#instead of continuing to watch the anime drag everything out more and more

[clearancecreedwatersurvival]

I am finding myself slowing down on watching one piece the closer I get to marineford. This is what I get for spoiling myself on the series.

[ozzgin]

Santa baby are you really there?!

*hears a voice in my backyard*

FUCK SKIN WALKER

- you make Yan skinwalker i’ll do anything to get a skin walker to love me … yes I am 100% mentally stable

I'm not sure if you had something horror-esque in mind, because my immediate idea was Reader accidentally getting cursed and continuing her life completely unaware with a ""dog"" everyone is freaked out by, but she finds it cute. So more like dark comedy vibes. You be the judge. :D

Disclaimer: I have changed the name to Shapeshifter as to not delve into potentially offensive takes on native folklore. Thank you for informing my European ass.

Yandere!Monster x Reader [Shapeshifter]

On your last hiking trip, you've stumbled upon a helpless, lost dog. Or rather, it stalked you down to your cabin and spent the night in front of your window. You didn't have the heart to abandon the poor soul and so you brought it home with you. Strange things have been happening ever since and no one knows how to tell you that the monstrous coyote-like creature might be to blame. You're oblivious to everything.

Content: female reader, dark comedy, monster romance, reader is cursed and proud

It wasn't your intention to return home with a new pet. Some might say it was written in the stars, this fateful encounter of yours. You had finished packing your supplies for a day-long hike, vehemently refusing to join your group of friends that would be guided around by a native. They’d warned you many areas of the mountainous forest were supposedly cursed or haunted, so you just scribbled the limits on your makeshift map and promised to stay on the main trails. After all, this was your chance to commune with nature. As the sun begun to set, you wondered if going by yourself was indeed a smart idea, given your lack of spatial awareness and difficulty to navigate maps. You flipped the piece of paper several times, deep in contemplation. Could it be that you’ve reached the forbidden lands? You quickly surveyed the area: based on the stuffed rag dolls hanging from old branches, and the animal skulls arranged in patterns among patches of burnt grass, it was very much a possibility. Perhaps the improvised slab that said “Stay away” in dripping crimson letters should’ve been enough of a warning, but you assumed they’d just been creative with trail markers.

You didn’t have the time to panic. Just as you were furrowing your eyebrows in a final attempt to decipher the map (at the time upside-down), your ears picked up a faint shuffle of leaves. Further away stood a dog, its glossy eyes fixated on your form. A lost puppy? It seemed to be on the larger side, but then again some breeds grow rather fast. You lowered yourself and patted your knees, whispering diminutives in an effort to call the animal over. It remained in place, staring quietly. Alright, then. You focused on finding your way back instead. Every now and then you'd turn back and see the dog, motionlessly eyeing you at a constant distance. Oh, dear. Was it lost? Frightening affair.

Back at the cabin you told the others about your discovery, with a hint of worry in your voice. You hoped the little pup had found proper shelter. You'd expected a similar reaction coming from your friends, but one of them suggested: "What if it was some shapeshifting monster? There's many legends and stories from the area." Everyone laughed and you joined hesitantly, mildly annoyed by the lack of empathy. That night you barely slept, twisting and turning under the heavy feeling of being watched. You woke up tired and nervous, dragging your feet towards the window for some fresh air. That's when you saw the same forest creature, fully awake and tall in its glory, positioned before your room. This was no coincidence. You had been plagued by the guilt of abandoning a vulnerable quadruped and you weren't about to continue as a passive observer. You strode out without a word and lifted the large dog with a huff, carrying it back in to figure out the transport logistics.

Thus started the unexpected companionship. To you, it's a lovely tale of two lost souls finding one another. Most people seem to disagree. Can you blame them? The rescued puppy you often speak of is, in the eyes of everyone else, a monstrous beast by all definitions. It resembles a coyote more than a dog, but even this description is too gentle. The fur is always raised threateningly and the protruding clusters of fangs remind one of the anatomical anomalies displayed in museums. The eyes, oh, the worst of all perhaps, bottomless depths that pull you in until you run out of air. The creature stares with the all-knowing gaze of a human. "Don't be rude", you snap at whoever dares to point these details out. "It must be a mixed breed or something."

Their persistence is truly ridiculous. You've even had guests run out in panic, claiming the dog stood on its back legs and whispered in a language unknown. Or that its shadow would morph into a grotesque man with claws and crooked antlers. Or that they've found it hunched over your sleeping form, its spine twisted outwards with jagged peaks breaking through the wild fur. Rubbish, all of it.

Strange things have been happening, no doubt, but your adopted fur-child has no blame to carry. You've been trying to distract yourself, going on dates and occasionally bringing potential suitors over. They all vanish overnight, nonchalantly leaving an empty, ruffled bed for you to wake up to. "Am I just unlucky?" You sigh, running your fingers through the coarse fur of your dog. It lowers itself under your touch, visibly enjoying the affection. For a split second, it glances out the window. By the time you come out of your depressed slump, the birds should've finished feeding on the remains. He made sure to tear and grind everything fine enough to not leave any marks behind.

That's how curses work, after all. He didn't expect, however, that you'd be utterly unaware of it. He has to give you the credit, not many people become stalked by an ancient curse and continue their life in blissful ignorance. Even more, for them to just casually pick up the haunting entity and bring it inside their home willingly...You're, uh, certainly a special one. Hence the change of plans. He was supposed to torment you into an early grave, but he's grown rather attached to your bizarre antics. And you do provide some damn good chin scratches. He's therefore satisfied with causing anguish and destruction to anything and anyone in your immediate vicinity instead. Since you've been complaining about the resulting isolation...

You wake up with a gasp, wiping your drenched forehead and checking the sheets. The dog is curled next to you, although its head is now tilted in your direction. "O-oh. It might be the loneliness talking...but I had the strangest dream." How troubling and embarrassing. Your beloved pet had turned into a deformed, monstrous man instead, pinning you down and hungrily grazing your skin with his sharp teeth. Your fearful protests eventually turned into shameless moans, your frail body at the mercy of the mysterious beast. It unfolded so vividly that your core feels sore. You stretch a sheepish hand towards your pet and abruptly stop halfway, noticing the marks diffused into your wrist, like violet smudges of watercolor. What the hell did you do last night?

The dog buries its head under the sheets and nuzzles its snout into your soft flesh. Heh. How many more disappearing guests will be needed for you to figure out your situation? He does find your obliviousness terribly amusing, as well as your willingness to clutch onto him despite his unsightly appearance. He was feeling particularly cheeky and thought of giving you a little scare, only to be once again taken aback by your neediness. He has to wonder who exactly is trapped in this situation, because your reactions to everything he does are frighteningly tempting. Maybe tonight he'll finally let you know, just as you're about to come undone beneath his heaving body. Something like, hmmm. "By the way, love, this isn't a dream." He could even add a little "woof" to tease you more.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Instinct (S.R.)

Summary: Spencer explains the biology of sex to Reader during the act. Request: Spencer Reid explaining what happens to your body during an orgasm while giving you one 🥵 Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Fingering, biological processes, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, mild degradation/dumbification Word Count: 1k

MASTERLIST

When you find yourself in Spencer’s bed, there is no time to wonder what led you there. You have no interest in debating it, either. Your attention is diverted, devoted to more pressing things—things like the feel of his hands on your hips and his lips on your neck.

You’d never even allowed yourself to wonder what instinct drove you straight into his arms… not until his mouth shifts to your ear.

“Do you want to know why you’re really here?” he asks.

You nod before you’ve even considered the question.

This was the correct answer, and he rewards you by sneaking a hand between your thighs.

“You’re here because I want you to be,” he says, “and humans are, at their core, simple animals acting on the same instinct as everything else.”

You try to focus on the words he’s saying but you’re too caught up in how beautiful his voice sounds. You are also distracted by his fingers that gently cup your heat.

He pauses, his chest heaving with excitement as he taunts, “You wanna feel good, right?”

You try to nod, but he’s already speaking.

“I know, sweetheart.”

Mercifully, two fingers slide between slick folds. Your back arches forward, seeking to feel the weight of his body but he stays too far away.

He just watches you with a clever smirk. Your stomach tenses under the lustful gaze, but you say nothing.

It’s the right answer.

“You know, your brain actually changes when I touch you like this,” he chuckles.

His fingers continue to trace the outline of your heat but fail to breach the entrance. He is movingly entirely too slow and seems to be taking far too much pleasure in your squirming. 

“The part of your brain that dictates your values and how to make decisions… that’s long gone.”

You know you’re supposed to nod, but you whimper, instead.

“No fear, no anxiety, no pain,” he hums, “your mind can only focus on one thing…”

“Please,” you beg.

He punishes your interruption by sinking both fingers into you without warning.

“Me,” he confirms, “All you can think about is how to get me to keep touching you like this.”

You cry out for him, reach for him like a tether.

He more than lets you. He revels in your nails digging into his skin.

“Your heart and lungs are working so hard, but they can’t keep up.”

Spencer’s motions are faster, his fingers thrusting into you with a ruthless pace. Exactly as he said, you are gasping for air between desperate moans.

But he just prattles on, still sporting that dark, almost condescending smirk.

“Do you want to know why your thalamus is active during sex? It’s because it helps integrate memories. Memories about touch and those secret last-second thoughts just before you fall apart.”

You can’t focus enough to even try to conjure a fantasy beyond his fingers that you are figuratively and literally wrapped around.

He has you exactly where he wants you at the precipice of oblivion. Only then does he remove his fingers and drags them over the swollen pearl at your crest.

“What are you thinking about?” he teases.

“You,” you gasp.

It’s the right answer.

Spencer is quick to kiss you, his lips crashing against yours while his fingers feverishly stroke at the most sensitive part of you. His tongue sneaks between your teeth until you feel there is no part of you he hasn’t claimed.

You sob against his lips while your body writhes beneath him. You tremble with tension and overwhelming relief until you collapse back into the bed.

Spencer, though, seems unfazed by your exhaustion. Instead, he pulls his hand back and continues his lecture despite your glazed-over eyes.

“Now you’re here. Dopamine is rushing through your body. You might think it’s just about pleasure, but you’re actually learning.”

He stalks closer, crawling over your half-limp body. His eyes are still burning with that same predatory look.

“Right now your body is telling you that I know how to fulfill your needs and it’s trying to figure out how to make sure I’ll do it again and again and again.”

With the same hand he used to touch you, Spencer touches himself.

“But see, this is where it happens. These formative moments when you’re nothing but a blissful mess, that’s how I make sure you come back to my bed.”

He lines himself up against aching folds. He groans at the nearly formed wetness, but he hesitates to push forward.

“Right now your body is begging you to find someone, anyone to take care of you,” he says with great satisfaction. “This is the most important moment, when your blood coursing with dopamine, oxytocin, vasopressin, and prolactin…”

Then, right before he fills you past your breaking point, he chuckles against your lips.

“This is where you fall in love.”

As if on command, your body clings to him. You wrap all your limbs around him and try to bring him closer somehow.

But he’s already too close. Each time his hips crash into yours, you can feel him bottom out with an almost euphoric jolt of pain.

You can feel it, the truth in everything he’s said. His skin burns into yours as your heart struggles to keep up with the slew of sensations. Your chest, face, and neck are on fire, and he seems dedicated to trying to quell that heat with feverish lips.

After what feels like forever and not nearly long enough, he fucks you even harder. His teeth sink into your neck and the almost-pain makes you shiver.

“Do it again,” he growls against bruised skin, “Come for me.”

With a particularly brutal thrust, he fills you until you have no other choice. Your body snaps, seizes around him and begs him to reward you one final time.

You feel the gentle waves of warmth, the heavy throbbing of his cock as he joins you in the bliss. Your bodies begin to slow from frantic motions until you are left cradled in an exhausted embrace.

Spencer moves just enough to be able to kiss you, soft and slow and without any hint of pain.

And you know that… is exactly why you're there.

(Tell me what you thought about this fic here!)

Reid Taglist: @mrs-dr-reid , @dreatine , @hopefulfangirl24 , @laurakirsten0502 , @dontcallmekittens , @rintheemolion , @andreasworlsboring101 , @imsuperawkward , @wentz2005 , @lovejules888 , @dashneydanger , @materialisthicc , @violetspoetic , @mslowlife , @conniesanchor , @trippol-threat , @will-byers-needs-a-hug

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Thanks for reading!

