#it is kinda like opening up and old wound in a way though which might not have been the best idea at the present time

[imogenkol]

🐺 WOVEN & THATCHED

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[evieelyzabethh]

Love your work. <3 Could you write something with reader x spike where they're kinda' pining for one another, but one night he gets injured and has to stay over at her house? She patches him up and maybe offers him a bite? Doesn't have to be nsfw but +5 cool points if it is. <3

Hello, my loves, long time no see!!! I hope this is to your liking <3

Spike is so incredibly reckless. You knew this, he knew, everybody knew that Spike was a walking accident waiting to happen'. He likes to think he can handle himself. "I'm bad, baby," he'd tell you, "M' the big bad slayer killer. I can handle a few scratches." But you were never worried about what he could handle, you were worried about the fact that his blood was always staining your couch. That and the fact that his lack of self-preservation kept you up at night.

Usually, he has some decorum. He doesn't come to you with every scrape and bruise, even though you handled him with much more care than he was capable of extending to himself. It was his way of punishing himself, depriving himself of your head scratches and soft hands for bothering you too much. You scolded him for this, of course. It seems like its every other week (more like every other day) when you and he argue, most often in front of the Scoobies who waited anxiously for you take your arguments to the bedroom, about him leaving you to worry about whether or not he was ash.

"I mean, fuck Spike. Is it really that hard to just give me a call if you plan on bleeding at your place. A little 'Hi, yeah, I don't think I need my wounds treated with modern medicine, I'm gonna take my chances with old whisky and tetanus like the good ol' days'." And every time he takes his well-earned lecture with a smirk and a bowed head.

"Yes, mother, next time I'll break your door down at three in the morning for some pretty pink bandages."

"If you were so ashamed of the pretty pink bandages, maybe you should think before you run into knives!"

Spike has maybe told the truth a grand total of two times in his whole life, so his word means absolutely nothing. He continues to ignore your street like the plague unless it's an absolute emergency.

Now was an emergency.

You barely heard the faint knocks on your door from your bedroom, where you sat on your bed, music blasting from your stereo and some reality court show droning on in the background, catching your attention when someone decided to be particularly messy. You had thought it was your neighbors blind dog scratching at your door again until something large and loud hit it. Quickly arming yourself with a frying pan, you crept to your door, tearing it open for a very injured Spike to nearly fall flat on your floor before he caught himself using your doorframe.

His left hand clutched at his bleeding side and he walked with a limp over to his couch which now had a plastic cover. His dead heart was touched.

"Aw, you were waiting for me, " he croaked out. He fell on his back, one of his hands falling over the side and his eyes closing as soon as his head at the pillow. His shirt had claw marks that were lined with blood and his duster had barely escaped the carnage, a few holes separate from the preexisting moth holes sticky with some supernatural substance.

"Have to be prepared when it comes to you." You patted his cheek, thumbing over his cheekbones to try and arouse some consciousness. "Can't have you fallin' asleep on me. You might not wake up." You weren't going to leave his side until you were sure he wasn't going to die in your absence.

He babbled unintelligently, his mouth moving but having no connection to his brain to form any sort of actual thought. His eyes flit between closed and aware, his head moving to catch up with the spinning room, his mouth impossibly dry, and his head pounding. In his head, he insisted he was fine, but the words wouldn't come out right. He spat them out garbled and messy until he was too choked up to even try anymore.

He was barely conscious when he felt your wrist at his mouth. He had enough sense to shake his head and nudge away your wrist with his nose, but his lack of strength made his attempts futile. "No," he mumbled.

"You'll feel better," your voice swam around in his head until the words lost meaning and he just smiled at the sound of your voice. You swiped your thumb across one of his canines, the red contrasting with the pearly whites of his teeth swiftly wiped away by the pink of his tongue. After the taste of your blood was on his tongue, his sense was surrendered to instinct as he brought your wrist to his lips.

You didn't know what you were getting into. Vampires get their life force from blood, so it just made sense to have him feed from you to expedite the healing process. The more he drank, the louder your heartbeat grew in your ear and the closer he pulled you to him. You had only done this once before, when you were both drunk and dizzy and jokes being whispered in your ear turned into tiny nips from your neck that Buffy nearly walked in on.

In complete shock of what had happened then, you never brought it up, halfway convincing yourself that it never happened in the first place. If it did happen, he had enough sense to pull away then and you hoped he had the sense the pull away now, but now was much different. Now, there was a newfound hunger. A desperation. Like he had been starving himself for years and you were the first bite of food he had eaten. Had to have been good food to, with the way he inhaled you, indulged in you like you were some ambrosia or golden mead.

"Spike," you moaned. "I'm getting a bit light-headed." Your voice was high and thin, fearful as you made attempts to pull your arm from his lips. Through his haze, his fangs contracted back, and his tongue swiped whatever lingered on your skin.

"I'm sorry." Sorry for going too far, sorry for almost turning you into an empty Capri Sun pouch, sorry for being reckless again.

" 's ok."

You wobbled a bit as you stood, fingers wrapped around your wound as you shuffled into your kitchen in pursuit of your first aid kit. "You gonna tell me what happened?" He only groaned from the couch.

"Maybe tomorrow. I'm tired." You laughed on your way over to him, wrist already covered in gauze with an all too familiar needle and thread in hand.

"You're tired?" The smell of your blood was all too pungent, still. He turned his head towards the wall, studying the numerous music posters and paintings you had hanging.

"Going out to fight evil is a very hard job." You chuckled.

"I know. That's why I stay in here to patch you up." Your fingers were like magic. They always had a way of calming him down. Especially the way you hummed to yourself while you worked. You were never content with just silence. "I expect an answer in the morning." He smiled.

"Yes, ma'am." He fell asleep before you even finished and by the time you were done, you were too tired to walk the down the hall to your bed. You laid your head down on his chest, with no heartbeat to thrum and no breath to rock you, you still fell asleep just like that. Who knew cold bodies were so comfortable.

[namis-gf]

Just saw that you’re open for one piece requests and thought I’d drop by.

Would you consider writing back rub and back kisses hcs for katakuri or marco please? And best of luck with the come back ^^

anon ur so insane how did u KNOW i was thinking obsessively about katakuri for the past two weeks straight... ur too good. i meant to stick closer to the prompt but the plot kinda got away from me, sorry!

summary: strawhat!reader x katakuri meet again after many years apart during the whole cake island arc. luffy has been trying to convince him to join his crew with no success, but maybe he might listen to you?

word count: 969 words / 0.9k

cw: none? i think?

whoever said katakuri was 48 year-old eldest daughter syndrome is absolutely correct. he has so many hangups when it comes to both physical and verbal affection, most of the time preferring to passively sit by and let people bother him. case in point, your captain. instead of immediately setting sail for zou to meet up with everyone, luffy has taken it upon himself to convince the minister of flour that his presence is desperately needed on his crew. permanently.

and, if you're going to be polite about it: things aren't going well. you've watched for two days straight, luffy yelling either to the gentle giant's face (which is still quite a distance from the ground), or attempting to scale the walls of katakuri's home. neither of those particularly difficult for the rubber boy, considering the house slash castle itself seems to be basically falling apart.

you wait. nami often sits by your side, either grouching about the time, plotting your captain's demise, or napping on your shoulder. chopper and brook have taken to an almost betting ring of sorts, getting the remaining residents of komugi island to guess whether their leader will stay or go. so far, the odds aren't in luffy's favour. as usual, you might add.

at the end of their fourth extra night, luffy returns to the sunny. he looks a little downtrodden, yawning, but has somehow gotten a hold of a handful of mochi. "i think katakuri was trying to kill me again, but he lost. the food he makes is really yummy though, shishishi!"

with a sigh of your own, you offer, "let me talk to him, i have an idea."

