disappear.”

“But I want to touch you.” 

Aqua’s heart twisted. Those were the exact words she wanted to hear again and again. He said them every single time, and every single time after he disappeared, Aqua tried to touch herself instead, but the Realm took that, too. Then she waited, and waited, and waited, to see him again. Most times, she was met with silence. This was rare. This was special. 

“Pretend to,” she said, and she closed her eyes as his fingers skated an inch over her skin. Almost touching, as he almost brushed her collarbone, and almost feathered over her lip, and almost glided over her cheek. “When we…” She swallowed. How was she supposed to move on from Terra? To keep every memory close to her heart so they wouldn’t erase, when time took small details away? She missed her wooden toy Keyblade. She wished she didn’t agree with the Master when he asked her to spy on Terra. 

“When we see each other again,” she said, not to this fake Terra, but the real one, “promise me you’ll touch me.”

“I promise.”

“Promise me we’ll get our own hiding place.”

“I promise.”

She needed to cry. This time, to the fake Terra, she said, “Promise me you’ll come next time.”

“I promise.”

Hovering his mouth near hers, Phantom Terra almost rested his forehead on hers. They stayed like this, frozen in place, trying to stretch the seconds into minutes. She wanted to feel alive, but she was dying. She pawned their relationship in the interest of knowing better, and it cost everything.

“I regret it so much,” she whispered. “Pushing you away.”

“So do I.”

Her heart was strong enough. She could survive this. She survived enough already. 

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

Aqua leaned forward to kiss him, but she kissed air. 

~*~

Outside the Realm of Darkness, there is no cure for crying.

Aqua sits on a boulder, leaning on her knees as she gazes at the white moon across the horizon. The waves roll from a gentle breeze that isn’t there, as if the ocean can think. It wants visitors to relax, to feel safe here. A respite from the phantoms—here within the Realm, and outside. The Realm of Darkness does have a compassionate side to it after all. Everyone deserves a place to rest and throw away all anxieties. After all, no one can have problems if all their life is made up just to look at the moon.

Aqua sighs and allows the Darkness to ease her into numbness.

Here, she won’t have to wait for anything anymore. All she has to eat is the peace of being in the present moment. A gentle ocean wave. A bright moon. She doesn't have to live in the Realm of Light when she access to it all the time, as it shines across the horizon.

Aqua’s heart jerks—the thought of Terra clouds over. She supposes that will be normal until she can learn to accept it for what it is.

Where is he now? Crying, probably. But he’s strong. And Ven is safe with him. What they both need is sleep, and that is going to take them time. 

Maybe she can visit at night, and make sure they are getting their proper sleep. If necessary, she has sleep spells. And when her heart can’t bear being that exposed anymore, she comes back home. 

This is a proper compromise. Ven has always wanted to explore other worlds. Now that he has the freedom, he will want a companion every now and again, and Aqua can go with him. Watch over him. Teach him some fighting techniques. She’ll watch him grow up. And when it’s too much, she’ll come back here, to her nest.

Terra? Again, Aqua’s heart twists. This is going to take longer to make peace with, but Aqua exhales. Eventually, letting him go will happen. Terra wants to follow in Eraqus’s footsteps. Open an academy and teach. Terra also wants a family, related by blood or not, and a partner. Aqua will have to give him her blessing to find someone else.

Stars, thinking about that stings, and Aqua winces. She waits for the Realm to ease the poison away, then she settles. Eventually, it will become easier to let him go. She has to trust that. 

Where is he now? In a different room, still crying about her? 

Deep in her chest cavity lurches, and Aqua grips her shirt over her heart. Her clones scamper around her, whispering to each other. Something is disturbing them, and Aqua rolls her eyes and clasps her ears shut to quiet them down. 

But they’re inside her head. There’s no turning down the volume. 

Third: Him. A pause, as if she’s convulsing, whimpering. He ruins everything.

Second: Look. It’s Earthshaker.

Aqua’s heart jumps. Looks to her right. Third is correct. Even here, Terra is the wound that never scabs over.

Second is also correct. Earthshaker is indeed with him, but updated into a behemoth. Terra limps on the sand, clutching his side. He needs to cast a Cure spell on himself, but instead of taking care of his body, he must have dragged his feet all the way here, thinking he doesn’t have the time to wait, when time doesn’t exist here. 

Terra catches sight of her, and he shuffles his feet to a half-run. 

Third: Throw him away. I can’t deal with this.

First floats down from the sky, and Terra prepares Earthshaker, in case she attacks. They recognize each other. She stalks around him like a predator, and Terra pivots, keeping his eyes on his target. 

Fourth joins them in a silent disagreement, using her body as a block, giving First a warning glare and giving Terra the opening to leave. Terra ignores all the other clones, heading towards Aqua.

Aqua braces herself, half-expecting Terra to stab her. Her fist flexes for the energy that beckons the Keyblade she stole from Mickey. 

“I’m not going to fight you,” Terra says, dismissing Earthshaker and dropping to his knees, sinking into sand. He sighs with relief and awe, smiling to his ears as if he’s tasting freedom. “It’s you.”

Aqua leans away from him. Her heart is pounding too much, too vibrant for a place like this. It erodes the numbness away when she’s needing to inhale it instead, and the Realm is too slow to act. 

How is she supposed to heal when he's here?

“You can’t be here.”

He crawls to her, placing his hands on her knees. His grin has no restraint. “Tada?”

“It’s dangerous.”

“Lucky for me, I’m with an expert.”

Second: Won’t he stop?

Aqua lowers her voice. “I’m serious.”

He’s choosing his words, rubbing a reassuring thumb on the side of her thigh. Terra shuffles over on his hip to give his injury space. “It’s just for a little while. I wanted to check in on you. Is that okay?”

To spend time with him for a little while? A goodbye moment to share before she has to let go? It’s as if the stars on the other side of the Darkness heard a prayer she didn’t want to admit to herself. His smile asks her again without saying anything.

“Alright,” she says, sighing, keeping her hands to her stomach as a barricade. Terra winces from small movements. Aqua stops herself from reaching. She doesn’t have Cure magic anymore. “You need to heal yourself.”

“Oh. Right.” Terra snorts and casts Cure on himself, sighing with relief.

First: His attitude is not amusing.

Fourth: Yes, it is.

“How do you get home?”

“Ven is waiting for me.” Terra smirks something shy. “I have Stormfall with me.” 

Second: Ugh.

Aqua tightens her grip on her stomach. Her weapons are her words. “So you got what you wanted. I have a piece of you, and you have a piece of me.”

Terra sighs. Something in his mind clicks, and he accepts whatever it is he is realizing. He nods, and Aqua doesn’t understand what he’s submitting himself to. “That’s okay.”

Is it really? Terra is stubborn, and wants and wants and wants. Aqua chooses not to say anything, watching what he’s going to do next. She allows him to rest his head on her lap. 

First, scoffing: You’re suddenly a pillow.

Fourth: It’s nice.

Terra crosses his arms, and watches the water with her, in silence. That’s all they’re doing, sitting in silence together, pretending it’s comfortable when there is so much to say. Aqua fiddles with her fingers, not knowing what to do with them.

Fourth: Touch his hair.

First: Don’t touch his hair.

Aqua brushes his hair, and Terra relaxes, adjusting his face for a more cozy position. Invasion crawls over her, and she straddles between wanting to lose herself in the feeling of his body on her, and keeping herself reeled in. He’s mine. He’s here. He’s mine. I have him back. 

He stays. This, Aqua shouldn’t want. Aqua shouldn’t keep him here. Aqua shouldn’t hope this could work. 

He stays. For now. A little while. 

“I made a mirror of you,” Aqua says. 

Terra smiles—she feels his cheeks on her thigh. “I’ve met him. He’s not that good looking.”

“I wanted him to say all the right things. All the same things.”

“Then you’d never get annoyed, and that isn’t right.”

His humor. How she’s missed his humor. But she doesn’t like the way it wrenches her insides. To need him to keep her afloat, or need him to ground herself. 

How is this even happening? Aqua has kept herself afloat all this time. He isn’t a lifesaver and he shouldn’t be. 

But she’s drowning, and she wants him to throw her one.

Let’s say he doesn’t stay. It would easier for them both.

He doesn’t stay. That’s the final decision. And yet, Aqua is weaker now than she’s ever been.

“He said all the things I wanted you to say,” she says. 

Terra looks up at her. His eyes. In the dark, they’re the color of the ocean before them now. “Like what?”

That I’m beautiful. That you want me. That you’re sorry. “Everything you’ve already said,” she says, her voice breaking. 

Terra waits for her to say more, but he nods, and rests back on her lap. “That’s because I’m smart.”

Aqua scoffs. She wants to laugh, but she hasn’t in so long. She begins stroking his cheek with the back of her knuckles, and even though they’re cold, Terra doesn’t flinch. Terra accepts. 

First: Don’t say it.

Fourth: Oh my love, you know I want you happy. 

“I’ve missed you,” she says, exposing her very real vulnerability that is the same as exposing the meat of her throat to a knife.

Terra buries his nose into her thigh and inhales. “I’ve missed you, too.”

So they listen to the water in a comfortable silence, and Aqua’s clones keep their distance, watching them watch the ocean. Maybe this is it. Maybe Aqua won’t be alone. 

He stays. And Aqua hopes.

He shouldn’t, but Aqua hopes against that. 

He can’t.

He can, for a little while. Count ten minutes and it’s six hundred seconds. Plenty of time.

Then, as if Terra and Aqua are a gravitational pull, her clones float near. 

First comes near, but says nothing.

Second comes next, and also, doesn’t choose to say anything. 

Third peeks from behind Aqua’s shoulder. Don’t you feel that?

Second: Aren’t you noticing what’s happening?

First: My dear, look at what you’re doing to him. It’s going to hurt when you realize.

Aqua grits her teeth. Why is it always wrong for her to take one moment to feel content?

Fourth: No, she doesn’t want it to be real. 

“This place isn’t bad,” Terra says, sounding tired. “It’s kind of beautiful in its own way.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah,” he says, drifting like he’s about to sleep. “Away from all the insanity. Our own little hiding place.”

What he says seizes her, striking her out of a stupor and destroying all the good she has felt with him here.

No, what she has felt is neither good nor good for her. What she felt was perversion, that desperate need for a wish to come true at the expense of—  

This is not what it’s supposed to be. 

First: He’s staying.

Fourth: He’s staying. 

“Terra?”

“Hm?”

She shakes his shoulders. “Terra?”

Thirty-third says: He’s staying.

Twelfth: He’s staying.

Their arms reach out to take him. He shivers. “It’s so cold.”

“No. Terra. Wake up.” Terra head bobs and rolls over, and he doesn’t reply. “No, no, no, you can’t allow the Darkness to take you over. Fight it. Activate your armor.”

His breath grows shallow. “I don’t want to.”

Eighth: He’s ours now.

“Why?”

“I want to stay with you." He exhales. "I'm with you.”

“But you can’t.” But she wants him to. But she shouldn’t. There is no peace wishing him to be like her.

“I’ve made my peace with it,” he whispers. Closing his eyes, Terra finally faints, and a Dark mass bubbles from the ocean, crawling over his legs. Her clones creep closer, and Eleventh grabs his arm to lift him and take him to the water.

“Don’t touch him!” Aqua growls. She yells, and her Dark force breaks out of her body, pushing them all away. “Come on, Terra. Wake up. Wake up, please.” She wraps his arm around her shoulders, trying to get him to stand with her, but his weight is too much. “Call Earthshaker.” She holds his hand and tries to will him to summon it, but he’s out. 

First: My dear, if you let him go to the Darkness, it will ease your loneliness.

Fourth: If you let him go, you’ll hate yourself for it.

First: If you save him, you will hate yourself for it.

Fourth: If you save him, you won’t betray yourself.

“Ven!” Aqua calls out, dragging Terra away from the shore. The tide rises. “Ven! Can you hear me? Ven!”

She needs Stormfall, but she can’t summon it. 

She collapses. He’s too heavy to keep up without his intervention. Aqua rolls him over to clean his face and clear his passages of sand. Her clones are crows, circling above them in the air. She considers summoning that foreign Keyblade and… do what? If she makes another Door to Darkness to go back to the Realm of Light, Terra won’t be able to follow her. He is not Darkness, and can’t go back unless she allows this transformation to complete.

But she can’t allow this transformation to complete. She can’t do this to him. “Ven…” she whimpers, dragging Terra’s head to her chest. She attacks the Darkness spreading over his legs with her own Dark magic, but it won’t back off. Her essence is wrong. 

Everything is wrong. Aqua is in love.

“Ven, please.”

She holds him tight. "Terra, wake up," she whispers one last time. She's not numb anymore. Not in this moment. She burns deep in her core, something terrible and hot that she wishes would go away. She wishes she could grow numb again. But Aqua is also a hypocrite. She wishes he would smile at her and tell her he's fine. She wishes she could burn it all away. A single tear trickles down her cheek.

Light flickers in her periphery, but Aqua doesn’t see anything when she searches for it. 

Fourth: Look up. 

By the moon, in an empty space, a star ignites, blinking. Saying hello. Wayward Wind.

[trainingdummyrabbit]

pushes two of my interests together cutely . fog-style icons of the swap tokitwins :)

(plus a long technical ramble under the cut bc im incapable of not doing that Constantly)

so the abridged context rundown is that these are styled after the sentiment ttrpg system! in the long and short, every character has ~3 stats, each one assigned a color. each stat represents a core character trait, and can be “locked in” to dictate how a character is feeling or thinking in the moment. taking damage (physical, mental, or emotional) can cause a stat to get “wounded,” rendering it unusable (and further defining character decisions.) thats the very basics of it! the above image is a comp of Base-ColorAlt-ExpressionAlt-ColorAlt. for funsies. :)

. so anyway i gave them stats. WAHAHA

> Yui

- [Yellow: //] the Little Guy stat. he is, at his core, still a 14 year old. a little bit of naivete, a little bit of bluntness. good for earnestness, amicability -- bad for new experiences (he gets nervous :[), commanding respect.

- [Blue: Outcast...] the loner stat. his tendency to stand alone, fend for himself. does what needs to be done. good for self-reliance, judgement -- bad for interaction, accepting support.

[Joint stat w/Mui. They can switch if the other's becomes wounded, taking that wounded stat for their own.]

- [Orange: //] the competence stat. the need to have everything in order, and the ability to efficiently follow routines. good for tactics/stubborness, miscellaneous tasks -- bad for improvisation, listening to others.

- [Black: Silence] kinda cursed... pessimism. the belief that things are just going to go horribly, horribly wrong. he doesn't belong here, and he knows it. good for danger detection, genre awareness. bad for... pretty much everything else. (self-worth, hope)

[like. actually cursed stat. if certain things happen, he has to roll to avoid being forced into locking in this stat.]

> Mui

- [Steel: //]   airheadedness. his tendency to do things his own way-- and not in anyone else's. impulsivity. good for making quick decisions, genuineness -- bad for collaboration, focus.

- [Yellow: //] littleguy stat. curiosity, optimism. just a carefree lil guy that wants to have fun. good for creativity, mischief -- bad for forethought, tempering expectations.

- (Post-Rui) [Blue: ...Never Alone.] bond stat. his connection not just to his brother, but to everyone around him at large. the desire to protect. good for reliability, standing up for others -- bad for isolation,.

[Joint stat w/Yui. They can switch if the other's becomes wounded, taking that wounded stat for their own.]

- (Redlights > Post-Swordsmith) [White: Noise] burning. what hides behind the fog. ruthlessness-- cold, concentrated anger. towards what happened to him, and to whats happening to everyone around him. The Scary One. good for drive, destruction -- bad for preservation, of the self and otherwise.

[whoops! another cursed stat. if certain things happen, he has to roll to avoid being forced into locking in this stat.]

- (Post-Redlights) [*Cyan- Outcast, But Never Alone.] Tokitwins shared stat. Should both of their blue stats be wounded at once, they can collectively choose to instead wound their black+white stats respectively, giving them shared access to this one. to properly wound or lock out cyan, it must be locked out for both of them. 

the trust stat. the ability to act hand-in-hand together, functionally as one. completely putting your faith in another, come hell or high water.

//

so basicaly, they mean The World 2 me,

[keigosbirdie]

FEMALE READER VERSION

Of all Hawks’ secrets, you are the most well-kept.

Version: Female Reader version | Male Reader Version Links: Gifset (art only) | Mood Music

NIGHTHAWK Rating: Explicit   |   Word Count: 13k  | Art: 14 animations, 2 stills (Technically no spoilers, but if you aren’t caught up on the events of the manga you’ll be missing important context. The fic takes place after Hawks’ meeting with the commission.) Synopsis: Casual was the word you used when you first agreed to sleep together. As weeks turned into months turned into a year, those quick and dirty nights blossomed into private moments that earned him little pieces of you. Warnings: Dom!Hawks, Nurse!Reader, animalistic behavior, rough sex, quirk/feather play, light bondage, biting, praise kink, hurt/comfort, secret relationship, talk of past lovers, mentions of death, panic attacks, PTSD, mention of a past, non-canon event. Spicy, then bitter, then sweet.

There was nothing exceptional about your life from an outsider’s perspective. You lived in an apartment on the outskirts of Jaku City, unmarried and childless. During the day you attended medical school where you studied for your doctorate. During the evening you worked as a nurse in the intensive care unit. Then, when you were home, you sat alone for dinner at a kitchen table meant for two.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

For the past year, however, an occasional tap at your sixteenth-story window would break up the lonely monotony. The tap was quite a scandalous secret, not that anyone would believe you if you let it slip. Even you still had a hard time accepting the bizarre reality of the situation; but it was real. Just as real his voice, which you could hear echoing faintly through your apartment.

You glanced up from your lukewarm dinner and dropped your fork. For a long moment, you sat in silence, listening intently until you heard it again. It was him; it was his voice. Your heart pounded against your ribs as you shoved out of your chair and jogged to the window. The part between your curtains opened, but when you peeked through you saw only the glow of city lights below a blanket of darkness.

A frown found your face, and a sigh spilled past your lips. You heard his voice; you would never mistake it for another. It echoed casually against your dim walls again, and you turned your head towards the sweet sound. The television was on in the living room. Your heart dropped at the realization. The little square thing sat on your end table and taunted you with his image. 

There he was. Hawks, the winged hero, being interviewed by a woman in a pantsuit. It wasn’t often he did interviews, so you left your dinner to go cold in favor of watching the program.

He was dressed in his hero costume, his visor lifted to rest atop his blond, wind-whipped hair, and his scarlet wings folded politely against his back. A wide grin graced his face as he exchanged charming banter with the woman. She seemed enamored with his expression, but she didn't know him like you knew him. He was smiling, yes, but the edges of his eyes were crinkled with tension. When he chuckled, his wings folded a little harder against his back. His beats of laughter were calculated. Uncomfortable, that's what he was.

He’d been that way a lot lately.

"So, I'm sorry, I have to ask- Every bachelorette in the country is wondering, is there any special lady in your life?" the interviewer asked. It was airy and friendly in intent, but your lip twitched with faint annoyance anyway. Your face fell slack and you leaned back into your chair. 

"Well, I don't know about every bachelorette," he quipped. His face was a little grainy on your old TV screen, but you could see the slight pink in his cheeks. He was cute. So, very cute. It made you miss him that much more. "But my personal life, well, how alluring would I be if I didn't keep a few things a mystery?"

And a mystery it was, to everyone but you.

Thankfully, the woman interviewing him had enough tact to know when to move on. Their conversation mercifully veered away from his sex life—your sex life—and towards his agency. The television was a wondrous thing. His voice rang through your home despite his absence. It brought sadness, but also a bittersweet comfort. Viewing him live stung your soul. You watched until his interview ended with a commercial break, and then decided not to wait up for him again. That would only lead to another sleepless night. 

Still, the window remained unlocked for him as you called it a night. The yellow glow of your desk lamp died with a click, and you climbed into your bed. Sleep was always difficult. Many nights you laid awake as you thought about your ICU patients. The things you saw in the ward were enough to scar anyone. But if it wasn’t work that plagued your mind, it was him.

Casual was the word you’d used when you’d first agreed to sleep together. It was easy to swallow when he only snuck into your apartment at night for sex. For the first few months, that was it. He’d steal into your home through the cover of darkness and you’d share a violently passionate night. Then, he would vanish out your window until he craved you again. Which, thankfully, was often.

As weeks turned into months turned into a year, however, those quick and dirty nights blossomed into private moments that earned him little pieces of you. You realized you were in too deep when it became difficult to be unbothered by the casual daydreaming of others. His face was clipped to girls’ backpacks long before you knew him, but others, covered so openly in his merchandise, began to make you a touch bitter. His sex life had been speculated about in tabloids since his debut, but to keep your mouth shut while your friends contemplated the size of his penis became hurtful and emotionally taxing.

The only one you could confide those pains in was the man who unintentionally caused them, but Hawks was too sweet. If he knew just how much it tore you up, he’d surely break things off to spare you the misery.

You cursed yourself for getting lost in thoughts of him. Bemoaning the casual chatter of others as he gracefully balanced the weight of the world on his shoulders made you feel weak. You allowed your eyes to close, your breathing slowed, and your body relaxed into your mattress. By the mercy of whatever god watched over you, sleep slowly overtook all your other thoughts.

At least until a shuffle and a squeak made you toss in your sheets. A faint light spilled into your room from the window, and a coolness settled into your bed. You shivered. It was the fresh winter air from outside. The cold wasn't the only intruder. It was him. 

The light was dim, but a dark silhouette of flared wings blocked out the moonbeams. Your heart lurched in your chest at the dominant display. It was a habit of the bird in him to fluff up when his blood was hot. His predatory energy kept you submissively silent rather than greet him.

Floorboards creaked beneath his shoes. The pulls of their zippers clicked with the movement. His breath was heavy as he moved to your bed. You caught a vision of your lover’s face. Little flecks of snow followed in. They danced around the brilliance of his wings and settled into his hair. In the blue light of winter’s night, his gold eyes looked dazzling. They also harbored a glint of violence akin to the blown-out eyes of a predator in pursuit of prey.

It was a familiar look from the strange animal. He’d seemed so open and friendly when he’d first snuck into your hospital room to talk, but he shrugged away at hugs and only laughed awkwardly when you told him he was your best friend. He didn't understand that kind of closeness.

You’d learned how deep his discomfort ran through him when the relationship became sexual. His inept understanding of touch translated to violence in the bedroom. Sex was most comfortable for him when he thought of it as a battle. He'd hold you down and force you open. You'd dig teeth into his arms and rip out feathers with your fists. To submit to his pounding was capture, but to overstimulate him until he was too weak to hold you down was victory. Extreme? Perhaps to those who didn’t understand your trust in one another.

He'd at least offer a sappy hello before he pulled his dick out, though. Not tonight. He eyed you as if expecting you to run, as if he'd give chase if you decided to. Fuck, it caused the warmest tingle between your thighs. You’d missed him too badly to try to put up a fight.

He left his jacket abandoned on the floor, which offered a much better view of his slim body wrapped in his black bodysuit. His canines dug into the leather of his glove before he yanked his hand free with his teeth. You laid silent and already breathless. It'd been far too long since you last felt him. Your body was hot with need at the sight of his rigid wings alone. His eyes swept over you as he toyed with the front of his tan jeans. He didn't come very often in uniform. To watch him fondle himself through his costume was- god, was there a stronger word than ecstasy?

“I want you,” he said from your bedside.

"You can have me..." You breathed out. It was intended to sound sultry, but your tone was more akin to a pleading whisper. Your body ached for him before your heart did, after all. Old habits were hard to break.

"You've been waiting for me, like a good girl, haven’t you?" he cooed. Cooed, quite literally. A low and rumbling song reverberated from somewhere deep in his throat. Not a bit of you was avian, but your body reacted instinctively when you heard your mate's call.

"I should reward you."

His visor glinted in the dim light as he pulled it off his face and let it land on the floor. His earmuffs, too.

You bit down your grin as the weight of your mattress shifted under his knee. His ungloved hand neglected the bulge in his jeans to tend to you instead. Warm fingertips slipped beneath your covers and found the skin of your thigh. A small sigh spilled from his lips, and your body trembled.

"You missed my hands on you, didn't you?"

You only managed a nod as his fingers slid up and beneath your pajama top.

Your body sank deeper into your covers when he moved over you. One knee landed on either side of your hips. His bare hand played with your breast while the still gloved one ran through your hair. The leather of the glove was frigid from the cold, but his body radiated warmth. The sweetness of his cologne mingled with the harsh musk of sweat. The smell of him fogged your mind.

The pads of his fingers pinched and tugged at the pink bud he discovered on your chest, which earned him a harsh gasp.

"That's it. I love it when you sing like that," he chimed. His hot breath ghosted over the shell of your ear. Wefts of his hair brushed against your face as his teeth nibbled at your throat. You were trapped beneath the cage his body made. 

"These cute little tits of yours- god."

He wasn't usually so chatty when he was about to mount you, but every grumble that reverberated in his throat added to the tingle between your thighs. He could devour you whole and you would thank him for the honor.

Your hands slid up the sides of his tight bodysuit. The inky black fabric was harsh beneath your fingertips. You traced the patterns of its gold accents around to his back and up towards his wings. He stiffened when he felt you slide nearer to them. Between the plush feathers at the base of a wing, you wiggled a finger until you found the skin beneath. Then you gave the joint a brutal squeeze.

Instinctively, that glorious wing of his outstretched and shivered. The stems of his plumes flexed against your hand as they puffed twice their usual size. The longest of them brushed against the ceiling of your room, dwarfing your bodies beneath it.

You were always in awe of the sheer size and beauty of them.

"F-fuck. Not fair," he growled, and then his teeth sunk hard into your neck in vengeance. The harsh bite only made you desperate for more, so you fisted his feathers in your hand and gave a sharp yank. He gasped a hot breath into the nape of your neck. Fuck. You couldn't take the teasing anymore. 

Your hands relieved him of their cruelty to pull off your shirt. He faltered when your bare breasts were exposed. His golden irises became thin rings as the darkness of his pupils devoured them. The tip of his glistening tongue wetted his lips.

It was your turn to stare with sharp desire as you heard the click of his belt, then the pull of a zipper. You pushed yourself up to get a good view of him working his dick out of his bodysuit. The throbbing muscle hit him in the stomach. The sensation made him hiss between his teeth, and you whimpered in reply. 

"Hhm, you must be really hungry, the way you're staring at it," he mused before he spat into his palm and ran the wetness along the shaft. He quivered at the sensation. You quivered, too.

"Please." Your cheeks were flushed, and your chest quaked with desire. "I want to feel it, please." 

"Oh, don't worry. You’re gonna have all of this. Gotta get that pretty little pussy ready for my cock, though, don't we?" he hummed.

He reached into his plumage and pulled out a long, red feather. The thing wriggled between his pinched fingers as he presented it to you. The way it moved was unnatural, but you timidly took it in your grasp. The look on your face must have been telling of your confusion because he chuckled at your expression. He gave no direction. Instead, he watched with a mischievous curiosity as you turned it in your palm. The barbs vibrated independently of one another against your skin.

Your breath heaved when you realized why he had given it to you. His hands slid down your stomach as a pair of red feathers brushed against your sides. They dipped into the hem of your shorts, then pulled the fabric, sliding them down your legs until you were deprived of them. The cold from the open window seeped into your most sensitive places as his hands caressed your hips.