[hanbinniesmango]

zb1 top 3 kinks pls!!

zerobaseone’s top 3 kinks

—all my opinion 😓🫶🏾 (no gunwook or yujin!!)

jiwoong

primal play

i can just imagine jiwoong one night wanting to get some relief and the releasing all his emotions out onto you while you guys fuck, resulting in him growling, marking you, and saying things like, “you’re all mine you know that, hm? no one else can fuck this pretty pussy like me.” with a grunt. he’d just be going at it like an animal.

breeding kink

would imagine you all the time full of his cum, he loves keeping that image in his head while you fuck. when he actually can he honestly puts his all into it, he knows what he wants and he’s gonna get it.

impact play (f. receiving)

if you’re being bad, best believe he’s pulling you over his lap and pulling down you bottoms. likes to smack both cheeks until their red, sometimes slapping your pussy as well. it just brings him joy to see you writhe on his lap to no avail.

zhang hao

humiliation kink (m. receiving)

when you started calling him mean names one day he went silent. you thought you striked a nerve, but no. you had actually turned him on a lot. to the point where he felt himself getting hard, and once you figured it out a big grin hit your face. “you’re getting hard just from some words? fucking pathetic hao..” he wanted to open his mouth to complain and justify the situation, but instead he let out a slutty moan. let’s just say you used his weakness for the greater good..

bondage kink (m. receiving)

he loves the feels of the restraints straining against his flesh, the tight fabric refraining from letting him move and touch you. especially when you pull out a pretty color of ribbon and wrap him in it, it makes him feel so good.

somnophilia kink

you’ve both talked about fucking while asleep and giving your consents and everything and views on it, after that calling it a night. a while later you’re asleep and he’s really aroused for some reason, he turns over to you watching you in slumber, your chest slowly rising and falling. he exhales softly, biting his lip at the situation. next thing you know he’s slipping inside of you from behind and gently fucking into you, breaths quickening. he starts to lose himself pace getting a bit quicker. your slumber is interrupted, you waking up, pants heavy and soft moans coming out of you as you feel his cock slowly drag between you warm walls. “someone couldn’t wait til the morning hm?” you say before pushing your hips back on to his, you being met with a groan. you both made sure you spent the rest of the night going til you were satisfied.

hanbin

exhibition kink

he definitely gets off on knowing people could see them messing around at anytime. the type of guy who you play with you in a dressing room, smirking at any of your moans or groans saying, “you don’t wanna get caught right, lovebug?”

collar kink (f. + m. receiving)

he loves watching you sit pretty while he puts a collar on you, him giving you commands every now and then, the collar reminding you of your place and that you’re his. he watches as the the pendant on the collar glitters in the light when you suck him off, him biting his lip at the dirty situation, you both knowing how it gets him off.

dacryphilia kink

he’d see tears start pouring out of your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure, them coming out like a faucet. something in him clicks in him at that moment, suddenly he’s wanting to do more to get more of those sweet tears out. “does it feel that good, lovebug? poor baby…” he says with a little pout, kissing your tears away. “it’ll be over soon love, endure it for me.” he says with a gentle smirk, stroking your head before continuing with his thrusts, your continuous tears egging him on.

taerae

voyeur and or cuckholding kink

one day he came home earlier than usual, and called your name, but you didn’t answer as you usually do. once he found you he heard your soft whimpers and moans of his name. and he just had to watch you. even though everything said to just walk in, he liked looking through the crack of the door, something about it was just so naughty and addicting… with cuckholding, he was very open to the idea of one of his beloved members to fuck you and him spectating. when it did happen, believe he was rock hard the whole time.

cock worship

he loves the days when you both are just feeling romantic together, the days where you just let him sit back and you worship his pretty cock. he’s sitting back on the bed as you kiss softly all over his cock telling him how pretty it is, darting your tongue out to lick up any pre-cum that leaks from his tip. “f-fuck baby..feels s-so—good..” he says struggling to get all of his words out from the pleasure. he doesn’t tell you, but he really really loves when you treat him like this, makes him feel small and warm inside.

mutual masterbation

you both are away from each other one day and are both really horny, but can’t do much. you both find a solution and call and it ends up to you spread open in front of the phone camera and his cock out in the open, him stroking it slowly while giving you instructions. “finger yourself, slowly baby…fuck just like that..” he says pants getting breathy. he watches as you follow all of his intrusctions, you getting close him the same. he makes you hold it, a smile on his face while his groans at the pleasure coming with his hand. “damn baby..i’m getting c-close…” he says stuttering a bit. “cum with me baby, let go.” he says finally before giving a couple more strokes and spurting all over his hand with a choked moan.

matthew

praise kink (f. receiving)

when you suck of him off, he loves telling you how much of a good job you’re doing, smirking at the way you moan around his cock at the praise. always lets you know how much of a ‘good cock slut’ you are, no matter what. never lets up on teasing how you react to his words.

anal play

matthew would def trust you with stuff like this, it was actually something he wanted to try. when he finally gets toys in there he’s in heaven. he didn’t think it would feel as good as it is. when you start thrusting your strap inside of him hitting his prostate, he’s becoming a incoherent puddle. he’s gripping the sheets and everything, begging to have it harder, faster, whimpering and moaning loudly. even pushing his ass back when you try to slow down or stop. it feels so good he starts crying, when he finally gets to cum he’s crying out out of pleasure. he gets silent right after, you getting a little worried until he speaks up, “t-that was…c-can we go again?…please..” him panting whilst you send him a sweet smile and giggle.

orgasm control (m. + f. receiving)

matthew loves when you tease his cock, taking your hand away whenever he says he’s close. “just hold it matt, it’s not that hard, right?” you say while you stroke his hot, pulsing cock. all he can do is just whimper out and try his best not to cum, not knowing what could possible happen if he does. when it’s turned around he’s pulling the same move on you, laughing at your frustration. “i can’t be that hard, right?” he’s just sending you the cruelest smile, teasing you to no extent.

ricky

dollification

ricky loves seeing you get dumb on his cock, before you two fuck he puts you in the prettiest lingerie, pulling you in by the waist and whispering, “my needy little dolly looks so pretty, hm?” you just whining out in response. he praises you as he keeps pumping his cock inside of you, your expression the definition of cock drunk. none of you mind tho..

breath play

likes to wrap his pretty hands around your neck while fucking you, loves the feeling of you clenching on him whilst he does it. “you’re taking me so well baby…maybe i’ll let you breath as a reward.” him chuckling after the statement.

bondage kink (f. receiving)

he likes to wrap you up in the prettiest color of rope, he also has a thing with seeing you struggle, your frustration giving him more satisfaction. “stop moving or i’ll have to restrain you from cumming, doll.” he says with with the sweetest smile, his eyes the opposite, hunger and arousal burning in his eyes.

gyuvin

degradation kink (f. receiving)

he calls you the meanest names with the nicest smile on his face, and it still wrecks you. while you’re on your knees sucking his cock he’s still calling you those names, watching how you shudder with each name. “dirty cock sluts like you are meant to be on your knees like this. do what you’re good for baby..” he says with a pleasured groan.

edge play (f. receiving)

gyub will literally edge you from dusk to dawn, only letting up when he feels he’s had enough. you’re not done until he’s satisfied, and it takes a while. he’ll eat you out for the longest, his tongue hitting all the right spots, problem is he won’t let you cum. he’s told you to hold it until he lets you cum, but with the rate his tongue is ravaging you at, you might not be able to hold it any longer…

overstimulation kink (m. + f. receiving)

gyuvin loves to tease and torture you, either that’s him denying you an orgasm or giving you too many to handle. you’d beg him so bad for an orgasm, groaning in relief once he finally gives you one. suddenly when you expect him to stop, he’s still pleasuring you, you’re starting to be confused, pants getting heavier and cry’s getting louder. “g-gyub!! t-too—i-it’s too much!!” you sob out only being met with his menacing grin again.

[miraclewoozi]

NETFLIX AND-- ? - c.hs

you try everything in your power to try and help your workaholic boyfriend unwind on his night off. you quickly find out that vernon doesn’t know how to just do nothing.

pair; vernon x fem reader. genre; domestic smut. MINORS DNI. wc; 2.3k (short n sweet <3) note; saw a prompt while i was scrolling through some things and it had me feeling feelings. experiencing experiences. apparently i am soft needy for him today. barely proof read. smut tags utc. xoxo

smut tags; soft!dom/service top vernon but he’s also a fucking tease. fingering (f rec). sort of edging, more of a continued stop/start. squirting. implied that vernon has a praise kink (shock horror). let me know if i've forgotten any.<3

in your defence, you started out with perfectly innocent intentions. 

vernon works himself too hard. you wish he wouldn’t, but he does — it’s a fact, and even though he’ll always shake his head and deny it, you know it’s true. self care, to him, is working. it’s in the fulfilment from a job well done. it’s the clap on a shoulder from a higher-up that recognises how hard he’s been slaving away at his computer screen. it’s in getting results, and he doesn’t get results if he doesn’t do. if he doesn’t maintain. if he doesn’t nigh-on exhaust himself for the sake of the company he’s employed by.

so, you’ve made a plan. on friday, in the few hours he’ll have free between finishing work and settling down to sleep, you’re going to do whatever you can to look after him.

it starts with dinner. heartfelt, home-cooked food. he drops his bag by the front door and his entire face turns so soft he thinks it might melt clean off him. the aromas from the kitchen hit him and he floats across the apartment like a cartoon, all the way to where you’re stood waiting for him, a sort of dopey grin spreading across every single one of his features. 

“that smells so good,” he whines, putting his arms around your waist and nuzzling into your neck. when you ask how his day went, he says he doesn’t remember, he doesn’t care. because he’s home now, and because loves you so much — he doesn’t want to think about anything else.

he clings to you until the food is ready and laid out on the dining table, only pulling himself away when it becomes apparent that he’s not going to be able to have his dinner sitting in your lap.

you eat together with the lights slightly dimmed, a few candles illuminating the table. you talk, a little, but the quiet that surrounds the bubbles of conversation is just as comfortable, so neither of you are bothered when your minds are more focused on the food in front of you than conversing with each other. after, he helps you clear the dishes and stack them over by the sink: you’ll deal with them later on. 

your hand finds his, then, fingers intertwining, and vernon lets himself be dragged all the way to your bedroom. he changes out of his work clothes, tosses them into the laundry basket, and slips into an old, worn, stained and atrociously ugly pair of sweatpants instead. he bypasses a shirt at your instruction and lies face-down with his head nestled between the pillows. 

with one of his own playlists already filling the air around you, you straddle over his hips and start to massage your way up his back. your hands smooth over his skin, thumbs working at a couple of tight spots that have him gasping and grunting, threading his fingers through his own hair to try and keep still. it hurts a bit, but it’s a good kind of pain. so, he lets you work your magic on him; vernon feels all soft and loose, a bit like a deflated balloon animal, by the time you sit up enough for him to be able to roll over between your legs and face you again.

“i thought we could watch a movie tonight, too,” you say quietly, just barely audible over the soft r&b tune in the background. your fingertips tickle up and down his sides as you speak; he sighs at the softness of your touch. “anything you want.”

“what’s all this in aid of, exactly?” he asks, quirking up an eyebrow. his voice is deep and kind of  rough-edged. the way you like it most.

you laugh, quietly, and bend low to kiss the corner of his mouth, caging him in with your forearms either side of his head. “just… because i love you.”

his hands snake up your body to rest against your cheeks and he holds you in place for a second longer. one of the many, many things you love about vernon is the way he kisses you. every time, like it’s the first time. (a symptom of being a closeted rom-com enthusiast, perhaps?) but each press of his lips to yours is always so infused with passion: even the small ones, like this. with his eyes closed, his nose pressed to your cheek, the corners of his mouth pulled up into a shy smile. there’s adoration in every single moment. 

you roll off him when he lets go of you and sit up against the headboard, letting him go through the motions of choosing something for you to watch. a few minutes (and no less than three coin tosses to make the decision) later, you open an arm out for him at the sound of the movie starting, and he curls up into your side. his head rests peacefully on your shoulder, one of his legs hooked over one of yours, your arm snaked around his back. you settle into each other’s embrace in a way that you’ve not had time to do in a long while, matching hums of tranquillity vibrating in both of your throats.

the grand budapest hotel has only been playing for about twenty minutes when you feel him start to move slightly, the tips of his fingers gliding slowly across the hem of your t-shirt. you don’t make anything of it at first, because vernon has always had slightly restless hands, no matter what he’s doing. this is very normal for him. he’s probably just mindlessly feeling the fabric beneath his touch as he watches one of his favourite movies.

another few minutes pass and you feel his nails drag against the bare skin of your tummy. you raise an eyebrow and look at him, but his eyes are trained on the tv, even if one side of his mouth is lifted up in a sly kind of smile.

“what are you doing, babe?” you ask him. he lifts his head from its place on your shoulder and shrugs.

“nothing.”

“mhm, sure you aren’t.”

his hand moves down, then. down, towards your shorts. down, to where his palm wraps around your thigh, half resting on the material of your clothes and half sitting on your bare leg. his fingers make small, light, circular movements against your skin and he nudges your other thigh over slightly with the knee he settled between your legs earlier, effectively spreading you open for him. just a little.

just enough.

“vernon,” you chuckle, but you don’t make any attempt to move your legs back together. “come on, relax. watch your movie.”

“i am,” he says matter-of-factly, not taking his eyes off the screen. “wish i could say the same for you, though.”

“you’re terrible,” you sigh. 

“mm. no, i’m not.”

he creeps further and further up your thigh, until his hand has slipped completely under your loose fitting sleep shorts and he’s effectively pulling them to one side. a breath catches in your throat and you accidentally arch a little as you feel him brush over your underwear.