"you do?" luffy replies, mouth full of sweets, "go ahead!"

"call if you need anything!" chopper chimes in.

nami only shakes her head. "if you don't come back, we'll assume you got trampled to death or something. so don't do that please."

"don't even worry about it, i'm basically a pro social hustler," you tell them, and begin the walk to the castle.

"so you are not a bard, or a songstress, or a very small jester. your presence here confuses me, you did not seem like someone who would ever become a pirate," katakuri tells you, his tone as solemn as ever.

"is this a roundabout way of saying i don't have any talents?" you mock-gasp with flair, "oh you wound me so!"

he stares at you wordlessly. okay, it looks like jokes are off the table.

"but you missed me right?" you try instead, putting on your biggest smile. "you missed me so bad, must be why you look so grumpy all the time."

"is your captain aware of..." he pauses, considers, "does the strawhat know of your past?"

"sort of?" you shrug your shoulders, shifting forward to adjust like you aren't already lying on one of his legs (truly the world's largest couch). "there was never exactly a good time to bring it up, ya know? like how was i supposed to say 'uh hey guys, i used to work here as the world's worst gardener before i got fired'."

"hm, that does seem difficult," katakuri nods. "i could not tell how much they knew, but you are lucky that none of my siblings happened to remember you well enough to say anything."

"small blessings for sure," you do your best to contain a laugh, however the echoing chambers of an empty castle only make it louder. "anyways, cut the bullshit. you're gonna come with me, right?"

his neutral expression shifts into something like a frown, and yet you can tell he isn't exactly angry at your presumptuousness either. "i would like to accompany you. but my duties to my... mother and the family take precedence."

"and if you left, she'd send the whole gang after you."

he sighs again. "yes, that is the most probable outcome. and i would not wish to put the strawhat crew in danger."

"that's charming," you reply, "but also really stupid. and i know you aren't a dummy, right? you've been hanging around this dreary archipelago for your whole life! don't you want to, i don't know, do something? go on an adventure?"

he doesn't respond immediately, but a large hand clumsily pats your head with his pointer finger. you grin, knowing victory must be in sight. "your totally evil mom doesn't even leave her place that often, so she won't even notice that you're gone! and tell me right now that you don't think luffy would be chomping at the bit to fight her again? be serious, mochi-mochi."

all of a sudden the ground shifts under you, and you make an embarrassing yelp as you're dragged up and up and up. katakuri holds your body by the back of your shirt, and you're only partially worried that he could drop you. death by splat on marble floor isn't appealing in the slightest. you're suspended by a shirt pinched between fingers as he squints slightly, as though looking for a secret in your expression.

"fine," he eventually says, "i will go. but if something goes wrong, do not say i didn't warn you."

"ah, you're bringing me back to old times!" you hum, making a familiar grabby hand motion for him to drop you on his shoulder. "except i think uh, the last time you warned me-"

"you got fired, yes," he says amicably, but acquiesces to your request. "left or right?"

"right! i wanna look like a really mean parrot, mr. pirate," you exclaim, laughing as he drops you gently where you'd asked. feeling mischievous, you press a kiss against his neck and watch as his face goes pink. "we should probably go make sure that you won't sink the sunny, though!"

"... and you somehow did not think to check something like that before?"

FIN (FOR NOW)

[corazondebeskar-reads]

ain't no rest for the wicked - chapter five

ain't no rest for the wicked series

five: way down below

series masterlist | prev chapter

Tess Servopoulos x f!reader x Joel Miller

words: 4k

summary: After sneaking out of Joel and Tess's apartment, you wake up in an unfamiliar place.

warnings: creator chose not to use warnings, dark-ish Joel and Tess, smuggler!Joel, smuggler!Tess, boston QZ, QZ life, poorly negotiated d/s-style dynamics, poor communication, enthusiastic consent, oral sex (m & f receiving), p in v, threesome, description of violence & wounds, canon-typical violence, canon-typical killing.

Welcome to the end, my friends. I omitted a specific warning due to spoilers. If you need to know before you read, DM me.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

When you come to, head pounding, it’s on an old dining chair with cheap metal legs and a moth-eaten seat. Your hands have gone to pins and needles from the rope that burns when you try to flex them, bootless feet in a similar predicament. The cloth stuffed in your mouth tastes metallic, though you don’t seem to have bled.

You’re swimming through static. You think you might throw up.

Wherever you are is long abandoned, which doesn’t really help narrow it down. It was maybe a break room, once, with a shattered microwave and the cupboards askew.

A tall, spindly man in a Mets hat leans against the counter. He’s bundled in a jacket while yours is missing.

You take comfort in that it’s the only other piece of clothing you’re missing. You wiggle your toes, trying to coax a modicum of warmth back in them.

Ball Cap snubs his cigarette on the counter and leaves it there. “Nice to see you again,” he says.

You wish it wasn’t to you.

“What, don’t you recognize me?” he says.

You do, though. Of course you do. He was the one Joel beat the shit out of in that alley.

“You sure were a talker before. Aren’t you gonna give me that same offer? Your mouth for your life?”

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to think. Come on. Any time now, brain.

He seems to be alone. Could you take him? Probably not. Is he armed? Yes, definitely. He had struck you over the head with the butt of a gun last night.

At least, you think it was last night.

He stomps over to you and yanks your head back to look at him. “Aren’tcha gonna answer me, you little whore?”

When he sees the gag, he throws back his head and laughs. “Shit, right. Well, no point in this,” he tugs the knot loose and tosses the cloth to the ground. “Nobody’s gonna come help you, no matter how loud you scream. And kinda wanna hear it. Y’see, the boss man didn’t take kindly—”

You manage to hold your tongue, due largely in part to the tackiness of your mouth, but your lip curls a little. Is this guy for real? He’s fucking villain monologuing?

“Hey,” a nasally voice says. “Better not be starting without me.”

The newcomer is tall like Ball Cap, but beefier. He’d be more intimidating if he wasn’t sniffling and wheezing, his nose a constant faucet of mucus that pooled on his upper lip.