His fingertips stopped over a series of divots and deformities in your flesh. They were painful mementos of the night you met, and reminders of the sacrifice you had made for him a couple of years prior. He was a stranger when you chose to forgo your own survival to shield him from death. His bottom lip disappeared between his teeth as he relived the agony with you, but placed kisses all over the scars. It felt like a plea for forgiveness, so you ran a loving hand through his hair.

A soft sound spilled from him, and then his head dipped down to drink in the sight of your bare body. You were naked beneath your shorts, so he hummed through gritted teeth when he teased your legs apart. He'd seen it all many, many times before, but the sight of your glistening pink sex brought about his cooing again. The sound was a deep and beautiful melody unlike anything you'd ever heard, but also purely sexual. It was his body's call to yours. It beckoned you like a siren.

“No panties, huh?” he murmured. His breath hitched and vibrated with his lustful song. “You’re already so wet, my god… how about you put that feather of mine to use?”

He sat back on his haunches. Those narrow eyes bore holes into your exposed body as he spat another thick glob of saliva onto his palm. His hand found his cock. His eyelids fluttered at the contact and he groaned softly as he pumped around it. His eyes drank your every movement. 

You spread your legs for his gaze and then brought the pulsing feather between your thighs. He could feel through them, in a sense. The thought alone caused you to exhale a soft moan, but it was anything but soft when the vibration teased your sex. He groaned, too, at the contact. 

Your body flexed and wiggled when you pressed it hard against your clit. The sensation made your eyes roll back. Your slickness dampened its vanes despite its semi-hard state, and your hips ground into the pleasure. He observed. His hand pumped faster with each desperate whimper his feather worked out of you. 

It wasn't long before he couldn't take simply watching anymore. 

The roughness of his stubble dragged along your breast as he closed his teeth around one of your pink buds. He suckled, and your fingers tangled in his hair as his feather jolted from your grasp. It worked your clit without your help, and hot air blew from his nose as he jerked himself off. You used the distraction to sneak a hand between your bodies. You wanted the hot skin of his cock against you. You wanted to touch and play; to taste and feel. A thick whimper spilled out of him when you ensnared his throbbing dick in your palm and squeezed.

His feather stopped pleasing you.

"I didn’t give you permission to touch, did I?" His wings flexed. The feathered limbs grew massive as their quills stood on end in a frightening display. They were beautiful and plush, but deadly weapons all the same. “Testing me, huh? You're that desperate for my cock?”

Yes, fuck yes you were. You opened your mouth to reply, but your voice cut out when he grabbed you by the wrist. He jerked your hand away from his sex, and you whined. Usually, you were a bit of a hardass. It wasn’t easy to make you crumble, so he looked so devilishly proud of himself when you’d submit beneath the weight of him.

His teeth bared in a deliciously appealing smirk. "I’m gonna have to do something with these hands of yours if you’re gonna grab at shit without permission, yeah?"

You nodded a little too eagerly. His voice was heavy and deep with a depraved need to dominate you. To sully your skin with his desire. You weren’t going to stop him.

A cluster of feathers gathered in the air around you. You had nothing to fear, but watching them circle like small predators overhead made your heart pound against your ribs like a drum. They swarmed you and ensnared your wrists. The strength of his quirk easily had you overpowered. Your hands slammed into the headboard, pinned down by his feathers which trembled with excitement. You were now at his mercy.

“You’ll get your hands back when you’ve earned them,” he informed you through gritted teeth, but you were so mesmerized by the features of his face you hardly heard his words. Beautiful, that's what he was. You'd never told him how his appearance left you breathless. It could scare him away if you said such sweet things too often, but you’d held your heart back for so long it only felt fair to let it beat this once. 

“You’re so gorgeous,” you whispered.

He trembled. His eyes widened in startled confusion, and then his cheeks dusted the faintest shade of red. God, that only made your heart thump harder. His did, too; you could feel it rattle through his chest and against your stomach.

"What was that?"

You bit your lip, embarrassed, but echoed the statement a bit more sheepishly. "I said… you're gorgeous."

Your mattress groaned as he folded back onto his knees. The flaming red limbs on his back lowered until they rested against your sheets. Something about that sweet little compliment tore into him like nothing you had ever said before. That desire that flickered behind his eyes blazed out of control. His kisses landed on your knees before he placed a gentle caress of his lips on the innermost part of your thigh. So close to your pussy that the heat of his breath made you slick.

His other glove was abandoned somewhere on the floor, which rendered both his hands bare. A low groan spilled from him as he pressed his thumbs into either side of your heat. His jaw went slack and his breath erratic as he spread you open.

"So are you," he said, but it was muttered so softly you almost didn't hear.

His head dipped down. The tendrils that framed his forehead fell over your midriff as his tongue caressed your twitching flesh. The hot, wet muscle lapped hungrily between your folds. It flicked at your clit, and your legs trembled on either side of his head. His mouth working you open like that was enough to fog your mind entirely.

“You like that?” he cooed between the slurps of his mouth against you. "Oh, I bet you fucking do."

You replied with only a strangled whimper as you tugged uselessly at the feathers that bound you. You were desperate to comb your fingers through his downy hair, to fist it in your hands and press his face hard into you. A low chuckle flowed from his open mouth and tickled your flinching flesh. Another cry tore from your throat.

“My poor baby, so desperate,” he sighed after placing a kiss against your clit.

His poor baby. He hummed that phrase with such possessive intensity. He was right. Even if it was unspoken, you and your body belonged to him and him alone.

The warmth of his palms traveled back up your stomach and squeezed your breasts roughly. “Forcing you to wait so long for me, did I neglect my sweet little Chickpea? Hmm, I better make up for it, huh?"

God, the way his husky voice reverberated against your flesh was the most delicious form of torture. You bit your lip and nodded, and he rewarded you with a finger. It slid carefully into you, and his hand caressed your insides. You cried a loud, indecipherable string of mangled words. All grasp on language left you as he curled his fingers up and flicked his wrist.

“Aw, what are you trying to say, Sweetheart?” he huffed. All the little nicknames only pushed you further into your need for him. “You wanna feel my fat cock push into that pretty little pussy?”

A sharp inhale burned your throat.

“P-please!” you choked. Your voice was cracked and pitiful when it finally tore from you, and a wonderfully wonton sound fell from him.

“Please what, huh? Please what?” he gasped.

“Fuck me! I want it- I want your cock- PLEASE.”

“Ohhhhh, that sounds so pretty comin’ outta your mouth,” came his long, low growl. As a reward for your begging, he dragged the wetness of his tongue along the length of your little pink slit.

The rough material of his jeans slid down your inner thighs as he mounted you. The shaft of his hot, bare cock pressed flush against your sex. Clusters of his feathers bunched behind the bends in your knees and forced them back, which splayed you helplessly open. You watched as he bit into his lip and rubbed himself against your wetness. You couldn't look away as the most intimate part of his body sheathed itself in yours. 

The most delicious pressure overwhelmed your aching senses. Fuck. FUCK.  He moved slowly. It may have been meant as mercy, but to your sex-starved body, it felt torturous. The ridges of his dick caught at your swollen walls before the tip of it pressed agonizingly slow into the bottom of you. 

“Hawks! Oh my god, I can’t fucking take this!” your throat jerked and trembled just like your aching thighs. Your hips pumped in desperation for friction where your bodies connected. “Give it to me, give it- I swear to god- FUCK!”

Once you gave him control of your body, he lost control of his own. The mattress groaned when he slammed into you. His teeth dug into your throat, laying his claim on you as he panted for breath. His loose belt buckle beat at your outer thighs, and your bed frame groaned in protest with each merciless thrust. His hands dug into your flesh and locked you into his jarring pumps. He pinned you down as if he expected you to play the fighting game, but you didn't resist his cock this time. You didn't want a battle. You wanted your lover. Your moaning whimpers broke and cracked as his jerking hips rocked the wind from you.

He pounded into you too fast for your mind to keep up. Your scarred body buckled and stung under his animalistic need, but the shockwaves of pleasure that rolled through your core kept you begging him for more. More. More. 

His mind was so fogged that he lost his focus on his feathers. The clusters binding you down came loose without his influence, and you easily pulled out of them to throw your arms around his neck. His wings spread out and bristled until they were pressed against the walls, puffed and massive. His forehead was against yours. His hot breath puffed in your face, and his beautiful body was pleasured with yours. 

"Fuck, fuck! Please- Let me come inside you," he pleaded. His eyes were hazy and fogged, his mouth was slack and face a deep red. His body’s cooing song was so loud you could feel it in your own chest. The familiar smell of his cologne intermingled with the musk of sex and blurred your mind. You wanted every piece of him he'd give you.

"Y-yes, please, please," you begged between the hard smacks of his skin against yours. 

Your eyes shot open as his pace quickened. His wings… they were falling apart. Those beautiful eyes of his lulled further into the back of his head with each bone shivering slap of flesh. His teeth bared and his lips twitched as he pressed your bodies roughly together. Shivers rolled through his muscles, and those fierce wings of his were reduced to twitching little nubs on his back as he came.

You ran your hands between his shoulder blades as you marveled at his feathers. They littered the air as they weaved feverishly around one another. The gentle touch of your hands brought Hawks down from his high, and his feathers slowed until they lazily spun like autumn leaves. You pulled him down into a tight embrace and buried your face into his hair. He heaved into your chest, and you watched all the little pieces of him flutter around your room in the light of the moon.

He often lost control of his wings when you made love. They'd fluff up and flap wildly when he came, which often knocked shelves from your walls and your lamp from your bedside table. That was the first time he shed his feathers, and you were in awe.

"Are you okay?" he asked. His voice was gravely and shuttered between labored breaths.

“Yeah, I’m just... admiring," you said as you stared over his shoulder. He glanced behind him, and his cheeks tinted the faintest shade of pink when he realized the pitiful state of his wings. The little red feathers spread all around your room stilled in the air and swarmed to his back, returning his iconic limbs to their full glory.

“Er, you managed to pluck me. How embarrassing,” he quipped. You were so sore and exhausted from his sex all you could manage was a little laugh. You were a gasping mess, though, when he finally pulled out of you. The loss of pressure was a relief, but it also left you feeling empty. You laid quiet and trembling as he leaned back to marvel over the mess he made of you. His thumbs spread you open again, and he let out a breathless moan as you felt his come leak from you. His head dipped between your thighs. That beautiful tongue of his flicked out and lapped at the mess on your pussy. The warm wriggling of the muscle shocked your swollen clit and made you cry out, but you couldn't bear to ask him to stop. It satisfied something in you to watch as he licked you clean of your slick and his own come.

When he was content that he'd cleaned you thoroughly, he laid his body carefully beside you in your bed. His fingers tangled in your hair as he locked you into a kiss. You could taste the sex he licked from you on his tongue. 

The sex was always feverish and ravishing, but the afterglow was your addiction. In the beginning, it was rare. To kiss and caress crossed the line into his discomfort, but the more he learned to trust you the more of his affection you earned. The man who feared human touch began to ask for hugs every visit. Kisses became frequent and pleasant the more he let you do it. Then came sex that felt less like vicious wars and more like making love. Yes, after everything you did to earn his intimacy, nothing felt as lovely as lying naked beneath his plush plumage. 

His feathers caressed every inch of your aching body. His warm mouth, still wet from the sex, pressed gentle kisses onto your face. Your head rested against his arm as your breath slowly steadied. His wing flexed and rested on your shoulder as if tucking you in beneath a plush comforter.

“Mm. You like that?” he pondered breathlessly. His fingers trailed up your scarred side until they combed through your hair. There was a ginger softness to the touch that made your heart quiver. He smiled at you, those yellow eyes pierced through the dim light and into your soul. as you reached your hand out to run your fingers under his jaw. 

“Do you need to ask?” you hummed. Your cheeks were still red and your chest quaked as you slowly came down from the high. 

He laughed. What a lovely, airy sound. You hummed in the glory of the moment. And, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, you could breathe again. Typically, he’d spend his days off kicked back on your living room couch with a tall bottle of something hard in his hand. You’d go a week or so without seeing him when things got tense in the hero world, of course, but in the last two months, you’d had him for only a handful of nights. It was concerning, but you knew better than to ask. No matter how close the two of you had become he would never talk to you about work.

“It's been a while since you last flew in,” you noted as you got comfortable beneath his plumage. His body beside yours was the definition of comfort. Your mind could only be at peace when he was safe in your bed. “It’s nice to see you again, I was worried.”

“I know, it’s been too long. No need to worry, though, Chickpea, I’m right here,” he replied. His slow exhale tangled in your hair, and his hand's gentle touch found your cheek. He offered no explanation for his lengthy absences, but he and his crimson wing caressed you with apologies. 

You relaxed to the sound of his steady breath through the dim blue light of your bedroom. The wing he draped over you was so plush and warm you could easily fall asleep. You might have, if not for the fear of waking up without him. You scooted closer to wind your arms around his chest and bury your face in his neck. 

"I really wish you could stay," you whispered. 

To let your love get in his way was the last thing you wanted, but it was the utterance of a moment of weakness. It was uncharacteristic of you, the pathetic way it sounded, and you felt him stiffen under your arm as he soaked in your request. While there was never a confession of love, you'd tamed the wild bird with years of patience and earnest affection. He was loyal to you. It was cruel of you to ask for something you knew he couldn't give.

“Ah… I would if I could help it, you know that,” he sighed into your forehead, “but I can try to stay until morning.”

“Please. I’d like that.” It came out like the voice of a frightened child, but it was difficult to hide your need for him anymore. 

If you dwelled any further on the possibility of him vanishing, your emotions were going to get the better of you. You played with the feathers draped over your shoulder to calm yourself. A small one by your face was pinched between your fingers as you rolled the barbs around.

"Your wings are filthy," you mused. Dirt particles littered the poor things. You were sure, with some rooting, you'd find a few bugs he’d picked up in the air, too. "Actually, all of you is filthy. You got dirt all in my sheets, bird brain."

"Oh. Shit, my bad," he murmured as he sat upright. You shivered when the warmth of his wing left you.

"Hm, it's fine. Throw your clothes in the wash and I'll get a shower ready for you, sound good?"

“Sounds good.”

The bed creaked in relief when he stood. His frame was slender and small, but his wings at least doubled the weight of him. That was evident with how smothering being beneath him could feel. He kicked off his pants, though his body was still covered by the black and gold bodysuit he wore beneath them. It warmed your heart to see him carry his uniform out of your room and hear him tinker with the washer on the other side of the wall. The sound of the cloth being tossed inside followed by the creak of an opening cabinet seeped through the drywall, followed by the pop of the detergent lid coming off.

He was intimately familiar with your tiny abode. You’d made sure things stayed in the same place so he'd know where everything was the next time he'd visit. You'd been especially anal about it since he'd often be gone for such long periods at a time. When he returned, you wanted your home to feel like it belonged to him, too.

A sensation overcame you as you laid alone in your bed. The sheets were warm from the love you’d just made. Despite his tongue cleaning you off, you could still feel the faint warmth of him inside of you. His contented sigh found you through the wall and your heart burst.

To the rest of the world, he was a hero, but he was so much more to you. You'd give anything to have him completely. For his voice to echo, groggy and sheepish, against your walls every morning. To get to kiss him goodbye before the sun rose, and to welcome him home every afternoon with a warm embrace. For a ring on your finger; a crib in the bedroom. That wasn’t the kind of life that was meant for him, though. As long as he was afraid of you being hurt, those secret nights were all you’d ever have. It made sense. He had enemies, and you could only imagine how your quiet life would turn upside down if you ended up in the pages of a tabloid.

You only spent time together in the privacy of your apartment. Even after two years of being close to him, there was so little you knew about his life separate from you. What little you did know only made you frustrated on his behalf. You held out hope that it could eventually change, for your sake and his.

Preening Hawks was your favorite thing to do with him. There was something special about being across from one another in the shower, naked, warm water rushing over your bodies as your fingers smoothed and placed his dampened feathers. It took the first year of your friendship for him to allow you to touch them at all, so it was an obvious display of his trust in you. Which was understandable. His wings were an integral part of his identity. You watched as he ran his hands over his face and into his hair. His expression was in a relaxed state of bliss as your fingers picked through his plumage.

With his massive wings on either side of you like plush, padded walls, it felt like nothing in the world could get you. His laughter echoed around the small room as he told jokes and stories. It was okay if you didn't have anything to say, or if you just wanted to listen. He would talk for you when you fell short, and that's usually what got you laughing. 

Through the gentle moment, though, you couldn't help but let your emotions get the better of you. During times like those, when his visits were few and far between, your mind danced around the question of why. The possibilities bounced between him either being in danger or losing interest in you. Both were scary thoughts since he had become such an integral part of your life.

"Would you mind if I ask something?" you pondered, which accidentally interrupted a story he'd been telling about an intern of his.

"Depends what it is.”

"Well… there are a million girls out there who'd gladly do this with you," you mused, and it was true, even if it stung a little to remember. "Did you decide to do this with me because it was convenient?" 

That had been your reason, initially. Hawks spent a lot of time hanging around your apartment and he just happened to be wildly attractive. There were no feelings when he’d first asked if he could fuck you. That didn't come until later.

He laughed, and you glared at him.

“Self-doubt, huh? That isn’t like you. Me being away a lot’s really shaken you up, huh?” 

"It's not self-doubt, I'm just genuinely curious," you quipped as you pulled a feather from his wing. They'd moult if they hung around too long, so pulling out the loose ones was a help to him.

"Well… what we have going on is far from convenient," he said. "If that's what I was going for, I'd go after a pro that could keep a secret. It ain't easy to sneak away like this, you know."

So even a pro hero would have to be a secret for him? Did Hawks have any chance at all for a normal life?

“I wanted you, and if I want something, I go for it.”

You swallowed down a breath you’d been holding, but you didn’t say anything else as you watched his eyes dance around the bathroom in thought. 

"And I wanted you because… well, there were a lot of reasons. The night we met was a big one, I guess.”

You looked away. That night felt taboo to mention, considering all the guilt you knew he harbored. Your scars weren’t his fault. Several villains were on a rampage, and your hospital was in the destructive path. You were just another civilian, caught in the crossfire. His feathers tried, but they couldn’t get you out of the building. You’d been partially crushed beneath the rubble. 

“I was sure it was the end of the road for me. It would have been if you and your quirk hadn’t been trapped inside with me. You have a forcefield. You could have used it to protect yourself, but you bubbled me instead. You were gonna die. I was so sure you were gonna die and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.”

Still, your lips wouldn’t move. You’d spent ten months in an ICU after you were crushed beneath the weight of two stories of concrete. If not for the healing quirks of EMTs, you wouldn’t have survived at all. If not for your sacrifice, Hawks wouldn’t have, either. Still, it wasn’t his fault.

 “Still hurts to know I couldn’t help you when you needed me most, but when I looked in your eyes, there wasn't a hint of fear. All I saw was determination. I never met someone who was so sure of their choices, even in the face of death," he recalled. Your emotions skirted between sadness and flattery as you heard his thoughts. If only you could live up to that selfless picture of you, now. “I know a lot of pros who could only hope to have that kind of resolve.”

“Damn, when you tell it you make me sound like a badass,” you quipped, and your laughter bounced around the shower stall.

“I mean, what are the requirements to be donned with the title of badass? I’m sure you’re overqualified. Either that or you’re fucking crazy, which is also a possibility.”

You snorted.

“I'm not crazy. My job is to help people after they've been hurt. If I bubbled you instead, I’d be saving every person you’d live to protect. Before they would need a nurse like me. It’s just what made sense.”

He was silent for a moment as he absorbed your reasoning. You tended to be rational, even in the most emotional of situations. But that borderline-robotic way of thinking was a by-product of your own miseries.

You were a nurse in a world overcome by demigods and treachery. Some of the things you'd seen in the OR would haunt you for the rest of your life. And, sometimes, those ghosts came to torment you in your dreams. That made it hard the first time Hawks slept in your bed. You would sometimes wake with tears in your eyes as your voice quivered out sobs. Your past lovers didn't understand that part of you. The broken part. The part that had been poisoned by the darker side of this superpowered world. 

That's what fostered your love for Hawks. When he had awoken early that morning to you crying beside him, he’d only reacted with a patient embrace. He adored the bright parts of you, but he also had a solemn understanding and respect for your darkness. Having that connection through your mutual suffering was a kind of bond you’d never had before him. And now that you had it, you couldn't imagine life without. 

You went back to preening. You pressed up on your knees to reach a bit higher on his wing, and he watched intently. His voice died into silence as his gaze swept over your naked form, which dripped from the steam of the shower. It wasn't a surprise. Often, he would get lost in himself as he observed you, like a curious bird. It felt like a wordless compliment, so you silently allowed his eyes to explore you. Not that his hands and mouth and cock hadn't already drawn a map of you in his mind.

"Whatcha thinking about?" you teased playfully, and he hummed in response.

"How you look at my wings… I like it."

"Everybody looks at your wings," you said dismissively. A half-smile graced your face.

"You’re right. They do. People admire me because of what they’re capable of. It's what people think of first when they think of me, and rightfully so. They're hard to ignore. But when you look at me, you look at my face first, my wings second. It's like you admire them because they're a part of me, not because of what they can do. I appreciate that." 

Your fingers in said feathers slowed to a stop as he spoke. You smiled a little to yourself as you brushed them against a feather. He shivered. "Your quirk is a part of who you are. That's why I like cleaning them for you. It feels like I get to give you something special, but wings or not, I'd still want you."

Falling in love with Hawks was the best and worst thing you’d ever experienced. The pleasure of those beautiful moments seeped into your soul like a warm cup of tea. But the anguish that followed after he flew out your window… there wasn't a simile that could correctly describe the immeasurable pain. 

Your response must have triggered a long series of difficult thoughts for the bird. His head tilted slightly, his eyes hardened in expression and his brows furrowed as he soaked in your confession.

"In the year we've been doing this… has there ever been another man?" he pondered. The question jarred you. Occasionally, he'd get a touch possessive of his time with you. He’d asked a time or two who you were texting. You knew him well enough to pick up the hint of jealousy despite his light tone, but he never asked anything so outright.

“Well, look who's got self-doubt now. You sure are eager for a lot of questions and confessions tonight. What’s gotten into you?” you asked.

He shrugged. “You asked a question, so it's my turn now. Besides, we’ve been close for a couple of years. We've been intimate for half of that. just seems a little silly to keep up the fuck buddies act. Or is it just me?”

Fuck buddies act? You bit your lip. Hard. When he was with you he was so relaxed. This seriousness was unusual, and it made your wet skin rough with goosebumps.

"It's not just you," you confessed. 

For a short while, the bathroom was filled with only the sound of the running shower as you collected your confession. 

"There hasn't been another man since you. I mean… I've gone on dates a few times, but it never got that far," you replied. The moment another man kissed you… Well, kisses felt dirty if they were with anyone other than Hawks. "I know this thing you and I have going on was meant to be a no strings attached kind of affair, but… Well, if I’m being honest with you, it feels wrong trying to sleep with anyone but you. I like what we have, and I've always got the impression that you really do, too."

He didn't say anything. You weren't sure whether or not that was what he wanted to hear.

"Have you?" you asked. "Been with anyone else?"

You’d never asked before. At first, it was because it didn't feel like your business. Then, when the thought eventually made your heart ache, you didn't ask because you didn't want to know. But now that you had come clean, it only felt fair that he did, too.

Air left his nose and his head bobbed back until his wet hair pressed against the shower stall.

"Once,” he confessed, and he sounded ashamed now that he knew you never did. “I used to have this on again, off again thing, before I knew you. I messed with her a few weeks after you and I first… well, you know. But only once, then never again.”

You’d thought it would crush you to learn he’d been with someone else, but it didn’t sting like you thought it would. Probably because you didn't know specifics. If you knew what woman had her hands on him, if you could see it, it probably would destroy you. But the apologetic way he said it put your heart at ease. He mumbled like he knew it would hurt you, and he didn’t want it to. But you weren’t wounded, and your feelings weren’t perturbed. He never promised you anything, just as you’d never made promises to him.

“Why’d you stop seeing her?” you asked as you scooted closer to smooth shampoo suds down in his hair. He only shrugged at first, then sighed in contemplation when your fingers combed along his scalp.

“I’ve never had a place I could go to, you know?” he said. “I’ve never had somewhere like this, where I can lay my head for a little while and just be…”

“Pampered?” you suggested as your hands moved to massage his shoulder blades between his wings.

He breathed out a little laugh, but shook his head. “Yeah, but that’s not what I was thinkin’.”

“Out with it then,” you teased.

“Well… I’ve never had somewhere I’ve felt safe and... cared about?” he said, though his eyes were distant and lost when he said it, as if he wasn’t sure he should have.

“I gotta always be looking over my shoulder. Gotta always have a mask on and hope no one ever sees through it. But here, everything’s relaxed. You couldn’t care less what my ranking on some chart is or how much money is in my pocket. You don't give a shit about heroing or the tabloids. You’re the only person in my life who asks for nothing other than my company. I feel human here. I didn’t want to jeopardize that, or what I had with you. That’s why I stopped seeing her.”

Your mouth went dry. While your nights were long and passionate, you’d never whispered sweet nothings. You’d never told him how much he and his company meant to you because you felt he wouldn’t want to hear it, but he kept coming back. For a year he had clung wordlessly to what little affection you gave him. If he’d told you this a year prior, you would have given him so much more love.

“So you do have deeper feelings for me. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

He was silent, as you’d expected him to be. He both craved and feared the closeness he’d formed with you. At times he’d drown you in sweet little bits of affection, but, when things got too deep, he would shut down. Through the last couple of years, you’d broken through a lot of his walls, but the cold influence of the commission would always be with him. Even if he was in love with you, he’d never understand how to tell you.

"Because of who I am when I fly out your window,” he began. The reverb of his voice against the shower stall took you off guard. You didn’t expect him to answer. "There are things I know you want from me… things that I can’t give you right now, and you deserve more than that. That’s why I never planned on telling you… Fuck. It was never supposed to be like this…”

He spoke more to himself than he did to you at that moment. There was an internal battle going on in his mind; one you'd never really be able to understand, but you wanted to try. 

"You mean you never meant to get attached?"

His silence was telling.

"It's okay," you said. "We don't have to talk about anything you don't want to." You took a hold of his hand, but he flinched away from you. He was regressing back into old habits. It had been months since he’d last recoiled to your affection. Something was terribly wrong. The recoil was fine. It was okay. Whatever he needed to feel comfortable. "I'm sorry-" 

"No, I'm sorry," he interrupted. He rubbed the wrist you had touched as if you'd burned him. His brow was knit and his mouth became a harsh line. "Sometimes it feels easy and other times it doesn't, but I'm trying."

"I know you are. Like I said, we don't have to talk about feelings." 

He stared at you, and the longer his gaze rested on your face, the softer it became, "I want to try." 

You nodded and wrapped your arms around your naked knees. The shower had been turned off long ago by a cluster of his feathers, but the soothing steam still lingered around you. 

“It's just… this is difficult. One day someone may shoot me out of the sky. The thought of you still being right here, waiting for me, when I can never come back… It... kills me." He paused, his eyes hazed over as he swallowed his emotion down. The rawness in his voice struck such an unpleasant chord that your own eyes pricked with bitter water. "That's why I didn’t want attachments like this. But I didn't mean for all this between you and me. You snuck into me slowly, I didn't even notice until it was too late."