“watch the movie,” he says, a little more sternly, and you swallow thickly but settle down more comfortably again. if this is how he chooses to decompress… who are you to stop him, really?

but he knows you too well. knows your body like it’s his own. knows exactly how to make you tick without making you jump his bones and take control. his thumb starts to trace small circles over your covered clit, eliciting quiet gasps from your mouth, but every time you react – what he deems to be – a little too much, he stops. removes the pressure. leaves you to squirm.

“vernon,” you sigh after the third time, agitated but needy and squaring your jaw at his teasing. your panties are soaked by now and you need to feel more of him, but your boyfriend seems to be more than happy to work you up on his own terms. how long will he keep going like this for? there’s at least an hour left of the film; surely he won’t make you wait that long?

“focus, baby.”

or maybe, he will.

his lips find home at the base of your neck and he presses a series of small kisses to your skin, returning his thumb to your panties and rubbing you through them a little harder, pressing the fabric into your heat, smirking at the way your arousal seeps through them and coats his fingertips. your breaths start to pick up again, and you do everything you can to stop him from noticing, but he’s maybe a little too caught up sucking the sweet spot behind your ear to notice how fast your heart is beating from the way he touches you.

so when he drags your underwear out of the way and slides an elegant finger through your folds, you really don’t think you can be blamed for the fact that an unstifled moan leaves your lips.

vernon disagrees, though. because of course he fucking does.

“baby,” he challenges you, his finger just millimetres away from your clit when he stops moving it. “come on. you wanted to help me unwind tonight, didn’t you? that’s what all this was. you were being good to me.”

you nod at him, and he kisses your neck again.

“then watch.”

keeping your mouth tightly shut and fighting against the noises that your body so desperately wants you to make, you let him continue. you let him trace your arousal over your clit, let him dip his finger lower and press just enough inside you that your walls flutter around it. you let him work deeper, and add a second, and try your best not to clamp your legs around his poor wrist when he brushes against the sweet-spot inside you the way that only he knows how.

“s’that feel good, baby?” he asks you.

your eyes are all but glazed over and you don’t think you really know what’s going on in the movie anymore. you can’t remember the names of the characters. is there even a plot? or is it all just pretty, symmetrical imagery now? who the hell is the person that just showed up – surely you haven’t seen him, yet? fuck, you’re completely, hopelessly lost in his fingers and the way they’re buried inside your pussy. every reaction you want to give, you can’t, and it’s so difficult. 

but you nod at him anyway, because the least you can do is tell him he’s doing a good job. he likes to hear that sort of thing. 

and if there’s any dialogue in the grand budapest hotel, you don’t have a damn clue what’s being said. his fingers move faster inside you and the heel of his hand puts enough pressure on your clit that all of your muscles are tight in an attempt to do what he’s asked. the only sounds in your ears are the smacking of his lips on your throat and the lewd noises that come from the way your pussy sucks his digits in deeper. 

you feel like a little toy, wound up to high heaven. waiting, waiting, waiting to be released. waiting to fall into oblivion.

“vernon,” you gasp eventually, silently begging that he won’t stop, that he won’t leave you hanging when you’re so close to the edge.

thankfully, he doesn’t.

“mhm?” he curls his fingers again, a little harder, making you buck up into his hand. whatever game he was playing, he seems to be moving past it now. maybe he wants you to come as much as you do.

“close,” you strain. he nods, slowly, positioning his wrist differently so that he can lay his thumb over your clit instead. the much more deliberate pressure has you seconds away from seeing stars.

“m’gonna ask you about this movie tomorrow, you know,” he chuckles, but he doesn’t slow. he fucks his fingers into you over and over, bringing you closer and closer, and when your toes curl, when you grip his wrist with one hand, when your head falls back against the headboard –

euphoria rushes through you. wetness gushes from you. you feel your pussy contract around his fingers, hugging them tight even though your release tries to expel them; he lets you ride the high out, lets you make a mess on his hand as your hips roll down to meet him, a series of whines and moans falling from your lips. his own continue their gentle caress of your neck. you’re in bliss.

he pulls his fingers from you when you tug at his wrist to tell him to do so, lifting them to his mouth and sucking them clean of your arousal and your release. you close your eyes when he kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, and his (granted, still kind of sticky) hand comes up to cup your face. 

adoration in every moment. like it’s the first.

“don’t bother asking me about it,” you tell him as he pulls away, bumping your nose against his and hearing, from the quiet wet smacking sound they make, how his lips grow into a smile. “i don’t know anything that happened.”

“this is the fourth time i’ve tried to get you to watch this movie, y/n,” he chuckles. 

“and this is the fourth time we’ve ended up here. what, does tilda swinton in that ugly wig really do it for you or something?”

“shut up,” he snorts, ever so gently pushing your cheek to move your head away from him. “no-one ever said you had to give into me that easily.”

“oh, you shut up,” you huff, closing your thighs and feeling how your shorts and panties cling to you uncomfortably, only half covering you after he failed to put them back properly. “i was supposed to be helping you chill out. it’s not my fault that you can’t go five minutes without getting handsy.”

“it’s absolutely your fault,” he challenges, getting to his knees and facing you. you can see his cock tenting his sweatpants now and you’d be lying to say that it doesn’t stir something in the depths of your stomach. “you know i can’t resist you in those shorts.”

“you’re so stupid,” you grin, opening your legs up for him to settle between, and he moves over straight away.

“yeah, well,” he chuckles, reaching down to pull your t-shirt up off your head. “you happen to love my kind of stupid.”

thank u sm for reading!! likes, reblogs, comments + feedback are all greatly appreciated!<3

[howlingday]

Jaune Arc fell into ice. That's the last thing he remembered. Now he's in a strange grove with spirits watching him all the time.... He thinks they might be broken.

Team RWBY are faunas researchers who've found the discovery of the century. A human man still alive in ice. It's a contested theory that ancient humans eventually evolved into faunas and with a member of the previously thought extinct species they might just be able to prove it. Now how to get closer to him

(tldr stone age jaune dealing with modern day faunas RWBY being horny on main for him. The spirits must be crazy)

Last Man Standing

The last thing Jaune remembered that cold winter evening was sulking across the ice to get away from his cheating ex-girlfriend. What was supposed to be a romantic night of welcoming in the new year instead became the worst heartbreak of his life, made worse when she called him out as a spineless nobody that no woman would ever want. She also said his hair looked shaggy, which didn't hurt as much as the betrayal itself, but it still stung.

Then everything got fast. Then everything got cold. And then everything got dark.

When he awoke, he took a deep breath through his nose, inhaling a sweet scent of strawberries. His eyes still shut; he leaned forward to get closer to the smell. This earned him a yelp, a slap, and a scream. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw a girl in a red hood running around the corner. Did she have dog ears?

"Where..." Jaune groaned as he leaned forward, noticing the hot air blowing over him. Though he was still partially frozen in ice, he managed to push his way through the, at best, hard slush of his cocoon. He looked down to see his clothes were soaked. "Ah, man..."

"I'm telling you, Weiss, I know what I saw!"

"Ruby Rose, the specimen has been frozen for at least a thousand years! Even if he did manage to thaw out, he wouldn't... be..."

The two young women stared at Jaune as he twisted his hoodie like a used dishrag, water spilling onto the floor. He turned and saw them, his eyes nearly as wide as theirs as they stared at one another.

For Jaune, he'd never seen anyone like them before! It was like something out of an anime. Two beautiful girls, one with pointed, dog-like ears, while the other had a long and bushy tail twitched back and forth. For them-

"CODE GRAY!" Screamed the tailed girl. She then rushed out of the room, dragging the other girl behind her. The dog-eared one glanced back with sort of sad eyes. None of it sounded good to Jaune, and considering the wailing sirens and flashing lights, he had to get out of wherever he is and fast!

Tossing on his still damp shirt, he made for the exit, accidentally knocking over a poor girl with rabbit ears. He gave a hasty apology as he continued to bolt down the hallway. Unfortunately, this caught more people's attention, and eventually a woman came barreling after him, hand on her beret to keep from flying off her small, round ears. He couldn't see much of her eyes past her designer shades, but what he could see spelled death.

"Incoming!" Jaune looked ahead, flipping backwards as his neck slammed into an extended arm. He gave a hoarse groan as he looked up to see three women towering over him. One was the same woman as before with round ears poking from her beret, the cute appearance contrasting with her snarling scowl. Another had gave a cheeky grin as she leaned forward a bit, showing off her cleavage to her catch, all the while a long, blonde tail swished about.

But the third and final woman gave no hint of any sort of emotion. Neither anger nor joy, but simple indifference. She reached behind her and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, tethered by a thick cable with glowing blue lights that ceased and revealed an opening with the click of a button. Her pointed, red dog-like ears made her look all the more intimidating.

"You're under arrest."

[novelmonger]

Continuing to watch through the Writer/Director commentary of LotR (with Peter Jackson, Philippa Boyens, and Fran Walsh) and jotting down any new-to-me information I come across. Here's what I gleaned from TTT:

When they got the New Line logo to put on the movies, it was very old and scratched, so PJ gave it to Weta to touch it up. They joked about how they should bill New Line for it XD

Originally, the studio wanted TTT to start off with a prologue too, with Cate Blanchett narrating what sounds like it was basically going to be a "Previously on..." spiel, even though they didn't like the idea of the prologue in the first one. Thankfully, these three ignored the studio's advice both times XD

The Uruk who says "Manflesh" is also the guy in Sauron's armor in the prologue!

In the scene where the Rohirrim find Theodred, it's not actually raining! They used rain towers for the close-ups, but any wide shots just have CG rain. I would never have guessed!

Andy Serkis did the voices for the Uruk-Hai who says the "maggoty bread" line, and the orc who says, "Yeah, why can't we have some meat?" (The actor in the suit for the latter is, of course, Jed Brophy, who went on to play Nori in the Hobbit movies.)

Somehow it never registered for me that Orlando Bloom has brown eyes, and so he had to wear blue contacts when he played Legolas ^^' But sometimes he wasn't able to wear the contacts (or forgot), so there are some scenes where they had to fix it in post.

PJ called the Treebeard from the animated Bakshi movie "a walking carrot" XD He also said that Treebeard is his favorite character!

The scene with Smeagol killing Deagol was originally going to be a flashback right after Frodo says his name, and then the Nazgul shriek would pull the audience out of the flashback. They decided not to do that for pacing reasons and because we haven't spent much time with Gollum yet, so that's why they put it at the beginning of RotK instead.

Bernard Hill had his son with him on the shoot and would play with him in his downtime on the Edoras set. Puts things into perspective when you hear that he was the one who came up with the line "No parent should have to bury their child."

They were originally looking at Bernard Hill for Gandalf! (I feel like I've probably heard this before, but anyway.)

They filmed a flashback to Aragorn and Arwen's first meeting?! Viggo shaved to make himself look younger, and it was a scene of the two of them "frolicking about the forest." It was originally going to be put in the Lothlorien sequence, but they cut it out in favor of that scene between Aragorn and Boromir, because they decided it was more important to earn Boromir's death scene than to remind the audience of the romance. I agree with that decision, but it would be cool to see that footage! (I say as someone who prefers to skip the TTT Aragorn/Arwen scene entirely XD)

Originally, the warg battle was going to happen at Edoras itself. It was going to be at night, everything was going to be on fire, and ultimately that was going to be the reason everyone evacuated and went to Helm's Deep. Also, a warg was going to be set on fire and end up dragging Aragorn through the streets, and that was going to be how Aragorn would be left for dead. Ultimately, the reason they did it the way they did was because the studio wasn't sure Weta could do a flaming warg (something all three of them laughed about, considering everything Weta did manage to do with flying colors), and because it would have been a nightmare to light the Edoras set at night, because that location was so remote and so windy. Which is why every scene in Edoras takes place in the daytime!

In the scene where Faramir talks about his dream where he saw Boromir in the boat, you can see a sort of pinkish color in the water around Boromir's body. That's because the dye from his shirt (surcoat? idk) was leaking out into the water! XD

When Andy Serkis did ADR for the Forbidden Pool scene, he couldn't manage to sing the song off-key, so they had to use the audio from the motion capture footage XD

They shot some additional footage of Aragorn unconscious on Brego's back, riding past an orc encampment, that they never ended up using.

Theoden was originally going to give a speech to the soldiers in the armory, but Bernard Hill's performance was so inspiring that it defused most of the tension they were trying to build up before the battle, so they took it out. Would love to see that footage!

So the boy Aragorn encourages before the battle ("There is always hope.") was Philippa Boyens' son, who was 13 when they filmed the scene. But by the time they went to do ADR, his voice had broken, so they had to get a different child actor to say his lines.

Aww, the extra who was missing an eye said he always felt self-conscious about his missing eye, so he always wore an eyepatch. But then after they gave him a close-up and the guy saw the movie, he said he felt much better about his appearance! :')

Treebeard's line "I always like going south; it feels like going downhill" was ad-libbed!