He coughs deeply for a minute, fist against his open mouth. The part of your brain that’s actively pretending you aren’t going to die tonight is worried about catching whatever he’s splattering across the room.

“Don’t you want to know what we want with you?” Slimy Mustache says.

“Not really,” you say before you can stop yourself.

You hear the rattle in his lungs as he steps closer. “No, you already know, don’t you?” His hand lifts, a finger stroking down your cheek. You flinch away, squeezing your eyes shut.

Slimy Mustache laughs. “Don’t worry, we’re not going to start the show without your friends.”

Friends? You don’t have—aw, fuck.

“Not my friends,” you say. “I didn’t—they were strangers, too.”

You hear it before you feel it, leaving you blinking in shock for a moment. Life may not have been great in the apocalypse, but no one’s actually hit you before.

Not like this.

Your cheek and eyes sting sharply. Ball Cap certainly hadn’t held back.

“Don’t lie. We’ve seen them coming in and out of your place, you stupid cunt.”

When he hits you this time, it’s less of a rage reaction and more for fun with a closed fist. You’re still reeling when you register the heat first, then the slick, sickening drip of blood from your nose down your lips.

“Knock it off, man,” says Slimy Mustache. “He said we had to wait for them. Ain’t gonna negotiate if she’s dead.”

“They’ll kill you,” you lie, grimacing as it invites the coppery tang into your mouth.

Ball Cap grins with a set of unusually shiny, straight teeth for a thug at the end of the world. “Nah, honey, that’s why we have you.”

You spit blood at his feet. He moves to backhand you, but Mustache tries to stop him, and it knocks him a little off course. His hand is decked out in gaudy rings, and the edge of one snags on your cheek. You gasp, and it turns into a whimper as the pain bleeds through.

“You better hope they show up soon,” Ball Cap snarls at Mustache. “Or there won’t be much left for them to find.”

It’s true, no matter how he means it. You’re not suited for this. You wish you were a secret badass with balls of steel, but you’ve given pretty much all the fight you had.

And you know no one’s coming for you.

When Tess wakes, the sun peeks through the window aggressively, and she has to shield her eyes to see Joel. He’s shaking her shoulder gently to let her know he’s leaving. He’s already bundled in his coat and hat, tugging gloves on. It’s unusual, but he doesn’t look distressed.

She sits up and stretches. “Where ya going?” she says, but she thinks she knows since the bed is empty and the apartment is quiet.

“Just gonna make sure she got home okay,” he says and kisses her. “Musta snuck out sometime in the middle of the night.”

“Yeah, I think I spooked her when I asked her to stay,” Tess admits.

“M’sure she’s fine,” he says, but he isn’t looking at her, and that’s when she realizes she misread him earlier. He is worried.

“I’m comin’,” she says, already on her feet. “You go on, take the long way, and I’ll meet you.”

He nods.

There’s only one lurking outside your apartment, but two in nearby alleys on standby. He takes them out first, silent as the falling snow, which melts as it lands in pools of hot blood.

He lets the third man catch him. There’s a pistol in his face, but he knows he’s not really in danger.

“Where’s the girl?” he growls.

“Don’t worry, we’re just showin’ her some of the same hospitality you showed my brother,” the man tells him.

He seems to think that by pointing a gun at Joel, he has the upper hand.

He doesn’t think that for long. Not when Tess’s knife sinks into his arm and twists, the gun clattering to the ground as he reflexively jerks. Joel picks it up and stuffs it in his waistband as casually as if he had just adjusted his belt. His jaw ticks as his hand wraps around the man’s throat.

“I suggest you listen real close,” Tess says, voice low and thick with danger.

“Tell us where she is,” Joel says before pointedly shifting his gaze to where Tess holds the knife buried, “and maybe you’ll be able to salvage that arm.”

He gives in so quickly he might have been able to, if they had left him alive.

“Think we made a mistake,” Ball Cap drawls. “They aren’t comin’ for this bitch.”

You don’t know how long you’ve been here, but you keep slipping in and out of awareness. Floating through something like a dream, but not enough to escape reality. Worse yet, you keep snapping back to the world, having been close to escape or rescue, a sick hope still brewing in your brain.

“That’s too bad,” Slimy Mustache says with an exaggerated pout. “I wanted them to watch.”

“Guess your pussy wasn’t good enough to save you,” Ball Cap says.

You keep your mouth shut. They’re still pretending they need a reason to hurt you, and you sure as hell aren’t going to give it to them.

They’re right, though. The late afternoon sun is dragging wearily through the clouds.

You don’t blame them. You knew the danger. You didn’t just open your door to let the tornado in; you had sex with the—no, okay, you have to retire this metaphor.

It’s okay. You knew what this was.

And what it wasn’t.

Still, you think. You’re not really keen on dying here and even less keen on what you’re pretty sure will precede it.

“I dunno. I still think we should find out for ourselves,” Slimy Mustache says.

“Not a fuckin’ chance,” someone snarls behind Slimy Mustache, a knife to his throat.

You must be delirious from fear and blood loss because your first thought is that motherfucking Batman is here. You’re at a point where you apparently genuinely believe, if only for a moment, that it’s more likely for Bruce Fucking Wayne to show up than Joel. Except why would Batman be in Boston?

There’s a gun resting against Ball Cap’s head; his namesake knocked to the dusty ground. Tess is on the other end of it. It’s hard to conflate her with anyone else; they never made a girl superhero more badass than Tess. Not that you’d say no to Wonder Woman, but who would?

You close your eyes. You’re not getting tricked by this dream again.

“That’s it, sweetheart, keep ‘em shut, okay?” Tess says.

There’s a lot of rustling fabric and soft, wet sounds muffled by agonized cries.

When hands touch your shoulders, you flinch.

“It’s just me,” she says. “Hold still just one more minute, okay? And don’t look.”

You squeeze your eyes shut tighter as she goes around the back of your chair, her hand never leaving your shoulder. It’s easier to breathe with her touch to anchor you, even through your swollen nose.

With one hand, she flicks open a blade and cuts through enough of the rope that she can tug the rest away. She doesn’t have to come up with a way to free your ankles without letting go, because Joel’s already cutting the knots.

“I gotcha,” he’s murmuring. “We’ve got ya, sunflower. Hey, look at me.”

You do, hesitantly opening your sore eyes. His broad body is blocking everything else, though there’s clear whimpering and groaning behind him. He cups your face in his hands, turning it to look at the cut on your cheek and survey the swelling.

“Don’t,” you mumble. “It’s not pretty.”

He ignores you. “We’re gonna get you home. But first, I need to know—you want me to drag it out or just kill ‘em now?”

You look up at his blank eyes. There’s viscera splattered on his shirt and face. When you crane your neck to look at Tess, still behind you with both hands on your shoulders, she’s soaked in gore.

“Not yours, right?” you say.

“Not a drop,” she promises.

You look back at Joel. “Now, please,” you whisper, even though it makes your stomach turn.

“Get her out of here,” Joel says.