"Is this supposed to be flattering? It sounds like you're likening me to a parasite or something- heartworm," you quipped in an effort to dispel the heavy tension. He smiled, but only for a moment before he rolled his eyes at you. 

"Just… listen to me," he said, and your eyes trained on his as your mouth closed. "If that ever happens… If there comes a day you've been waiting for me, only to find out I'm never coming back, please know that I cared for you."

He didn't use the word love, but that's very much what he was trying to convey. In a way, you’d kind of always knew. It was why he’d said it, how he’d said it, that made your eyes prick with tears at their corners. The thought of what he was implying petrified you. Hawks was so skilled, so powerful, so almighty. Despite all his power, though, he was human, just like you. The night you’d met proved how possible death was for him. Nothing could keep him safe forever, not even your forcefields.

But he’d never talked like this before. He was always so light-hearted and relaxed. His work and the dangers associated with it was off the menu of conversion topics. What had happened to bring all this darkness up now?

"You talk like you’re preparing for death." 

Again, he didn’t reply. His silence was more terrifying than anything he could have said, but trying to pry him open would only break him, it seemed. So you didn’t.

“May I kiss you?” you asked instead. 

He nodded.

You leaned forward and breathed into his ear. He shivered when you placed a gentle kiss on the shell of it. His earring pressed against your lip was a gentle and familiar feeling, but after you heard all he had to say it also felt fleeting. He always had some ulterior motive or hidden reason for every little thing he did. It's as if he said all this because tomorrow would be the day he was gone.

“I’m not preparing to die.” Your kiss gave him the courage to speak. "I have too much to live for. It’s just always a possibility- for anybody, really. But heroes especially. I just wanted it off my chest is all."

He smiled at you, but you’d seen every smile in his repertoire, and this one was faker than your stick-on-backsplash. The air never felt so tense between you. Not even the night you met, dying feet away from each other. It all felt so… heavy. The weight of it pressed hard into your chest.

“Er, this reminds me, while we're on topic, I got some things going on at the agency. I hate to say it, but you won't see me again for a little while. I don’t know how long. It could be a couple of months.” His disposition remained fake casual. His shoulders and face were relaxed as he enjoyed the steam of the shower, but his wings tensed. You felt it in your palms as you preened him.

"You're in trouble," you said. Your mouth went dry as the realization drained the color from your face. 

"Trouble? Me? Nah. Just work stuff."

He spoke with a relaxed air about him, but he couldn’t lie to you. 

"No. You've been acting off all night. You’ve been making all these confessions. Talking about death, telling me you're going away for a while. I know you better than you think I do; something big happened and you're trying to tie up loose ends in case you don't get out of it okay," you rambled, and the more you talked the higher your voice became. It trembled and wavered with building fear. 

He stared at you. That silly face of his melted into a thin line and sharp, angular eyes. Those tricks worked when no one was close enough to see through them, but you knew his genuine smile like the back of your hand. You saw right through his facade, and he was annoyed by the very determination he just prided you for. 

"Can't get anything past you, can I?" 

You didn't whimper, but your eyes became glossy with emotion. It was a strange mixture of panic, sorrow, and rage. You had no idea what he'd gotten into, but you also knew he would never tell. He placed preserving missions above all else, which made sense but was frustrating.

"I don't know what's going on, but you need to get out of it if you're thinking it's something you may not come back from." 

"Things aren't that simple. I chose this life, I gotta follow through."

"No, I chose to be a nurse when I was sixteen and understood the implications of what I'd have to go through. You were fucking six when the commission took you, and they spent all that time gaslighting and taking advantage of you-"

"We aren’t talking about that right now, don't use it against me.” 

"Use it- what? I'm not using anything against you! You’re the one alluding to death! There’s nothing wrong at the agency, there’s something else- something terrible-" 

"Drop it.”

“How can I?!”

"Because I said so." His eyes were narrow and mouth a tight, thin line. You could read him so well. He was regretting this. All of this, because now you were onto whatever suicide mission he was embarking on. But, as his lover, how could you just sit back and silently watch him throw himself into a danger that had even him shaken?

You got louder, and he got louder. You tossed bitter, confused words back and forth until he was screaming. Until you were screaming back at him. Your calm, laid back demeanor slipped through your fingers the moment you realized he could be in over his head. That, if you let him leave, this could be the last night you’d ever spend with him. Your anger was driven by your fear for his life, and his was driven by your inability to let it go. 

He was still screaming. You were still screaming. You were fighting him. He just told you you were the most important person in his life, and you were spitting venom. 

You stopped.

He stopped.

Your hand came to your bare chest as it heaved in an attempt to steady your breath. The other came up to wipe the tears budding in your eyes. He looked away from you, his brow tugged heavily downward, his jaw clenched together in shame.

"Let’s just breathe, okay?" you pleaded.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," you whimpered into your hand. "Out of everyone in the world, you're the last who needs to say sorry, so don't. It's just- it's not right, okay? You're too… I don't know, selfless? I watch all the time as that gets taken advantage of. Doesn’t it get tiring? Even your name is some dirty secret. I've been sleeping with you for a year and I don't even know what it is-"

"Yes, you do," he argued, his lip wavered with weakness for one vulnerable moment. "You know me- you know my name."

Desperation laced between his words and strung the sentence together. It wasn't easy to see your lover look at you that way, just begging for you to let pieces of him go. It was hard to accept it, but whatever name he went by prior to heroism didn't exist anymore. Neither did the once innocent child it belonged to. You tried to respect that, but it was unfair he was denied a basic human right: to have a name. 

"You're Hawks, I know, I'm sorry… it's just… how much is left of yourself that actually belongs to you? How long until there’s nothing left to give? People have taken so much from you that you’ve become numb to it; do you even know what you're missing out on? Do you even know how lonely you are? When’s the last time anybody even asked if you were okay?"

He realized, then, that you weren't angry at him.

You were angry for him.

His eyes shifted to yours, and he nibbled at his bottom lip before he muttered with the quirk of his mouth: “Well, you ask me that pretty much every time you see me.”

There it was. The crack in your voice. The crinkle of your nose and the tremble of your lip. You cried, and he sat there across from you, still bare as his wings lowered to either side of you. His expression didn't change, and, for once, you couldn't read it. You didn't want to be so upset, but knowing he was in some kind of dangerous trouble that shook even him was too much for you to bear.

"I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. It’s just… Do you have any idea how many heroes I've wheeled into the morgue? People die on my table all of the time. Every time is just as hard as the last, but the heroes- those are the ones that destroy me. Because every time someone in a cape lands on the table I know their families are waiting for them at home, just like I wait here for you.

"I saved you once, but you're so far away from me, too far for my forcefields to reach you. Hearing you say you’re going away- all I can think of is coming into work one day and finding you c-... covered in a sheet."

His wings moved up from the shower floor. The feathers were dark with dampness as their joints pressed into your back. You sat there like that as he let you cry. Really, what else could he have done? What else could you have done? Of course you were angry. You would be for the rest of your life over how his panned out. His childhood was taken from him, his understanding of human affection was still stunted, even after all the time you spent gently undoing what damage had been done. Now he talked like one wrong move would end it all.

"It's… difficult," he began, though he couldn't make eye contact with you. He usually couldn't when you had discussions like this. "Being a hero isn’t what I imagined I would be when I was a kid. And sometimes I do ask myself: 'what is this all for? There's always going to be a new bad guy. Why does it matter?' And then I think about you…" 

He went silent for a moment; you could see the little battle behind his eyes. The battle between his affection deprived confusion and his need to be closer to you. To explain himself. 

"I think about you and it reminds me there are good people who are worth fighting for. As long as you are here and there are bad people out there that could hurt you, I have to be out there, too. And, yeah, sometimes I get afraid. But as long as I have these wings, I'm going to use them to keep this world safe for you."

He’d never felt so close to you, and yet so far away. He thought even more of you than you anticipated. A part of you felt touched you'd become a cornerstone for his sanity in such a hostile world, but the other part felt sick. If he wanted to fight for you, that was fine.

But to die for you; that would be unforgivable.

The urge to argue the worth of his life weighed heavy on your heart. If you did, he would call you hypocritical, considering your own history of self-sacrifice. It wasn’t the same, though. His self-worth depended on his usefulness to others and little else, and you feared the day that usefulness ran out. What would Hawks be, if not a hero? It should have such a simple answer, like what you would be if not a nurse. But it didn't. It never would.

You leaned forward to pull him into a tight hug. Perhaps when he was anywhere else you were unable to protect him, but right there, in your arms, you'd use whatever you could to keep him safe. Your bubbles, your kind words, anything. 

"I understand," you said, because you knew there were no words that could keep him away from the hero path. It wasn't just a part of his identity; it was all he'd ever known. "Just… don't forget when the heroing is said and done, you'll always have a place here if you need it."

He hummed a small, contented coo at your kindness. Of course, you didn't have to tell him that. He already knew. Why else would he spend so much of his precious little free time cuddled up to you? 

"I'll remember," he promised as his arms and damp wings curled in to squeeze you against him. 

You and Hawks bathed in the comforting darkness of your bedroom. Your window was frosted from the bitter cold outside, but his body heat kept you warm in the safety of your bed. Or nest, rather, as Hawks tended to construct mounds of tangled comforters and wadded up bedsheets to hide in as he got comfortable. You were buried beneath the mass of cloth and the cocoon of his wings as you tried to fall asleep. It was a difficult undertaking since you didn’t know when you’d see him again. You were so tired, but you wanted to be awake to hold him for what little time you had left. 

You wouldn’t have gotten any sleep, anyway.

Often when Hawks slept in your bed you'd awaken at strange hours. Sometimes this was due to your own nightmares. The subject bounced between the traumatic things you’d seen at the hospital and the night you’d met. You'd wake to find that you’d encased your bed in your protective bubble during your sleep, and Hawks' wings squeezed you gently against his chest. Other nights, it was Hawks' anxiety that would keep you awake.

During the day, his guard was discreetly up. He carried carefree conversations as if unbothered, but those well-trained feathers of his were on constant guard. Really, he never had a moment to breathe. This was something you never would have understood the depths of if you weren't woken by his anxiety in the midst of the night. The anxiety he kept bottled during the day often let itself out in the form of night terrors. He'd mumble. Roll. His wings would twitch over you. His face would morph into an agonized expression, and he chirped in distress. A good, gentle shake was usually all it took to pull him out of the bad dream. 

That night his nerves reared their head, though in an unorthodox way. Apparently, you did fall asleep, because you awoke with a small grumble when you felt the mattress groan, followed by a heavy weight draping over your body. You let out a long whine of displeasure, but the weight just got heavier. You turned your head and opened your eyes to find Hawks, but he wasn't gasping in his sleep. He laid over you, wings puffed but flat on either side of your bed as he stared at the bedroom door.

"Hawks? You're squishing me." 

He didn't answer or turn to look at you. Those sharp eyes of his danced around in panic, his feathers raised as they sensed every small movement in your apartment. You dropped your head back onto your pillow with a sigh. 

"What's the matter?" you pondered.

"Shh," he hummed. "I felt something…"

You laid and listened for a short while, but all you could hear was the lady in the apartment above you walking across her floor.

"It's my neighbor."

"What if it's not?" 

Whether the display was the primal instruction from the bird in him to protect his mate or if it was a by-product of the harsh reality of the life he lived, you weren't sure. Either way, his calm and almost lazy facade cracked. When the world was quiet and his feathers could sense every mundane movement in your apartment, his anxiety that those small bumps in the night might be something that could hurt you overwhelmed him.

The little display was an annoyance to your sleep-deprived brain, but his first thought in the midst of his worry was to protect you. That spared him from your groggy wrath. 

"Lay down, McNugget. There's no one there," you grumbled, but he didn't turn his head away from the door. 

Feeling your hand on his face seemed to snap him back into the moment, even if just a little. He leaned into you and encased you in his wings. It felt like a protective gesture, but the warmth you found beneath them made you hum pleasantly. The fluffy white cloth of his hoodie rubbed your cheeks as he cuddled into you. Well, actually, it was your hoodie. 

At one time it was just some old thing you'd snagged from a thrift store on a chilly day. It was much too large for you, though. When Hawks came into your life later on, you'd cut holes out of the back and hemmed it up. That way he'd have a little something to throw on when it got chilly at your place. He never said it out loud, but he loved the thing. He'd go looking for it if you didn't leave it laying out in the living room. 

"I know you usually have a lot to be afraid of, but you don't have to worry about protecting me. I'm a badass, remember?" you whispered into the shell of his ear. His shoulders relaxed just a bit, and he puffed out a little chuckle. 

"Yeah, I know. I just… I want you to be safe. That's all." 

Your gaze softened, though he couldn't see it in the darkness. You didn't need Hawks to protect you. You didn't need a hero. You needed a best friend; a lover. Between the both of you, he was the one in most need of saving.

"Shh," you hummed gently. Your hair lifted from your pillow and danced slowly around your face as if gravity was lost to you. He scrunched his nose as your locks brushed his cheeks, and his wings settled flat as a ring rose from the floor around your bed. The translucent wall came together above your bodies to form a hard, bubble shell.

"You've been the hero long enough. Let me be the protector tonight,” you said. His throat bobbed against your shoulder as his arms wound around you. He settled, but you still felt his unease.

“What’s got your feathers ruffled?”

“You shouldn’t have to protect me,” he said. His voice was muffled since his mouth was pressed into your skin, but you still heard the sadness in it. “I should be taking care of you.”

You blinked as you soaked in his words. For a year you pined for such romantic things to come out of his mouth. Of course he’d wait for a night like that night to say such sickeningly sweet things. The future that used to feel so full of mystery and excitement had become dangerous, uncertain, and disappointing.

“You don’t have to be the hero every time,” you replied.

“But if I’m not a hero, what am I?”

His question was an echo of your fears. The ambient light from your window filtered dimly into your forcefield, but your eyes couldn’t adjust with tears in them.

“I don't know if I have the answer you're looking for, but... Do you remember when I was in the hospital?" you asked. "When you first came to see me you brought a twenty-piece box of chicken nuggets, and while I was trying to eat one you laughed until you were crying because it looked vaguely like a penis.”

“Vaguely? It had balls and everything,” he recalled, and you rolled your watering eyes.

“Whatever. It was stupid, but it was the first time I laughed since I was trapped in that hospital. And, well… when they said I’d never walk again you helped me out of bed. I cried myself to sleep some nights, but you were there, still trying to save me. You were trying to be a hero then, too, but you became my best friend. If nothing else, that's what you’ll always be to me.”

A sound came out of him akin to laughter. You shot him a look, then hooked your finger under his chin. You wanted to see his dumb grin when you berated him for poking fun at you. When his eyes met yours, though, they weren’t crinkled with laughter. They were red and watering.

“Oh, Hawks,” you breathed, and he tucked his face back into your arm to hide his vulnerability. He never cried before. At least not in front of you. He was always the immovable one, virtuous and strong. Moments like this reminded you just how human he was beneath it all.

“I’m right here. I’ve got you,” you assured him in a whisper. Gentle promises spilled from your lips like lullabies, and he clung to every word with heart-breaking desperation. You whispered every sweet nothing you could think of to ease his pain, but you didn’t have that kind of power. 

You had no power at all.

His world always seemed scary to you. You feared for his life every day, but the thought of him being ripped from your arms overwhelmed you that night more than it ever had before. The protective bubble that encased your bed would keep him safe for as long as you could fight sleep, but what of the morning? You’d be safe at home, and he’d be lost somewhere in the dangerous fray of his duties. Far away from your warmth and the apartment he found so much comfort in. 

This would not be the last time you held him. You had to believe that, but what if it was? What if this sleepless night was your last together? 

Tell him you love him, you thought to yourself. Tell him before you never get the chance again. 

You bit your lip as you felt his trembling breaths on your collar. You prepared your lips for the taste of the confession, but he was so vulnerable, more so than he may have ever been before. He didn’t need you to tell him about your affections, he needed you to use them.

You placed a reassuring crown of kisses along his forehead, and he gripped you so hard his knuckles were surely white. 

When you’d cried as a child, your mother would lay in your bed and sing lullabies until you fell asleep. Your voice was untrained and awkward compared to hers, but you tried your best to use it. Your off-key tune echoed back to you in the dome of your forcefield, and your cheeks pinkened with how childlike it sounded. Your embarrassment interrupted your lullaby. He stirred against your chest.

“Don’t stop,” he said. “Please, sing to me.”

You cleared your throat as you gathered the courage to start again. His eyes fell closed as your song settled into the safety of your shield. His feathers relaxed, and his face went slack as sleep slowly overtook him. You sang until his tears stopped flowing. You sang until he was asleep in your arms. For as long as you could, you laid awake. If you succumbed to sleep, so would your forcefield. So would your promise to keep him protected through the night. As time moved slowly forward, sleep inevitably began to settle into you, too. It was as terrifying and as peaceful as death.

“I love you,” you whimpered as you felt your eyes grow too heavy to fight back open. “Please… stay safe.”

Credits: 

A massive thank you to my wonderful friend and editor, @fuwafuwagem​! If you thought the fic looked especially polished, it’s thanks to her efforts!

Also a big thank you to my buddies and beta readers: @dendriticheep​ and @narcolepticroses​! Thanks you guys for being such sweet friends to me ;u;

And a huge thanks to YOU, for reading !

Authors Note:

I’d love to do a lot more fanfictions like these! If you have any suggestions or requests for animations or animated stories like this one feel free to submit it to me!

[moonlightwritesdisney]

YOU. — Wyatt Lykensen

Pairing: Wyatt Lykensen X FEMALE! READER

Requested: Yes / No

Warnings: vulgar swearing. descriptions of blood. unhealthy behavior. mentions of rape.

Author’s Note: please note that you (the reader) and wyatt are both adults in this image. Just to clear up any confusion!

Summary: The first time he saw you he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. He follows you everywhere. He gets jealous when he sees you invite a friend over for old times sake. Things go way to far. You will be his.

HE ALLOWED THE LOUD CHATTER and birds song in the bright summer square of ZombieTown to be slowly drowned out by all his pulsing thoughts. He stood in the distance observing you. Out of all the people that passed by blocking his view, he kept his hard eye on you.

 The way your soft brunette curls laid untouched just inches away from your descending chest. Echoes of your honey dripping laugh rang through his twitching ears. The jealously and anger only grew worse.

Unbeknownst to you, not aware of the wolf watching you had just finished a few hours of shopping, you were making your way down towards the central parking just by ZombieTown’s large water fountain before you were stopped by an old school friend — who was male. 

He was so surprised to see, he complimented you and watched you laugh in sweetness. Both of you stood their for at least 20 minutes catching up on old burnt out memories he was trying to re-flame. He could read your mind. He felt the same as you. He knew you were uncomfortable and wanted to make a fast escape. You didn’t trust this guy but.

“Hey uhm- i was actually wondering if you’d like to have dinner and a movie tonight?” Was this guy serious? After a twenty minute conversation?! You weren’t one to be rude because of your passive personality. “Oh — uhm sure! I’d like that. I’ll be there at seven o’clock”.

 And with that you were off and on your way home. Wyatt watched as you retreated towards the silver Cadillac you owned in the parking lot. He watched all around him. He glared at the young man who was walking the opposite way. That dumb human. He couldn’t stand a chance against him.

Nonetheless, he knew you’d be his one day. He’d let you have the little amount of happiness this human could spare for a while. He’d imagine you helpless crying and running straight into his arms. The way your head laid on his shoulder while he rubbed your back in a calming manner.

 Leaving little kisses on our neck when he was in the mood, the warm feeling of both your sweaty bodies pressed together in pure erotic euphoria. Tingles ran down his spine as he imagines your soft smile in his mind. His heart raced at the thought of your body. Every curve and edge. All the imperfections you could name he’d find absolutely exhilarating.

“Hey man, curfew’s almost up you have to leave”. Another voice snapped him out of deep personal thoughts, he eyed a stern looking officer dressed in a blue SeaBrook uniform, who was very tired and just wanted to go home. He nodded his way respectfully and exited the shopping plaza. The walk to your house wasn’t long. 

The city had separate ZombieTown’s main housing and shopping lot so you had to drive at least a small distance to venture for a desired shopping day. He had taken the path towards your small apartment plenty of times, along with being a wolf came with advanced speed so he made due time. The sky swirled with light pinks and oranges making a beautiful sunset in the small town.

The crunching of grass under his feet made his anxious as he took a deep breathe, his footsteps became silent in worries of you discovering him. He stood calmly in your background his ears twitching hearing you humming to yourself softly — he figured you were in the shower getting ready for you date.

A scoff left his red lips in jealousy, he hated that it wasn’t him. ‘in due time’. He thought to himself confidently as he caught attention to light fogs of steam arising from the running shower. Now, Wyatt was no prude but he absolutely couldn’t resist. His curious brown eyes peered above the brick ledge.

A gasp hitched in his throat. His heart could explode at any moment. Their you stood, pampering yourself in the shower. Looking ever so beautiful. The water dripping down your pale dark skin. Your green textured hair soaking up the moisture from the water. 

He bit down on his lip as goosebumps shot up his back. You were marvelous. Your beautiful voice flowing through his ears as you sung. His eyes grew yellow, his animalistic nature taking full control. Fangs flashed from his mouth.

He tightened his fist in frustration. He wanted to take you right then and there. ‘All mine’. He thought as he found himself skewing up dirty — unholy images in his mind of him senselessly fucking you, clinging to him as you screamed his name. He knew it was wrong. The tightening he felt in his boxers was painful. Too painful to even bear. He wanted you, every inch. 

To him you were everything. All his. After having to agonize through his painful boner he regained composure after zipping up his pale brown pants and moved stalkingly towards the right his eyes casting view into your bedroom window, the soft white shades slightly parted allowing him to see through.

Different collages and pictures of close friends and things you adored plastered all over your walls. Small shelves that held small knickknacks and small plants lightly attracting ray of sunlight bent at the wall. Your bed, freshly made with the soft maroon red and pillows with the dark hues of blue designed with golden tassels laid neatly, untouched.

 You were somewhat messy, but very articulate and decorative. Which he adored. Small white bookshelves filled to the end with large literature of your liking. Pushed up against your light grey accent wall. Posters and cute pieces of art made by yourself were taped just above your bed post.

He adored your room. It was full of positivity, light, and all things that you adored. The sweet vanilla and shea scent from your body streamed into his nose like a running river. Licking his lips in anticipation he closed his eyes and exhaled your delectable scent. 

You walks into the small atmosphere the cold air hitting your bare legs, missing the warmth of the water and steam capture your body in a relaxing shower. It was a sewer green like color to which your full cheeks spread into a large smile ‘perfect’.

After reaching for a pair of distressed and ripped jeans that you had seen in the corner of your eye you pulled down the chain to your light which shut off you quickly threw your clothing on your bed and sat down on the edge freeing the sparkling red cap on your lotion squeezing the lotion onto your hand. 

It smelt amazing, ever since zombies had fought for more equality from the humans. Zombies from everywhere where now able to walk into any store much to the similar human version of their Victoria Secret and others. To which they could by all sorts of cute lipglosses, lotions, night wear, and clothing. The sweet deep smell of cinnamon and rose entered your nostrils as you rubbed the lotion into your calves working your way up to the top of your thighs.

The black pupils widened in arousel and wonder as he stared into the inside of your window without your knowledge — your hands slowly rubbing the white substance on the curve of your plush butt. He was awe stricken, so captivated by the goddess he had known as you. His heart thumped wildly in his chest he couldn’t get enough of you.

 Your finger pulled up the red belt loops of the maroon jeans your legs fitted around, securing the gold buttons of your jeans into the red holes in front. You sighed and fumbled with the thin green fabric you scrunched up the material and pushed your head through, then your arms.

You stood in front of the large white rimmed body mirror that leaned against the back wall with a cute colorful tapestry laid over it with pictures of close friends and fun stickers plastered on the corners of the glass. You loved the way your outfit looked. You felt very satisfied. A huge smile spread across your cheeks. The left of your head swung towards the opening crack of your door — the ring of your front doorbell. 

You drowned in confusion, your eyes reached over to read the square alarm clock on your night side table. ‘6:24’. ‘He is only twenty minutes early’. Which you thought was very weird. You had just met back with your old elementary friend hours ago , and only after having a seemingly awkward conversation for twenty minutes you agree to go on a date but he’s twenty minutes early?!

You pondered at the all the possibilities as to why he suggested this. But nonetheless you shook the feeling away and picking up your towel placing it in your pale green clothing hamper. Stepping out of your room and down into the wide hallway your fingers wrapped around the chilling gold door handle and yanked it open.

 There he stood, bouncing eagerly on his toes. His hair slicked back with hair spray, the clothing he wore was doused with heavy calogne — the foul heavy smell of the body spray stung at your nose the second you opened your front door. Which was something you didn’t find attractive at all. The wide smile he wore seemed like it was too toiled. Like he was trying to hard. His clothes. Ew.

He wore a bright blue and white plaid buttoned, with a black lambskin jacket over it unbuttoned, dark blue low waisted jeans and light brown flats. Yikes. How human of him. You absolutely hated what he was wearing. You knew he was being desperate. You could see it in his body language and his expression. You spotted bright red roses — in front of him you would have scoffed and sent him away.

 If he truly remembered you he would have remembered you like sunflowers instead of basic red roses. How bland. But instead, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. You knew the crippling and heart breaking sorrow of rejection, you were a zombie of course so being cast out was something you knew all to well. Instead you tilted your head to the side and forced your cheeks into a great smile.

“Are these flowers for me?” You asked clasping your hands together. He looked down then up at your a small smirk plastering on his thin lips — ‘ABSOLUTELY NOT SIR PLEASE GOD SO DISGUSTING’. These thoughts screamed in your mind as you watched him with pure unattractive as his licked his lips “yes they are actually”.

 He said with a very man-ly chuckle “they reminded me of you so I picked them up at the zombie market in town on my way here”. As if this dude wasn’t trying hard enough. He truly had to glamorize the fact that he picked the flowers up at a zombie store instead of the regular human one. So he was racist and trying to hard. Great. You let out an awkward laugh and stepped aside allowing him in before the air became filled with his disgusting aroma.

You had retrieved the flowers from his hand and immediately threw them carelessly on the counter. He didn’t question it but instead following closely behind you. ‘I’ll burn them later’. You thought with a pleasing smirk that played on your face. He had already sat down in your living space his flats sprawled on the floor and his feet kicked up on your glass coffee table. Dog behavior. You rolled your eyes he was stupid and too dumb to even understand basic manners.

 Football was playing on your small flat screen, you had taken a seat next to him your feet flat on the floor, your toes curling in the soft plush carpet. “Would you like something to drink?” you asked politely, the man turned his attention towards you, a curl in his lip “hm sure, the finest wine you’ve got?” He requested you stood up and went into the small kitchen opening the oak cabinet next to the sink you had set both wine glasses down on the marble countertop. 

The dark brown hues in your eyes scanned out the closed window above your sink watching the bright pink sky combine with beautiful colors of orange and red cascading over the oval clouds. You twisted the cork out of the bottle of white wine you had just bought from ‘Z’s Gruesome Groceriez” in ZombieTown. 

You wondered if this human had tasted zombie issued wine before, since well zombie wine was a lot more bitter than regular human liquor / wine. It had a hint of brains. You shrugged with a ‘hmp’. ‘He’s too dumb to even notice anyway’.