When Saruman turns and reacts to all the water pouring in and washing his machinery away, that shot was actually a reaction shot to Wormtongue on top of the tower from the RotK movie that they repurposed for this scene instead, since they hadn't shot any reactions to the flood.

At least at the time of the recording of this audio commentary, the final shot of Gollum, where he's arguing with himself and ultimately decides to lead Frodo and Sam to Shelob, was the longest CG shot in any movie. (I tried to google what the current record is, but couldn't find anything, so if anyone knows, I'd love to hear about it!)

Fran Walsh: "All cinema storytelling, to a degree, is shallow. That's the nature of the medium. You've got two or three hours to present a world and a dense story with a hundred themes and a ton of backstory, in this instance, and 22 characters...so you can only really have the veneer of depth. You really can't have anything that comes close to the depth of the books, or the experience of the books. So I think what we attempted to do was to use the language of the books where we could and to certainly invoke them, the iconic images, where we could, but to keep the storytelling very much...to modernize it, if you like, in terms of cinema language. So we didn't, for example, use the style of storytelling that was in the books between these different after-the-fact storytelling, of Sam and Frodo and then a chunk of the Aragorn story. We completely undercut it. That was a far more immediate and engaging way to connect it to the audience. You can't really hope to satisfy people who adore this book, with the movie. You can only ever give them the sense of what might have been. That's all a film can do. I think, in that sense, films...I mean, they're entertainments. They're just not going to give you the pleasure that a book can give you."

[viajandopelomar]

FANFIC NERIS (NESTA X ERIS)

Hey guys, I'm writing a Neris (Nesta x Eris) fanfic on AO3, and I've decided to use Tumblr as a means of promotion. That's the only reason I created an account here, it just took longer than I thought to finally post on the site.

But anyway, in this post is chapter one, the prologue. I've decided to post the entire prologue, and the next ones will be excerpts from the chapters.

And this is the link to the fanfic in English:

You can also read it in Brazilian Portuguese (PT BR) here:

🇧🇷 Você também pode lê-la em português brasileiro (PT BR) aqui:

But I recommend that you read it on the AO3 website, so that you can comment and leave your opinions for future readers. And there's also space for chapter notes.

So you can do whatever you want with this post. Maybe comment on the same thing as the website 👀, because that attracts more people. That's if you want to, of course.

Happy reading!

Summary:

A rewrite of ACOSF where Nesta Archeron doesn't allow herself to be molded so easily and was as I imagine her to be.

Not content with being dragged to the top of a mountain against her will, Nesta will have to be patient with her plans. She sees no other loophole in prison than a marriage proposal to the heirs of Autumn.

Neris (Nesta x Eris).

⚠️Todos the rights to the original work belong to Sarah J. Maas⚠️

PROLOGUE

A ✨ ridiculous ✨ intervention

— You come under our jurisdiction the moment you spend our gold, and not a little, on wine. — Amren challenged her. Nesta turned to look at Feyre, who nodded.

— So you made me come here for a sermon?

Feyre's eyes softened.

— No, it's not a sermon. — She glanced at Rhysand, still trapped in an icy silence by the fireplace, and then at Amren, rabid like an animal.

— My life is none of your business and will not be the subject of any discussion.

Rhysand growled. She hated how they all looked like animals, it was just another reminder of what had been ripped away from her.

Cassian leaned forward in his chair, and Nesta held Rhys's gaze, inserting the challenge he hated so much

She would die just not to bow to him. None of them. Rhysand was aware of this and he hated her terribly. Even Amren had a certain respect for her, but not Nesta. She hadn't been taught to bow, anyway. Not to a fairy who loved to feel superior to her.

— That's enough! — Feyre exclaimed to her husband. — I told you to stay out of it. Go or stay, but keep your mouth shut. — Rysandy crossed his arms again, but remained silent. — That goes for you too. — said Feyre to Amren. The female cleared her throat in protest, but then curled up in her chair. Her sister turned to her and settled on the sofa, squeezing the velvet pillows. Feyre swallowed as Nesta turned to her.

— We have to make some changes, Nesta. — I said to her — You... We.

Where the hell was Elain?

— I take the blame for going so far, for letting things get so bad. After the war with Hybern, with everything that was happening... You... I was supposed to be by your side, helping you, and instead I wasn't there, but now I'm ready to admit that it's partly my fault.

— Your fault for what? — Nesta hissed.

— For you and the shit you do. — said Cassian. He had said the same thing at the Summer Solstice. And now, as before, Nesta was hardened by that insult, that arrogance... — Look — Cassian continued — it's not about moral failings, but...

— I know how you feel, Nesta — Feyre interrupted. Nesta blinked. It's time to make some changes. Starting now.

— Keep your savior spirit out of my life.

— You don't have a life. — said Feyre. — And I'm not going to sit here and watch you destroy yourself without doing anything. — she placed her tattooed hand on her heart, as if that gesture meant something. — After the war, I decided to give you time, but it was the wrong choice. I was wrong.

— Really?

— It's time to stop. — Feyre murmured in a trembling voice. So unprotected, with all her weaknesses exposed just in the tone of her voice — The way you behave, the apartment and everything else, it's time to get out of here, Nesta.

— And where do you think I should go? — Nesta replied in an icy tone.

Feyre looked at Cassian. Who, for the first time, wasn't smiling.

— You're coming with me. — said the sorcerer. — To train.

— What?

— At the end of this meeting, — Feyre clarified, you will move to the House of Wind. — And he pointed with his head towards the palace carved into the mountains at the eastern end of the city. — Rhys and I have decided that every morning you will train with Cassian at the Illyrian camp, Refuge of the Wind. And after lunch, all afternoon, you will work in the library under the House of the Wind. The apartment, the dirty taverns... It's over, Nesta.

— I'm not moving into the House of the Wind. — said Nesta. — And I'm not going to train in that miserable village. Least of all with him. — She gave him a venomous look.

— You have no choice. — said Amren, breaking the oath she had made to Feyre a few moments before.

— You do the thinking — Nesta challenged her.

— Your apartment is being emptied as we speak. — Amren continued. — When you come back, it will be empty. Your clothes have already been sent to the House of the Wind, although I doubt they'll be any use in your training at the Refuge of the Wind.

— You can't do this to me. I'm not a member of this court.

— But you have no problem spending this court's money. — refuted Amren. During the war you accepted the position of Emissary. You never resigned, so the law still considers you a member of the court. — An almost imperceptible movement of Amren's fingers and a book flew towards Nesta before falling onto the cushions beside her. — Page two hundred and thirty—six, if you want to check.

She wouldn't. Such a law was ridiculous, Rhysand couldn't go around locking up anyone he liked just because they worked in his court. And Nesta hadn't even done that.

— Here are your options, girl. — said Amren, lifting his chin.

Nesta noticed Feyre's gaze on her husband: the agony in her sister's eyes, Rhysand's barely contained anger at the pain his partner felt because of it, as if she were still a child who needed her father to interfere in her affairs. Poor Feyre.

— Option one. — said Amren, raising a finger. — You move into the House of Wind, train with Cassian in the morning and work in the library in the afternoon. You won't be a prisoner. But you won't have anyone to fly or cross you into the city. If you want to go, go ahead. If you have the courage to face the ten thousand steps of the house. — Amren's eyes flashed in defiance. — And if you can scrape together a couple of pennies to buy something to drink. But if you stick to this plan, after a few months we'll reassess where and how you're going to live.

— And the other option? — Nesta spat.

— You go back to the human lands.

— And those would be my only options?

— I... — Feyre recovered before saying the rest — I'm sorry — and straightened her back. — Yes.

Nesta lifted her chin.

— I refuse. — she declared. Amren opened his mouth, but Nesta didn't allow him to interrupt. "I didn't spend the court's money, I spent my own. How long do you intend to hide my inheritance? I haven't received a single penny, so I just assumed that the money was being deducted from my sum. And if you insist on saying that I'm a servant of your court, High Lord — she stared at Rhysand, observing all the tension in his clenched jaw. This one would surely be dead by now if she weren't his precious companion's sister — You also owe me a year's worth of back wages. Add some interest on each month and then deduct my expenses. That's what I should have done from the start, since I wasn't compensated for my efforts at the meeting of the Grand Lords, let alone for being the temporary assistant to their healers. I would appreciate proper compensation for my efforts. I believe that all my expenses over the last year have been within the budget I am owed.

Feyre's eyes were red and her mouth pressed together. Perhaps she expected everything to happen quickly, but Nesta wouldn't give in. She hadn't given in before the cauldron and the king, so why should she before those pompous fairies who thought they owned the world? Cut thieves, Nesta reminded herself. Thieves of cuts and destroyers of cuts. Feyre had no capacity to judge Nesta's actions.

Rhysand looked angrier than ever. Good, she thought. Get on top of me and prove yourself.

— If that's all they had to talk about — Nesta stood up — I'll leave.

—You're going to sit down. And you will listen. — Rhysand said.

— You're not my High Lord. You don't give me orders.

— That's enough, miss," Amren interrupted, his voice abrupt and almost frothing with anger, ignoring Nesta's sober lucidity. — You will do as you are told. You have no choice in the matter, you've already proved how irresponsible you are with your own money.

— And you've proved how hypocritical you can be. — Nesta shot her eyes towards Feyre, who was almost curled up against the cushions, barely holding back her tears — Can't you see how unfair all this is?

— I...

— It was you who dragged me into this mess, into this horrible place. It's because of you that I have this body," she gestured to herself, "that I'm stuck here. And you still dare to say that the way I live this immortality crap isn't a life? Whose fault is that, then?

The blow was accurate, because Feyre cringed and now she no longer wore the High Lady's shield. Feyre was back to being Nesta's little sister. She could have taken it hard, but she didn't give a damn. Feyre wanted to arrest her and drag her off to a warrior camp to be like her. Nesta wasn't a savage like Feyre, and she wasn't the type to take orders quietly either.

Cassian's words earlier had been foolish when he had said so arrogantly that Feyre had needed him to fetch her because she was too busy. So busy that she was laughing with her family right up until the moment Nesta entered the room. Her sister could barely hold a conversation with her unaccompanied, Nesta couldn't imagine Feyre taking an active role with her title.

— That's enough. — Feyre gasped, her voice shaking. She swallowed, but didn't back down. — That's enough. You'll move into the House of Wind, you'll train and work, and I don't care what poison you spit. You're going to do it.

— And how exactly do you intend to do that? By getting into my head and forcing me? Be my guest. — she had the impression that Feyre was holding her breath — because I'm not going to do any of this on my own. In fact, that's what you do, isn't it? You and your husband. You get into the minds of those who don't show obedience and make them give in. He's known for things like that, so I'm not surprised you've become the same.

A tear trickled from Feyre's left eye. Nesta liked it, although she wasn't proud of it. It was Feyre who had started it all, so let her bear Nesta's brunt.

Rhysand was closer to Nesta than she remembered. He had moved, either to attack her or to grab Feyre away, she couldn't choose between the two alternatives. Feyre was quick to get up and shoo the others away, claiming that she wanted to speak to Nesta alone. One last sentimental attempt. Rhysand's mutter about waiting in the corridor didn't go unnoticed, as if that shiny shield wasn't enough.

Nesta wanted to shout that she had been in Feyre's life for over twenty years. Rhysand had arrived last year, and since he had, Feyre had been killed and then dragged into a war, and by extension, Nesta and Elain had also had to be taken to war. Perhaps he was the real problem.

Nesta kept her spine straight, her back aching with effort. She had never hated anyone as much as all of them at that moment. Except, probably, the king of Hybern. They had talked about her, judging her incapable, out of control, and...

She took a breath, steadying herself. She wouldn't be the one to break the silence. Feyre fiddled with her wedding ring, looking down at her lap.

— I... I'm sorry.

— You never cared before. — said Nesta. — Why now?

— I told you: it wasn't that I didn't care. We—all of us, I mean—we've had several conversations about it... About you. We... I had decided that giving you some time and space was the best thing. — Feyre said carefully, her voice breaking — By the way, I was hoping you'd get better on your own. I wanted to give you the space to do that, since you lash out at anyone who gets too close, but you never even tried.

Maybe you should try a little harder this year. Cassian's words, spoken on an icy street a few blocks away, still resonated in Nesta's mind after nine months. And then her anger had broken out of her, because Feyre had been foolish enough to ask for another blow.

— So what? You hold silly little meetings, debate about me in my absence, about what I do with my money, and you expect me to be quiet? You're the only one who loves to be taken from place to place at will, Feyre.

— All you've done is use our money. — Feyre continued, too desperate to think straight.

— My money, Feyre. My money. Not Rhysand's." Another flash of sorrow. Nesta's blood sang with the blow.

— But they don't know that!

— It's not my fault anymore. You kept it from me, didn't you? Take the consequences of your actions, sister.

— You spent five hundred gold marks last night! — exploded Feyre, getting up quickly and pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. — Do you have any idea how much money that is?

— I do, but do you? — Feyre stopped and looked at her for a moment, feeling the splinter. — It's my money, how I spend it is none of your business. Get your nosy nose out of my life.