“No,” Tess surprises both of you. “I’ll take care of it. I don’t think she can walk on her own.”

You remember Tess in the kitchen with the chef’s knife and how you thought she looked like an angel when you first met. They both do, now.

“I’ll meet you there,” she says, her tone offering no negotiation.

Joel doesn’t argue, though you think he looks disappointed. Like he wanted the kill.

You’re just barely aware that it should scare you. It doesn’t.

He scoops you up with no problem, as if it doesn’t strain his aging knees.

“I think I can walk,” you say.

He doesn’t dignify you with anything more than a shake of his head.

It’s not a long walk. The setting sun frames him in gold, the blood gone dark and sticky. You’re only a block from the alley you first met them in, which in turn is only two from your apartment. But by the time you get there, you’re asleep against his chest.

He sets you down gently on the bed, meaning to go looking for your first aid kit, but you dig your fingers into his shirt.

“I ain’t leavin’,” he says, gently prying them off. “Just gonna get you cleaned up, okay?”

It’s so hard to open your eyes, but you manage a few seconds to take him in. You nod and let go, but the deep pout is unshakable.

He opens the door to the bathroom and flicks the light on, stepping over the towel threshold and then nearly stomping on who, if he was forced to guess, is Georgie. Both mice scatter immediately, luckily into the wall instead of out into the open apartment.

He shuts the door to prevent an escape and rifles around your cabinet until he produces a mostly empty bottle of rubbing alcohol and some bandages.

You wake again when he sits on the bed at your side, booted feet still on the ground.

“Sit up for me, sunflower,” he murmurs, helping you up as you groan and popping a pillow behind your back. “Look at me.”

He waits until you do and hands you a glass of water. While you sip at it, he gets a better look at your nose.

“It’s not broken,” he says, and you sigh, shoulders slumping. “It’s going to be swollen for a few days, though.”

You flinch back from his touch but try to work through it. “Okay,” you whisper.

He cleans your face, murmuring to you all the while about what he’s doing. You hiss when he wipes the gash on your cheek, tears welling up at the sting.

There’s a familiar knock at the door, but Tess doesn’t wait for anyone to answer; she just slips inside.

“Not gonna need stitches, either,” he says. “You got real lucky.”

“Don’t feel lucky,” you mumble. Your eyes dart to the horseshoe. Both of theirs follow yours, and they exchange a look.

“Think you can take a bath?” she asks.

You shake your head.

“What if I get in there with you?” she offers.

You think about it, biting your lip, and nod.

Joel gets the tub filling while Tess gently peels you from your battered clothes. When he comes out of the bathroom, he’s scrubbed the blood from his skin and has his shirt hanging up to dry.

Your bath isn’t very big, but you make it work, nestled close between her legs. It’s maybe the least sexually charged moment you’ve had with them. Joel kneels on a towel and washes the blood from both of you. None of you speak.

It does help. Having it cleaned from you, having it be them who do it. Joel’s firm hand scrubbing the blood and dirt away, Tess’s steady embrace keeping you grounded.

Joel helps you each out of the bath and dries you off, swatting away your hands when you try to do it yourself. The look in his eyes is still kind of distant, so you stop protesting and let him do what he needs to do.

No one bothers with clothes. There’s no point. While the bath may not have been sexual, whatever is happening now definitely is.

You’re on your back in bed, wet hair splayed out on your pillow. Joel is on your left, and Tess is on your right, and their hands are everywhere. You clutch at them in return with each of yours.

They’re passing you back and forth for kisses, deep, consuming things with teeth and tongue and spit. You understand the “beast with two backs” thing now. Except, how would it work with three backs? Are you some kind of mutated monstrosity squished into a triangle? A pyramid of flesh and sweat and moans?

“Stop thinkin’ so much,” Joel growls against your neck, and you’re inclined to obey when his fingers find your clit. Thoughts aren’t super useful right now, and you’d like to keep most of them at bay anyway.

Even that’s a little too close, and you must tense because Tess nips at your ear and whispers, “Just focus on us, okay? Just us.”

They make it easy to lose yourself in their hands and warm mouths. You genuinely can’t tell who touches you where until you end up with three fingers in Tess’s cunt.

Joel rolls your lower half and yanks your legs where he’d like, leaving you contorted with your top half focused on Tess. He plunges into your pussy while you mouth at her tits. One of her hands cups your head to her breasts, and the other gropes at your own.

Neither of them are being rough with you, but they aren’t treating you like glass, either. You really fucking appreciate it, even if you don’t register it right away. Even while he fucks into you, Joel can’t stop his hands from roaming, smoothing over your hips and thighs and stomach.

They play you like a harp, keeping you trapped between their legs and plucking pretty sounds one after another from your taut body. There are a lot of orgasms all around, and you’re not even trying to keep track. Your head is blissfully empty, each climax wringing your brain like a sponge.

At some point, you push Joel off so you can suck his cock. Tess helps herself to feast from your cunt while you do, and somehow, when you look up, Joel’s buried his face in her as well. The circle shifts and warps but never breaks.

Eventually, they get you on your back again, and after a bit of whining on your end, Tess sits on your face while Joel has your cunt again. He switches between licking and fucking, and you actually pass out a bit this way.

When you wake, it’s to Joel getting out of bed and pulling his clothes back on. He catches sight of the look breaking across your face and shakes his head.

“I’ll be back. Runnin’ over to get her some clean clothes ‘n stuff.”

You settle back down. Tess slides an arm over your waist, and you roll over to snuggle up to her.

The next time you wake up, it’s because of the nightmares. You jerk awake with a cry, and she’s right there, rubbing your back and coaxing you to lie down.

“I know, sunflower. I’m so sorry,” she murmurs as you cry.

“I was so scared,” you whisper in the safety of the night, voice wavering.

“I know, baby. You were so brave, though.”

You don’t feel like you were very brave. You feel like you let the creeps crawl into your skin and ruin everything.

When Joel gets back, you’re still awake.

“Good,” he says. “I didn’t want to have to wake ya, but I need you to eat.”

“M’not hungry,” you say. Tess is up and getting dressed in a soft tee and sweats. She tosses you another set, and you put them on without thinking about your own clothes in the dresser.

“I know,” she says. “But you need to. It’s nothin’ much; just need to get something in ya.”

“I brought something for the pain, but you can’t have it on an empty stomach,” Joel says.

You give in and unscrew the thermos he hands you. It’s chicken noodle soup, and he presses warm bread, wrapped in cloth, into your lap.

Once you’ve satisfied their expectations, Joel drops a round white pill into your hand. “I can only give you one,” he says, laced with raw guilt. “But I got some ibuprofen for ya, too, for later.”

He hands you a glass but pauses. “It’s gonna make you sleep,” he warns.

“Okay,” you say and chase the pill with a swig of water. “I trust you.”

He winces a little, almost imperceptibly.

“I’m going to run out and talk to someone ‘bout the mess we made,” Tess says.