After filling both glasses to the half point you held both of them in your hands and carefully walked back into the living room where the human sat on your white leather couch his eyes and full attention soaking into the fourth quarter and a fumbling ball. 

You cleared your throat to catch his attention, he smiled towards you and took the wine glass from your right hand and thanked you focusing his content back on the television. “So .. what are you doing for work now?” you asked trying to break the awkward tension to which he perked up after taking a small sip and setting it down.

 “Oh well I’d never thought you’d ask, I work as SeaBrook patrolman, you?” You ignored the sting in your gut “I work as a journalist and a proud activist for the Zombie’s and Werewolves’ against discrimination movement, or ZAWAD, it supports the bright culture of both werewolves and zombies and brings everyone together. 

We try to unite the communities in SeaBrook instead of pushing away and we absolutely do try our best too peacefully speak our thoughts and have mindful conversations without violence.” 

You spoke proudly watching his intense expression burn into your eyes. He nodded slowly and pursed his lips which confused you nonetheless you still tried to ignore the screaming inside your head and gut ‘make him leave’. ‘this is going to end badly’. Chills scattered down your back in anxiousness.

 “That’s interesting and ... very sexy actually, your very passionate about it i can tell”. You internally cringed at that word coming out of his mouth. ‘Sexy’. He definitely wanted something, and it wasn’t a genuine conversation. You froze with disgust his nimble tender cold fingers resting on your knee. “oh uhm, thanks i guess”.

 You spoke trying to give him the hint, you weren’t interested even  if he was the last person on earth you wouldn’t. His hand inched closer towards your inner thigh a evil smirk plastered on his face. “god your so sexy”. He then leaned his lips towards yours capturing you in his grasp. You didn’t give an inch, you squealed in protest.

 You moved your arms to his biceps and tried to push him way from you , he refused now he was on top of you. His rough calloused hands slide up towards your collarbone, you groaned in anger “can you please just stop-- STOP!”  You shouted, his breathe was hot against your neck his left hand slide up towards your neck and pressed down onto your windpipe. 

You gasped gritting your teeth, you used your right hand to try and push him off but his strength held your arm down. You felt helpless, weak, worthless to know that you had somehow allowed this disgusting being to get ahold of you. That is, until you felt him grasping the metal of your Z-band. 

You knew that taking it off could potentially be a very dangerous action, which was only to be taken off in emergencies only. This was a very big problem and it needed to be stopped. His hand gripped the clasp of your band, you felt the dark veins pulsating throughout your body. 

Using the strength to lift your left hand which caused a small chime from your Z-band to sound, it unclasped from you wrist and fell somewhere on the floor. In just a few seconds the light around your eyes had turned a deep purple cracks plunging from under them. A low growl erupted from your stomach then submerged to your throat. 

The man felt you vibrate from below him, he had suddenly noticed you had changed. He gasped and stood up as you growled and snarled, you inched closer towards him as he took steps back defensively. “Stay the hell away from me you bitch!” He shouted sternly but the anger was hot and boiling inside of you. 

Turning into a zombie was something you couldn’t control. It was coded in your genes. Once your Z-band was ripped from you the monster took over inside you, just as it did for anyone. Your vision had turned completely red. The low grumbles and growling roared within you, this is what you were. A monster, and damn, were you proud of it. 

You stepped closer to the cowering man as he flared his arms towards you, which unfortunately, only agitated you more. In this moment you were gone, the zombie inside you was controlling you, and you smelt fear. Which was a bad thing. “Your a waste of human life”. Your normal quiet spoken speech had transformed into a lower deep growl. Using your zombie strength you grabbed the human by his leather collar and bite deeply into his neck, the loud scream leaving the dry of his throat. 

The blood seeped out of his neck like a river, you lifted him to meet eyes with a demon like growl “next time you better stop”. You seethed before letting him drop to the ground, the now scared human scrambled towards his feet holding the gushing wound his hand covered in red. He disappeared out of the living space and out of your life forever. Or at least you hoped he did. Grunting you walked over towards the crack between the couch and the pale wall, getting on your hands and knees you reach down for the metal bracelet. 

After securing it in your grasp you immediately push the clasps together around you wrist. ‘Online’. You let a content sigh slumping back beside the wall the dark veins in your arms slowly recoiled from your arms and legs. Your back ached and your head pounded. The sweet tasting blood of the humans still resting on your lips and along your cheeks. 

Finally, after about a few seconds you steadily returned to your feet. Ignoring the few blood spatters that were now fresh on the floor. ‘I’ll clean it up later”. You let a deep sigh release from your lips as you picked up the two wine glasses and brought them to the kitchen and discarded of the waste in the sink. 

You were fashioned in the bathroom taking a warm cloth and bringing it towards your face wiping off the dried blood. You sucked in a breathe the sound of your beating heart filling your ears. You didn’t feel at all ashamed for what you had done. That bastard human deserved it.

 The overbearing of your anxiety flared, you were worried you might get in huge trouble, since unfortunately, the human is never to blame. You had gone to bed that night in hopes for a better day the next morning -- the only problem was, he saw everything.   

[vecnawrites]

Jaune didn't know why Velvet and Coco had been so pushy to get him to meet them in downtown Vale, on a particulary Sunny day. Seeing both the hotties wearing flowy sundresses, he quickly saw the appeal and even more so, when Coco had lifted the back end of Velvet's dress. Seeing the cute and full rear was already hot, wearing no underwear was hotter and the Cottontail Butt Plug, was the cream on top.

Velvet whined as she looked at the different clothes that Coco had placed on their beds, more and more fabric spilling from their dressers and their closets like blood from a Grimm Attack. “Isn’t this enough, Coco?” she gestured to the ‘rejected’ pile, where most of their casual clothes lay. “I mean, we’re just going to Vale…” she began timidly, freezing in place, rabbit ears twitching as her friend stiffened, before slowly turning towards her, tilting her sunglasses down and staring at her with narrowed chocolate eyes.

“Oh, but Velvet, this isn’t just a visit to Vale!” Velvet felt heat creep up into cheeks at the sudden passion that her friend was showing, waving her arms as the Coco slowly advanced towards her. “This is a visit to Vale with. Your. Crush. You managed to get the courage to ask the brave knight who defended you out! To repay him for his kindness. To admit your feelings! To take him to a quiet place and ride his-”

“COCO!” Velvet nearly shrieked, cheeks burning and heart beating rapidly as the images formed and danced around in her mind, images of her hugging, kissing, making love to the attractive blonde that had been so kind to her. She bit her lower lip as she imagined riding him, him holding her hips and looking up at her, love in his eyes-

“Perfect! Found it!” Velvet was ripped from her daydream when Coco’s victorious cry reached her, and glanced over to see her holding a cream colored sundress high above her head like a battle trophy. Velvet felt her cheeks somehow darken even more as she realized what dress this was. She remembered Coco buying it for her because ‘it goes wonderful with your complexion, Bun-Bun!’, but she had never worn it out of the dorms.

Why? Well, it looked nice on her, that was for sure, but the length of the sundress left much to be desired! It just skirted legality, barely cresting her upper thighs! The slightest breeze would flip it up and expose what underwear she was wearing to whomever was in front of her or behind her! “Coco…!” she whined as her friend moved forwards, a smirk on her face.

“Re-lax, Bun-Bun...there’s no breeze at all today really. You’re in no danger of showing the goodies off to Jaune or anyone, until you want to!” Seeing the firm look in Coco’s eyes, Velvet’s shoulders slumped, knowing that there was no way she was getting out of wearing this. All she could do was submit, and hope that the embarrassment wouldn’t be too great in front of her crush.

She squeaked as Coco descended upon her, her top being pulled over her head and being tossed into the corner, her bra following, her orange sized breasts settling onto her breasts with a jiggle, before her pants and panties followed, leaving her naked before her teammate.

A quick moment later, she found the sundress pulled over her head and her arms put into the sleeves, leaving Velvet disoriented for a moment as Coco ran her fingers through her lightly tangled brown tresses, easing the small knots out. “Perfect! Now, time for me to get dressed!” she hummed, heading back to the closet and looking for something for herself, leaving the slightly dizzy bunny alone. As she cleared her head, Velvet took a step, then blushed brightly as she felt a healthy breeze over her bare pussy. “C-Coco...underwear, please!?” she squeaked out, making her friend laugh loudly. “Coco!?”

~x~x~x~x~

Velvet walked with burning cheeks next to Coco, making sure to keep her thighs pressed together as much as possible. Why, one may ask? The reason was simple: Coco had refused to let her wear underwear. Neither bra nor panties. Meaning she was completely bare underneath this woefully short sundress which just barely fell past her mound and upper thigh. Even now, she was afraid to raise her legs too high to walk so the people around them didn’t get a perfect view of her freshly waxed pussy!

But still, on some level...this was exciting. And Velvet hated that that was true. She didn’t want to find this exciting! She didn’t want to get turned on! And she certainly didn’t want to leak down her thighs! That would be so humiliating! All...all the people seeing her juices sliding down her thighs, a small breeze all it taking to just expose her to all their eyes, to Jaune’s eyes-!

She was pulled out of her frighteningly arousing thoughts by Coco tugging gently on her hand, making her nipples graze the inside of the dress, becoming dangerously close to getting hard and saying a loud and happy “HELLO” to everyone. “There’s Jaune! Come on, Bun-Bun!”

~x~x~x~x~

Jaune Arc was confused. He had never really understood girls, even with being raised in a family of seven sisters. If anything, that made it worse. He constantly mixed signals and such...but even he couldn’t mix this one up. At least, he thought he couldn’t mix this up.

When he had helped Velvet, the admittedly very cute rabbit faunus in the year above him, he hadn’t been expecting anything from it! He had just been doing what was right getting Cardin to leave her alone.

But later on he had pretty much hunted down by the bunny girl and her fashion plate of a partner (trust him, with seven sisters, he knew girl’s fashions, and she was wearing all the latest trends with the best fabrics and colors that accentuated her skin and eyes) and told him in no uncertain terms to meet them here today in Vale, on a bright and sunny Saturday.

It wasn’t a date, of that he was sure. After all, why would two beautiful girls want to be seen publicly with him at the same time? But still, he wore some clothes that he knew were acceptable for an outing with a lady, or ladies in this case.

He took a sip of his tea, savoring the cool sweetness and wondering where they were. He knew that he was early, a holdover from his childhood where his dad was of the belief that not only was it better to be early than late, but to never keep a lady waiting. They still had about ten minutes before he would begin getting worried, at any rate.

Hearing a familiar voice, he looked up to see Coco and Velvet making their way towards him, Coco surprisingly enough missing her beret and sunglasses, and Velvet with a deep blush on her face. He smiled a bit, finding her beautiful, adorable. He paused. Beautiful? Adorable?  That wasn’t something that was a common thought with every girl that he saw.

He swallowed as they made their way over. Both of them were wearing beautiful sundresses that accented their figures wonderfully, Velvet a cream colored one that seemed almost gauzy in its composition, and Coco was wearing one the color of her namesake, Cocoa, with accents of Burnt Sienna. He found himself holding back a wince. His sisters really had done a number on him if he knew the colors on sight.

Biting his lip and taking a deep breath to calm himself, he stood.

~x~x~x~x~

Velvet swallowed roughly, mouth watering upon seeing Jaune wearing clothes that she didn’t expect him to have, but Brothers, did he look delectable! A soft yellow dress shirt was pressed and buttoned up against his frame, tucked into his navy blue slacks and topped with black dress shoes. His hair was combed neatly, framing his face nicely. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest, so loud she worried that Coco could hear it.

Speaking of her partner...Coco whistled low. “Damn, Bun-Bun, he cleans up nice~!” she outright purred, licking her lips. “Hell, if you don’t want to take him for a ride, I think I will…” Velvet’s ears went stiff and she spared a glare at her partner, before putting her attention back to Jaune, giving him as good a smile as she could, despite the fact she felt a mixture of arousal, shame, and fear filling her as she felt herself moisten. This was...going to be difficult.

Especially when Coco practically dragged her along to go meet her crush, the breeze whipping along her damp lips as she was moved. Her cheeks darkened more and she shuddered as her arousal grew higher and stronger as they reached the table.

She nearly squeaked as Coco all but shoved her into the seat next to Jaune, her bare rear and thighs plunking down onto sun warmed metal, feeling the little...addition that Coco insisted on. She shivered as she remembered how she got it…

(Flashback Begins)

“Coco, what are you doing!?” Velvet screamed, cheeks burning as Coco bent her over the bed and pulled up the edge of the sundress, revealing the round swell of her bottom and her plump pussy lips. She tried kicking out, but it was useless, as Coco was too close to her for her kicks to do much, especially with the benefit of Aura. Her cheeks burned as she felt warm puffs of air across her backside, brushing over her most intimate of places.

She released a soft squeak as firm hands grabbed her soft cheeks, fingers sinking into them and spreading her rear apart, revealing the entirety of her pussy and her small hole. She whined, thanking everything that she had showered thoroughly that morning, before a startled shriek escaped her lips as something hot and wet licked a stripe between her cheeks, before prodding at the small depression of skin, circling it.

Velvet whimpered as she hunched and curled in on herself, her legs tucking inwards and knees pressing together as she dug her fingers into the sheets before her, biting viciously into her lower lip to try and make herself focus on something other than what her partner was doing to her ass...her eyes nearly popped clear from their sockets as she felt Coco’s tongue work along her rim, before pushing inside her.

She buried her face into the bed, releasing a wail as Coco insistently worked her tongue around, before pulling away with a ‘pop’, leaving her shivering at the wetness that was suddenly attacked by the cool air of the room.

“Well…” she could hear Coco sounding breathless, and heard her lick her lips, puffs of air brushing her soaked nethers, before she felt her partner release one of her buttocks, Coco’s other hand shifting to keep them spread apart. “If you decide to fuck the stud, it can’t be in your pussy...from what I hear, Arc’s got seven sisters...he shoots inside, you get pregnant. I guarantee it.” Velvet squirmed as she felt something cold poke against her small hole, before worming its way in, “So, what we’re going to do is make sure this bunny badonkadonk of yours is alllll ready in case you want to make love to the stud~” Coco murmured.

Feeling the item settle within her rear, plugged in fully, Velvet shook as she sat up slowly, looking behind her with wide eyes to see what Coco had shoved up her butt. She whined, her ears drooping as she saw it. She couldn’t believe that Coco had even gotten one of these. How had she not noticed that she had a-

(Flashback End)

Velvet fought a shudder as the cottontail buttplug that her partner bought shifted inside her ass, pressing against her inner walls, the sensations nearly making her miss what Jaune asked her. She released a soft ‘eep’ and spoke. “I-I’m doing okay, Juane! H-How about you?” she nearly scrunched her menu up in her hands, her emotions going wild as she glanced at her crush with a shaky smile. It didn’t help as she felt the air under the table going up her skirt!

And Coco, the wicked bitch, just sat there and smirked behind her menu!

~x~x~x~x~

Gods help her, Velvet couldn’t even remember what she had eaten, or even what they had talked about, her attention focused solely on Jaune. Were his eyes always such a deep, soulful blue? Did his hair always catch the sun that way? Did he always smell so...so good?

Velvet was mortified as she shifted, feeling slickness between her thighs. She just knew that she would be leaving a wet spot on the chair when she stood up! That would be so humiliating! Oh, she hoped that Jaune didn’t notice...that would be...terrible.

She could already see the look of disappointment on his face, feel his hand around her wrist, tugging her close, before he threw her over his lap, flipped up her dress, and upon seeing her bare bottom and pussy, began to spank her, punish her for being such a bad, such a perverted, naughty, filthy, outright slutty little bunny who needed to be disciplined-

She was pulled from her thoughts by the boy in question, who placed his hand on her arm, and she found herself drawn into his eyes, his smile. She melted. Coco was right, as much as she hated to admit it. She was smitten. Truly, completely, utterly in love with this young man. She wanted him...she wanted him so much, to be his. To be wrapped in his arms and hugged...kissed...fucked halfway through the mattress!

~x~x~x~x~

Jaune noticed that Velvet was nervous and stuttering, her words disjointed and almost frightened. He didn’t think it was him, but boy, did he understand social anxiety. Reaching out, he placed his hand on her arm, and found himself staring into deep chocolate eyes.

He had heard tell of the eyes being the windows of the soul, but he had always thought that to be complete and utter bunk that was in tawdry, bodice-ripper romances, like the ones that Saphron wrote, and the ones that Blake tried to hide that she read.

But looking into Velvet’s eyes...he understood what his sister meant. He could see warmth, fear, contentedness...attraction, desire, want. All of this, aimed at him.

“Hey, lovebirds~” a teasing voice made red blossom over Velvet’s cheeks, and heat in his own face made him realize that he was blushing as well. Both shrinking slightly at the confident smirk that the other brunette had on her face. “I paid for our lunches, and don’t worry, it was my treat~” she teased, obviously taking joy in their embarrassment. “Let’s go for a walk?”

~x~x~x~x~

Coco Adel was a lot of things. Team Leader of CFVY, Leader of the fashion trends in Vale, and most of all, she liked to think herself a good friend. She knew that her Bun-Bun was shy as fuck, but that she really wanted, thirsted for, really, the blonde that had helped her with that brute Winchester’s bullying. She often caught her closest friend staring at him in longing.

And by the Brother’s, this ship would fucking sail if it was the last thing she did!

So she planned, she plotted, she managed to get Jaune to agree to meet them in Vale, she got Velvet in the sundress (she was proud; she had known that she’d get her to wear that someday!), and refused her underwear, and even bought the cutest buttplug to prepare her!

She knew Velvet after two years. She knew that the timid little bunny would take ages to actually attempt to get close to Arc, so she knew that she had to help her. She had caught the needy little bunny masturbating in her sleep, moaning Jaune’s name! She had to do something!

And so here they were, by the artificial beach near the edge of downtown, with not a single person in sight. Perfect. She turned to see Velvet standing by Jaune, looking up at him almost adoringly, but could tell that her sweet little bunny needed help admitting her feelings. But she would, after all, Velvet had her for help.

“Jaune...you know why we called you out for a day out?” she asked, seeing Velvet stiffen and look at her pleadingly, but Coco wasn’t going to be stopped. She wasn’t going to let Velvet keep curled in on herself anymore!

Reaching out she tugged her bunny close and could feel her heart beating hard and fast against her rib cage. She rubbed her back gently, trying to soothe her a bit before redirecting her attention to Jaune, who stared at them with confusion. She smiled at him softly. “Velvet...she’s bad with talking, but she really, really likes you, but I knew that if I didn’t help her, she’d say nothing and possibly lose out. She’s my closest friend, and I can’t let that happen to her.”

Velvet trembled against her, and she felt her bury her face into her shoulder so she didn’t give into the urge to look back...not that that was an issue. Jaune looked at Velvet in awe, as though the bunny had hung the stars. Good. Maybe he was worthy of dating her.

Her lips titled upwards into a smirk. “Ready yourself, Velvet…” she whispered, feeling her partner stiffen against her, before she looked back at Jaune. “Yeah, she’s been, well…” she stopped herself, knowing that she was almost about to ramble, before quickly dropping into a bend, grabbing the end of Velvet’s sundress and yanking it up, revealing her bare bottom and the cottontail buttplug nestled between the fat cheeks, her free hand cupping the plump right buttock underneath her chin. She ignored the shocked squeak and flailing arms above her as she gently squeezed the delectable cheek in her hand. “See, Jaune? Velvet’s been ready for you~” she cooed.

Part of her worried that this action was a bit too much for him, but she needn’t have worried, as she saw Jaune’s eyes glaze over in lust and his pants swell...and swell...and swell...my, my. He was a big one...fortunately, she had prepared her bunny for this. She smirked, looking around, before seeing a small alcove hidden from most. Perfect~

~x~x~x~x~

Velvet felt her cheeks burning as Coco leaned back against the wall behind her, and she leaned against her, with Coco’s hands holding up her sundress, keeping her bare backside visible to the young man behind them.

Her cheeks burned as she felt eager hands playing with her rear, skilled fingers outright massaging the bubbly cheeks, making her whimper and tremble against her partner, her beautiful, caring, loving partner, her lower lips drooling her thick honey down her thighs.

She must have looked needy, desperate, slutty, because Coco smiled at her before looking behind her. “Don’t just tease Bun-Bun, Jaune...pull out that plug and make her day! You can’t have her pussy, you told me you have seven sisters, one drop of that cum gets in her womb, Bun-Bun’s a goner~” her leader teased.

But Coco’s teasing words ignited a fire within her belly, her pussy twitching, her womb hungry for cum, fantasies of her with a belly swollen with life, her lying in bed with Jaune as he rubbed her belly, the life within gently kicking out-

Velvet was pulled from her fantasies with Jaune’s hand gently grabbing and tugging on the plug in her ass, making her squeak and bury her face into Coco’s tits, the exquisite softness pressing against her burning cheeks reminding her that Coco had forgone a bra as well.

~x~x~x~x~

Jaune pulled out the plug with a wet sounding pop, Jaune caught sight of the slightly gaping hole, and felt his aching cock throb harshly in his slacks. He had always known that Velvet was beautiful, hell, her partner was a woman of extreme beauty as well. He didn’t need anyone to tell him that...but he didn’t think it was actually possible for Velvet to think he was someone worth dating. So to have her (Coco, really…) flash her butt at him and then drag him over here (Coco again), really threw him for a bit of a loop...but if she truly wanted this, he wasn’t going to deny her, or himself.

Letting her rear go (not for long, it was like squeezing the warmest, softest pillows imaginable), Jaune looked for a place to set the butt plug (cute, a cottontail outside, with the actual plug looking like a carrot, perfect for this adorable bunny), only for Coco to snatch it out of her hand and tuck it away in a secret pocket, giving him a nod as she stroked Velvet’s hair.

Jaune groaned, his cock throbbed hard. SNAP! Three sets of eyes widened as his button snapped off, shooting over Velvet’s back and hitting the wall next to Coco, making the blonde groan in humiliation, before he worked his belt and loosened it, shoving his pants and boxers down, groaning again, this time in abject relief, as his cock was freed, landing between Velvet’s buttocks with a dull whap!

He grabbed her buttocks again, sinking his fingers into the flesh and spreading them enough that his cock slipped between the fat buns, making both moan, Velvet shuddering before him, arching her butt up against him. He rocked his hips back and forth a bit, sawing between the fat cheeks and getting a mewl from his...girlfriend? Girlfriend sounded nice. Short, sweet, rolls off the tongue. He loved it.

He took a deep breath. “I…” he winced as his voice shook, “Velvet, is this okay? I don’t want to take advantage of you…” he wanted this, Gods, did he want this, but he wasn’t going to take advantage of this sweet girl, either.

He saw her head move a bit between Coco’s breasts, the other girl smiling amusedly down at her partner as Velvet mumbled something. “Sorry, what was that, Velvet?” he asked. The mumble was slightly louder this time, making Coco giggle, but Jaune still couldn’t hear it. “Vel?”

~x~x~x~x~

Velvet couldn’t take it anymore! Popping her head out of Coco’s cleavage, she wiggled her ass as best she could. “Yeeeessssss~!” she whined out. “Fuck me! Make me yours! Use that bitchbreaker you call a cock and stir my guts up! Fill me with your thick, sticky cum! Fucking Breed My Ass!” she voice raised more and more, until she was almost shouting at the end.

Her cheeks glowed as Coco giggled. “You heard the sweet bunny, Jaune!” she chirped, making her realize she had just been such a loud, naughty, slutty little bunny, screaming out her desires like that. With a whine, she buried her face back in Coco’s chest, licking her lips as she felt the fat tip press between her cheeks. She quivered.

~x~x~x~x~

Jaune swallowed as he pressed his tip against the still slightly winking hole Velvet was offering. Taking a deep breath, he slowly began to ease his way in...but was unprepared for Velvet to shove her ass back, swallowing his cock to the base, her bubbly ass hitting his hips with a muted clap!

He heard a muffled wail, and was afraid for a moment that he had hurt Velvet, but seeing and feeling her shaking and trembling between him and Coco, muffled squeals escaping her lips as she shook and (his eyes widened a bit) squirted between them, an arc of clear fluid splattering on the wall between Coco’s thighs. He knew he needed to wait, he didn’t trust himself not to pop off and cum from the brutal tightness that wrapped around his shaft.

His breath hitched, his cock throbbing hard within her searing orifice, his fingers digging into her rear as his girlfriend rolled and twisted her hips, making his cock twist and turn, rubbing against the inside of her ass. “Fuck…” he gasped.

~x~x~x~x~

Coco knew her panties were ruined; seeing Velvet come undone from having a cock in her ass was simply so fucking hot and who wouldn’t be turned on from having the desperate bunny in their arms while the boy of said bunny’s dreams was balls deep in her ass? His hands groping and squeezing that fat bunny bottom? She was surprised that she herself hadn’t cum yet just from watching!

She saw Arc staring at down at Velvet in utter lust. Completely understandable, the bunny was beautiful, and having finally given in and become who she was truly meant to be? Fuck. If only Velvet had gotten her cues...but that was neither here nor there right now.

Velvet released a loud cry into her chest, making her realize that Arc had started moving.

~x~x~x~x~

Jaune couldn’t wait anymore! Slowly pulling back, he shivered as her ass clung to him, refusing to let him go as he rolled his own hips, thrusting back into Velvet’s lovely backside. His moves were slow and stilted in the beginning, not wanting to move too fast and make it too intense for either of them, but even with the slow movements, Velvet’s moans were getting louder and louder as he began to pick up his thrusting speed.

Taking a deep breath, he finally began to start smooth thrusts, a moderate roll of his hips that belied the power of his thrusts. He growled low as he squeezed and practically mauled the thick bubble of her ass in his hands, subconsciously wanting to leave his mark on the creamy flesh to let Velvet know that she was his now.

He knew that he wasn’t being too rough. He could hear her moans and whimpers of appreciation only getting louder. If she was allowed to continue, she might actually draw people towards them. “Well, well, well…” he spoke, his voice a low growl, his left hand loosening its hold on Velvet’s ass, rubbing the pliant flesh. “You needy little bunny...you know if you get any louder, you’re going to draw people to us. They’ll see us. Is that what you want? For them to see that you’re my little butt-slut bunny?” he growled. He didn’t know where these words were coming from, but he could see from Coco that it wasn’t a bad thing. Her eyes were dark, but not from anger, from lust. And the whine from Velvet, Brothers, that only made him harder.

Raising his hand, he brought it down on her ass with a loud crack, making Velvet clench around him with a loud cry, quivering like a bowstring. “Are you going to cum already, Velvet?” it wasn’t him who spoke, but Coco, her voice thick with lust and desire. “Is our little Butt-Slut Bunny going to cum her brains out from having her ass filled and being spanked?” her chest heaved as Velvet squealed between her breasts, “We can’t have that...you may want people watching you get claimed, but I don’t think Jaune or I wish to be seen in such a fashion...so let’s keep your mouth too busy to scream…”

~x~x~x~x~

Velvet shivered and moaned, quivered and cried out as her ass was fucked thoroughly by the boy she had fallen so hard for, completely missing Coco’s words...but she didn’t miss the hand settling on her head between her ears and moving her head down, down, down...her nose going wild as it picked up the thick sweet scent of what she knew was Coco’s arousal as she slid down her belly. The angle would have been awkward, perhaps even painful for someone that wasn’t as flexible as her.