— You don't have a life! — Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was when the bill arrived this morning, when my friends, my family, heard about it?

Nesta didn't like that word. She never liked it. And now Feyre spat it out every chance she got, as if living with snarling animals was something to be proud of.

— Blame the person who humiliated you, then. I didn't read the bill. And if it was meant to affect me, tell them it didn't even come close. All he did was make you shed your precious tears.

Nesta restrained herself from mentioning that she had never intruded on how Feyre spent hours in the hay with Isaac Hale. That would be too low, even for her.

Feyre stopped in the middle of the room, her face blotchy and red. She stared at Nesta in surprise. As if she had made the biggest revelation of the last year. Feyre swallowed, turned around and took a deep breath. A futile attempt at calm. Nesta attacked once more, so that Feyre wouldn't have time to understand what had been said. She would ignore everything when Rhysand wiped away her tears, anyway.

— And this is all about saving your reputation, anyway.

— It's about the impact it can have on me, Rhys and my court if my fucking sister spends all our money on wine and games and does nothing to contribute to the well—being of this town! If we can't control you, then what right do we have to rule anyone else?

— I'm not something you need to control.

— That's why you're going to train at the Wind Refuge Camp. You'll learn to control yourself

— I won't.

— Yes, you will, even if we have to tie you up and drag you there. You'll follow Cassian's lessons and do the work Clotho asks you to do in the library.

In this, she remembered the soldiers' hands squeezing her, restraining her futile attempts to break free. She also remembered the dark depths of that library, the ancient monster that inhabited it. They had saved themselves from Hybern's henchmen, yes, but... She refused to think about it.

— Are you going to tie me up like Hybern did? Now you've gone too far. I didn't know I was being held hostage again.

Nesta was sure to spit out all her hatred and bitterness. The result on Feyre's delicate face was fantastic. She just hoped Rhysand wasn't feeling Feyre like the snarling dog she was. He couldn't kill her now. She wasn't finished.

A boiling rage flowed through her veins, so strong that Nesta could barely hear the real fire in the fireplace near where Feyre walked. She was grateful for the roar in her head when the sound of crackling wood was so similar to that of her father's broken neck that she never lit the fire at home.

Feyre was crying now. The tears were coming down and Nesta felt a little satisfaction at seeing them. She waited a moment before continuing.

— You had no right to lock up my apartment, to take my things...

— What things? Some clothes and some rotten food. — Nesta didn't have time to ask how Feyre knew this, when her sister added, her voice weak. — I'm going to declare the whole building uninhabitable.

Nesta blinked in disbelief. She couldn't help laughing.

— You can't do that.

— I already have. Rhys has already visited the landlord. It's going to be demolished and rebuilt as a shelter for families still homeless after the war.

Nesta held back her impulse and took a deep breath. One of the few choices she had made for herself, snatched away. But Feyre didn't seem to care. And what's more, demolishing the building meant that the other residents would be evicted too, right? What a great way to show that you care about the image of the High Lady.

— You're going to take away my house and lock me up just because I don't want to follow your orders? — Nesta spat disdainfully — Once the man you loved locked you up because you didn't want to be quiet and obedient like he told you to be, didn't he? So you're going to do the same to me?

Feyre sobbed, collapsing into the armchair. Nesta would have cared, if she hadn't heard from her own sister that she was to be contained in a house ten thousand steps above the ground, and taken to a camp where the species was repudiated even by her beloved husband, who had grown up among them. It makes sense, Nesta thought. The Illyrians hate Rhysand too.

And all because Feyre couldn't separate his image from hers. Feyre should show herself to be concerned with the politics and history of the territory instead of spending her afternoons painting and her mornings decorating mansions, if she really wanted to have a good image among the fairies. Being crowned by Rhysand didn't give her the power she could gain. Feyre was just giving a shallow and useless excuse.

But Nesta gave her sister no rest.

— And where is Elain? Or is she too good to take part in this discussion, as you said yourself? — There was absolute, icy silence, except for Feyre's whimpering. — Does she know that you intend to throw me into human lands? Because that's what I prefer to being confined with that brute.

Feyre raised her face, unrecognizable. She was destroyed and Nesta felt nothing but satisfaction. At least she would die knowing that she had done a little damage.

— She—she'll see you when she's ready — Feyre massaged her chest and stood up again, walked in circles again and when she finally pulled herself together, she faced Nesta — Elain is busy packing her things.

Nesta raised an eyebrow, the wave of fury returning even stronger. That's what Amren meant by an empty apartment, then.

Nesta jumped up from the sofa.

— Has she become the puppy that breaks into apartments on your orders now?

Feyre cringed, but Nesta ignored her, hurrying towards the exit. She could hear Feyre's crying voice calling her, but she didn't listen. Nesta didn't care that during the war with Hybern, her own fragile bond had formed with Feyre, forged because of common goals: to protect Elain, to save the human lands.

Nesta didn't bother to answer, she was at the front door before Feyre reached her, and her screams mixed with Rhysand's angry voice, although she didn't understand what he was shouting. Nesta was still in the garden when a red—faced and wet Feyre came through the door, accompanied by her husband and Cassian.

— Nesta — Feyre cried, and Nesta swallowed her own. It was she who had received the sentence, so why was Feyre the one falling apart as if she was being sentenced to death herself? — P—Please, this is for your own good.

— Was being confined that good for you?

Rhysand growled, taking Feyre in his arms.

— You still have a choice, Nesta. You can go to the human lands if you prefer," he said with a honeyed smile, but his hands trembled with hatred as he cradled a trembling Feyre to his chest.

Nesta laughed scornfully, swallowing her tears.

— Would you take me? I'd stay...

— NO!

Feyre and Cassian shouted, the latter taking hurried steps towards her. Feyre tried to pull her arms away from Rhysand, staring at her sister with an even more devastated face. Nesta couldn't hide her melancholy smile. She also hated it when that stubborn tear ran down her cheek as she faced Rhysand. He seemed almost pleased with the result.

— But I've never had a choice since I got here, have I?

Strong arms took her before any more tears fell. But she still saw Feyre's face contract into a sob. Good.

There was nothing left to unite them now.

[sewinrat]

You as Amanda the Adventurer includes(child reader);

You were just walking around for a new adventure with your pet friend sheep, Wooly! Who was hesitant especially when he feel the bad vibes around the place. After walking for quite some time, you saw a diner called, 'Smile Diner'. You dragged Wooly into the diner with a bright smile.

You enter the place and look around happily. There was not a lot of people. Actually, there's only five people sitting together. You dragged Wooly to a random table. Checking the menu only to find weird things on it but that's okay! You're used to it! "Wooly, what do you want to get?" You ask the sheep across you. Unfortunately however, Wooly had a bit of trouble choosing as he felt weirded out seeing the names. You're starting to lose your temper and keep asking him what he wants aggressively. Until eventually you couldn't wait any longer and yell at him, glitching in and out before suddenly sitting there with a smile again as you calmly ask Wooly what he wants, which caught the attention of the other five people.

Luther in a confused tone wonders why is there a child and a sheep without any adult supervision. Nyen was annoyed but couldn't do anything about it without his master's order yet. Nyon and Sebastian basically try to mind their own business while Randal laughs at the poor sheep who was trembling.

For some reason, one thing lead to another and now you're living with the ivory's. You look oblivious to your surroundings while Wooly is scared for his life, especially around the cat with the Nevada shirt.

You are quite the obedient child with a horrible temper and a gruesome sense of view, humour and mind. You fit well together with Randal as friends. Actually, you and Wooly are exactly like Randal and Sebastian. The only differences are that Wooly let it all happened as long as everything is in control while Sebastian is going to escape any chance he can and you have the worst temper or patience while Randal has no temper. Often times, Randal makes you lose it and it results in you attacking him. But it's all fine in the end. Luckily no one was hurt besides Randal.

Going into a different topic, cats. You look at the two adults being cats and ask them if they talk. Nyen grunts and Nyon stays quiet as always. You however don't mind and instead said, "Animals don't talk like that, silly! They make funny sounds like this; Meooww." You unknowingly mocked at them. Wooly just lowers his head down, remembering the time you did that to him and it doesn't end that well.

There was once where you said something about 'a lonely kitten is out there somewhere. Won't you help the lonely kitten?' This perks up Luther but he doesn't understand what you're trying to say. He wants the find this 'lonely kitten' though. Not knowing what it meant.

You laugh at anything dark honestly and try to make games out of anything. You drag Randal mostly to go on adventures while Wooly and Sebastian awkwardly watch you two in a safe distance. You spoke to the unhinged boy like he was an audience. 'Silly mister fox!' 'Kuku~ he is silly!' Refering to a fox with lost half of it's head. 'The opposite of alive iss..' 'DEAD!~' Randal continued and laugh maniacally as you both stand in front of a grave. 'Let's make an apple pie!' Wooly were holding peaches but it suddenly glitches into apples to which Randal clapped at and leaving Sebastian concerned.

Ranfren Characters thoughts on You(ooc);

Randal: "I like them! They're so fun to play with ~ kuku it's always fun to have a friend like them to play correctly! Ahh but they have such a bad temperr... I guess that's partly my fault heheh~ I wonder what they mean by rotting somewhere far but I feel myself rotting away too!~" Best Friends FOREVER.

Luther: "They are too similar like Randal but oh well. At least they are more well behaved. Randal mentioned that they are rotting like him but I don't pay any mind. A nice addition to the family they are♡ Their pet sheep is nice as well, they're like Sebastian but obedient. I want to find this lonely kitten they mentioned so I can help it♡ However I do think we need to keep that temper under control." He's clueless of your cryptic messages and hints but he'll soon figure out. Very soon.

Nyen: "Annoying brat. Always saying that cats go meow. I hope the lonely kitten they had mentioned dies." Doesn't like you. Best to avoid when Luther is not around. He won't kill you however.

Nyon: Nyon doesn't even came close to you. He only came close to Wooly but that happens once in a blue moon. Avoids you more when he saw how aggressive and dark-minded you can get.

Sebastian: "Ugh... Just another addition to the freaks of a family. Somehow I think they're worse than Randal... Everytime they speak, freaks me out because they always say something weird. I wonder how that sheep handle it.." He's... Just don't bother him that much. He already has Randal on his back. However he is glad that you managed to keep Randal away from him longer.

Bonus! Wooly: "I really don't know how we got into this situation but we can't escape now.." Nothing much to say. Wooly has been with you for so long he knows. He doesn't encourage you but he also doesn't do much unless you're close to being in danger or starting the danger.

[sheafrotherdon]

for @werebearbearbar

*

When Yusuf returns to their room with his tunic bloodied, Nicolo stills, prepared for the dozen or more eventualities that might spin out from such misfortune. He is relieved that Yusuf has come back—the truce between them is so fragile that he is often gripped by the worry that Yusuf might yet leave—but relief wars with frustration at how rash Yusuf can be, how often he finds himself at the wrong end of a blade. He looks Yusuf over from head to toe, rapidly assesses his healing, and then drags his gaze back to Yusuf’s face, to the expression of defeat he wears.

“What happened?” he asks quietly.

“We will not be traveling to Cairo today,” says Yusuf, as if this explains everything. He sits heavily on the edge of his rough bed.

Nicolo’s temper—the blistering, sharp-edge of his temper that he has yet to master—flares. This man. This infuriating man. His errand was so simple, and yet his arrogance, his stupidity, his readiness to fight—which of these maddening qualities ruined their plans? He swallows hard and opens his mouth that his feelings might pour out, tenses his hand into a fist and . . .

. . . pauses.

Yusuf is not readying to oppose him. His shoulders are not squared in anticipation of argument, nor his body poised to make his lingering disdain for Nicolo’s company known. His eyes are closed, his breathing steady in the way Nicolo has only observed when Yusuf prepares to pray. Something curls, sour, in Nicolo’s stomach, concern rushing from beneath his breastbone to skitter through his limbs, and he goes down to one knee, reaches out to touch Yusuf, then reconsiders.

“What did he do to you?” he asks instead.

Yusuf laughs sharply, mournfully, and looks up. “You would not understand.”

Nicolo watches him for a long moment. “You are not still hurt?”

Yusuf shakes his head. “He . . .” There is a visible struggle within him; his expression hardens, then softens again. “We could not agree on a price. He rescinded his offer and we argued.”

“His blood or yours?”

“Both.”

Nicolo stays still. “And?”

Yusuf looks away and blows out a breath. “He offered the curses of a schoolboy, the needling insults that a child might use.” He looks back at Nicolo. “He said I was my mother’s great shame, my father’s undoing, that my bloodline was cursed, that no son could dishonor his family more.”

Nicolo has witnessed by day and night Yusuf’s wrestling with their destiny. To be thrown into company with an invader whose body knits together like his own; to refuse to sink his blade into Nicolo’s gut despite the provocations of the heavens; the decision—the awful decision—to exile himself from his home lest he grieve his parents with the stain of whatever dark magic animates their souls. . .

“You are none of those things,” Nicolo says earnestly, voice no more than a whisper.