Joel scowls. “Can’t it wait ‘till later?”

“You know damn well it can’t,” she hisses like she doesn’t want you to hear.

“I’m sorry,” you say. They both look at you, and you sniffle. “I’m sorry I’m trouble, I’m s—”

“You cut that out right now,” Tess snaps, but her face softens right after, and she comes to sit on the bed beside you. “It ain’t your fault. We should be apologizing to you.”

“Please don’t,” you whisper.

She and Joel exchange a look.

“Alright,” she concedes. She kisses your forehead. “I’ll be back soon. Joel’ll stay with ya, okay?”

You sniffle again but nod.

They share a significant glance when she reaches the door, but say nothing. Joel locks it behind her and slides back under the covers. He tugs you to his chest, and you melt into his warm, broad shelter.

They phase in and out of your apartment all night, but never both at a time. You wake just a little at each changing of the guard, just enough to snuggle into whoever slips in and holds you.

There are murmurs and whispers; you don’t catch most of it. Just huffed breaths, a few sharp snips, and lonely words with no meaning—dawn, you hear once, and for. Or four. Or fore, you suppose, but it'd be strange to be talking about golf. Anyway, there’s no context.

They don’t break through your slumber as anything more than a soft breeze.

When morning comes, you’re alone.

It’s painfully obvious. Your tiny studio is occupied by only yourself and the ghosts. The towel is neatly stuffed against the bathroom door, betraying its vacancy.

There’s a bottle with a handful of painkillers on your kitchen counter next to a glass of water. You can tell there’s a note and something wrapped in cloth. But if you stay here, stay tucked into bed where they left you, you don’t have to see it.

It could say that they’re cleaning up the mess and they’ll be back later. It could be instructions for when to come over next.

But it’s not going to be. You don’t need to read it to know. The truth’s been trickling into your lungs since you woke up. Since last night, really.

You get up anyway, shaky legs on autopilot. You take the pills first, sipping the water, and stare at the paper. It’s bigger than their usual scraps, and neatly folded. Someone’s drawn a little flower on the outside. You wish you knew who.

When the water is gone, and you’re out of excuses, you pick up the paper with a trembling hand.

Rough capitals take up most of the page. “Be good.” You close your eyes, choking down the acid in your throat.

At the bottom is a neater, slanted scrawl. “It’s the iron.” You blink stupidly for a moment and then reach for the cloth.

It’s a flannel Joel brought over last night, clean and soft. When you pick it up, something clatters against the countertop and falls to the ground.

It’s a fucking horseshoe.

You sit, right where you had stood, legs folded and the flannel clutched to your chest with both hands. Your head droops so your nose is buried in the fabric, and you stare at the gift and let the tears burn down your cheeks.

You don’t change out of their clothes for three days.

The note gets tucked between the pages of “An Unsuitable Job for a Woman.”

The horseshoe sits on your table for weeks until you shove it under the bathroom sink. Half of you wants to bury it somewhere, afraid it might actually work.

But it’s just a horseshoe, and they’re just human. They only wanted you to think it would work—that it might protect you.

The flannel lives tangled up in your blankets. The smell of them fades fast.

You don’t return to their apartment. You think about it. Think about haunting it like they haunt yours. Think about banging on it until they tell you why.

But you know why. You saw it in the fear in their eyes that night. You had become something they could lose, and so, they had to. Quick and sharp, like their knives at the throats of those men. How could you blame them? Hadn’t you run away for the same reason?

On your loneliest nights, you think of them. You hope they’re okay. It’s never a guarantee in this world. You like to think they’re wrapped up warm and safe in bed.

On cold, sleepless nights under the starry sky, Joel likes to think the same of you.

Thank you all so much for coming along on this journey.

I hurt my own feelings with this one, y'all. Please feel free to yell/vent/talk with me about this because I am not okay.

*title from "Heaven Knows" by the Pretty Reckless.

[msmc-796-official]

question for the squad: juiciest piece of gossip and/or darkest secret you know about each other?

ooh, I like this one. lemme think...

// Say what now? "Darkest secrets"? Oh RA, don't ask Slipshod that-

oh, perfect timing! you all know how Phoenix says she's off on PR business, yeah? whenever she says that, there's a flat 50/50 chance that she's either actually doing PR work or she's going to take a smoke break. very convenient excuse, that one

// Wha- hey! That was supposed to stay between us!

too late! >:P I've got one for Kennedi too, while I'm at it - she still has one of her old HA uniforms tucked away in the back of her closet. has all of her old colonial legionnaire badges and medals and shit on it. not sure why she ever kept it, since she's staunchly anti-HA nowadays, but it's there, and it's not nearly as well hidden as she thi-

> Ahem. What did I just walk in on, exactly?

ah. shit. hi K. let's pretend you didn't hear the last ten seconds of that conversation, yeah?

// We got a prompt asking us for the darkest secrets we know about each other. Slipshod was just sharing one of yours.

> Is that what's going on now. That would explain the mention of my HA uniform - which, by the way, is my property. If I find so much as a crease on the lapel because of your snooping, I'm locking you out of the mech hangar for a month. Understood?

...yes, ma'am. (er, I think you're up next, P)

// Oh, lovely. I'll start with Kennedi, since this one's practically an open secret around here - she's utterly hopeless with melee weapons. Couldn't swing an axe to save her life. If she doesn't have a gun of some sort, then she's fucked in combat outside of a mech.

can confirm. saw her try to parry while sparring with one of the trainers once; she wound up pinned against the wall. kinda pathetic to watch, really

> Hmph. Unfortunate, but true. I was hoping my prosthetic might offer some chance of improvement in that regard, but it appears that I was sorely mistaken. I am no better at melee combat now than I was with both arms fully intact.

// As for Slipshod... oh, here's one. I recently found their shower supplies lying around in the shower (instead of in their assigned cubby, where it should be), and discovered that they use a men's 3-in-1 product, instead of separate shampoo and conditioner like a sane human being. No wonder your hair is such a frizzy disaster.

aw, come on, P, you didn't have to do me dirty like that! yours wasn't even that bad!

// That's not even the worst part! It smells awful, too! If using a shitty men's 3-in-1 is more gender-affirming for you, fine, I get it, but Christ-the-Buddha almighty, why does it have to smell so bad?!

hey, I think it smells fine. all of the women's hair products available around here smell like rancid perfume. find me a women's shampoo and conditioner set that smells like cedar or bourbon or pine or some shit like that and I'll happily switch

> Why anyone would want to smell like bourbon of all things is beyond me. (Then again, I suppose anything beats the smell of motor oil and reactor coolant.)

RUDE! I happen to like the smell of motor oil, thank you very much >:(

> Trust me, I'm well aware. I suppose it's my turn, then?

// Give us your worst, I guess. Slipshod already outed my smoke break habits. Prick.

> Hm. Let's see... I suppose the darkest secret I know of Phoenix's is that she dropped out of IPS-N cadet school for the express purpose of joining MSMC. I don't believe she's publicly mentioned it on here, at any rate.