Her eyes fluttered open as she felt the smooth fabric of the sundress rise up under her cheek until it rested on Coco’s flat, toned belly. Glancing down, she whimpered, seeing Coco’s bare, drooling pussy just underneath her chin. Her mouth watered and she licked her lips, only for Coco’s hand to be more insistent and push her down further. “Let’s keep that mouth of yours occupied, Bun-Bun.”

Any potential argument Velvet might have had was stopped as her head was moved down further, and her face was pressed against wet flesh. Her eyes rolled up in her head as she began to mindlessly lap away at the soft, fragrant flesh, eating out her beloved partner as she was dominated and fucked hard in her ass.

~x~x~x~x~

Jaune watched, wide eyed as Velvet buried her face into Coco’s pussy and began to ravenously eat her out, slurping and smacking noises filling the small alcove, only just softer than the cries that she had been releasing.

He locked eyes with Coco who was now rubbing her breasts over her sundress, pinching her swollen nipples as he fucked Velvet’s ass faster now. Her chocolate eyes were smoldering with lust. “Mmm, what do you think, stud?” she purred, “Do you think Velvet can handle us? I think she loves being our little pet in bed…” her breath hitched and she arched a bit as Velvet became more insistent in her actions. “Fuck, this tongue is sinful...w-what do you say? Think we can share her? I think our needy, slutty little bunny just wants both our love!”

Jaune thought about it as he thrust into Velvet’s clinging rear, spanking her ass, loving the nice rosy shade the pale flesh had taken from his strikes. He heard Coco continue, maybe thinking that he needed more convincing. He let her, even though if Velvet wanted this, he was perfectly on board as long as she spent equal amounts of time with the two of them.

“And don’t worry, you won’t be just fucking Velvet, stud...I saw that cock, I want to take it for a ride too! How’d you like that? Both of us brown themed beauties on our hands and knees before you, wiggling our asses, making you pick-”

Jaune couldn’t take it anymore. “Sold!” he growled, beginning to fuck Velvet’s ass with even more force, loud claps filling the small area, the bunny’s bubbly ass rippling and jiggling as his hips crashed hard against them as his balls churned in need.

Coco cried out in shocked as Velvet wailed into her pussy, clenching down brutally around his cock as she squirted again, adding to the small puddle of slick on the ground.

Jaune growled as he plunged to the base, balls hitting Velvet’s soaked pussy and snapping taut against him as they unloaded every drop of thick seed they had, depositing it into Velvet’s rear end. He spanked and slapped her rear as he did so, loving how every swat to her rear made her clench and bear down more around him.

~x~x~x~x~

The three enjoyed their orgasms around each other, Coco squirting and coating Velvet’s face, Velvet herself trembling and shaking and whining between them, and Jaune pumping what felt like every drop of nonessential bodily fluid into the greedy backside is cock was buried in.

Finally, Jaune and Coco came back to themselves, and took deep breaths to steady themselves. Slowly, Jaune slipped out of Velvet’s rear end, his now semisoft cock slick with his cum, and he thoughtlessly reached out and took the plug that Coco handed him, admiring the gaping hole filled full with his cum before pressing the plug into her, making sure that it was secure and none of her cream filling could leak out.

Carefully grabbing the near unconscious, giggling bunny, Jaune helped her upright, only to gasp as Coco sank to her knees and throated his cock, sucking and slurping off all of the cum and Velvet’s taste off of his cock, then tucking him into his pants and making sure they were settled as good as they could be on his body.

“Now, stud, we are going to a hotel, and you are going to fuck both of us. I’m sure you can do that, right?” Coco smirked when Jaune scooped Velvet into his arms and tucked her against his chest, the absolutely glowing bunny smiling and rubbing her pudgy belly full of cum. “Velvet got me off, but I need more than one orgasm to be satisfied...and I can tell you do as well. Ready to go, stud?”

Jaune couldn’t nod fast enough, making Coco laugh.

The trio left the alcove, leaving behind no evidence of their being there beyond a large clear puddle near the wall as they made their way back into Vale proper.

[aftqrglow]

A Blessing, Beautiful And True

pairing: bucky x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k

warnings: use of she/her pronouns; swearing if you squint; mentions of death; mentions of food

a/n: this is a rewrite of one of my old fics that i absolutely hated with my entire being. i hate this a little bit less djaksjsjs also pls ignore how i literally cannot write a good ending to save my life.

dedicated to @xsamsharons for lending me her name. i hope i did it justice mi amor ily <3

Bucky learnt to value things.

Not the great, terribly material things people around him seemed to rush after. Not money, not even when he was barely getting by.

No, for Bucky, it was the small, seemingly insignificant things.

The tiny toy WWII soldier figurine he found at a yard sale one Tuesday afternoon, the one with the missing arm. The near-exact model of the car his father used to drive—rusted around the tiny steel axel, the rubber wheels worn from use. That yellow screwdriver set that sat at the very back of the tool cabinet in the garage, unusable because of the cracked plastic handles and rusted steel, that looked exactly like the kit he had once used to fix up the plumbing in his first apartment.

Bucky was used to valuing the broken little things.

He never truly understood what loving something whole, something complete felt like—not until he met you.

You, in your white sweater and blue jeans, hair tossed up in a braid. You, your eyes that dancing with unbroken light, like the rays of the sun on the ocean on a bright summer’s day. You, with the sort of kindness he never truly thought he would ever be worthy of, not until you showed him that he was.

You, the girl he fell in love with before he could ever truly know what love was.

Steve might’ve been the first to notice. He was with him that day, the day he first saw you. They had been hunting for a Christmas present for Tony, and even though Bucky wasn’t exactly thrilled to have to attend, he wasn’t about to show up empty handed.  

Steve didn’t even realize that the sly-footed assassin wasn’t by his side until he had walked the two blocks from the mall to his car. Hands ghosting over the gun tucked into the holster hooked into his waistband, Steve retraced his steps, his heart thundering in his throat.

Until he heard Bucky’s laugh.

Not the obviously fake chuckles he used to placate those around him. No, this was the laugh he remembered, the laugh he thought Bucky had lost.

This was Bucky’s laugh—his Bucky’s laugh, before the world stole him away. Pure and innocent.

Happy—so undeniably, inexplicably happy.

The tension eased from his shoulders when he saw you. Steve knew who you were, of course. Everyone did—or at least, everyone who had been around after the Battle of New York. Everyone who had seen you walk among the rubble, bleeding through your jeans, helping dig survivors out of the rubble, guiding them to shelters. Everyone who had seen you do everything you could help those who needed it more than you did, until your legs finally gave way and the only reason you didn’t collapse to the floor was because Steve caught you.

But Steve also happened to know why you’d done it. Because you were kind. Because you were selfless. Because you knew what it was like to lose everyone you loved, and to garner the strength to build yourself up anyway.

You’d lost people too—everyone you loved, killed during the Battle. Your family. Your friends. It might’ve seemed cruel to be spared. Might’ve seemed like a cold, dark twist of fate—and for a time, it did.

Steve had never known anyone to be resilient the way you were.

And maybe, just maybe, he thought to himself, as he watched his friend from through the glass, maybe you would teach him to hold on to the tiniest sliver of hope too.

—

Bucky didn’t even like books.

The only book he’d read—aside from the coursework assigned to him in his school days—was The Hobbit. And even that had taken him an ungodly amount of time to finish.

So yeah, Bucky didn’t exactly like books.

But he still visited the tiny bookstore on the corner every day.

He didn’t even buy anything. He just looked around, running his fingertips over the spines of the books that jutted out of the wooden shelves, the sunlight turning his eyes into uncharted waters of the oceans, swimming with undiscovered secrets and untold lies.

You would talk to him. All the time, and with no trace of the usual pity or sympathy that he heard when he spoke to people. You talked to him in a way that made him feel like himself, in a way that made him feel like he just might rediscover the man he used to be.

That first time he’d seen you was burned into the back of his brain, the image of you standing there with a hip braced against a bookshelf, dressed in a white sweater and jeans, your hair pulled into a braid over your shoulder. He had watched as a strand escaped, falling into your face.

And him—he'd stood there, watching you talk to another woman he couldn't recall because really, how could he look at anything else but you? Bucky was certain he looked like a gaping idiot, both wanting your attention to turn to him, and dreading the fact that he would surely make a fool of himself if you so much as looked at him.

Back in the 40s, things would've been so much easier. He would already have said something witty to make you laugh, he would already have been telling you about the carnival down at the beach and asking if you wanted to go with him.

But when your friend left, and you asked him if there was anything you could help him with, his voice sounded strange to his own ears as he croaked, "Books?"

You had laughed—and he found himself laughing along. A true laugh—for the first time in a long time, the sound didn’t sound fake to his own ears. For the first time in a long time, he felt like himself.

Bucky had taught himself to value that which wasn’t whole—because he wasn’t, either. Love was give and take. Love was equal.

If he was to deserve your love, he would have to be whole again. If he was to deserve your love, he would make himself whole again.

—

There was a sudden shift in the way Bucky viewed the world.

It had been three days since he last saw you, but he walked in through those doors anyway. He had no cause, no reason—he just couldn’t go any longer without seeing you.

You were sitting by the bay window at the very back, reading a book. He took a second just to take you in, to get used to the fact that you weren’t just a figment of his imagination.

The second you looked up, your face split into a grin, like you were truly, genuinely happy to see him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had smiled at him that way. “Hey, you’re back! It’s Bucky, right?”

He nodded. He couldn't trust himself to speak, not when he was sure he would stumble over his words, not when he couldn't bring himself to string together a coherent sentence in your presence. 

"What can I help you with today?" you asked, snapping your book shut and placing it on the table. 

"Uh... What're you reading?"

You glanced down at your book before looking up to meet his eyes again. Blue, you thought, supressing a smile. Icy blue, but warm nonetheless—familiar in the way most things aren’t. "Wuthering Heights. You've never read it?"

He shook his head no. "Never been much of a reader, no. Is it any good?"

"It's one of my favourites," was your answer, watching as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The light caught the steel of the chain around his neck—the chain of one of those military-issue dog tags.

And maybe that was how it started—on that dreary cold Wednesday, when you'd stood next to the bookshelf by the window, telling him about your favourite book, but really all he could focus on was the late afternoon sun rendering the hue of your eyes several shades lighter, the soft slope of your nose, the fullness of your mouth. Every little detail about you was etched permanently into his mind—and he wanted to learn more.

He wanted to know everything there was to know about you. 

It was about closing time when he decided he had to go. Not because he wanted to, but because he had promised he would have dinner with Sam and Steve. And as much as Bucky wanted to stay, he was a man of his word.

Which is why when he promised you he would come see you as soon as he finished reading the book, you knew he meant it.

—

And you were right.

Two days later, he was back. 

It was raining that day, early in the morning when you were just about to open up. And there, standing under the awning in the freezing rain, was Bucky, the collar of his coat turned up against the wind, drenched to the bone.

"What're you doing here?" you asked, eyes wide.

"I just... I don't know," he said. Because he didn't. Bucky didn't even like books—but he did like being around you. There was a strange sort of calm about you, a sense of peace he'd only known in Wakanda. Around you, he was just Bucky—not Sargent Barnes, not the Winter Soldier—just Bucky. 

He liked being just Bucky.

You shook your head, but he could've sworn he saw the corner of your mouth tilt upwards as you fished your keys out of your pocket and unlocked the door. "Well, come on inside. I'll turn up the heat and get you something warm to drink. Christ, Buck, you could get pneumonia or something.”

He only nodded once. It didn't matter that he wouldn't get sick—not when the serum in his veins healed his body faster than normal. It didn’t matter that even if he could sick, he wouldn’t have cared, not when you were looking at him like that, with concern in your eyes for something other than your own safety.

You had a coffee machine in the back room, you told him. He followed you, lingering in the doorway as you bustled about, humming a tune under your breath. He recognized it as a song from that one Marvin Gaye album Sam couldn’t stop talking about. He recognized it as a song he wanted to listen to for the rest of his life, if only you were the one singing it.

He recognized that, for better or for worse, you would be his undoing.

—

After that, he came to see you every day.

When the weather got colder still, he brought you steaming cups of hot chocolate from your friend Bella’s café down the street. And on the days when he didn’t, he would head into the back room and make you coffee. You’d never had to tell him how you took it—after that in the rain, he’d somehow remembered what you liked.

You weren’t about to tell him, but you remembered what he liked too.

It started out simple—plum cider that you found on your weekly trip to the farmer’s market. An old vintage copy of The Hobbit from the forties. Rubber silencers for his dog tags that he never used but carried around in his pocket anyway—until eventually, you had something new for him every week, some insignificant thing that he looked at with the kind of childlike awe that made your heart twist into knots in your chest.

He walked you home too. Every evening, with his hands stuffed in his pockets, slowing his stride so that he could walk alongside you. He would stand outside, across the street, hands in his pockets, waiting for you to walk into the apartment you shared with Bella. Only leaving when the lights came on and he knew you were safe.

Bucky wasn’t much of a talker—you learnt that about him. He would spend all day sitting quietly in a corner of your store, reading one of the books he found on the shelf of used copies you kept in the back of the room.

He seemed to love those used books more than the new ones—books someone had already read, books that had already been loved.

He felt a little that way sometimes, too. A little too used for love, not loved enough for use.

But never when he was with you.

And you—you were falling for Bucky Barnes. A little by little, day by day, without even realizing it—not until it all came rushing to you one afternoon, like a dam breaking, like the ocean of his eyes pulling you under, especially when you felt his gaze on you from time to time, watching you as you worked.

That afternoon, a new shipment of books came in. You didn’t even have to ask him for help—he was already on his feet, snapping his copy of Anna Karenina shut, mumbling a soft, “I’ve got it,” as you signed for the order. Hefted the two cartons of books like they weighed nothing at all, and carried them inside.

There was a strange tightness in your stomach as you watched him, standing in the middle of your store—the only thing the Battle of New York hadn’t taken away from you—and you wondered just how it took so damn long to realize that the feeling of familiarity didn’t lie among these books, but rather, in Bucky himself.

—

It was a slow day, so the two of you spent the rest of the afternoon restocking the shelves. He asked you about each of the books, watching your eyes light up as you talked about your favourite ones, until conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence, the two of you basking in each other’s company as you worked.

You didn't even realize how much time had passed until you heard the door open and your friend Bella breezed in. She'd been here the first day Bucky had walked in, had noticed the way your eyes shifted to him mid-conversation like you couldn’t focus on much else when he was around. “Ready for lunch, y/n?”

You looked at Bucky, opening your mouth to ask if he wanted to come along. Not because you didn’t trust him to be alone at the store, but because you wanted his company. Because being around him felt like coming home.

He only waved you off. "Go ahead. I've got plans with Stevie. I'll be here when you're back though."

You believed him. You believed that he would always be around, for as long as you wanted. And you wanted forever.

"Was that the guy from before?" Bella asked, looping an arm through yours as you left the store, walking down the street. She brushed her fiery hair out of her eyes, turning her head slightly to look at you, yellow-green eyes filled with curiosity. “What’s his name?”

"Bucky. He... He's a friend," you said. 

"Well," Bella said. "He sure doesn't feel the same way."

"What do you mean?" you asked, confused.

"Y/n, he looks at you like you put the stars in his sky. Are you sure he's just a friend?"

"I... I don't know, Bella."

Because you didn't know what else to call him. Because you and him weren't friends in the way people usually are—you had always been more.

Bucky was always more.

—

"I've barely seen you," Steve said, picking up his can of Diet Pepsi and taking a sip. "Where have you been?"

"Around," Bucky mumbled. Because how could he explain why he was spending so much time at the bookstore with someone he'd only just met? How could he explain the magnetic pull he felt toward you, the inexplicable desire to just be around you?

How could he explain the way you made him feel like himself again?

But Steve knew. Steve always knew. He saw the growing stack of novels on his friend's bedside table, saw him reading at the kitchen table, book propped up against the jug of milk.

He also knew that all this was because of y/n. Because Bucky mumbled that name when he was too exhausted to even know what he was saying. Because Bucky talked in his sleep—and Steve could hear him calling that name through the thin walls that separated their rooms. "You've been at the bookstore?"

Bucky set his drink down. There was so use denying it—his friend would see right through him. Steve had known him for too damn long to believe in his lies. "She's so... I can't even put it into words. She makes me believe that there's good in this world. That all the things I did wrong don't even matter—not when I'm with her. It’s the way she looks at things, the way she’s capable of finding a little bit of good in everything. Like she found something good in me, Steve."

Steve knew it was true. Because he hadn’t seen Bucky this way for a very long time. Because he hadn’t seen that light in his friend’s eyes in a very long time, and ever since he met you, it hadn’t gone away.

—

Bucky had to leave for a couple of days.

He didn't tell you why—just that it was a work thing. How long would he be gone? He didn't know.

"I'll be back soon," he said. "I promise."

And he was. Five days later.

But Bucky was quiet—quieter than usual. 

It was a Sunday, and you’d somehow managed to drag him along to the farmer’s market with you. He walked alongside you, hands in his pockets, like he was aching to reach out and touch you but desperately holding himself back.

He’d almost gotten himself killed on that mission.

You took up too many thoughts in his head, too much space in his heart. And when the bullet narrowly missed him, grazing his ribs, his only thought was whether or not you’d miss him if he was gone.

You deserved better than someone who’s life was tied to the death of others. Someone who didn’t have so much blood on his hands.

A few paces ahead of you, Bella walked hand-in-hand with Bucky’s friend Sam. You were glad that Bucky had introduced them, glad that Sam made Bella happy in ways you’d never really known or understood before.

“Look at them,” you said, watching with a smile on your face as Sam quietly slipped a couple of oranges into Bella’s bag. “They look real happy.”

Then, turning to look at him, you smiled, and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. Because you might deserve better, but he was selfish and stubborn, and the only thing he had wanted in so goddamn long was you you you.

“Go out with me,” he blurted, every thread of self-control he had so carefully cultivated to keep his head in your presence snapping. He felt like he was taken back to that December evening he saw you for the first time, when the words refused to leave his mouth, when you’d rendered him tongue-tied and helpless. Only this time, he couldn’t stop the words from coming out, not as he said, “One date, y/n. One date, and if you don’t have a good time, we can just forget it ever happened and move on.”

His heart shuttered when he saw the small frown creasing your brow, your voice soft as you asked, “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything. I want to do this for the rest of my life with you, y/n,” he said quietly. “But for now, I’ll take that date.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding slowly. “Okay, Bucky, I’ll go out with you.”

He couldn’t help it. Bucky wrapped his arms around your waist, drawing you to him, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around until you were both laughing, childlike and breathless, blissfully unconscious of the knowing look on Sam and Bella’s faces.

Because really, how could he see anything but you? You had been it from the first day he saw, and you were it now—a blessing, beautiful and true.

tags:

@goldengoddess @wherearethesantreys @ughlantsov @for-bebbanburg @mriddlemethis @xleiaorgana @xsamsharons

if you would like to be added to or removed from my taglist, just send me a message or an ask off anon!

[fabricated-misslieness]

pairing: prince xiao x servant gn reader

req: no | wc: 1.62k | royal au

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 (you are here) | part 5

taglist: @hanniejji

a/n: low graphic pic

The following days at the palace are tense. Nobody wants to speak about Rex Lapis’s death, in fear that it will spike a new argument. Servants that rush and bustle around the halls can barely even stare at each other, for the siblings’ fights are so harsh and loud that their horrible words still ring in their ears.

Before, as the servants dined together, they spread hearsay. Now the dining hall is silent, with the only sound being cutlery and plates. Each loud clunk of cutlery against porcelain is piercing in their ears.

Rex Lapis upheld a certain peace. With his death, there was anticipation around the corner of every action. Would the kingdom collapse? Who would take the spot of monarch?

The Adepti’s meeting with the Liyue Qixing was only in a few days. If the reunion failed to find a new ruler, doom would surely initiate.

But that was not a servant’s burden. For now, as one of the most trusted, you were to speak with the funeral parlor to begin preparations for the Rite of Parting.

It had been many years since the last Rite of Parting took place, a parting wish for one of the Adepti. Each one was directed and prepared by the Wangsheng Funeral parlor, the only funeral parlor in the kingdom. Their current director was infamous for her humorous spirit, rare for solemn occasions, but however they may behave, the Rite of Parting will not be a matter to be laughed at.

Their consultant was also famous, even in his short term of work. He was known to be calm, reserved, polite, and extremely knowledgeable. Though his reputation did not prepare you to see your supposedly dead king again.

He smiles politely at you from his office chair while you gape at him. Gathering your manners, you greet him with a bow, “Pleasure to be doing business with you, mr. Zhongli. I’m-”

“(y/n), yes I know. Take a seat.”

He may not look like Rex Lapis and he may not have the exact same mannerisms, but this was your king. You were sure of it.

“Rex-”

“Zhongli.” He corrects. “Not many people have seen through my disguise, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

You gulp, nodding. “I’m here to discuss the Rite of Parting.”

He cuts you off for the last time, “I know, and that is taken care of. Here is the contract, it has all the information you need. All you need is to take it to the Adepti and they will discuss it, but I have a feeling there’s information that you want.”

“I… yes, there is.” You gulp back the shock. This man in front of you is your dead king, but he’s going by the name of Zhongli. “Wha… why?”

“I’ve always been disconnected from my citizens. Despite this, they depend on me far too much.” He speaks of conflicting matters, yet he speaks of them so calmly and simply, even busying himself with paperwork as he does. “They create a false image of me, and they praise those ideologies. There are many things that they say I do, many ways that they say I behave, and amplified many qualities that I have always shown to be something greater. I was flawed, yet they thought of me as perfect. The people no longer followed a king, instead, they followed the pseudo-god of their imaginations.”

A frown paints his lips, and with a sip of tea, he smiles once more. “I am a regular man just like any other. I have desires and I have flaws and I deserve to take action on them. Do you understand now?”

“Yes.” It was true that the king was not perfect, just as Yuheng Keqing proposed. No person was perfect, and the same went for every monarch of each kingdom.

“You have more questions?” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Who should be the new monarch?”

He smiles, in a cheeky way that you’d never seen on the king, “That’s making it too easy for you. Nevertheless, a question is a question. Who has governed Liyue for just as long as I have? Who upholds law and who helps the citizens? I’ll give you a hint, it’s not the royal family.”

“The Liyue Qixing?”

“Precisely.” He clears his throat, “But like I said. I’m a regular man. All prophecies of mine are meant to be seen as suggestions, rather than definitive word.”

“Now, you must have something for me in return. I have given plenty of answers, so it’s time you give me some too. Why do you stay with the royal family? I formed this contract with you to become our servant. Now that Rex Lapis is dead, there’s no need to stay. Why are you still serving them?” That was a question you did not have a prepared response to, but one answer shone brightly in your mind.

“Xiao. He… I care for him, and he does for me.” It was simple, yet complicated. Simple, yet it showed all the feelings you had towards the prince.

“He was always attached to you.” Zhongli states as a matter of factly, in a way that brings warmth to your cheeks. “Just as the citizens of Liyue depended on me, he depended on you.” He chuckles, “Minus the fake ideologies part, of course.”

“Well,” He nudges the Rite of Parting documents your way, “I believe that is all. Good day, (y/n).”

“Good day, your majes-” He smiles, eyes crinkling as if he’s seeing an old friend.

“Have a nice day, Zhongli.”

“Welcome home.” Another thing you didn’t expect that day was Xiao waiting for you at the door of the palace, not to mention that he considered the place to be your home. “Where have you been?”

Ever since you comforted him, he was warmer with you. The loner prince who you knew nothing about suddenly became the person you knew the most about. You hadn’t noticed just how much he liked you until your meeting with Zhongli. “Gathering Rite of Parting documents. Where are the Adepti?”

Xiao griances, most likely remembering the horrible arguments from a few days prior. “Doing their own things. Can the meeting… wait for later? I don’t want to have a reenactment of what happened the other day at the moment.”

“Sure.” You nod. “I just need to drop off these papers with another servant. Is there anything you need afterwards?”

“I… have something to show you.” He looks at anything from you, arms behind his back. He seems nervous yet excited at the same time.

“Okay, I’ll be at your room as soon as I can.”

It seemed Xiao had a lot to show you. You had no idea what he had to show off, and you did not think it entailed leaving the city.

The prince walked ahead of you, leading the way. He didn’t dare look you in the eyes, and anything he said was short and to the point. Nevertheless, he did not seem to have a rude intention. He was merely nervous, and you know that because he’s showing the most emotion you’ve ever seen him express.

Xiao stops and sits on a rock platform once you reach your destination, the hill just about overlooking the kingdom’s harbor. “I sneak off to this place sometimes to look at the view. It clears my head.”

“Even after I tuck you into bed?” You ask, taking a seat next to him.

“I- yes.” He seems ashamed to admit it. “Are you mad?”

“Why would I be?” You give up on seeking his gaze, taking in the sight of the harbor instead. “I can see why you come here, the view is beautiful.”

It’s lucky that you’re no longer looking at him, because if you locked eyes while he glanced your way, the prince would’ve flushed red. “This wasn’t the only thing I wanted to bring you up here for.” Your beauty under the slowly setting sky of Liyue was magnificent, it almost made him trip over his words.

“Well, what do you have to say?” As the blue sky turns into hues of warm colors -reds, oranges, yellows- it blends in with the warmth of Liyue. The beauty of it has you captured, but Xiao has seen it plenty of times.

“I like you.”

You turn to him to speak, which makes him immediately snap his head away from you. “Xiao, I-” Before you can assure him that you reciprocate his feelings, he cuts you off.

“I know a relationship would only burden you and distract you from your duties. I know that perhaps you wouldn’t have time for me. But… could we at least try?”

The warmth on his cheeks is forgotten when you laugh, which makes Xiao snap his head at you. Clearly he wasn’t expecting that sort of reaction from you. “Xiao, I was going to say I liked you back.”

“Oh.” He claps a hand over the lower half of his face in an attempt to hide his hot blush. Color stands out between and above his fingers.

Your laugh almost humiliates him more. “You won’t burden me, Xiao! You’d cause more joy than anything.”

He nods slowly, “Okay.”

“Okay.” You repeat. “Do you.. want to kiss?”

Xiao moves his hand just a bit, uncovering one of his cheeks, an invitation to kiss him there. He’s most likely never kissed anybody on the lips, so you’d have to save that for later.

Though a mere kiss on the cheek seems to overwhelm him. As much as you want to, you don’t tease him about it.

“Come on, let’s head back, my prince. It’s getting dark.”

My prince… no more ‘your highness’ from now on.

[ignitification]

Midoriya Izuku - Green for Hope, Red for Burning Passion

I always asked myself why exactly Horikoshi has changed Midoriya's character design so drastically.

Indeed, we go from a character called Yamikumo who looks like a feral child with the bad habit of eating his nails off, and drinks more coffee than humanly possible to an anxious bunny who smiles awkwardly and does not know how to accept compliments.

To me, the difference is absolutely insane. Izuku's hair and eyes are uniform and reflect his character and surname. However, a thing that I find peculiar is how the dark (Black/Green) and the Red theme are a constant throughout particular tellings of his character.

The legendary red shoes are one of Deku's main features. It's part of his character. However, I just got to think why exactly (especially having an idea on why was green used for him) and I think that the answer might be very very banal. However, I do think that this is not the only reason.