Yusuf makes a small choking sound, and presses his lips together firmly.

“He did not see a truth in you,” Nicolo continues. “A charlatan cannot.”

“And you do?” Yusuf asks bitterly.

Nicolo feels a strange and unfamiliar warmth creep up his neck. “I am further along that path than some wastrel merchant.”

Yusuf meets his gaze and for a long, terrible moment, neither of them speaks. “Perhaps,” Yusuf says nodding at last. “Perhaps you are.”

It is an unexpected thing to find that this matters, this agreement, the nearness of Yusuf’s body, the fact that Nicolo can find words enough to craft comfort when Yusuf is distressed. There is something here, some puzzle to unravel, but Nicolo cannot fathom the twists of his own mind on this score.  “You may take my clean shirt,” he says, and stands again, dusting off his knee.

Yusuf nods and stands too, pulls his dagger from his belt and lays it on the bed. “Thank you,” he says simply, and studies the blade.

[prismaticpichu]

TW: Major Descriptions of Blood/Injury/Implied Jenova-induced Self Harm ❤️

Extreme angst- Nibelheim- this got escalated somehow???

Part 2 of this!

~

Quivering hands clutched the blanket tighter, his broken nails raking against the beige swath of linen like talons through tender skin, another whetted breath cutting through Sephiroth’s lips as the broken shape continued to shift and strain against the pillow. What was once pure and white now stood spattered with pebbles and streaks of crimson, writhing like a gunshot animal in torment against the snow, and his hands tensed and raked against the blanket once more.

Acid burning through his eyes, Zack reached out to cup one.

And a small, almost imperceptible whimper of pain was his response.

“Hey… hey.” Zack did everything in his power to placate the older SOLDIER, whispering and soothing, his heart twisting and contorting into an unbearable shape at the thought of causing his friend any more agony than he was already ensnared in. “It’s just me… it’s just Zack. I told you I would come back.”

Seph’s hand trembled against his own, still hooked and straining.

The boy’s throat began to close.

“Docs said there was nothing wrong with you. Nothing they could find physically, anyway…” Zack hazily eyed the bandages gauzed around Seph’s head, the way they stretched all the way down to his temples and cheeks and jawline from when those talons had began viciously clawing at himself, the way those whetted nails slashed and raked and gouged as if wanting to tear the burning meat and flesh off his own bones.

Tensing at the memory, he let out a choke.

“SEPH! SEPH, STOP IT!”

“SIR… OH MY GOD—“

He had crumpled out of his arms, about halfway down the mountain, as if some imaginary yet fatal threshold had been crossed.

“STOP IT! SHIT—! SEPH….!”

When the blood splashed against his skin, it was warm, and Zack had never felt such a purgatorial state of numbness as he did watching ShinRa’s greatest warrior tear through the layers of his own scalp and skin, slashing and clawing like the organ was nothing more than a famished blaze eating him alive.

“SEPH…. SEPHIROTH! STOP IT!”

He was screaming now, and so was Seph.

“YOU’RE GONNA TEAR YOUR HEAD OPEN—PLEASE!”

He tried prying Seph’s hands away, the tips of his gloves completely saturated, his own drenched in the swelling, viscous liquid that was rapidly pooling around the terrain of silver strands.

“STOP…!”

A serrated hiss of protest and was his only response, merely tearing the wounds further agape as he tried to extract the man’s obstinate hands from his flesh, merely dragging two rakes of crimson down the sides of scalp and coppering the sides of his hair with the metallic stench of blood.

“Oh Gaia… SHIT…. Stop it…!”

Zack was losing the will to scream, completely breathless, the tears having long gushed through the levee but too lost in the numbness to register them.

“GET… GET AWAY!” was the only coherent thing the man could scream, his eyes suddenly blazing open and wild and unrecognizably draconic as the words tore from his lips, bucking and kicking and finally relinquishing hold of his scalp to slash feverishly at his sleeveless arms instead.

“HU… M… AN…!”

“SEPH! Buddy…!” Zack was wading through his sopping words, practically pinning down the man’s arms as they grappled like wolves on the jagged mountain terrain. “It’s ME…! Zack! I’m your frien—!”

And a cry tore his throat asunder as Seph’s nails plunged into his wrists, a bloom of warm blood pooling against the tender beige skin, ten whetted talons that raked deep into the flesh and soul.

“SEPHIROTH…!”

Shivering, the bandages mending his wrists curled and tensed as Zack tightened his hold.

Sephiroth clenched his teeth.

“…You really scared me, pal.” Blue eyes glistened under the amber lamplight of the inn. “But I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. I know you didn’t. You would never hurt me…” He strained his eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath, opening them again only when the words could be formed. “You were just scared… Or—or something. And… and I get it. I would be scared, too.”

The boy’s voice rattled against the still indoor air, chipping against the tumultuous rush of memory, taking in another quivering breath before speaking again.

“Was it… was it just too much?” he wondered aloud, his voice quiet and ghostly. “Everything Genesis said… all that horrible stuff… is that what happened, bud? Is that why you went nuts on us…?”

Sephiroth clutched the blanket tighter, convulsing slightly.

Zack’s grip tightened on his hand.

“You know… you know it’s not true… right?” His voice was quavering with his shoulders, swallowing an oncoming choke. “What Genesis said. Well—I… I don’t know about the rest. The experiments. But… but about you being a…”

He paused for a best, tasting the poisonous, corrosive word on his tongue, and forced it out in a burning whisper.

“About you being a monster.”

Shifting, Sephiroth let out another bladed hiss.

No such luck.

No su… ch luck.

N… su… h l… c…

Something wet plunked against the mattress, its echo silent and absorbed.

“I know, pal. I know. And it wasn’t the first time you heard someone call you that either….”

Cold metal dented as Sephiroth was pushed into the wall, the reverberations loud and free, his shoulders clenched by venomous young hands.

“What the HELL is wrong with you…?! Why would you SEND me to Modeoheim…?”

To be continued…? :3c

[befuddled-calico-whump]

T$$ Menagerie AU (summary)

cw: mentioned/implied captivity/enslavement, torture, noncon drugging, noncon, and death

AU Masterlist

×~×~×

When a wealthy man gets it in his head that he wants to start his own private zoo, he’s determined to create something that's a cut above the rest. Instead of simple animals, he wants to fill his manor’s gardens with Mythos, rare, sentient creatures known throughout myth and folklore.

Benji, a jistu, is the first to be taken after he's caught in a robbery. The hopeful collector, Adam Roth, hears of his arrest and pays off law enforcement to hand him over to the menagerie instead.

Kaius, a banished kinnara prince, is the next. He's offered refuge when running from enemies in his human form, and drugged at dinner once Roth realizes he's a Mytho. Jericho, a mer who regularly makes trouble for ships, and Joy, an anggitay, are captured a few weeks apart; after being spotted in the wild, Roth decides he wants them for his collection and hires freelance hunters to bring them in.

Now with four mythos on his hands, he also hires two well-known hunters, Vic Shepard and Ander Sahota, to act as guards and enforcers.

The duo have been working together for years, and they share a secret: Sahota is a Mytho himself, a selkie. Vic stole his pelt and trained him as a hunter to prove a point that any Mytho had the potential to be dangerous, no matter how harmless they may seem.

Roth has a lot of respect for both of them initially, but once Vic makes him aware of Sahota's true nature, he starts treating him with something almost like disdain.

The final acquisition for the menagerie is Hunter, a kumiho.

All five are given gilded cages and put on full display for visitors. They're initially allowed to roam the grounds by day, as Roth underestimates his captives and assumes they lack the intelligence required to coordinate and unite against him. Vic advises otherwise, and he reluctantly listens, moving the cages further apart so they can't talk as a group, and making it so that only one or two of them are allowed to be out of their enclosure at a time for exercise.

The captives are also made to wear custom collars that are designed to track them and subdue them in the event they're disobedient. In addition to that, Vic and Sahota keep the area under guard.

On the first day Hunter is allowed to roam the gardens, he books it, powering through the electrical shock delivered by his collar and making a break for the gardens' wall. The rest of the prisoners can only watch as he's brought down by an unsympathetic Sahota. He and Vic drag him to the edge of the gardens and lock him in a small cage that offers no protection from the elements, telling the rest that this is what awaits if any of them steps out of line. He's left there for a day as punishment, and his collar is adjusted to deliver a more powerful shock.

In spite of all their restrictions and the threat of punishment, the captives find ways to communicate. Jericho, who has experience with coordinated attacks due to past scuffles with fishing vessels, ends up the group's unofficial leader. He and Joy lead the charge in planning an escape. They learn of Kaius's gift with strategizing, and rope him into it, breaking through his reluctance to let himself be a part of the group. Benji, on the other hand, is eager to make friends, and Hunter, while distrustful of anyone else, is eager to escape.

Planning anything is difficult with the tight leash they're all kept on, and it’s months before they're able to carefully map out their surroundings and develop a solid idea of what to do.

In that timeframe, Jericho notices that Sahota seems to be treated poorly by both Vic and Roth, and tries to connect with him, with little apparent success. Meanwhile, Hunter continuously gets himself punished by acting out, snapping at guests, and making his own escape attempts. Joy is frustrated with this, and after one too many instances, yells at him for ruining everything for the rest of them.

After this incident, Vic, who's suspicious that the Mythos are up to something, notices that Hunter’s starting to isolate himself more, and seizes the opportunity to catch him alone.

Attempting to scare him into a confession, Vic tells him there's no way they'll all escape, and alludes to letting Hunter go free if he helps him nip any trouble in the bud. Hunter refuses and tries to get away from him, but Vic has Sahota cut off his escape. Once the pair has him cornered, Vic pins him down, but realizing his intentions, Sahota yanks him off, allowing Hunter to get away.

Despite Sahota trying to frame it as following Roth's interests since Vic didn't get permission from him, Vic is furious, and throws him in the punishment cage. 

Hunter tells no one about the attempted assault, so the rest are unaware of the reason why Sahota has been locked up, assuming it's due to a dispute between the hunters. Having a general dislike for Sahota because of his role in keeping them trapped here, they don't have much sympathy for him. The only ones who do anything about it are Jericho, who sneaks him water once it starts getting hot, and Hunter, who sits quietly beside him, grateful, but unsure how to express it.

Jericho once again tries to reason with Sahota, insisting that even if they're on opposite ends of this conflict as hunter and Mytho, they seem to share a common enemy in Vic. Sahota brushes it off, saying he earned his punishment by acting rashly.

Later that week, Jericho and Joy are fine-tuning the escape, planning to kick it off on a day when Benji is the one out of his cage, so he can use his lockpicking skills to free the rest. Sahota overhears their plans, but lets the pair know that just this once, he'll forget he heard anything. Joy is skeptical, but after days go by without any additional security measures implemented, she figures that he was telling the truth, and she and Jericho share this information so that the rest of prisoners know they have a tentative ally.

Not long after this, Hunter is once again cornered by Vic, and when pressured, lets a little too much slip, also accidentally hinting at Sahota's involvement. Despite this, Vic doesn't seem overeager to act on the new information, and Hunter once again hides this from the rest, both ashamed and afraid that they'll completely cut him off if they hear about it.

Meanwhile, Roth is growing bored of the menagerie. At Vic's suggestion, he makes plans to sell a few of his Mythos off, and at least profit from his flight of fancy. He discusses the matter with the hunters, saying that he'll get rid of the troublemakers and the more “boring” members of his collection, and only keep one or two.

Vic suggests he sell Benji to a brothel due to the whole “fucking like rabbits” stereotype, and Jericho to a restaurant for exotic sushi. Roth also wants to get rid of Hunter, since he's the biggest troublemaker, and Vic offers to buy him.

Roth wants to keep Kaius, due to him being the flashiest of the bunch, but plans to keep him sedated in order to prevent him from causing trouble. He considers keeping Joy and using Kaius's well-being as a way to keep her in line, but reasons that if she proves to be a hassle, there's probably another rich man out there who'd love to have her in his stables.

Though he tries to hide it, Sahota is horrified at the idea, and tries to talk him down. When pushed, he tells Roth to just let them go. Roth is amused by this, but also pissed off at his boldness, and tells Vic to "get a handle on his pet".

 Vic leads him away, hangs him by his wrists and uses him as a punching bag, then brutally whips him. Before Sahota passes out, Vic reveals that he knows about the escape plan, and he knows that Sahota learned of it but kept it from him. He tells Sahota that “if he wants to side with the animals, he'll be treated like an animal”, and covers Sahota with his seal pelt, knowing he can no longer control his own shifting due to the pelt being damaged by Vic. Vic then dumps his unconscious body into Jericho’s tank, leaving it up to fate whether or not he survives.

Jericho, unaware of Sahota's true nature, is quick to aid the wounded seal, gently holding him to ensure his head stays above water. When Sahota weakens to the point that he can no longer remain in his seal form, he shifts back, shocking the mer. Barely conscious, he manages to warn Jericho of Roth's plans, telling him they need to make their move before it's too late. He also tells him that Vic knows, so they'll have to be extra careful.