// Hey now; I didn't drop out, I never finished my application process in the first place. There's a big difference!

you were gonna sign on with IPS-N? really?

// Look, I was young and stupid back then, and the propaganda adbroads they constantly blared all over Pyxis were... compelling. I don't regret that decision, though. MSMC is leagues better than anything IPS-N could ever hope to offer me.

> A wise decision. If only I had your caliber of foresight when choosing my future as a young pilot.

yeah, yeah, don't you two get all sentimental on me now. K's still gotta roast me. bring it on - surely you don't have anything better than P

> Oh, really. How's this, then: since my arrival on MSMC-796 twelve years ago, Slipshod has had no less than fifteen different romantic partners of various genders, none of which have lasted in a relationship with them for longer than six months.

// FIFTEEN?!?! Is that why you had "welcome home cheater" graffiti'd on your Toku a while back?! You told me that was because you robbed someone of a kill!

wha- i- you bitch! why the fuck would you keep track of that?! what are you, a stalker or some shit???

> No; I'm your squadron commander. And it's my job to know what my squadmates are getting up to when I hear obnoxiously loud moaning noises coming from their bunk at 3 in the morning.

// Holy shit, Slipshod. I don't even know what to say to this. Fifteen partners in twelve years... Christ-the-Buddha almighty. That takes the fuckin' cake. Congrats, Kennedi.

> Thank you, Phoenix. Now, are we done here?

// Yes. Please.

HEY! get back here! explain yourself, you conniving bitch!!! KENNEDI!!!!!

-- Angel, Slipshod, & Lockbreaker

[scekrex]

Can I request some hurt/comfort for the overlord!reader series, that angst hit me hard, mostly cause I kinda come to see it as a comfort story, like Wow

Reader said his piece and Adam heard him but there is now a tension between them, Adam is avoiding reader again, like in the beginning but it feels like this won't be fix with just time. Reader throw himself into work, trying to ignore the empty couch that is just in his line of vision but when he went to the balcony in a force of habit, the lack of fluttering gold feathers finally push him to action

Confronting Adam, he gave him 2 options, reader can move to another place so Adam can have the place to himself or he'll escorts him safely to the hotel so he can contact Heaven and go home. They both have a blowout fight that finally clean out the wound so it could heal.

Optional dialogue, "just say you're tired of my ass and kick me out", "I sneer down at them like I'm any difference, that I'm not a sinner, I'm greedy, I want, I wanted the riches I could gain from you then I wanted your trust and your love, and now I want you to be happy and like a drug addict willing to do anything for their next fix, I will do anything so you could be happy again"

Okay first of all I'd like to say that I LOVE the optional dialogue. I adore it, I ate it and I used it bc it fit them sooo well. Also I hope ya like them solving their problems somehow - in their own kinda way I guess

Bird of Hell's Paradise

Tell me who you wanna be and I will set you free

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language

note: not beta read bc fuck you

The time Adam had asked you to give him was the hardest time in all of your afterlife - not only for you but also for him. It was doing a number on the both of you and that showed. There were no sleepy cuddles, no lazy morning kisses and no cocky comments anymore.

The mansion felt empty and loveless, like a pit of depression that swallowed you both whole. The air once full of love, desire and trust had turned freezing cold and the only way you were able to ignore the hole in your chest where your heart used to be and the lack of a certain golden winged angel was for you to overwork yourself. You avoided the couch Adam had carried into the small room one day, it held too many memories.

Memories of you two cuddled up, memories of him carrying you over there to put you to bed because your stubborn self had been too proud and too determined to stop working by yourself so your little bird had to force you to get some sleep more than once. But throwing it out was not an option, not when you hoped that time would close the wounds and bring back the old times. So you remained in your office for most of the time, only left it when your body screamed at you to eat or when you had to use the bathroom - those were the only exceptions though.

And because you stayed in your office so much you were not seeing Adam at all. Sometimes you heard the rustling of his wings outside your door and though that happened rarely, whenever it did happen you felt the urge to get up, pull him into a warm hug and speak to him. But you never actually got up to do so. The angel had requested time and though it was painful to stay away from him for that long, you hoped respecting his boundaries would fix it all like a miracle.

But it did not. Adam never came in, when he heard you walking through the endless hallways, he would take a different turn and avoid you - he seemed neither willing nor ready to face you and the consequences this might bring so he stayed away.

Your head fell onto the table and you sighed, this would not do. You hoped the fresh air of your garden would lift the fog that was covering your mind and therefore your thoughts so you pushed yourself up, headed over to open the balcony doors and watched the green that lay beneath you. The synthetic sun gave no reflection of golden feathers away. Golden feathers which would usually peek out from behind trees or bushes. Golden feathers which would lay on the grass with its owner attached to it if it would have been a normal day. But it wasn’t and Adam’s wings were not visible - a thing you had hoped to see.

Time would not bring your angel back, time would not fix this conflict - not when the conflict seemed to eat Adam alive. So you pushed your body away from the railing and crossed your office to go seek your precious bird. Maybe talking to him would bring closure. Just as you opened the door to your office to seek for your golden feathered bird, said bird popped up in your door frame. He had not expected you to open the door, his eyes gave the surprise he felt away the second he spotted you. His reaction time was quick though, within a blink he tried to get away, tried to rush to the other end of the hallway, but you were quicker. Your hand grabbed his wrist, silently holding him into place and this time he did not flinch at your attempt to touch him. Though he did try to wiggle his wrist out of your grip to get away eventually.

“Adam,” oh how badly you wanted to call him all the sickening sweet pet names, how your mind told you to call him ‘dear’ or ‘my love’, but none of those were appropriate, not when Adam was mad. Or well rather hurt than actually mad - either way the former exorcist was upset with you and while you still weren’t blaming him for his reaction, you desperately wanted to sort things out. You had been avoiding each other for too long and you felt your mental stability crumbling slowly. Decisions needed to be made and if that meant you and Adam would part ways, then so be it.

“We should have a conversation,” your voice was soft, held neither anger nor disapproval, it sounded rather desperate if you were honest with yourself - and you were. You were desperate for clarity, desperate for this fight to finally end. “About what?” the brunette spat, clearly not liking the idea of talking to you at all, let alone about the fight and a solution for the situation you both were stuck in. You let go of his wrist and despite his body language saying that he would rather avoid you than talk to you he stayed. He stayed and waited for you to answer his question.

You considered your response for a moment, then answered, “About us.” And given the shock reflecting in his gorgeous golden eyes, Adam seemed not too fond of that answer, in fact he seemed to fear it. Something inside of him seemed to click into place and his mood shifted, instead of hurt and betrayed, he seemed now actually angry with you. His voice raised as he yelled, “Just fucking say you’re tired of my ass and kick me out already.” His words caused confusion to bloom inside of you and you frowned at the other male. Why would you kick him out? What made him think you would throw him to the flames willingly, knowing that the people of hell would tear him to pieces the second he would leave your place without you?