First of all, there is the most simple reason which I could think of: Midoriya Izuku is described as plain. In my opinion, plain does not really define Midoriya but the concept of him being bland and capable of melting into background is fundamental to express him in the most little details (however, there are few things which inwardly contradict this description: first and foremost his freckles). But as it might be, and Midoriya is indeed considered not worthy look at for more than once (at least as described in the manga - which is also one of the reason why his design has been changed so much, as Yamikumo had literally zero chance to go unnoticed), it appears clear how this suppression of character, of wanting to relegate Mido to a background role is what instead pushes Izuku forward to make a bold choice of something like wearing red shoes. They are strikingly particular, and noticeable: which means that Midoriya is not happy about being an npc, but instead wants to be noticed and in some way stand out.

The second reason, which I mulled over if was relevant enough is All Might. A recurrent color in all All Might's costumes is Red (and Blue, which kind of reminds of Superman and the American Flag. A fact that I found interesting as well if how AM wears Blue, Yellow and Red while Midoriya wears Green and Red, and of course Blue and Yellow together form Green).

And finally the third and final reason (at least, for now) is that Red, as a colour reminds Deku of Kacchan (even if arguably, we see in the first panel of the manga how Izuku wore already his shoes so this might be false and instead it might refer to the fact that Red is Izuku’s favourite colour only), who we know he associates with victory. As the mental image of Kacchan, who was red eyes, is his substitute for him being able to stand proud, strong and capable to win, Izuku might want to express this strive to be strong.

But what do these two colours mean, stand alone ?

As for Green: this colour, in different cultures, is associated with "Hope" . I think here the main gist and general going is that Midoriya represents Hope for the Heroes, Hope for the Unwanted, the Broken and the Damned (the Villains). I talked about Izuku being a Symbol of the New Society here, but in short, with Izuku Midoriya being fundamentally associated to the colour green, I think Horikoshi wants to express two things: how Izuku never loses hope (to be a hero, to have a quirk, to be a friend to Katsuki who bullied him for years or Shouto who straight up challenged him even before getting to know him, to reach and to save everyone) and how he represents and spreads hope for others (Eri, Kouta, the same Todoroki and Katsuki).

Green indicates life, renewal, harmony and safety. Which, in this sense, points out Izuku's nature as a person and how he is bound to feel restless unless he provides comfort to everyone, and that desire to save desperately anyone who he can reach. Green is a calming and soothing colour. It also stands for prosperity, freshness and progress - which point out not only the conclusion of Deku being N1 Hero, but as well at him 'changing up' the society and becoming the Symbol of Hope and Change (on which I briefly touched upon here).

However, on a negative side it also stands for Greed (wanting to be a hero and follow AM steps even when he had a hard time adapting his body to his new quirk) and Envy (Bakugō first and foremost and the generally heroes and those who has time to wield their power properly). In this negative meaning of the colour, I think Izuku’s selfless nature comes to the surface even more: how he feels bound to feel negative emotions which spur his renewal and development (after all, he did unlock Black Whip after Monoma had insulted Bakugou), but at the same time use this emotion toward a bigger goal (him being mad at Shigaraki, but at the same time wanting to save him - I wrote about this too here).

Green, is, finally, the colour of the Heart chakra: an expression of how Midoriya puts everything before him, because his heart cannot take the selfishness of thinking of himself first, which also come hand in hand with his sacrificing nature and reminds of his name meaning and the association made with the number 9. Indeed, “Opening the Heart chakra allows a person to love more, empathise, and feel compassion” - which in short, stands for an externalisation of Mido’s personality.

On a shorter note, in Japan, the colour green represents youth, eternity, vitality and energy - which, in its own way is both a confirmation and a denial to other references made in Izuku’s character, such as his dangerous nature, him not being concentrated to live on for more than he is allowed to fulfil his duty (him being tied to number 9 and so on), and at the same time it reminds us of OfA, as it gains more power and energy and at his cheery, youthful persona.

As for Red, as the colour of Blood, it also stands to indicate '' Danger, Sacrifice, Courage" (which reconnects to his name's theory and numerology, of which I talked about here, in short).

In addition, red is usually used to professionally gain attention (it's hard to miss something so bright) and convey confidence. We know for a fact that Deku has been wearing red shoes since he was a kid (or at least, since he met Bakugō, which coincides with Izuku being four) and that despite being Quirkless, he always showed courage in standing out to people even when they thought of him as 'inferior' because on his unusual condition.

Among other negative meaning, there is an overflow of temper, anger, agitation, and overbearing, demanding and oppressive behaviours. As clear as day, these characteristics relate more to fiery Katsuki than Deku, but as stated before, Deku puts Katsuki as model and adapts his combat style to resemble Katsuki’s. So, this overflow of energy and action is a double-edged sword which affects both Katsuki and Izuku in different ways (and is mellowed out in Izuku’s character by his other soothing characteristics , but more on that later).

Also, Red, in Asia is a lucky colour which might (or not) hint at how, despite everything Izuku got his 'lucky' chance to inherit AM's power and follow his dream of becoming a hero. Particularly, in Japan this colour is associated and denotes strength, passion, self-sacrifice. A transmission of feeling as complex and empowering as the ones Deku fills while he is living his everyday life as a future hero, summed to his nature and inherited quirk.

Red is also a magical and religious color. It symbolized super-human heroism to the Greeks and is the color of the Christian crucifixion, which might be as meaningless as other things, but in this case it might greatly relate to the type of enormous power Izuku tries to reign in, and to the self sacrificing spirit which he proves again and again.

So far, the meanings of the colours which have been associated with Deku are in line with his name, his personality and even the storyline which has been drawed out.

Among other meanings red represents power, courage, energy, passion, and creates physical effects such as enhanced metabolism, enthusiasm, higher level of energy (which comes back to the initial reasons on why Deku chooses Red as a distinct colour for himself and his shoes).

The color red is linked to the most primitive physical, emotional, and financial needs of survival and self-preservation.

Finally is also the colour of leadership, determination and courage. So in short, the colours red, where it indicates energy, action and strong emotion-filled desires and aspirations, is also weak to overbearing aspects which transform empowerment into negative traits (which is what, in the end, is represented by Bakugou). It is also strong-willed and can give confidence to those who are shy or lacking in will power (the shoes in Deku’s case). 

Red is the colour of the First (or Spine) Chakra and usually allows a person to be grounded and connect to universal energies, while Green is the link between spiritual and material.

What do these two colours mean in association with each other?

Onto how these two colours are related to each other, especially considering the premises made, we see that Red (life-giving properties, trust, belonging and violence) and Green (health, eternity, youth and greed) are not only opposites, but they complete and balance each other out. Indeed, to reign over emotions and actions, to red is usually added green which indeed is a pain-relieving patch for red’s intensity (the theory of Bakugou and Deku being two sides of the same coin are thriving).

Midoriya Izuku is an intense person. His personality allows him to balance out his power with a selfless nature, and while he himself is sweet and caring, his fiery eyes (and shoes) express for him his utmost sincere feelings, which deep down are very telling. As mentioned before, Izuku responds to Monoma when he insults Bakugou and makes a jab at how actually Bakugou is the one who ultimately terminated AM, by unlocking a new dangerous and powerful quirk, which is so powerful and fiery, and red in his intensity, that they need Shinsou’s intervention to actually calm him down.

Izuku is a overly protective person: he has forgiveness as a foremost characteristic and even if he does mention how he will not forgive Shigaraki for what he has done, on second though he realises that even a ‘monster’ like Shigaraki deserves to be saved, and therefore his other nature takes over.

Therefore, the coexistence of these factors, and his personality are probably at the origin of why Midoriya has had such a drastic make-over before becoming Midoriya Izuku, and why the colours of Red and Green are fundamental in the description which lets us have a full picture of Midoriya as an individual: something who is full of hope and energy, striving to express whisk power and passion while trying to concern only himself with the danger that comes with his mission to save everyone.

[worldsover]

Judgement to the Desiccated ft. Karina

length ✦ 5573

genres ✧ sm type future; asphyxiation; blackmail; virtual_servant!Karina;

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Air did a poor job of not being polluted so Lee Soo Man flooded the world instead. The man himself certainly must be long gone and could not have been in charge of that decision but the legacy of his company far exceeds the legacy of any other human collective in history. Once on this planet, gas was the fluid of choice for respiration and breathing was an unconscious reflex. Now there’s Aether by SM. How very on-brand of them to have the liquid air you breathe follow perfume naming conventions.

Open your eyes and exit the sleeping chamber. Aether has you work for each inhalation, it desaturates the color of the bedroom—maybe there’s a subtle but uncomfortable tinge of yellow—and it makes your nose itch. Your muscles wield much less force than they used to because of the lack of resistance the fluid provides. Moreover, it smells like hairspray as though the ozone layer is taking sardonic revenge.

Screens impersonating windows track your eyes to ensure realistic parallax, playing the scene of divine blue heavens that could not exist. An azure sky is a reward for those planets that have an atmosphere and a sun for light to scatter. Your walls are either chrome or drywall white and your whole bedroom is plainly decorated just like the day you moved in.

“Etymology of bedroom,” you think out loud, though it falls on no ears.

“Bedroom is a compound noun consisting of bed and room. Bed goes back to Old English bedd ‘sleeping place, plot of ground prepared for plants,’ which goes back to the Germanic-”

Plants and sleep are both strong words to use nowadays. The former doesn’t exist in nature and it seems you’re the only one who bothers with the latter. Faint buzzing distracts you from the AI’s response and signals you to the nano drones that swim throughout the liquid to process carbon dioxide from your lungs. This whole ordeal could’ve been much worse if you didn’t have brain interfaces doing the hard part of controlling your diaphragm. The most you need is a purposeful thought. Still, it gets tiring having to think the same thought every three seconds. In. Out.

Was the metaphorical Soo Man teaching a lesson in perseverance? You love K-pop and imagine it’s how trainees used to practice dancing, singing, being charismatic. Being an idol had to be as natural as breathing air. Inhale and exhale. Right now with any antiquated programming language you clung on to, you could write a single for loop that did the same job. For every three seconds: breathe in, breathe out.

“What’s for breakfast today?” Not loud enough. “What’s for breakfast?” you think it louder.

“Welcome, master. Ae-Karina is ready for service.” It’s quite a kindness for SM to blur the bland dystopia you live in by augmenting reality through your neural device. A bosomy woman in a gold-lined but otherwise modest maid outfit appears from the corner of your eye and she bows. Ae-Karina is bewitching and almost becoming of her basis as its graphics have gradually upgraded over the rotations but you wouldn’t misconstrue the avatar as human.

“I said, what’s for breakfast!” It feels impolite to scream in your head, there’s other residents there, but finally the fridge lights up.

“Of course master. May I remind you eating is unnecessary?”

In. Out. Every day, she does remind you, yes. How kind of the company to put all your nutritional requirements in the new air. Aether goes in then Aether goes out. You wish the thoughts of breathing could fade into the background but they’re just like your cravings for food. Always hungry but never starving, whole though not once satisfied. Your eyes pause at her gorgeous face and she tells you there’s bacon. Take it from your fridge. Bacon goes in. Well, the drones take care of the out.

Your assigned living space is the entire 207th floor of a tower. Two hundred and seven floors below the surface. The neighbor a few floors upstairs says that he thinks living deeper is a sign of status. What a luxury. That guy should check the status of his facial muscles, maybe improve his code that lets him tell lies while he’s at it. A couple hundred flights of stairs to swim up is a useless skeuomorphism of skyscrapers in the days of the sun. In fact they were more than useless, you would've preferred a single vertical hallway as it would have let you propel upwards unimpeded. Each floor is the exact same, a glass door that affords no privacy for its residence, a false tree on each side. At the upper levels, malls, convenience stores and other gaudy retail, but it’s the gyms that mock you that you mock in return. They’re always empty.

Finally reaching the top is no true break even if it is a change in scenery. Inhale. Aether tastes a little different up here. Exhale. Can’t say you like it.

Countless satellites form a parody of the star from which the planet flew away, the false image refracted by the upper boundary of Aether. They can’t take away your memories of this star. Looking up at the sky once blinded you with ultraviolet radiation, burning your cornea. It was beautiful. Now everyone’s decided that if they’re playing the part of corporate dystopia, they might as well fit the aesthetic. In a way, it’s self-fulfilling. They wouldn’t have chosen a neon pink sun to compliment the blue and metallic gloom of the cityscape if it weren’t so ingrained in popular media already.

Still, you would’ve expected Google or Walmart to become the megacorp responsible for the state of the world, not a Korean entertainment company. Must’ve been quite the red paperclip scenario. Instead of material design or utilitarian architecture, tacky artistic structures line the streets. The same advertisements for albums that they’ve been selling for the past however long. It's all so obvious, the city could've been designed from scratch to accommodate new forms of travel and goddamn liquid air but instead they went with futuristic Tokyo.

Dubstep permeates your inner ear implants. A notification informs your thoughts that it’s “Hip-hop EDM dance pop with a strong jungle house groove and urban influences.” It’s dubstep. Liquid carries barely any sound so SM affords the option for implants if you're nostalgic for one of the senses. Even though it’s a slower form of communication than direct neural transfer, the noise comforts you. Of course the company would choose dubstep as their background music, but maybe they make money off refunds somehow. It switches to Ice Cream Cake. Much better.

You walk the not so busy roads towards a short brick warehouse in the distance and heavy rain soaks your clothes. No such thing as weather without the sun and water but it’s all simulated anyway.

A warm Seulgi adlib and you know it’s Psycho that starts playing. No, none of your senses are real. The most you could trust is your vision but even that’s being lied to. You could be living in a vat and fed all these thoughts, but then why make it so mediocre? Not paradise, nor torture but a lukewarm in-between. Guess that's what happens when SM Entertainment manages the post-apocalypse. Good on them for trying. The alternative would be a frozen hellscape without solar radiation. Can’t deny their work with geothermal and nuclear energy to keep the Aether warm so that you didn’t have to live underground for the rest of human history. It’s quite great PR to save humanity.

“Hey now, we’ll be okay,” repeats a few more times than you remember.

The Idea Factory Alpha White Delta Green says the neon tubes lighting the front of the brick and mortar building. Your ID card bears a name but it’s not yours, not until they approve your name change. Those usually get processed faster with how often people liked changing their names.

Sit at a desk with a sterile white keyboard and slick new monitor. Type and empty words appear on the screen: “Think for the many, not for the one. We need to think ahead.” A thumbs up. The company appreciates the input. That’s probably enough work for one day. Some SNSD live stages help the time pass, SM certainly appreciated the streaming numbers and it would net you some social points.

It’s hard to say what comes to mind when they ask you to envision a world without the sun and air, especially since it’s what you’ve known for... Two hundred years? There’s no frame of reference, that much you can tell from when you counted seconds to see how often the satellites completed their orbit. SM really took time to have them propel at random speeds, they love withholding sensitive information like that from citizens. To be fair, time is sensitive. Guess the meaning of that phrase changes like all parts of language.

Look around. Dozens of employees at identical workspaces all try to answer the same questions. Naturally, there’s no need for manual labor anymore but there will never be a replacement for human ingenuity. Nice slogan but you know you’re only here for data. Can’t see a need for customer retention though—what’s the alternative, skip Earth? See you on another planet?

“Hey bro, you come up with anything new?” Dave says. Two desks away, you see the enthusiastic, surprisingly spry man play around with a Newton’s cradle. The balls at each end bounce back and forth, not slowing down their rhythm any time soon.

“I think I got something,” you say, “Earth is not the answer. It can’t be, long term.”

“Ooh, I like that. Actually, I really like that.”

“What are you gonna do, copy me?”

“Of course not. You know how much SM hates plagiarism.” Click. Clack.

“Ha. As if there’s a single original thought left in the world.” Click. Clack. The imaginary sounds of metal spheres bouncing play in your mind. They got the volume wrong, no way it’d sound that loud from that distance. “You’d think with all their resources, they’d have figured out space travel by now.”

“I don’t think they want to leave, bro. Wouldn’t be great for profits.”

Your mouth opens to laugh and causes laugh8942.mp3 to play in Dave’s head. “I love it. SM probably hates that sass too,” you say.

“Oh no, they’re gonna arrest me for thoughtcrimes. Nah, they love creativity, just when it suits them. Also, if they actually did bust you for wrongthink like rumors say, I wouldn’t have this on me.” Dave twirls a finger and points at you and you thank his absurd flair for the histrionic that keeps you amused with such drab work.

“NewDrug.mp6. Would you like to play it?” the dry system voice notifies you.

“Woah woah there tiger, hold on.” Dave must’ve noticed your intrigued eyes and holds his hands up. “You might wanna experience that at home. But if you’re interested in more, ask for chicken parm at the vegan place. You know the one.”

Dave leaves his desk. He doesn’t return. You finish your work. Inspire. Expire. You’d rather not.

In contrast to your commute to work, the roads fill with others on your way home. You have to know. Take solace in the comfort of a bench where a huge McDonald’s arch bathes the surroundings and its people with a yellow glow. Really shouldn’t watch it now, especially if Dave says it’s a home type of watch but you have to know. A family of five watches you pass out. They, along with every other passerby, ignore your still body draped over the chrome outdoor seating as you look like yet another junkie. The title is correct after a fashion, the simulation is some sort of new drug. The details of the exploits that happen in the immersive replay wash over you but you don’t need them to know that it’s the sort of lewd that SM would not allow—at least not publicly and not without the right exorbitant payment.

Suit pants and underwear go straight to the laundry. That must’ve been an embarrassing sight but no one bothered to stop you, so it doesn’t matter. Look up where this vegan place was that Dave so presumptuously assumed you knew about and you find that it’s about four Avengers’ stores down from work. He must’ve eaten there before.

“Yo Dave, just wanna make sure, what’s the name of the vegan place called?”

“What are you talking about, man? You telling me there’s some secret underground farms that SM wouldn’t know about?”

You can’t tell when you got to work, a lack of standardized timing would help as well the haze of living in a monotonous dark. “Nah, I mean, for the-”

“I have no idea,” Dave emphasizes each word, “what you’re talking about.”

“I see.”

Work flies by, unusually.

“Hey, can I get a chicken-”

“Uh, this is Maron’s Veggies Only, it clearly says on the sign.”

Clear your throat. “Parm.”

The shifty part-time worker looks around and rubs his fingers gesturing for money. “No digital.”

Over the counter, you pass him a gold coin stamped with a holographic 1 and he hands you a USB stick and a laptop in return. How old-fashioned.

“It’ll sync with whoever you have set as your avatar experience aspect,” the worker says.

“Thanks.”

Ever vigilant as the patrol is, the alleys are the last place you want to go to hide with the obvious criminal element within them all but you head to one anyway. Dump the anachronistic technology in your storage pocket dimensions. Looking at its contents, you’d have to clean that mess up later, but the more you look like an average slob the better. The biggest problem with the inventories is all the people squatting in them. Inspectors wouldn’t care about the archaic ruins you left in yours.

“Welcome, master. Ae-Karina is ready to service.”

“I’d like to go on a date. A special date.” You highlight the key word special and sit on your living room couch. No one’s going to look in your glass door and regardless, you wouldn’t be the pervert for glimpsing into someone’s home.

“Ah yes, master. Ae-Karina is ready to fully service,” she says with a provocative tint in her tone, her sclera disperses to black to match. A pole drops from the ceiling while parts of her maid outfit dissolve which reveals more of the silky skin of her thighs, her lissom arms and most importantly her overflowing breasts. Ae-Karina wraps her legs around the pole and spins around, teasing fingers trace curves on her body to harden you. Her dance is precise but sultry regardless. She pulls up her short skirt to flaunt more of her ass beneath white panties and then pulls down to flourish her cleavage, not trapped by a bra. “Are you enjoying your maid’s show?”

“Very much so, yes,” you say.

Half of a smile forms before a glitch occurs and she teleports next to you, fully nude. It doesn’t pull you out of the illusion however. You just stare and drink in the splendor of her created body.

“You’re not going to touch?” Ae-Karina says.

A feel of her tits and you find it softer than pillows you used to rest on. Soft isn’t much of a character that exists anymore when the whole world is engulfed in liquid. No one has beds, especially with the rarity of sleep. Therefore, her mounds are a consummate dedication to the texture as you squeeze and pinch at her cute nipples.

Her maid outfit rematerializes as she straddles you. It provides more friction to your pants as she begins her lap dance. The weight of her body dragging across your legs and clothed erection induces your carnal impulses further. If only you could fuck the virtual idol. You have to make do with the imprint of her pussy lips on your bulge sliding up and down. Breath in. Breath out.

Ae-Karina pulls down your boxers and spits on your erection. It's not real but her hands so slick on your cock and you let reality slip. Real is for the past, you have desires gratified in the present. There is no real person nibbling at your neck but your nerves activate in sexual desire without discernment for truth. No, she doesn't love you, but when the voracious mass of ones and zeroes says it loves its master, you say it back.

"I love you."

ILOVEYOU infected ten million computers in 2000. An explosion. Calibration engaging. It’s 1:21 PM, Sunday, July 18, 2286 and hypothetically the sun would be out in its full rage. At this latitude and longitude, you’re at what was once the epicenter of all—Seoul, where a fountain caused a chain reaction allowing the hopeful remnant of a world to exist. It lasted a surprisingly long time without the sun and without Aether but the dying planet would succumb inevitably to the ever-increasing contamination so SM of all corporations took charge. A different kind of chain reaction occurred when they acquired a restaurant chain that discovered the recipe for liquid air. The law is on its way and prepared to punish you to its full extent.

You reel while your ears ring. An even sexier version of the woman you already fantasized about appears from your peripheral vision in the crater of your floor. A skimpy cop outfit, striated with reflective material that seems to wane black at different angles, outlines Karina’s curves. She has a tool belt with absurd gadgets, such as a knife baton hybrid, a taser combined with a spray bottle and a Tamagotchi. None of this is necessary. They could just immediately arrest you, impose limitations on your devices. Sure, SM cloned people to deal with underpopulation, but why Karina would be the enforcer is a whole nother issue. Maybe the entertainment company loves their irony?

“Halt. You’re under arrest. Any resistance will be penalized according to the combined Terms of Service of all SM and SM associated products.”

Fucked anyway, you figure you might as well go for it. Escape into your inventory and only seconds later you’re forced out. You manage to get what you need regardless.

“Violation of access rights will be charged to your account.”

It’s so obvious but there’s a reason you kept so much gold in physical storage. As you swim away, the sides of your apartment start to bubble. Bubbles? Already, your limbs feel unsteady. Something’s wrong in the Aether.

“This is standard procedure for escaping suspects that are indoors. Again, this is all agreed to under the Terms of Service.”

“When the fuck did I ever click accept to that shit?”

“When you were born in this world and decided you want to stay in it,” Karina says out loud. You hear her say it. Your physical ears process the vibrations in the air that come from her mouth. Gravity thwarts your desperate escape as your limp body floats on the limit between liquid and air. The atrophy of your muscles becomes apparent within the gaseous atmosphere. She watches you sink down as the room drains of all the false air though her eyebrows crease when she inspects you closer. Your breaths are involuntary. Despite your muscles shorting out, the force of gravity and the pressure of the gas bearing down on you, you’re breathing and you don’t mean to. Her eyes wander farther down. On your pants, a concrete rod stamps the fabric.

“Oh, you like what you see?”

“Shut up, criminal. Anything you say can and will be used against you.”

“Your pussy,” you say and she scoffs.

“Original.” Karina bites her lip as your erection continues to grow behind its prison. You use all effort to put your hands up.

“Please, miss Karina. I’ve been bad.”

“I could punish you even more for sexual assault.”

“Then do it.”

Heat radiates the room in a way you haven’t felt in a while and droplets of sweat form on each of your bodies, especially on the thighs that her revealing outfit parades. Her facial features contort in deliberation and the wait kills you. You bat your eyes at her before Karina takes off her tight shorts and drops herself into your anticipatory face. This makes no sense but none of this life made any sense so you decide to go with the tides.

Centuries of training your respiration has led to this moment, but when you finally have real air to breathe, you spit at the opportunity and choose to suffocate. Then you spit at her pussy and lap it up. Karina’s nectar transfixes your olfactory glands, for once a smell that isn’t the sterile Aether. Your eyes are mesmerized in parallel because of the perfect design of her pussy, a single crease that leads into her hole that your tongue emphatically explores. Karina spreads her thighs wide to reveal a small nub that craves attention. So give it. Suck and swirl and flick your tongue, and the woman provides you the tight clench of her legs as a gift. And the sounds, rediscovered glorious noise. Loud, almost too loud, and clear is how they assault your ears, even surrounded by the flesh of her thighs. Muffled by the weight of her legs, you hear Karina moan in approval but she’s still clearly in charge with how she chokes you with her legs. This is not about your pleasure but hers, and any satisfaction that you derive is not only incidental but probably punishable by SM copyright law.

Karina squirms her hips subtly on your mouth. Her eyes are sharp and she’s just about to stop your hands from moving but she notices them clasp together.

“I’ll do anything to make you cum, please.” you say sloppily as her pussy juices fill your cheeks and drip down your chin.

“God. I can’t.” She takes deep, contemplative breaths. ”That’s more time added on for inappropriate behavior.” Her groaning and brief squeals make her words sound incogent.

You give her a concluding lick and a kiss on her slit. “So what have you been doing right now then?”

Point to a corner of the room and a subtle red light indicates a recording camera. At once, she pulls out a hose from a pocket that could not fit it and the vacuum submerges the room with noise. Her expression shifts quickly to serious.

“We don’t play games here in SMTOWN unless it’s SuperStar so don’t fuck with me.”

“Look who's trying to be a comedian. How about you fuck with me any further and the video gets released.”

“That’s funny, you think you have any sort of power-”

“Yoo Jimin, I suggest you don’t push me more.”

“Where do you know that name from? Right now.” She weighs herself down on your neck.

“You think I don’t have contingencies for if I die too? Karina, we can make this a  win-win scenario. We both get to cum, we both get to walk away unscathed.”

“Fuck you.”

Your weak arms wander between her thighs. At any moment, a feeble punch towards your face or another ten seconds of asphyxiation and she could call your bluff. Even if you did have the ability to expose her perversions in any way, there would be no permanent recourse, not as long SM was in charge. So it surprises you when Karina takes off her shorts. 

“Goddammit. Your cock just looks too good. And your mouth, how are you so good with it?” Put up five fingers when she motions to remove her top as well, and instead she opts to take off your clothes, seizing your pants and throwing them to join the rubble in the room.

A finger slips in, then two and a third dares. Her flawlessly architected pussy lips clings to your digits and Karina shudders in reply. You explore her wetness and find it’s smooth to the point of having no faults, but her juice inside is gloppy and causes your fingers to stick more than the liquids she spills from her slit.

“Who said you’re allowed to have more?”

You lap up the nectar on your fingers. “Then why’d they make you taste so good?”

Your thumb teases her sweet tight asshole and puts just the slightest amount of pressure on it while you finger her with more intensity. The mass of her butt burdens your torso the closer she gets to orgasm. Her eyelids squeeze close and you see her body ripple in anxious pleasure. Karina shows off her pearly whites, teetering on the cliff of hysteria.

“Yes, yes! I’m so close,” she screams.

"Not yet."

“Fuck." Karina sobs, "God. Damn, fuck I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Just fuck me.”

“My pleasure,” you say. There’s no need for you to grab her since she brings herself down to your groin, which you’re thankful for as your arms are as good as jelly now. Fortunately, your cock throbs as hard as ever while Karina’s slit rests on it.