Jericho passes the message on to Joy, who's initially angry at Sahota, assuming he lied about keeping their plan secret. When Hunter hears about this, he feels immensely guilty, and reluctantly fesses up that he's the one who told Vic. 

Joy is upset, but says they'll talk about it later. Right now, they just need to get out.

With Sahota's help, Joy and Jericho disable the collars, and the group puts their plan in motion, starting a fire to distract Vic and Roth, and making for the planned route. They barely make it past the gate before Vic shoots Joy. Unwilling to leave her behind, the group is heavily slowed down. Though barely able to stand, Sahota tells them to run, saying he'll hold Vic off as long as he can.

Jericho is torn, but knows they need to get Joy out of there fast, and reluctantly leaves him behind. They make it to Roth's garage, where Benji hotwires one of his cars for the getaway.

Back in the garden, Sahota faces off against Vic, managing to hold his own long enough to buy the other Mythos time, despite his injuries. Vic overpowers him, and forces him to watch as he throws his pelt into the fire that's consuming the gardens, telling him he can never go home.

In a final, desperate move, Sahota manages to get the gun away from Vic. He shoots him in the chest, but it looks like neither of them will make it out of the gardens. Vic is quickly bleeding out, and Sahota is too weak to escape the fire. Then, as the flames are closing in, Roth's car crashes through the bushes, and Jericho jumps out, managing to grab Sahota before it's too late.

Injured but free, the crew drives away, leaving Roth to his burning manor.

[electricvinyls]

BATES LOREE!! read if you want!! It's a lot but this character is probably a very healthy outlet for me and i really do care about him

STUFF UNDER CUT!

PUBERT 'BATES' 🩻 | he/it | Transgender fag, passes as cishet| 39 y/o | Autism + BPD

Childhood stuff uhm i forgot to add. He grew up lower middle class, his house was very small, rural farmhouse almost. He was undiagnosed with autism for a long time, it was too expensive for his family. But they knew something was up, he was seemingly the "outcasted" kid. Weird and antisocial. He COULD fit in, he was good at almost copying the way other kids act, but his mom often urged him to just be himself. He never had a girlhood, he was always rugged and wasn't nurtured to lean any which way (gender wise). He was raised catholic an continues to have that faith. His father was a bit more lost in his faith, but his views were harmful. He looked down on his wife, having the traditional views. They would fight a lot, and it didn't bother Bates until it got physical. His father would hit and yell and break things. Bates says it didn't effect him, he went to therapy for a while in his teenage years, but he grew such a deep rooted disgust and hatred for his father after that. He almost felt like he needed to harm his father. It didn't help that his mother watched so much true crime, and documentaries.

He had started killing and dissecting small animals, his mom wasn't too fussed, if anything she just nurtured him further, hoping that she could love anything wrong out of him.

His most vivid childhood memory was a documentary in which they said "most serial killers start with small animals" and he felt this nasty weight. He burrowed into his mom's arms and sobbed "I don't want to be a serial killer"

All she could do was hold him and kiss his head "don't you worry baby, that won't happen"

THROES UP I'M SO UOSET I LOVE HIM SO BAD

he does go on medication for his BPD for a few years when he was like 17. He chose to stop taking them so he could learn to control his emotions more tho.. on his own..

Ok LORE STUFF later on lalala ↓

Bates works as a Doctor, occasionally dabbled in scientific work when his specialties are needed (surgery stuff).

He Is autistic so he's incredibly blunt and almost rude off the job. As a stark contrast, when he's ON the job he's incredibly charismatic. He's kind and so well put together, people can go on about how much they enjoy Bates as a doctor.

Medical work and anatomy is Bates special interest, and his job satiated his need for all of that for a long time. When he got into his mid 30s, it definitely got worse though.

He had made a mistake when he was treating a patient. He gave them a sedative, a very strong one. Normally he's very on top of what vials have what, but this? This was bad. He messed up BAD.

Instead of doing the right thing, and telling someone immediately, he was incredibly conflicted. Swallowing hard and sweating through his clothes, because he could hurt this guy. This patient of his was always a little rude, and well he had very...strange views. He was woozy and it wouldn't hurt?

He dissected that fucker right there and them, with nasty dull shit he scrounged out of old cabinets and drawers.

Since then he had this affinity and almost hunger for the blood and guts and anatomy.

Eventually he started resorting to working late nights, charming his way with the receptionist ladies that "oh that patient never came to my office? I'm not sure what happened" only to drag a poor jackasses body home to dissect and ruin.

His basement was disgusting, gross and piled with organs and very specific body parts. He only kept the parts he wanted to study, until he was done then he disposed through very tough means. His preferred method was acid and then just trashing everything else with his normal garbage. These dickheads didn't deserve their own trashbags, just the same old double bags he used for paper and food and whatever shit.

He only got SLIGHTLY found out when he tried to pounce at a man much stronger than him, he made a mistake in how much sedative to give. He was now getting sued for medical negligence (a nice way to put it). He needed a good lawyer, his charm and how well put together he seemed would only get him so far. So he finds caine. Caine Somsri. A hard worker, strong stomached so he wasn't bothered by Bates' charges, hell he didn't even mind that outside of his office? Bates was a bitch. They would work together to get past this small hurdle in Bates' career, small ? Not so much. It kept building up. Loss of files, people claiming malpractice towards them, bates even being accused of nearly killing a man with METH. Bates seemed appalled, disgusted, that his need to help people and take care of his patients was being misconstrued. Mistakes happen, while yes medical mistakes can be incredibly dangerous, no one has died, been TRULY harmed, he had done nothing. And Caine was going to fight TOOTH and NAIL to for Bates to be proven innocent.

They get close, very close, over the years that this case takes. Caine becomes very fond of bates, his bluntness, deadpan expression and monotone voice. Unfortunately, Bates gets ahead of himself. And providing sedatives for Caine has him realising. He can take advantage of this. He can have caine. Past the skin, past his bones, he can have caine wholly. From the inside out.

[floatingcatacombs]

Bandai Taketh Away

12 Days of Aniblogging 2023, Day 1

Last year I wrote a post extolling the virtues of Birdie Wing, 2022’s breakthrough “how the fuck did this get made” mafia golf campfest. It’s the little show that could, animated on a shoestring budget to an audience of maybe two dozen extremely online yuri fans who tried their hardest to get literally anyone else to watch it.

It was almost certainly a financial failure for Bandai Namco, whose hopes for kicking off a VR-focused franchise fizzled in real time during season 1. But the resulting anime was a blast, a shoujo sports melodrama where literally anything could happen.

Birdie Wing took a few seasons off between its cours, during which Bandai Namco’s second lesbian anime of the year began airing: Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch from Mercury. My jaw dropped as I watched the first episode recreate Utena’s setup beat for beat, including the female main character taking another girl as her fiancé. It’s a gutsy move which set my expectations high. G-Witch was my introduction to Gundam, and the highs of the first season were amazing. Even if I had some occasional complaints with the pacing, the cliffhanger ending and narrative ambition left me very excited for more.  

Season 2 of Birdie Wing was set to fill the gap between cours of G-Witch, but ~something~ happened behind the scenes. It ended up being delayed to Spring 2023, where the two shows would air together. Great! That means double the lesbians. Or…zero?

Fair warning: From here on out I will be both a hater, and a spoiler.

Both seasons start without a hitch. G-Witch finally pops the safety bubble of its setting, with a terrorist attack on the academy followed up by an episode from the viewpoint of Dawn of Fold soldiers trying to survive a retaliatory crackdown from the Spacians. It pulled no punches with its violence and war orphans and trauma, a good sign for the struggles that awaited the main cast. Meanwhile, Birdie Wing continued to pay tribute to old-school Class S after its boarding school arc by involving its cast in a nightmare incest soap opera concerning Eve and Aoi’s parentage and the sins of the previous generation. Both are great developments for their respective shows, suggesting plenty of good stuff ahead.

Unfortunately, this is when both of these shows begin to fall apart. Eve and Aoi manage to beat the incest allegations, but afterwards their relationship just…stops. Their chemistry all but dissipates, the homoerotic rivalry giving way to their personal relationships with golf instead of with each other. The plot keeps the two of them apart as much as possible, devoid of the angsty longing from season 1, as the girls each succumb to a different form of golf cancer (even without the gay-baiting, at least Birdie Wing is still insane).

For G-Witch, a much more ambitious anime, this decline manifests as a creeping realization that they’re simply going to drop most of the open plot threads. The show takes its sweet time, even as it becomes clear that it’s barreling towards a finale at 24 episodes. The long-awaited plot twists are handled fine, I guess. But any sense that the show is aiming for greatness fades away, as it simply tries to drag itself to the finish line, buckling under its own weight. What we see on screen is what we get, and you’ll have to fill in the blanks yourself to really be happy. The Earthian-Spacian conflict ends up as mere set-dressing, and characters who clearly had intertwined backstories never even get the chance to interact. The obvious examples are the man who killed Suletta’s dad in the prologue resurfacing and that never really coming up, and everything to do with Chuchu and Nika’s backstories. I’m not here to nitpick, but it’s a shame that everyone’s characterization is left so thin. G-Witch really feels like it was meant to be a full 50-episode series, and I’m led to believe that this trimming down happened during production, as there’s just no other reason to set so much up without resolving it.

At last we reach each show's conclusion. Birdie Wing is saddled with a final arc full of professional tournaments, which is always going to be weaker than the dirty mafia golf on a conceptual level. The timeline begins to rapidly accelerate and suddenly we’re skipping ahead months, and then entire years. We don’t get to see most of Eve and Aoi’s final game, or even the period of time where they reconcile. An enduring friendship and rivalry is implied at the end, but it’s nowhere near the mutual obsession that the prior season depicted. Not an ounce of queerbait remains, even for the terminally yurigoggled such as myself.

Meanwhile, G-Witch dedicates some of its precious final minutes to a fight with Lauda (Jesus Christ is the Schwartzette is wasted on him), and just like Birdie Wing the two girls at the heart of the show barely get any time together as the end draws near. They ultimately opt for a Macross-Symphogear ending in which Suletta pilots a Gundam that shoots gay rainbow lasers and defeats her mom with the power of love and friendship. That’s fine! But that’s the ending for a show that didn’t happen! In its last act G-Witch retreats into its shell, unable to commit to the moral weight of the world it had built up. Laughably, the epilogue time-skips to a neoliberal utopia where Miorine solves the earth-space conflict through her sheer girlboss acumen. Suletta and Miorine’s gay wedding is implied at best, and an after-credits message states that this is the conclusion of The Witch from Mercury as a story, prematurely killing any potential follow-up.

The rest is history. Kadokawa redacts an interview to remove references to Suletta and Miorine being married, Bandai releases a statement that their status at the end of the show should be left up to interpretation, and everyone is mad forever.

What happened? Both of these shows fell apart at the same time, and both in a manner that defused their implicit queerness. Birdie Wing was always a bit of a trainwreck even at its best, so in a vacuum I would have just concluded that the production ran out of steam, unable to live up to its earlier writing. But the timing of Season 2’s delay, combined with the corporate meddling that affected G-Witch, makes me downright conspiratorial. Something went down at Bandai Namco, and it led to them ordering their productions be revised halfway through to scrub out all the gay shit and play things safe. I wouldn’t be surprised if this occurred at the same time as G-Witch was trimmed down from its initial 50 to 24 episodes with no chance of a continuation. It’s also not too much of a stretch to imagine Birdie Wing receiving a “stick to sports" mandate and Yosuke Kuroda subsequently phoning it in. I don't know how else to say it: there's no reason to do an incest fakeout if you're not even going to follow up on it afterwards once you've gone through the difficult work of exonerating them.

Witch from Mercury was a commercial success (it sold a shitton of gunpla, at least!) so it seems like a surprise that Bandai Namco would clamp down creatively in such a destructive way. Or maybe not. This may be the first female-led Gundam, but in a lot of other ways it’s fairly restrained as far as Gundams go. Perhaps BN decided that G-Witch had to be a balancing act to please everyone, preventing the creative staff from truly swinging for the fences in the end. Of course, that backfired horribly and they ended up pissing off himejoshis and regular mecha fans alike. I know it’s something of a fool’s errand to expect undeniable LGBT representation from anime, but when you begin with an explicit Utena homage, I expect better.

This has all been a bit of a downer, so I wanted to end things by sharing the anime I watched this year that actually gave me what I wanted out of those two shows.

Watching through the original Mobile Suit Gundam made me realize just how conservative G-Witch is in a lot of its storytelling. 0079 is a deeply radical show for its time, and still would be if you made it today. The unhesitating depiction of war and death through the aesthetics of a 70’s children’s show is particularly bold, and even the parts of the anime notorious for being overlong successfully reinforce the overall mood of the work. Amuro’s transformation from innocent child to unrelenting psychic soldier is as inevitable and upsetting as it should be, and even with all the “filler” the script feels much tighter than the G-Witch, which ambles around with side stories that don’t resolve and characters that don’t go anywhere. Imminently watchable. I love that the mommy issues in Gundam go all the way back, and I'm also starting to understand why you fuckers have been arguing about Char Aznable for 40 years.

you.