“I won’t kick you out, my love,” the pet name slipped - it was a force of habit. That, or you just longed for a time that was already gone, a time you had ruined by your own greed. “But I don’t want to fight with you either,” and for a moment your words seemed to calm his energy, for a moment you were able to see his eyes clearing up from the hate and the disgust he must be feeling towards you. But then his voice sounded so heavy when he spoke, too heavy for you to swallow, “Oh I forgot, some bitch will probably fucking pick me up right after signing that fucked up contract, right?” No. No, there would be no one coming to pick him up, not as long as you remained and considering that the only way to change that was angelic steel, you were quite confident to roam Hell’s rings for a couple million years more.

“I want you to choose, to prove that though I was greedy for money at first, I refuse to give you up, so instead of t deciding myself, I want you to have the choice of where this will go and what the outcome will be,” and those words actually seemed to make the brunette realize that you were being serious, that you were interested in what the former exorcist had to say. So Adam nodded, giving you the non verbal okay to continue speaking. “You have two options, de- Adam,” the fact that you interrupted yourself to call him by his name instead of the pet name that had almost slipped from your lips a second time caused the first man’s expression to sour, though he did not comment on it.

“I offer you to stay at this place here by yourself, I will move out and seek something new,” you watched his reaction carefully as you spoke and the offer you made him seemed to sound even worse to his ears than the fact that you had called him Adam instead of dear. Yet he continued to remain silent, he seemed really willing to hear you out - a thing that, though you appreciated it, also made you feel uneasy. Adam was no one to remain silent for that long. “Either that, or I will escort you to the hotel safely so that Charlie can try and-” “Fuck you, I’m not staying at the fucking place I almost died at,” the brunette growled, interrupting you quickly. You nodded, a point that was very valid in your eyes and because the choice was all Adam’s, his decision would force you to leave this place. The only thing holding you had been the first man and now that he didn’t want you anymore, there was nothing left that prevented you from leaving.

“I’ll have my things packed as quickly as possible,” you were about to turn around to enter your office again and start packing, Adam grabbed your upper arm firmly before you had the slightest chance to get away from him. “I don’t want you to fucking leave, you stupid fuckhead,” he hissed. His usually bright eyes seemed so much darker though they were glossy. Tears were about to be shed - a thing you had tried so hard to avoid. “I- fuck I don’t even fucking know what I want, “ the brunette mumbled as his eyes darted to the floor, inspecting it like it was so much more interesting than you.

Gently you put your hand on top of the one from Adam that was holding your upper arm, you gave it a single pat but that earned you his attention. “I sneer down at them all like I’m any different, like I’m not just as bad as them, like I’m not a sinner,” you started to explain yourself - would it help? You were not able to tell, but you hoped it would. “I’m greedy, Adam, I want. I want many things,” you gently removed his hand from your arm and took it in both of yours, squeezing it gently. His eyes looked down at it, carefully watching you holding his hand, he seemed not against it so you did not remove your hands from his.

“I wanted the riches I could gain from you before we knew about each other, then I wanted your trust and your love and now, in the end, I simply want my beautiful songbird to be happy,” his eyes met yours at your words and something inside of him seemed to crumble - it was the wall he had built up again to shield himself from the pain you had inflicted on him by breaking his trust. “And like a drug addict willing to do anything for their next fix, I will do anything so you can be happy again, even if that means that you will be happy without me by your side.”

Adam reacted differently than you had thought he would, instead of yelling at you and shoving you away, he pulled you in. The first man pulled you into a tight hug and before you knew it, it was not only his arms that were wrapped around your body but also his soft, golden wings. “Shut the fuck up,” the former exorcist mumbled as he buried his face in your hair. You felt how his body relaxed, how the heavy stones this fight had forced him to carry fell from his shoulders. You heard him inhaling your scent deeply, as if it would get him high, as if it would be the solution to all his problems. “We both fucking know I’d die without you,” his voice was nothing more than a whisper, almost as if he was afraid it would change the meaning of his words if he dared to speak louder.

“Not because the fuck-ups of Hell would tear me the fuck apart over and over again, but because my soul would start to fucking rot without its motherfucking sunlight. And that’s you, bitch. You’re my soul’s sunlight.”

[one-vivid-judgment]

ASDFGHJKL! Thanks for doing that last ask! I still feel ashamed but I'm in need of part 2: what if it's the guys (Sawashiro, Takabe, Yamai, Tomizawa, Ebina) who walked in on their s/o touching herself and moaning their names? (>/////<) Many thanks!

Listen, I have so many requests but I'm back on this series so soon because IT'S HOT OKAY 😭😭 Yamai and Tomi specifically, I need you carnally. Y'all are valid as fuck, I know I've said this before but I wanted to remind you anyway.

Jo Sawashiro

Sawashiro didn’t expect to one day be leaving the yakuza, much less with only one eye left. He also didn’t expect you to manage to talk him into going to an actual doctor to check his wounds—but oh well, he likes headstrong women, so really, that’s only another point in your favor.

With his constant hospital visits though, that means Jo sometimes isn’t home for hours at a time. It doesn’t surprise you; his wounds were severe, Ebina really fucked him up and you hope the bastard rots. In any case, him leaving you alone for so long means that, sometimes, you get needy when he’s not around. Meaning that, since he’ll probably be tired when he comes back, you need to take care of yourself. You wouldn’t want Jo to overexert himself just to make you come, after all.

It’s when you’re lying in bed, having fished your old vibrator from the nightstand and slamming it inside, moaning shamelessly and all but screaming Jo’s name so loud the neighbors surely heard you. You peek at the doorway upon hearing something like a floorboard creaking under someone’s weight—and see, it’s not common to see Jo Sawashiro completely speechless, but you may have found just the way.

“Fuck, would you... I can help you with that—Let me help you with that.”

Mamoru Takabe

You knew Takabe was dedicated to his job when you started dating him. In fact, that’s kinda what attracted you to him at first: devoted, attentive man like him? You didn’t stand a chance. But, as it were, that trait of his can also be a flaw sometimes; mainly, when Takabe stays at Seiryu HQ way past midnight to get work done or help his boys with whatever business they are up to. Thankfully, that doesn’t happen too often. When it does though, Takabe’s absence is very noticeable.

Tonight is one of those nights where Takabe stays at HQ till the wee hours and comes home late. Of course it had to be today, when you’ve been horny out of your mind since you woke up. A quickie in the morning wouldn’t have solved that, you know it wouldn’t have, that’s why you didn’t ask for one before he left. You kind of regret that when the clock strikes twelve and Mamoru still isn’t home. Well, time for plan B: taking matters into your own hands.

You leave the bedroom door wide open, in case Takabe comes home. Might as well give him a show—you haven’t had sex in how long now? All because of his stupid job... But now it’s not the time for that. Now it’s time to let your imagination run wild, maybe think about everything you know Takabe would do to you if he were home—scenarios that might come true sooner rather than later, you realize when his name spills from your lips and you hear someone chuckling from the other side of the room.