“Say you’ll delete it all, all the evidence, promise me.”

“You’re gonna fuck me first or what?” Your breath hitches while she makes a strangled noise as her velvety walls swallow your cock whole to leave no room for comfort. Her tightness is stifling and you have to start counting just to breathe again.

“One two-”

“Be quiet.”

But there is no quiet when pleas for your cooperation intersperse her excessive profanities when she seats herself into your cock and ricochets up and down. Sweat emanates from her creamy skin while her legs widen to find a better angle for her supporting knees in her cowgirl position. Grapefruit and other citrus mingle with the scent of the sweat, fruits you haven’t seen except on billboards in music videos. As much as your mind crackles and your blood roars for every atmosphere of pressure Karina’s walls provide on each thrust in and out, you can’t help but reminisce on sweeter, more innocent times.

The white fluorescent lights in your apartment sputter. For all the advancements in technology, some among many things never change. Light refracts differently in air, less bright, but you can see the pure enjoyment on Karina’s face no matter the luminescence. Karina slows her ride to pull her hips down harder instead and she jolts when your cock finds the most tender spots inside her pussy and it interrupts her babbling.

Karina almost hyperventilates when she gets up to spit on your cock. She pulls out some kind of meter from her tool belt and sighs when there’s no beeping and you recognize it having to do with carbon dioxide. She gets back to dribbling saliva and the filament trailing down to your shaft mesmerizes you. This spit is real, not simulated, and it wettens your erection in a mix with her pussy juices to paralyze you further in your already listless state. Her bare thighs jiggle and you can’t exert much force with your hands but her buttcheeks are firm with just a bit of give.

“Thank you for this cock, thank you for being bad,” Karina says as you watch her ass sink deeper while her pussy holds your dick taut. She’s frenetic when bounces up and down to play an unadulterated orchestra of slick noises between your groins.

“You’re welcome,” you accomplish getting out the words between planned breaths. Your hands cup her buttcheeks but you fear they may break with how she strikes her ass into you.

Karina turns around once more to give you the spectacle of her facial expressions as she fucks herself into you. Knead her calves laying on your torso and they take no energy to spread them though she brings them back together, compressing your hard shaft within her pussy. A new game you play with her, a separate rhythm of loosening and tightening. Her feet press on your chest to help her bounce, but the way they bear down on your lungs against the timing of your breathing causes you to fumble. Your cock bends straight forward as she plunges herself into you and it sends prickles to your entire skin, making the new angle difficult but worth it. Karina takes your hand and starts sucking on your fingers.

“You want my promise that bad?” you say.

“Yes, as bad as I want your cum. I swear, I need it.”

She draws her knees up to her torso and hugs her legs to keep thighs as tight together as possible. Karina couldn’t keep her word, she was trying to kill your cock with constriction.

“Fuck, your pussy is so fucking tight. God, Karina, fuck. You’re so good.” Even if good isn’t the word you want to use to describe her.

“Do it, please, please. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby. Karina can be a good girl, a good maid, a good cop, whatever you want. Just don’t get me in trouble, please.”

Karina’s mouth stops saying words though her lips writhe, drunk in increasing lust. Her cheeks flush, before the rest of her skin joins in redness while she grapples your chest and whatever spare limb she can find. You still struggle wresting control of your body but nature seems to take over when you drive yourself into her and match her needy cadence. The air in the room is replaced by a new air but it isn’t Aether. Passion, sweat, heat and all fluids that you both exude join squelching sounds, slaps and moans in harmonic bliss when her body tenses and she screams. As her body tightens, her pussy especially holds your cock for dear life and endeavours to wring out all your semen as her wetness throbs and spills. Karina starts counting to three repeatedly and you laugh though your amusement quickly subsides when you feel her juices become more viscous and she continues her ride, even in the dying pulses of her climax.

“Was I good?” Karina asks.

Just a moment goes by before you mentally send her a screenshot of all the recordings being deleted. Karina hasn’t stopped fucking you yet so at least it wasn’t a ploy.

“Thank you, thank you, I love you.” The flexion of her pliant legs brings them all the way back to rest on top of your legs. Karina lays prone above you and finally give you a kiss. The citrusy flavor may be closer to lime than grapefruit but it’s been so long that you can’t remember which scent is which. Lips crash and her tongue lashes out at yours trying to establish dominance. Keep still to let her investigate your mouth while her pussy does the same to your shaft.

You savor the way Karina’s top emphasizes the bouncing of her tits synchronous with the rebounding of her waist on your cock, but your mouth waters when she frees them. Take the shortest moment to relish in the sight before Karina smothers you with her plump globes. You wriggle your face to try to breathe. Inhale, up and exhale, down, but all you inhale is the scent of her orbs’ sweat. Her hips undulate with a pace at least double yours breathing and the echoes of slapping flesh resonate throughout the air-filled chamber. The loudness is unlike any you’ve experienced in a long time. It’s almost a flashbang every time her ass slams into your lap, especially as you start to see white when orgasm threatens to overload you with preludial pulses.

The last words you hear infected ten million computers in 2000. Fade to black. Cut. You’re slammed out of existence back into existence as a sun rebirths both within you, heating your core to a dangerous high, and from your eyes, dazzling you in an unforgiving white light. In the throes of unconsciousness relapsing to consciousness back to tenebrosity, your streaks of semen suspend in the Aether like a dead tree resting from the wind. What flashes your mind in its orgasmic state are two things only you would remember, plants and weather. Your hyperventilation is unconscious but not unwelcome, as it’s the first time in a while your breaths were reflexive even in the liquid air. However, basking in your newfound power, you start to choke. Right. You breathe in and out again. In and out. In. Out. In. Out. Back in.

“Replaying KarinaArrestsYou.mp6.” A hint of vexatious glee in the system’s otherwise dry voice. You don’t stop for it.

✦✧✦✧✦✧ 

AFF, AO3

It’s pretty silly but the idea danced around in my head ever since I saw the absolute Black Mirror concept that SM had for aespa and I concur that Karina is insanely hot.

As I’m writing this, this Kurzgesagt video on the idea of a rogue Earth comes out and now I have to rewrite stuff to make it at least a little consistent. I’m obviously already going nuts with all these ridiculous sci-fi concepts but this video almost feels too targeted to me writing this for me to ignore it.

[someonestolemyshoes]

Yo, saw your post about levihan prompts:

How about Hange discovering Levi’s secret hobby (of your choice)

Feel free to do whatever you feel like

And I love your work! 💕 have a good day

Hello! So sorry for the delay in this one, but thank you so much for your patience 🙏 I got stuck for such a long time in the middle of this ksksks but it is finally done! I also played around a little bit with the whole...discovering a secret aspect, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway! And I hope you're ready for some sweet sweet childhood friends levihan~

**

Levi likes photography.

This, in itself, is no great secret. Hange can barely remember a time he wasn't following after her with a camera strapped around his neck, or packed into his bag—always within reach, should something striking catch his eye. A little neon plastic toy, at first; each click of the shutter cycled through preloaded images, expert shots of famous landscapes, places they could only dream of seeing. And then, a polaroid—still a toy, in essence, still plastic, still gaudy, but this one took real pictures in real time, and spit them out into their eager, shaking fingers within seconds.

Hange remembers them ruthlessly wafting the little laminate squares and watching with bated breath as black mottled into foggy grey, as the blurred silhouette of the park bench faded slowly into being. It was a fascinating thing, at the time. Magic at their fingertips. The picture turned out fuzzy and overexposed in places, where the sun had glared in over the corner of the park bench, but Levi had settled the little square on his little palms and looked at it like he held the whole world in his hands.

There were innumerable disposable cameras, too. Light little things with reels of film, never enough for Levi's insatiable desire to snap pictures of every single thing he saw. They spent half their childhood in the chemist, sitting in the hard plastic chairs, wriggling anxiously as they waited for the film to develop. Kuchel always handed them the envelope, fat with prints, with a small smile curling the corner of her mouth and a fond twinkle in her eye, and Levi always took it politely, while Hange gave a boisterous thanks, and the pair of them delved greedily into their spoils.

He was older, in his early teens, when he was gifted his first real camera. It was heavy, compared to all the others, a case made of metal with buttons and gadgets and a fancy screen on the back, to preview each picture he took. Levi was wholly enamoured with it. He spent hours adjusting it, figuring out what each button and knob did, how they affected each picture; took countless shots of the same rock in the park until he'd tested every combination of settings he could think of.

He had cycled through more cameras since then. Grown a small collection, each one a little different, a little more suited to particular shots. Hange understood the concept in theory, but the particulars were lost on her, and Levi never took the time to explain. Not that she minded—Levi's pictures were beautiful, breathtaking in the way he could capture even the most mundane details and make them something wondrous. Perhaps for the first and only time in her life, Hange had no desire for the magician to reveal his tricks.

He has an eye for things that Hange simply cannot see. She is observant—to a fault, at times, intensely analytical and endlessly curious. Everything is a question, an opportunity to research, to learn, but she doesn't see the way Levi does.

Wild daffodil. Narcissus pseudonarcissus. Hange sees a perennial flowering plant, native to Western Europe, classified by its pale yellow petals and elongated central trumpet. She sees phylogeny with a rich taxonomic history; subspecies originating all over the globe, some larger, some smaller, some more vibrant and some more muted. She sees anatomy, science.

Levi sees the way the evening sun rusts the buttery petals until they blush; sees the way dew drops hang like pearls from the tips of the leaves in the early morning, when the light is still smoky and thin. He sees a moment to be captured.

It should be impossible for a picture to hold so much detail. Hange can look at Levi's daffodil and feel the way the spring wind blows gently on her skin, the sun warm but the breeze a little biting, a remnant of the fading winter. She can smell the pollen heavy in the air, feel the tickle of short grass on her ankles, hear the trill of songbirds in the branches of distant trees.

His proclivity for photography grows with them. Hange's interests spear out in a thousand different directions, from physics and chemistry to botany, to engineering, to literature and mathematics, to history, languages and landscapes—life is a limitless source of information and Hange chases it every which way, insatiable.

And wherever she goes, Levi dutifully follows, with his camera in hand.

Until now.

Now, they are eighteen. The summer is lazily drawing to a close, and tomorrow, at 8:45am, Hange will be boarding a plane that will take her to the other side of the world to attend the university of her dreams.

And Levi will be staying here.

Despite Levi's perpetual scowling and indiscriminate grunting, their last evening together had overall been a pleasant one. Levi and Kuchel had worked hard on their meal, and it had been nice in a warm, filling kind of way, to spend her last night at home with the two of them.

Now, she and Levi are holed up in his bedroom, while Kuchel had insisted on doing the clean up herself. Hange's mind has been churning non-stop for weeks now, ramping up with each passing day, and tonight, her thoughts are unstoppable, and they spill from her with giddy, jittery excitement.

"The university is huge, but my course is pretty small—only like, 30 places. It'll be easy to get to know everybody."

"Nn."

"And did I tell you? There's a museum right on campus? They've got a huge collection, and I heard students can access it after the first semester."

"Hm."

"And there's a flower garden, too—they've got species from all over the world, Levi. They'll have plants I've never even heard of."

"You said."

"Oh! And—my accommodation isn't all that far from the coast. The water looks beautiful in all the pictures I've seen—look, see?"

"I know. You showed me already."

Hange looks up from her phone, where the screen is lit with a bright, sunny beach, tan sand and a stark blue ocean. Levi flicks his gaze over it and offers a noncommittal shrug of his shoulder. Hange frowns at him.

"You could at least pretend to be excited, you know."

Levi gives her a deadpan stare.

"It looks...warm."

Hange sits back with a thump, and kicks weakly at Levi's shin. She pouts over at him. "Better than nothing, I guess."

They sit at opposite ends of the window bench in Levi's bedroom, legs tangled haphazardly together in the space between them. The window was thrown open in some vain hope of tempting in a breeze, but the air is thick, and the soft wind that does blow is still stiflingly warm. It sways Levi's fringe against his brow, but does little to stave off the oppressive heat.

The sky outside is dark, but it is alive with stars. They cast bright sparks on an inky black canvas, and there is no moon in sight. Already, Levi has snapped pictures of it, twisted dials and pushed buttons and switched lenses until he was satisfied.

It is a beautiful sight. Infinite.

Hange lets one leg dangle out the open window. Levi gives her a sour look and wordlessly closes one hand around her other ankle. She has a long history of behaving carelessly—Levi has borne witness to one too many slips and stumbles to trust her entirely. It would be just like Hange, to miss her flight in favour of a trip to the emergency room.

His thumb strokes back and forth absently. There is a callus there, rough and catching, that scratches against her sensitive skin.

Her predominant feeling is one of excitement. Studying abroad had been a dream of hers for almost as long as Levi had owned a camera—to travel beyond the bounds of their small rural town, to see more, learn more, fuel the relentless hunger in her. But there is an undercurrent of something else, some squirming discomfort that refuses to settle. It intensifies with every sweep of Levi's thumb against her skin until it sits heavy in her gut.

She looks over at him. His gaze is trained out the window, a small frown furrowing the skin between his brows, but his eyes are glassy, with none of their usual sharp, unwavering focus. Whatever he is looking at, he is not really seeing it.

It would be a lie to say that his silence had not troubled her. He had been quiet throughout dinner, opting instead to listen to Hange and Kuchel's companionable chatter as he pushed his food around his plate, and he had barely said a word since they had cleared the table and retreated to his room. He had hardly even looked her way.

Irritation bubbles within her. Levi is always more subdued than she is, content to sit quietly while Hange babbles endlessly, about anything and everything. But he usually has something to say. His silence, today of all days, makes her angry. They have one night left like this—one more night to talk, face to face, before they will be separated for who knows how long, and Levi is offering her nothing.

"Levi," she says, before she can think. Something in her tone must startle him, for he blinks rapidly, as though pulled out of a daydream, and rolls his eyes to look in her direction. His gaze settles somewhere near her shoulder. She bristles. "Can you at least—"

"Levi?" Kuchel's voice is distant, floating up from the bottom of the stairs. Levi looks at the door instead. "Can you come give me a hand for a minute?"

Hange clamps her jaw shut. Levi casts her another sidelong glance, and ticks his tongue against the back of his teeth. He squeezes her ankle once, then pushes himself to his feet. "Don't fall, idiot. I won't be long."

Hange feels distinctly like a child on the verge of throwing a tantrum. It's immature, and perhaps it's unfair of her, but she had assumed that Levi's invitation for dinner might, at the very least, come with a little conversation.

She takes a deep, steadying breath. They never fight, not really—they bicker endlessly, poke each other's cheeks and pull each other's hair, childish rough housing that they never grew out of. But they don't fight and as grumpy as Hange feels about Levi's near silence, she doesn't want to start now. She runs a hand back through her hair and sweeps her eyes about the room, counting long, even breaths as she does.

Levi's room is immaculately neat and tidy. Everything has its place, on clean, dusted shelves, or stacked in straight, neat piles atop his desk. It is a level of organisation Hange has little energy for; she herself is a hurricane, picking up and dropping off detritus everywhere she goes.

But Levi's borderline obsessive cleanliness makes it easy to spot something that is out of place.

Hange's gaze falls on a drawer in the desk.  The drawer itself is as immaculate as everything else, gleaming wood and a reflectively polished brass handle. What catches her eye is the corner of a glossy piece of paper, caught when the drawer had been closed.

Hange is a curious creature. Rarely can she hold herself back from exploring an unknown, and now is no different. She unfolds herself from the bench and stretches to stand, then crosses the room on light, tip-toed feet.

Levi is, by and large, a rather private person. He does not share much of himself openly, hides behind an impassive mask, guards what is dear to him close to his chest. Hange is an exception to this rule, whether Levi wanted her to be or not.

As such, she has no real issue prying the drawer open, and is unsurprised by the predictable contents within.

Photographs.

Of course it was photographs.

Her lips tug up in a fond smile and her eyes roll, but it is as she is reaching in to flatten out the rumpled picture that had been poking out of the drawer, that she notices what they are photographs of.

Her.

Hange picks out a stack and sits cross-legged in the desk chair. She flips through them, eyes growing wider with each new picture she uncovers. Every single one is of her. Some recent, some not so recent—some must be from the very first real camera, for she is still in her braces, all thin, gangly limbs and scruffy hair and taped up glasses.

There are pictures of her in the winter, mitten-clad hands wrapped around a paper cup of hot chocolate, blowing steam into the chill air. She can see in stark clarity, the red tip of her nose and the chill bitten over her cheeks; she can almost feel the cold, taste the cocoa on her tongue.

She finds a picture of her from an autumn years gone by. She remembers it as though it were yesterday—they had spent the whole afternoon raking fallen leaves in the courtyard behind Kuchel's cafe, scooping them into a terribly tempting mound beneath the shedding tree. Hange had been unable to resist. Levi had captured her moments after her dive into the pile, sitting up with her weight propped back on her hands, dry leaves clinging to her messy hair and sticking to the fibres of her cardigan. The sun was low, and it cast her in a golden glow, highlighting the vibrant red and orange of the fall foliage around her, drawing out the auburn undertone in her hair and the amber of her eyes. Her smile is almost blinding.

Another shows her in the spring, laying on her belly in the long grass beside a row of blooming daffodils. There is a book spread open before her and she is, as expected, engrossed in it; Levi has snapped the shutter as she was turning the page, the thin edge of the paper caught between the delicate tips of her fingers.

Hange has never considered herself to be particularly pretty. She is just...Hange, a little bit of wild, a little bit of manic, a lot of clumsy and dirty. Being attractive has never been of much concern.

But there is something in the way Levi has photographed her, time and time again, in the way the light catches her, the candid ease of each new picture, that looks....beautiful, in its own way. Somehow, he has made her mess into a masterpiece.

Levi likes taking pictures of things. Plants, rocks, rivers, landscapes and skylines—he likes capturing the mundanity of everyday life and turning it into something spectacular, but he has never done the same thing with people. As far as Hange was aware, Levi had taken very few pictures of anybody at all.

And yet, she holds this pile in her hands, and there are plenty more pictures littering the drawer before her.

There is a strange feeling brewing on her as she stares at them. She had been so excited about moving away to study, so eager to explore the world beyond their quiet countryside home, that the reality of leaving had never truly sunk in. She feels it now though, acutely; a hollow ache in her chest that grows with each picture she flicks through.

Levi has been her shadow for as long as she can remember. There are few memories that he is not a part of, few moments that she can recall in which Levi was not by her side—he has been a constant for her. Something certain and dependable.

And from tomorrow, he will no longer be there.

Hange had known this. She had known it from the moment she had accepted her offer, and she had known it as they looked through her options for accommodation together, as they explored the local area through pictures and videos and maps online. She had known it as they had prepared her visa, organised her finances. Booked her flights. Every step of the way she had understood, logically, rationally, that studying abroad meant leaving Levi behind.

But the weight of it is only hitting her now. The reality of it is like a slap in the face, a punch in the gut—it leaves her shaken and breathless in the worst way.

From tomorrow, Levi won't be with her at all.

Her grip tightens on the photographs hard enough to wrinkle the glossy paper.

She had done a pretty good job of not getting too emotional about the whole thing. For the most part, Hange had been overwhelmed by her own excitement—there had been no time for sadness between all the loose ends she’d had to tie up in order to make the move a possibility. Now though, all that is left is to head to the airport and board her plane. No more distractions.

Hange doesn’t realise she is crying until the bedroom door opens again, and Levi steps into the room, coming to a sudden halt halfway over the threshold.

Hange can't tell if Levi's look of shock is because of the open drawer and the pictures still clutched in her hands, or the tear tracks on her cheeks. He stops dead in the open doorway, fingers still curled around the handle, and for a moment he stares at her with eyes wider than Hange has ever seen them, but then his brow dips low and his lip curls, and his grip tightens around the door handle. Hange holds the pile of photographs close to her chest.

She is expecting anger. She doesn't suppose she could blame him if he lost his temper with her, then. She has a terrible habit of bulldozing into everything, after all, and perhaps this was the one thing Levi had longed to keep secret from her. Her snooping, on top of his already sullen mood—perhaps this is the final straw.

But instead, he turns his face away, staring resolutely into the corner of the room. Starlight spills through the open window. Even in the thin, muted light, Hange can see a vibrant flush colouring the skin high on Levi's cheeks.

Hange sniffles, and wipes clumsily at her cheeks.

"I didn't have you pegged as a closet pervert, Levi," she says, waving the handful of pictures at him. Her voice comes cracked, and weaker than she'd hoped. Levi's knuckles turn white.

It's a funny thing, seeing Levi embarrassed. His emotional expression is usually limited to small twitches, here and there—a slight furrow of his brow, a wrinkle of his nose, a soft twitch of his lip. Hange can count on one hand the number of times she has seen his feelings show so completely. It's almost painful to witness.

"I don't mind," she says. Levi doesn't look at her. Hange looks down at the pile again. "They're nice."

Levi finally releases his death grip on the handle and pushes the door closed. His eyes are still downcast and his cheek is still cherry red, but he hasn't run away and he hasn't snapped at her (yet). Hange takes these things as good signs.

"I didn't know you took pictures of people," Hange says.

"I don't."

"Are you saying I'm not people, Levi?"

Levi lets out a disgruntled sigh. He crosses the room, and plucks the pile of pictures from Hange's hands. His cheeks are still pink, and his brows are still furrowed, but he has composed himself some.

“No, you’re not,” he says. “You’re a creature. You’ve got snot all over your face.”

Hange laughs wetly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand and rubbing the mess on her pants. Levi gives her a look of pure disgust, parking his hip against the edge of the desk beside her and skimming through a few of the pictures. There’s a curious expression on his face, a softness in his eyes that Hange isn’t used to seeing.

“Stalker,” she says. Levi kicks at the desk chair without looking up. “If you wanted a photoshoot, you could have asked.”

Levi scowls. He straightens the edges of the pictures with care, and sets them carefully on the desk. “If I wanted to take pictures of you posing, I would have asked.”

“Wanted to capture me in all my natural glory, huh?” Hange braces her elbows on the desk and rests her chin in both hands, grinning cheekily up at Levi. It must look ridiculous, with her watery eyes and the red point of her nose, but Levi isn't even looking at her to notice.

Levi says nothing. His gaze lingers on the pictures for a little longer, and the colour in his cheeks deepens. Hange nudges him with her elbow, smiling. The pictures are...sweet, in a way. There's something flattering about it. She slumps back in the chair, her smile wavering where a fresh wave of melancholy tugs at the edges of her lips.

“I’ll miss you, you know.” Hange’s voice cracks humiliatingly as she speaks. Levi looks over at her. Hange curses the wobble of her bottom lip and wipes at her eyes beneath her glasses. She isn’t expecting much; Levi is terrible at expressing feelings at the best of times, and so it’s more than surprising when, after a moment of consideration, he nods at her.

“Same.”

Fresh tears spill down her cheeks. Hange presses her fingers into her eyes, trying to stem the flow, ease the sting there. She doesn’t want to spend their last evening together crying, but now that the tears have begun, Hange can’t seem to stop them. A lump builds in her throat, aching beneath her tongue and she can feel her chin wobbling, lips pulling down at the corners. She sniffles pitifully, draws a shuddering breath.

“Oi…” Levi says, though he doesn’t sound angry, or even uncomfortable like she had expected. His tone is gentle. It rips a sob from her.

Hange feels him move closer. He jostles the front of the chair, and when she opens her eyes to look at him she finds him standing right in front of her, between chair and desk, looking at her with a furrowed brow. It’s different to his usual scowl—his brows are a little upturned in the middle, exposing some kinder emotion; something like worry, or concern.

Hange tilts forward until her forehead presses into his chest. Levi’s hand comes up quickly to the back of her head. His touch is familiar, comforting, and Hange cries a little harder when his fingers tunnel into her messy hair, cradling her against him.

She cries until she feels spent, sniffling and gulping empty air. Her fingers twist into the hem of Levi’s shirt as she composes herself, mumbling, “you’ll keep in touch, right? You won’t forget about me?”

Levi clicks his tongue at her. “Stupid,” he says. “As if you’d let me.”

“I’m serious.” She sits back and looks up at her. Her eyes are burning, raw and wet, and the skin of her cheeks stings from crying, but she looks at him with as much determination as ever and says, “call me. Every day.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not! Just once, every day. Even if it’s only five minutes.”

Levi flicks her between her brows. “You won’t have the time, dumbass.”

“I’ll make time.”

Levi scrutinizes her for a moment, then says, “I’ll text.”

“Well, yeah, obviously.”

Levi curls his lip and pulls at a lock of her fringe, muttering, “brat. Why don’t you call me?”

“I will,” Hange says plainly. Levi’s eyes widen a fraction. “I’ll call as much as I can. But you need to call me too, okay? I wanna hear from you a lot.”

There is a long pause, and then Levi turns his eyes away. The light in the room is pale and muted, but it is just enough to highlight the pale flush gathering anew on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. It’s almost cute.

“Fine. I’ll call. Happy?”

Hange grins at him. “Very. And I’ll send you photos of everything, all the time.”

Levi leans down towards her, pinching her nose between his thumb and forefinger and giving her head a little shake. “On your shitty phone camera?”

Hange nods. She bats his hand away and cranes herself up into his space, smiling something wicked. “You’ll hate it. They’ll be all blurry and I’ll have my thumb in the corner of every picture.”

“Pest.”

“Lots of selfies, too. So you won’t forget what I look like.” Hange blindly swipes up a picture from the desk, holding it up between them in front of her mouth and nose. Between Levi dipping down into her space and Hange stretching up into his, they are so close that Levi has to cross his eyes to get a look at it. “Not that I think it’ll be a problem.”

He rolls his gaze up to look at her over the top of the photograph. Up close, Hange can see just how bright the blue of his eyes is, how dark his lashes are; she can see the shadows they cast on his cheeks, the deepening flush bruising the skin red. Levi has always been a pale thing, but now, Hange can see the smattering of light freckles across his nose, barely visible in the low light. He looks pretty. Her heart stutters in her chest at the sight.

Hange has never fully understood Levi’s drive to photograph everything. To preserve any given moment, bottle up every minute detail. She sort of understands it, then—it’d be nice, she thinks absently, to save this particular view for forever. The thought makes her face grow warm.

“I won’t forget.” Levi’s voice is quiet, caught somewhere between embarrassment and uncertainty. He sways closer, rocks back, hesitates. And then he leans down and lets his forehead drop against hers. Hange can feel the press of his nose against her own, separated only by the picture between them.

Hange is used to being close to him. She’s a clingy person by nature, always grabbing him and hugging him, smooshing her cheek against his or shoving her face into his hair, but she is always the one to initiate such contact. Levi is tactile, in his own way—small, non-invasive touches, his fingers on her wrist or his palm at her back, always delicate, understated.

To have Levi enter so wholly into her space like this is new. It’s nice. Hange finds herself feeling very, very thankful for the paper between them, for the urge to lean forward and kiss him comes unbidden, so suddenly she isn’t sure she’d be able to resist the impulse if there hadn’t been a barrier in her way.

“Is it my dazzling good looks?” she says, acutely embarrassed by how breathless she sounds. Levi makes a small, noncommittal noise. His fingers find hers where she’s holding the picture, gripping it and pulling it until it slips out from between them. For the smallest moment, Hange feels the skin of Levi’s nose against hers, and the warm puff of breath on her lips, and then Levi straightens up, flipping the picture for her to see it.