I also watched Kakegurui this year, which served as a great alternative to Birdie Wing. It doubles down on the best parts of that show – mostly-female cast, high stakes gambling, dubious lesbian rep – with an all-consuming sleaze to it. Grab some friends who aren't easily scandalized and try not to worry too hard about gaze or the intended audience, and it will be a hoot. The production values are great, even if most of it inevitably goes to girls making upsetting faces. The first opening in particular is an animation highlight. Of course, this is a MAPPA production, so they’re far too busy flaying their workers alive in the pits of hell to ever get around to another season. May their company unionize or perish.

[ghoulishffx]

Apologies in advance

Amihan's gasp turns into a quick, soft laugh as the cold river water hits her toes. Cassiel can hear his own breathing as he watches her.

Her eyes meet his and she grins. "Aren't you going to sit down?"

Her voice is hypnotizing, and he wants to sit down right there and soil his clothes for the chance to do as she says. Instead, he persists, "It's hot and muddy," he says, glancing at his clothing in the hopes that she'll catch his drift, so to speak. She doesn't seem to. "These are my work clothes," he continues, though with no effort as he's already begun sitting down.

"What's life without a little fun?" She says that a lot but Cassiel doesn't know if he agrees with it. He did have a life, before her, and there was no fun at all. It was still a life, even if it consisted more of soot and bruises than hearth and dandelion salad.

He nods, unwilling to protest. After all, it was a turn of phrase, and he would never criticize her for using a turn of phrase (assuming he could ever criticize her for anything at all).

She takes his hand, and he doesn't know how to feel. Something stirs in his gut but he doesn't really know what it is. He follows her silver gaze to the fish beneath her feet, brushing her toes with their smooth scales that shine in the sunlight. They wriggle past, flighty and senseless. Seeing animals like those makes him think. Amihan seems to read his mind, echoing his own thoughts.

"I wonder if they feel," she shares, a smile still playing on her lips. She addresses him next, but her eyes don't move from the running water. "Do you think they know they're going to die?"

Cassiel pauses and digests her question. "They don't have souls," he finally says. "None of them will go to heaven. They can't know of their death if they can't know what comes after."

"I suppose that makes us and them alike," she utters, so softly it draws his eyes to her lips.

"I suppose it does," he chokes out.

Amihan smiles so widely and so sweetly that he's taken aback. "You know," she starts, leaning toward but not quite on him, "When I was a child, I would walk to school every day with my mother."

Cassiel had never heard her speak about her mother before, so this had him listening intently.

"On these walks, I would often ask questions. One morning, I found a dead rabbit behind our bushes. I knew what death was my whole life, and I find it strange now when people talk about the moment they “learned” about death. Death was always just... there. I never had to question its existence, but I often questioned its... parameters. Is that how you say it?" He swallowed and nodded, wishing her to continue speaking. "My mother looked at me and she said, well, she said 'Isang araw tayo'y magiging lupa.'"

Cassiel squeezed her hand with urgency. "What does that mean?"

She thinks for a moment. "I don't know how to translate it," she says at last.

"What was your mother like?" he implores, tugging onto this thread of her old life with desperation.

Amihan puts her free fingers to her lips as if considering answering. She decides, and nods to herself. "She was young. Older than us, but young. She was tired and gentle and cold." She looks like she wants to say more, but hesitates. Cassiel almost speaks but stifles the words in fear of it scaring Amihan away from her own. This fear is realized when she continues. "She was unlike anyone I have ever met in my life."

She considers once more, dragging the heel of one foot along the mud on the shore of the freshwater, pressing the wet soil into the running stream. "I think I know how to translate it," she decides. "She told me that everything returned to The Earth. The ground would soak it up, every little bit of it, and it happened to all of us. One day I will be dirt," and finally she meets his eyes. "One day you will be dirt.

"And it will be beautiful. We will be soil and flowers. We will be rocks and water. We will be fish. We will not go to heaven, and we won't care, because we won't even know there is one."

"That does sound beautiful," Cassiel admits and he means it. He means it more than he's ever meant anything, he thinks.

Amihan uses the fingers that aren't intertwined in Cassiel's to hook onto the lips of the shoes she's slipped off. She leans in quick, and kisses him on the cheek, then stands up and smiles. His cheeks run hot and his blood runs even hotter. Suddenly he knows what this feeling is.

"Meet me back at home, okay? I'll start on supper." As she says this, Cassiel realizes with a start that the sun has begun to brush the horizon. However, his head is too clouded with clarity to truly care at all.

Before he can pack it into that dreadful box, Amihan is already gone, leaving him with the sour taste of the word love bitter on his lips.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Day 16: Semi-conscious(Twilight, Wild, Warriors, & Time)

Ao3 link

Continuation of day 7

Cw for blood and injury, vomiting, and harm to an animal (yeah it’s poor Twilight again)

————————-

After they leave the cellar, everything is a blur.

Twilight tries to pay attention to where they’re taking him, tries to count the number of streets they turn down, alleyways they pass. But holding onto consciousness alone is a nearly impossible task. And with every limping step, the relentless ache in his body worsens until he’s dizzy with it.

It’s all he can do not to collapse.

They won’t stop, however. Not even when the pain grows so severe, he vomits blood and bile, or when he stumbles over stray rocks and bumps in the road. They hiss and jeer at him, their words incomprehensible, and meaningless, and they yank at the chain, dragging him along until he finds his footing again.

It’s only the mixture of fear and fury and stubborn determination still boiling within that keeps him from collapsing in the middle of the street. Even through the hazy mess his mind has become, he can see him—the smithy curled in on himself, limp and coated in his own blood. And he holds on for him, holds onto the desperate belief that he’s not dead, that he too still fights to survive this.

He won’t let himself even entertain the possibility that he’s not.

It begins to rain as they walk, great sheets of it pouring down from the sky. The cobblestones turn dangerously slick. More than once Twilight slips, blood mixing with the water as he struggles to remain upright. But he ends up hitting the ground anyway, with a small whine.

It goes on that way for what feels like an eternity, an unending push and pull, nauseating, all-encompassing pain melding with the unignorable drag of oblivion. He’s so tired. All he wants to do is curl up and go to sleep safe and warm beside the fire, surrounded by his friends.

But then they halt before a small, ramshackle building, and he’s reminded of the unpleasant fate that awaits him. To be sold, marketed off as though he’s a farm animal or some woven cloth.

The mere thought makes him sick all over again.

One of his captors steps forward and raises his hand to bang on the door. But it creaks open before he can. Slowly, pulling a dagger from his belt, he leans forward to peer inside.

Seconds later the weapon clatters to the ground as a sword pierces him through the middle. It’s pulled out almost immediately, leaving him to topple forward onto the wet stone.

“No,” the woman holding him breathes. “No!”

She drops the chain, lunging forward, knife held high…the same one she used to rip Four apart. She doesn’t even make it to the doorstep.

Twilight watches, hardly comprehending as Time steps from the darkness and cuts her down in one, swift movement. Warriors is close behind him, casting a glance over his shoulder as though checking for someone.

“Buyer’s dead,” he confirms as Time heads for Twilight. “Looks like that’s all of them...for now at least.”

The only answer Time gives is a curt nod. His expression is dark and positively murderous as he kneels beside Twilight, gaze roaming his body, taking stock of his injuries. He reaches out and runs a hand gently over Twilight’s head, fingers drifting back to unlatch the muzzle. And as he removes it, slowly, the realization breaks through.

This is real, Time is real. It’s all finally over.

…but only for him. Panic spikes, pushing aside dizzying relief. Four is still trapped, Four is still dying. And Time and Warriors have no idea where he is.

He can find him again if he tries. Enough concentration and he’ll be able to detect his captor’s scent, follow it back to their hideout. But his body is finished cooperating.

He tries to take a step forward and ends up collapsing into Time’s arms instead. A low whine rises in his throat.

“I’ve got you, pup,” Time says, quietly, and then he’s being lifted, and held, the world is moving.

His surroundings tip and swirl and Twilight closes his eyes. If he had the strength, he would transform so he could at least tell them he knows where Four is. But transformation takes energy, energy he doesn’t have.

He can hear Midna’s voice, sharp and chastising, “silly wolf, you can’t change when you’re half-dead.”

Twilight whimpers again, miserably, and Time tightens his grip just a bit.

“We’ll find the smithy, don’t you worry,” Warriors says, from somewhere to his left, as though reading his mind. “But we’re getting you back to the camp first, rancher.”

So, the secret’s out then. He isn’t sure what he expected. For Time not to tell everyone why Wolfie couldn’t help them locate Twilight? It’s not surprising. It’s not pleasant either, though, knowing the conversations that’ll follow. But he really doesn’t care about that now.

Even with the pain and fear still encompassing him like a vice, he can’t fight the exhaustion any longer. And as Time and Warriors carry him to safety, he drifts.

At some point, they must get back to camp because familiar voices begin floating in to join Time’s and Warriors’, though he can only catch snippets of what they’re saying.

“—turn him back.”

“Gotta set that leg.”

“—down here.”

His body connects with something soft and he sags into it, too weak to so much as open his eyes. A few seconds later, cold metal brushes his forehead. Magic ripples through his body and he feels the familiar shift as he transforms.

His head is propped up, a bitter substance poured down his parched throat. Instantly, the pull to oblivion grows a hundred times stronger, and his grasp on consciousness slips.

“I’m gonna have to cut it out,” comes Warriors’ voice from somewhere to his right. And that’s the last thing Twilight hears before darkness swallows him.

When he awakens once more, it’s to a dull, persistent ache in every part of him, the sound of someone humming, and the feel of someone playing with his hair. Twilight drags his eyes open and blinks as Wild’s face swims into view.

“Champion?”

His voice is horribly hoarse and barely even audible but Wild hears it anyway. Eyes going wide, he drops his fingers from where he had been weaving tiny braids in Twilight’s hair and grasps the rancher’s hand.

“Twilight, you’re awake! How’re you feeling?”

Twilight sighs, brushing a hand over his face.

“Better than before,” he admits.

“I’m sure.” Wild’s smile drops, expression turning somber. “Wars had to cut that arrow out of you. It was already infected. If Roolie hadn’t used his healing spell…”

He trails off, biting his lip, and Twilight squeezes his hand.

“I’m alright now, cub. It’s not that easy to get rid of me.”

Wild huffs a laugh.

With a small smile, Twilight pushes himself up onto one elbow. “Where’re the others?”

“All out scouring Castle Town for the smithy. I convinced Time to let me stay here with you.” Wild frowns, looking almost hurt. “It was hard though. I don’t get the feeling that he trusts me very much.”

“He trusts you, cub,” Twilight says, wincing as he graduates to a full-on seated position. “He’s just overprotective is all.”

“Of me or you?”

“Both, probably.”

Twilight stumbles to his feet and Wild leaps up, just managing to catch him before he can crumple back to the ground.

“What’re you doing? You should be resting!”

Twilight turns to him, jaw set in stubborn determination.

“I can find Four.”

“Twi, you just almost died.” Wild shakes his head and his ponytail flies with the force of it. “Not an hour ago I-I had to watch you fight for your life. I’m not letting you leave.”

Twilight steps forward, hands fisted at his sides, teeth gritted. His arm and side still throb, and he can feel the burn of the cuts marring the edge of his mouth and nose, trailing the line of his neck. Every movement is torture, a reminder of the ordeal he’s just endured. But they’re also reminders of the horrors Four is still trapped in.

He has to do this. He’s not going to let his friend die.

Wild comes in front of him, reaching out to press a hand to his chest. The pain so clear in his gaze nearly makes Twilight sit back down and leave the searching up to those who haven’t just visited death’s doorstep. Nearly.

“He’s dying, champion,” he says, gentle but firm. “If someone doesn’t reach him soon, we’ll lose him.”

Wild falters just slightly. Anger swoops in to join the emotions raging in those familiar blue orbs.

“They–what did they do to him?”

For just a moment Twilight lets his eyes slip closed. The memory is there once more, taunting and agonizing. It flames the urgent fire within him, pushes aside the pain and exhaustion that seek to drag him back to his bed mat.

“I’m the best equipped to find him and you know it,” he says, meeting Wild’s gaze again. “I’ve got to do this.”

For a long moment, Wild remains motionless, a battle raging across his face. Then, he drops his hand with a resigned sigh.

“Fine. But I’m coming with you.”

He moves to the side, bending to scoop up their weapons and shields.

Twilight offers him a small smile. “Thanks, cub.”

Wordlessly, Wild hands him his tools.

It’s awkward strapping his sheath and shield to his back with his arm still stiff, but with the champion’s help, he manages. And then, they’re off, leaving the empty camp behind. No sooner have they begun walking along the path to Castle Town than Twilight takes a deep breath, grasps his crystal, and transforms. Wild watches with a curious expression on his face–fondness and exasperation and something Twilight can’t identify.

“When the old man kills me,” he says, placing a steady hand on Twilight’s back, “it’s your fault.”