“I’ve looked at your ugly mug every day for long enough. Don’t think I’d forget it so easily.”

It’s a truly unflattering photograph. Hange has her head tipped back, laughing boisterously at some thing or another, with her eyes pinched closed and chocolate sauce smeared over her lips, a drop of cream stuck to the end of her nose. Hange is sure she has looked better, but the thing is—despite her state, the picture still isn’t bad. Hange can hear the lilt of her own laughter and feel the tacky syrup, savour the sweetness of the cream on her tongue. There’s something so...animated about it, about the way the light dances over her skin and in her hair, and the way the background blurs around her, drawing her into sharp focus.

It’s nice, in a strange, unreserved kind of way.

But she’s still a mess. Hange snatches it and slams it down on the desk, glowering up at Levi.

“Why would you take that,” she whines, petulant. “You’re supposed to take pictures of nice things!”

“Because it’s very...you,” He says, neatly slotting the pictures back into the drawer, and moving back to sit on the window. Hange follows, drops herself onto the ledge opposite him with a pout.

“What, disgusting?”

Levi shrugs. “Messy. But...not bad.”

“I’m supposed to take that as a compliment, I guess? That’s almost sweet coming from you, Levi.”

Levi scowls over at her. She dangles one leg back out the open window, dropping the other heavily into Levi’s lap. He adjusts it until he is more comfortable, his hand wrapping again around her ankle, but does not let go once he has settled. He keeps a hold of her, his fingers tracing thoughtless patterns on her skin. The space between them is warm, comfortable. Hange leans her head back and breathes it in—the peace, the quiet, the simple pleasure of spending a tender evening with her favourite person in the whole world.

It’s nice. A small, frightened part of her doesn’t want it to ever end.

**

Hange has been set up in her student apartment for three weeks when the package arrives.

Moving had been harder than she had anticipated. She’d accounted for common issues—problems with her visa, her plane tickets, and had checked multiple transport options from the airport to her accommodation in case problems arose—but she hadn’t put all that much thought into what would happen once she settled at her apartment.

Unpacking had been boring. Her roommates were nice enough, the studious, bookworm-y type, but unlike Hange they weren’t overly sociable. They kept mostly to themselves in their rooms, perfectly content with brief conversations in the kitchen before retiring again, and with classes still two weeks away, Hange was finding the lack of social interaction difficult. She had explored some, but the city was vast in a cluttered, claustrophobic way. Hange had always enjoyed travelling, and had talked relentlessly of every adventure she could take herself on in a whole new country and all the new places she could explore, so much so that it was almost embarrassing, the way she had found herself so unwilling to stray too far from her accommodation without a companion by her side.

She’d felt a little homesick in the first couple of days, lonely and isolated. She missed the small comforts of the country, things she hadn’t even realised she had taken for granted. Quiet nights. Star studded skies. Long grass and trees and the fresh, earthy smell on the breeze. The city was unbearably loud at times, and even when the wail of sirens or the beep of car horns quieted, there was an unidentifiable hum beneath it all that never ceased even for a moment.

She felt Levi’s absence most acutely. Hange had known she would, but she hadn’t been prepared for how much it would hurt to be apart. She felt silly for it—it was ridiculous, to miss her friend more than she missed her own family, even. But Levi’s presence had been more constant than anything else, back home, and without him, she felt like a small part of herself was missing.

He called, as promised. Once a day, though oftentimes it was very late in the night for him, and he sounded tired. If Hange were less selfish, she might tell him to get some sleep instead—but she missed him. Hearing from him was the best part of her day.

It was about an hour before their designated call time when the post came. Hange answers the bell with a frown, which only deepens when the delivery driver hands her the package.

She takes it into her room, settling cross legged on the bed and inspecting the mystery item. It's a decent size, like a large shoe box, wrapped neatly in brown paper with her address lettered in tidy, familiar handwriting in one corner. Hange’s stomach lurches—she’d have recognised the writing anywhere, but her suspicions are confirmed by the return address. Levi’s.

She rips into the paper quickly, snatching up her keys to tear through the tape on the top of the box. It is stuffed full with packing paper, an envelope with her name on it sitting on the top. Hange picks it up and with trembling fingers, she opens it and unfolds the short note inside.

Hange,

Sorry things have been kind of shitty. This stuff might help or it might make things worse, but I figure you can just throw it out if it’s no good. Or give it away. Whatever. I don’t even know if all of this shit will make it through customs, so if you get an empty box it’s not my fault.

I don’t get how you eat half this junk, but I hope it makes you feel better, anyway.

Look after yourself. Eat real food.

Levi

Hange presses the note to her chest, grinning. Her heart aches, but having Levi go to this much trouble for her...it feels nice. Knowing he is still thinking of her. She’d never have admitted it out loud, but Hange had been concerned that perhaps Levi would forget about her after all, without her there to pester him all the time.

She pulls out some of the packing paper, and smiles widely at the rest of the contents.

Levi had put together what Hange can only call a care package. There are packs of her favourite snacks and sweets, things she’d complained she hadn’t been able to find in stores here; crisps, chocolate, hard candy, little mini boxes of sickeningly sugary cereal. There are tea bags with blends Levi knows she likes, each neatly labelled with instructions on what temperature to brew at and how long for. Levi had also packed some of the soaps Hange likes, the ones he uses but she refuses to buy for herself. The lavender scent drifts up out of the box and Hange’s heart squeezes tight in her chest. There’s a shirt in there, too—Hange recognises it at once, as one of Levi’s old, worn tees, thin grey cotton that feels impossibly soft in her hands. It’s far too big for either of them, and had always been the go-to item Levi would chuck at her when she decided she was staying over for the night and had nothing to wear to bed. Hange pulls it on quickly, savouring the soft feel and the smell of it.

In the bottom of the box, there is another envelope. This one is thicker than the first, and Hange knows what it contains before she even opens it.

Photographs. A small pile of them, depicting places she and Levi had frequented from when they were children right up until this last year—her favourite part of the forest, where the trees thin out and the river pools at the foot of a small waterfall. The great, open fields, sometimes full of long grass, sometimes clipped short and striped with windrows. Kuchel’s cafe, with umbrellas raised to block the sun on the tables outside, or else warm and low-lit and cosy in the cold winter. Hange settles back on her pillows as she flicks through each picture, a soft smile on her face. Looking at the images of home hurts, but it isn’t a terrible pain—she longs for these old times and these familiar places, but each recovered memory makes her happy.

In Levi’s pictures she can vividly recall moments in each and every location. He works some kind of magic with a camera, to trigger so many sensory memories—the scent of freshly cut grass, the feel of hay, dry and sharp, poking into her back through her clothing, and the gentle trickle of the river water, the splash of it as it runs over the falls, the feel of it cool on her skin. The tangy zest of fresh-pressed orange juice in the cafe, peach fuzz on her lips and the soft flesh of ripe fruit bursting between her teeth, sticky nectar coating her fingers.

Hange looks at each picture in turn, until she reaches the bottom of the pile, and there she stops abruptly, eyes widening at the last photograph Levi has packed for her.

It is one of Hange, taken in the window of Levi’s bedroom. She was looking out at the night sky, her elbow braced on her bent  knee, chin in her palm, a small smile lifting the corner of her mouth. The starlight haloed her, shining from her hair and illuminating the jut of her chin, the curve of her nose and the slope of her brow. Behind her, Levi had captured the bright glow of the stars like jewels on a deep velvet canvas. She looked peaceful. Happy. For lack of a better word, beautiful.

Hange grins widely. Her eyes sting and her throat aches, but the picture—the whole box, really—makes her happier than she's felt in weeks. She brews her favourite cup of tea from the blends Levi had sent her and settles into the corner of her bed, lifting her phone to snap a quick selfie. She sends it to Levi, complete with a caption: thank you for my presents 😊 all ready for your call!

Levi responds almost immediately, first with a simple you're welcome. And then, after a minute, you look good. Speak to you soon.

Hange sinks deeper into the cushions, cradling her tea close to her face, masking the pleased flush on her cheeks with the heat from the steam.

**

Hange keeps him longer than usual, today.

There is a simmering warmth in her stomach as she listens to Levi's voice over the line. It comes tinny through the speakers, low and rough in the late hour, and his dark, grainy image looks tired, lamp light casting him half in shadow. They talk of everything and nothing, same as always—Levi tells her about his day, about the cafe and Kuchel, and Hange pouts as she tells him how little progress she is making in befriending her new housemates. Levi never voices any concern for her aloud, but Hange can sense it in the dip of his brows as she talks. She gives him a genuine smile when she reassures him that classes will start soon, and she's confident she will settle better after that.

Levi seems reluctant to leave, but after a little over an hour of aimless, comfortable chatter, he is yawning and blinking heavily, the lower half of his face nuzzled into his pillow. In the end, Hange makes up some watery excuse about visiting the coast while the sun is still high, if only to let him get some sleep.

"Sure. Have fun."

"I will! Sleep well, Levi."

Levi hums. The view shifts, blurry and indistinct, the mic muffled by the rustle of sheets, and when everything settles he is laying on his side, fringe mussed and falling over his eyes. He covers another long yawn with his fist. "I will."

"You'll call tomorrow?"

Levi rolls his tired eyes, but the corner of his mouth pulls up in a fraction of a smile. "Sure."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Hange grins. Levi watches her for a long moment, eyes scanning over her face. Then he holds up a hand in a tired wave. "Night, Hange."

"Night."

Hange stares at the screen for too long when the call ends. That terribly selfish part of her would have loved to keep his company for the rest of the day. Maybe, with a little travel sized Levi in the palm of her hand, she'd have been brave enough to explore some more, enthused about all the new things to see with somebody to share them with.

Sighing, Hange drops her phone to the desk and stands from the bed, stretching. There are still things she can do—she has plenty of recommended reading to get through, a small mountain of books at her disposal, and she has mapped the route to her campus often enough that she isn't feeling too overwhelmed by the prospect of the journey.

As she heads for the door, Hange notices something on the floor beside the bed. A neat, rectangular piece of paper; one of the photographs Levi had sent her, laying face down on the ground.

She picks it up again and brings the paper close to her face. Levi had written something on the back of it in small, quick letters, less tidy than his usual practiced script, as though he’d scribbled it as an afterthought, or else that he wasn’t sure he really wanted her to read it.

There is a date, the same night she had found Levi’s secret photo stash, followed by Hange’s name, and the location of the shot. And beneath that Levi had scrawled a few words. Hange squints to read them, and then her eyes grow wide, blinking owlishly down at the note. Her heart swells almost painfully and something solid balloons within her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. Her lips tremble into a smile as she props the picture carefully on the bedside table.

The day is still young. Hange brews herself another cup of Levi’s tea and settles on the bed with one of her books, content to spend the next few hours reading—though she finds it strangely difficult to focus, with the words Levi had written on the back of the photograph swirling round and round in her head. Hange doubts they will leave her any time soon. They left her feeling more homesick than ever, but there is a soft, giddy kind of comfort in them all the same. It's a feeling that Hange will savour for as long as she possibly can.

It's weird here without you. Come home again soon x

[popurikat]

Trying to make sense of parts of Future (Mystery Skulls)

Since my last analysis went so well I thought I’d make this post as well, especially because Future really did confuse me and I know others might be lost as well; so lets discuss this together! It will be lengthy as I am basically spewing my thoughts out right on the videos immediate release date (there will be a read more option after my first thought to avoid long positng). Well first things first, I wanna address that I've been curious about what kind of spirit Arthur's arm could be (since I am not too well acquainted with any canon on its background part at least) and I think I have concluded that the closest thing to it could be is a Tenome; which is a Yochai that possesses a man's body and moves the eyes to the palms. "found lurking in cemeteries, hands outstretched, as if he has only recently lost his vision and is searching for something. Get close enough, and you’ll find out in quick succession that a) he’s not blind, but looking with eyes embedded in his hands, and b) what he’s looking for is a snack." (fyi, most of my mythos information is coming from Wiki just as a heads up)

And sure enough he found a great source for his hunger. Something he has been EYEING since the start. Which now leads me to my next points on the video...

At first watch I was convinced that each strand found on Mystery’s heart represented a singular soul bond, I thought that blue was for Vivi, Green was for the hand, pink for Lewis, purple for Shiro, Yellow for Lance, Orange for Arthur, and black and white were unknown. Which, didn’t settle right for me. SO I went in and re-watched the clip a couple more times and saw this:

Vivi’s (blue created after she got hurt) and Shiro’s (white created after she died) strands were connected to the strands located next to them. A start and an end. Mystery’s promise to Vivi to stay at her side for generations as he was spared upon prior defeat of Mushi. And then of course we have the promise of power and sustenance for Shrio as they held a symbiotic relationship for most of their lives that was only severed due to an interference. These double strands of fate are especially clearer in the scene with Shiro in Future. As the black strand gets clearer the more she gets injured or emotionally hurt, it eventually leads to the leak of the white strand on her death. Meaning; Black/white=Shiro; Purple/Pink=Lewis; Blue/Green: Vivi; and Orange/Yellow: Arthur. And why am I inclined to believe Lewis and Arthur are apart of Mystery’s heart? Well that's because those two were the only ones fully streaming before Vivi’s and Shiro’s appeared. We know that Arthur lost an arm to Mystery and discovered his identity (ergo losing most of his trust in him) insinuating both strands to arise early on of his color scheme, as well as with Lewis’ death occurring under the protection of Mystery when they were grouped and having his soul go restless/ in pain. It wouldn’t make sense to add family members or side characters not included in the mainline story to this grouping unless they would play an important role in the finale, which isn’t likely since we have only one more video left as Ben stated it was going to be a 5 video series. I am also inclined to believe each person has two strands because of Kitsune lore: “ Kitsune keep their promises and strive to repay any favor. Occasionally a kitsune attaches itself to a person or household. They follow their word of honor. They become self-destructive if they break a promise, and when someone else breaks a promise, they become deadly enemies.” Plus, It would make sense as to why in this short battle Mystery sprouted his last 3 tails when it came to Vivi and Shiro and how their connections affect his power. (more on this in a bit) But, furthermore; if anyone else notices, the Band-Aids on the heart are also remotely located on the sections of Vivi’s and Shiro’s strands specifically because for both, Mystery has vowed to protect them and has failed. 

Now then lets talk about a few things on Mystery’s ultimate form shall we? The final form of a Kitsune, its celestial form as shown here is called a Tenko. (yes I am aware of the Kumiho, but that is a fully evil, flesh eating, 9 tailed fox that specialize in illusions and well Mystery has never been portrayed as human). The Tenko makes even more sense when taken into consideration that Mystery’s third eye (typically a form of wisdom connected to overpowering the mortality of ones self) opens. So how was this done in such a short amount of time? “Kitsune do not accept aid from those who are not willing. they do not ask for help, and as such, most aid must come from another's initiative. Kitsune are emotional and very vengeful. Kitsune will lose their temper at the slightest provocation. Once someone has earned a kitsune's enmity, the kitsune will begin enacting revenge that can become quite extreme. On the other hand, those who have earned a kitsune's trust and loyalty will see a friendship that can last through many trials. Freedom is very important to the kitsune. They do not accept being forced into something they do not wish, and do not like being bound or trapped. Doing so weakens the kitsune.” Mystery as we know is very much controlled by his emotions, going head first into things constantly based on reaction and his inability to control his power under distress. His tails arose in the fight sequence every time he fulfilled his oath AND used 100% of his form/power. Therefore, his tails grew because he wasn’t holding back anymore, not his grievances, not his appearance, nor his hesitance in his evident distress of being bound to two entities that both required his aid.  My last note on these images comes from a tumblr user’s reverse audio clipping (https://nebulous-rain.tumblr.com/post/633555549749952512/ok-so-yknow-that-one-reversed-part-of-future). The rewind of the clip of Mystery’s transformation plays “When I’m With You”, which yes, cool a possible Easter egg to the next song! BUT what is this song about? Let me just bring up the first line of the song: “You got me hanging by a THREAD...I wish I could turn back time...I wish I could rewind life...” and before the chorus “I’m gonna make it right”. We know that this can refer to rectifying the wrongs of Lewis’ death, but more accurately to do so we need to defeat the evil inside this mutt that is pulling the strings of this whole fiasco. And this might just be the intro portion of the next mystery skulls mind you as we’ve also gotten many false starts with the previous two videos where hellbent used “every note” and future used “enemies” alongside the main song. BUT WE HAVE TWO YEARS ANYWAY, WHY BABBLE ON ABOUT THIS. LETS MOVE ON!

Hearts in this series have not been just for identifying the dead or for aesthetic purposes, they are the life force of each powerful legend. I am actually surprised to see Shiro have a heart as she started off as a creation from Mystery and therefore her lifeforce is just his blood and without it she is nothing. I am curious about her color pallet though, her heart is purple and pink. Lewis’ is gold/yellow with touches of orange. And Mystery’s is just red, but it has a mix of everyone’s essence within it to keep it tied and whole. Shiro’s could be colored this way in reference to Lewis’ aid to help find her creator; which would explain why Mystery surrounds himself by color as he required outside help and how Lewis’ heart is yellow in reference to how recently Arthur helped him remember his friends/hidden memories. One thing we have learned about hearts is that they can be broken repeatedly and can be ripped apart from the body, but they can be repaired too through resolution/hope. Lewis restored his heart in hellbent by using Vivi’s flower petals and finding hope that he will get revenge, only for his heart to be repaired again through Arthur’s touch. Shiro may have withered away, but her heart is essentially not broken, she’d need Mystery to restore it as it was flung into space (and that again relies on Mystery finding his sanity and finding it in himself to even bring her back). And as for Mystery himself, he’s gonna need the whole gang to reach out to him to extract the parasite within and restore balance. I really want to know more about the heart properties and how they give their users their powers as well Vivi is able to summon her strength through a material connection (bat) that function in its own way as the vessel a heart does since its connecting her to her ancestry.

NOW to finalize, I offer you two queries:

WHO IS ARTHURS HAND REACHING FOR!? I know it seems like Mystery, but that would be counter productive for the hand demon if he has Arthur interfering with his control. Is it still after Lewis as we’ve seen previous times where his arm acts up only in Lewis’ presence and when specifically other “magic” is at play? If so, is the goal to ward off Lewis and Vivi from defeating Mystery? Is Arthur gonna use the arm to find his own power as we’ve seen when he is able to momentarily cease control of it he kinda ruins anything electrical he touches and well, electricity is currently running rampant in there.

and lastly, I am really curious how touch sensitive hearts are, We know that even the smallest of brushes can detect memory/links to the person holding it (as seen with how Shiro managed to get soul flowers in hellbent), but the fact that Lewis was so in touch with the feeling of Arthur EVEN THOUGH ARTHUR GRABBED HIS HEART THROUGH HIS METAL HAND MIND YOU!, that he still managed to feel the disturbance instantly. So my question is, is the touch sensitivity reliant on how close someone is to someone? I would like to say yes cause when Shiro touched his heart he didn’t react instantly, he felt her rummaging his memories and was awoken, but he didn’t kick her butt by fully reforming until after she had long since stepped on his heart and then forced the memory of Mystery to arise. But yeah, its a nice little detail.

Either way, thanks for reading! Feel free to add on, comment, or even dm me about more Mystery Skulls information and theories! Love to hear them!

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

Can you write Poly!Lost Boys x s/o x Michael? The lost boys let s/o seduce Michael into the dark side?

Oh hO HO- Okay, here you go. Making this an everyone loves Michael fic, and not including Star/Laddie.

Good Job, Michael (Poly!Lost Boys x S/O x Michael)

Word Count: 1725

Warnings: cursing, descriptions of blood/violence/gore

David's hand itched for a cigarette while he and his boys sat on their bikes. His mind was a swirl of thoughts, all of them complicated and muddled by the blondes own emotions. He knew what he had to do. Max wanted Lucy, and he thought her sons were the best way to get her. They turn Michael and Sam, and then Lucy turns. Ta-da, happy ending. But things weren't always that easy.

They sat on their bikes, knowing that somewhere, probably right at this moment, you were getting hit on. And that you were entertaining it. The thought didn't settle easy among the group, and instead it held over them like a persistent fog. Some members were more outspoken than others with their disapproval of the tactic, with Marko having been bitching about it since they woke up. He'd hesitated when letting you go, his gloved hand resting on your hip for a just a moment too long. All it did was pause you from saying goodbye to the others and you gave him a look, but he settled to just huff and wait to truly start complaining for when you left.

Paul was usually a chatterbox, but one of the least confrontational of all the boys. He preferred "peace and love, man", even if he tore into surf-nazis each night. But the way he was tapping on his bike handle and looking around gave him away. He didn't like this either, and finally he uttered out a whine of,

"Where are they?" They weren't used to letting you stray far. They rarely left eachothers sides, and their instincts were practically begging them to find you. Surprisingly, it was Dwayne that answered.

"Be patient." He said, his voice deep and bristly. He didn't like this as much as the others, that was clear by the permanent scowl on his face. His hands were gripping his handlebars, his knuckles tightening and threatening to snap the metal underneath his fingers. So much for patience.

While they all agreed that none of them liked this, David couldn't deny that another wave of emotion was clouding his mind. One that he'd carefully avoided, but resurfaced the second they saw you emerge from the crowd. Blue eyed, curly haired brunette in tow. The same feeling, the edging, burning interest of a new crush, edged his mind. One that he'd decided to keep to himself, even if the way he chose to stare at the brunette betrayed him to the others. The second the boys caught the way he was looking at the brunette, there was a sigh, small tittering, and a roll of hazel-green eyes. It didn't help that you were giving Michael the same exact goo-goo eyes.

---

You hadn't expected to actually like the brunette. You knew what David wanted, what Max planned. This was supposed to just be a simple trick, something to keep Max happy and off your back. A simple necessity, like drinking blood each night. Sure, having another boy around wasn't completely unwelcome, but, again, you hadn't expected to like him.

You found him after he donned a new, obviously new, leather jacket. He had seen the boardwalk, and the teens that owned it, and was trying desperately to fit in. It made you smile, a small feeling of pity flitting through you. The poor boy was even considering getting his ear pierced. You stepped forward, offering a quick,

"It's a rip-off." To catch his attention. He turned, and his eyes found you. He was quick to follow, asking,

"What?" And you smiled. A real smile. He was clueless. It was almost cute.

"It's a rip-off. Get a sewing needle and some ice, it'll do the job." You said, and he smiled for a moment, doing his best to follow you through the crowd.

"What's your name?" He asked, and you offered it freely. He repeated it, and was quick to chirp back. "I'm Michael." He said, and you nodded. You knew. You repeated his name back, catching his eye as you did so.

You looked him over now that you were closer, and, for the shadow of a moment, you saw exactly what he could become. The faint image of a Lost Boy was hidden behind his face, and you didn't doubt that in a few weeks, if not a few nights, he would grow into that image nicely. You couldn't help but say,

"You new to Santa Carla?" You asked, and he rubbed the back of his neck before he replied,

"That obvious, huh?" He asked, and you chuckled. He was oddly charming. He was like a puppy, filled with naivety and the need to be accepted. Liked.

"Just a little bit." You said, making a pinching gesture with your fingers. "But I like the jacket." You said, and you saw how that brought a smile to his face. He touched it, like he'd almost forgot that he was wearing it. You had to stifle a laugh when he said,

"This old thing?" And you reached out. He watched your hand come towards his, and he seemed excited for a moment. Excited from the idea that you were going to take his hand. You did, but only to pull a price tag from his wrist. You held it up, and, in a moment, he flushed. You couldn't stop your laugh then, and you had to tease him.

"Old thing, huh?" You said, but you were quick to wave your own comment away. "It's nice, though. It suits you." You said, and you watched him rub his neck again. You couldn't tell if his embarrassment was from having been caught in his lie or from being complimented by you. Still, he had enough confidence to ask,

"Wanna get something to eat?" As his bike came nearer. You nodded, and you could practically feel the stare from your boys on your back.

---

That was exactly what you asked him as you lead him into the dunes, the rest of your boys hooting and hollering behind you. Dwayne had thrown his arm around Marko, with Paul raising his hands teasingly at David. When you stopped near a tree, just above a partying group of teens, the laughter died. The tension had become suddenly thick, and Michael uncomfortably asked,

"I thought you said we were getting food?" He asked, and the boys snickered as they climbed into the tree. They'd been hazing him for days, even as their own feelings grew. But none of them were willing to do anything that would halt his progress, even if the tension was growing thicker between him and David. He would turn, and then they could pursue him.

You and Michael hung back for a moment, and you gave his arm a gentle squeeze. You looked at him. He had grown exactly into the image you had pictured. His cheeks were dusted with stubble, his sunglasses hanging from his white shirt. An earring hanging from his left ear. He was staring at you the same way he always did. So full of trust, naivety, and a willingness to please. Again, you found that you nearly pitied him. It's why you couldn't let him go into this completely blind, even if that had been David's plan.

"You've been having a weird pain lately, right?" You asked him, and his brows furrowed with confusion. You knew the thirst had hit him already, even if he hadn't acted on it. "And your hand." You reached for it. He'd told you about how Nanook had bitten him, but he'd skipped the detail about the mirror. His hand was now healed, as if he hadn't been bitten at all. While he wasn't the brightest, he was smart enough to realize that wasn't normal. You and the boys had succeeded in distracting him the night before, but now he had to know. "These are bad people, Michael. You don't need to feel guilty." You whispered, but he looked more confused than anything. He held your hand, giving it a squeeze. Before he could ask, you interruped, "Here, I'll show you." You said, guiding him towards the tree and then leaving him there while the boys watched you. While you'd given him just the slightest of hints, now it was time to set the plan into motion. Michael nearly followed you, only to be caught by Paul and Marko after a quick look from David. David trusted you, as did the others, as you stepped down towards the firelight.

Michael watched how the boys jeered at you, how one quickly took to your side. He was drunk, and it looked as if he planned on messing with you. The others quickly noticed you, and they circled you like a pack of wolves. The boys watched as Michael's- well, they couldn't tell if it was jealousy or protectiveness- flared, his eyes turning yellow. David smirked, and he leaned towards the brunette. Setting a hand on his shoulder, he said,

"You gonna let them do that, Michael?" And he nodded at the two blondes. They let him go, and just then one of the boys gave you a nudge. One that seemingly nearly knocked you to the ground. It was a bit of pretending on your part, but that was all it took.

His face had shifted completely, becoming almost lionesque as his fangs descended. Without the boys to grab him, he flew. You watched as they ripped and tore into the man's shoulder, knocking him flat onto his face. You watched as your boys laughed, joining him and pouncing as the surf-nazis began to try to run away. You snatched one for yourself, the blood hitting the back of your throat in a hot gush. The six of you were having a frenzy, and you tossed the limp body into the fire as the adrenaline filled your veins. You looked over at the curly haired brunette, his eyes still shining yellow instead of blue. He was panting, with blood drenched down his chin, neck, and the front of his shirt. He looked beautiful, not just to you but to the boys you had been with for- well, you couldn't remember exactly how long. He was truly one of you now, and you didn't hesitate to pull him in for a kiss. He moaned and licked at your mouth, whether to deepen it or catch the blood decorating it you couldn't tell.

When you pulled away, you caressed his stubbly cheek. His eyes had faded back to blue, but the completion of the transformation numbed any expected remorse. He simply ducked down again, capturing your lips once more, before the both of you giggled and you said,

"Good job, Michael."