“I’ve neglected you lately, haven’t I? I’m sorry, that was rude of me. Let me make it up to you, yeah?”

Yutaka Yamai

Yamai is a lot of things. A selfish lover is definitely not one of those. You can have the highest sex drive in the world and he’ll be more than happy to give you what you want. He gets a kick out of indulging you, in a way. Still, he’s the leader of his own syndicate; he can’t just let his guys run amok, can he? There’s got to be some order. Meaning he can’t always indulge you, even if he wants to.

Today has been a long day. Work fucking sucked, the food sucked, everything sucked and all you need is Yamai to fuck your brains out until you don’t know your name anymore. Which fucking sucks again, since he’s been dragged into some other mess on the other side of town and God knows when he’ll come back. The pillow still kinda smells like him though...

Humping the pillow is not usually your go to, but fuck, does it smell like Yamai. Just as cold as he is, too. No wonder you start moaning his name sooner rather than later. You can almost picture him just standing there, watching in amusement as you desperately breathe in his scent straight from the pillow you’re humping—maybe because he is there. Standing there, watching in amusement as you desperately breathe in his scent straight from the pillow you’re humping.

“Well, shit, ain’t you a pretty sight. You don’t mind if I stay and watch the rest of the show, do you?”

Eric Tomizawa

Tomi is a taxi driver. Meaning that, again, he’s out and about more than he’d probably like. You understand though—a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do to put food on the table. He wants a family, after all, and money’s not gonna materialize out of thin air, is it? Oh, and also, when he comes home with all the pent up stress, he fucks you hard, says the filthiest shit, too.

Honestly though, he’s given you way too much material to fantasize about when you are all alone. Like that one time he went off about how he’d keep you as his personal cockwarmer during work hours, pushing your head down as far as it’d go and making you choke on his cock. And yeah, the thought sounds hotter than it has any right to be—and it’s all Tomi’s fault for getting those ideas into your head, cause now you’re all hot and bothered and he’s not there to do anything about it.

So, you’re going at it, one of Tomi’s shirts that you’ve fished from the closet pressed to your nose and so so close. And you moan his name, and that’s when you hear something drop and stop. And poor Tomi looks so flustered, so confused but also so into what he sees, you kinda want to jump him and eat him right up.

“Oooh shit. You can’t—You can’t do this to me, I’m not that strong, I... God, you’re so fucking wet. Did I do that?”

Masataka Ebina

Ebina does what he wants, when he wants. If you want to have sex while he’s busy at the office, he’ll skip out of work for an hour or two to go take care of you. If you are his girl, he’s spoiling you rotten, with gifts and with actions.

Thing is, you do find it amusing to be bratty every once in a while. He doesn’t like disobedience, and if you are, he’ll teach you a proper lesson. That’s what makes it so much fun to tease him. You don’t have to masturbate if you’re with him, but you still do—mostly because you want him to catch you and punish you. It’s all very deliberate, really.

He knows how much of a brat you are. That’s why it doesn’t faze him when he finds the bedroom door wide open, your legs spread wide in the bed, naked and moaning his name like your life depends on it. Which, maybe it does—he’ll have to bend you over his knee first.

“Whoever would’ve guessed my darling was such a slut. Was waiting five minutes really too much for you? Desperate little whore...”

[elacular-kink]

Hicvember 29: Supernatural

I wound up writing a decent amount. I think I also might end up doing more with these characters in the future. Could work with my more "Out there" kinks, one of which is already on display in this one.

TW: Death (mentioned), loneliness, religious trauma (implied)

Kinks: Hiccups, bubbles, stomach noises, burps, uh...voooooore? Kinda? Living creature inside of another living creature.

"I'm so–*HUP* sorry, are you th---the hag?"

I bit the inside of my cheek and braced myself for what was coming as the soft, round woman outside my door stared at me. Compared to her, with my bone-white skin and hair and my scrawny form, I may as well have been a skeleton. "Yes, I'm the hag. The old one's dead. What do you want?"

Her head whipped back and forth, and she looked stupidly innocent and naive even though she was at least half a decade older than me. Her case of the hiccups probably added to that, especially with how it made her whole body hop and the little surprised way her eyes would widen when they came, not that I should have been paying attention to that. I wondered if the gardens full of herbs, chimney smoke that transformed into clouds, and the generally mystical aura that my previous master's hut had about it was enough to convince people I was serious. If I had to start wearing her black dresses and pointed hats, I'd be irritated.

This prospective patient was already irritating me. Her nervous gaze finally landed on me again. "I, um–*HMK!* Oh! I-I'm sorry, I–*HIUK-UCK* I really should be goi—"

"What do I need to do to prove to you people that I'm a professional?!" I knew that "yelling at random women" was not the correct answer, but I was sick of people hovering outside of my hut or coming to meet me, then walking away when they found out I was all they were getting. "Dye my hair black? Age seventy years? Put a hex on anyone who comes within a mile of my house?!" It only occurred to me after I said that that it sounded like a threat, and the woman had taken a few steps back. I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose. "No. Sorry. I won't curse you. I'm not that kind of hag." As much as I was tempted to become one sometimes.

"I-It's not th–*ACK-ulp* th-that." She shook her head, then shook again with another hiccup, and with how scared she looked I was a bit surprised she hadn't lost them. "I'm so–*URK* sorry, I know that a ha–*UCK* hag's time is ve–*HURK* very imp–*UP* important." There were few things I could think of right now that were less important than my copious free time, but I knew that saying as much would be nothing but trouble should people ever actually start coming to me for help. "And you're o–*olk* only supposed to g---go to a ha–*ulk* hag for serious *HUP* problems—"

I sighed again. "No, you're only supposed to go to a hag for problems nobody else can solve. There are plenty of serious problems that I want nothing to do with and plenty of small problems I'm the best option for. I can't fix everything. Some problems are forever. But I won't know unless you tell me what it is."

"...oh. *OLP*." That seemed to calm her down a bit. "W-well, if, um–*HMK* if it's no–*HOK* not a bo---bother for you–*HIUK–ULK!*" That louder hiccup burst out of her, as did a few shimmery little bubbles that floated up from her mouth before popping in the air, each with a very audible little hiccup of its own. Her round cheeks were flushed and she covered her mouth with both hands. "...I ha–*UP* have the hiccups. *HMK* And they wo–*HOLK* won't go away. *HMK-mmp* And sometimes the–*IC-ULP*–p-puh!" She exhaled more bubbles which forced their way past her fingers, transforming into dozens of tiny ones rather than a handful of small ones to do so. "...they do that. *HMK*."

"Yyyyep. That's a hag problem." I bit my inner lip to make sure I didn't smile. It wouldn't behoove me to act happy about a patient's suffering, no matter how minor. "Come inside and sit on one of the chairs." I held open the door for her and she nodded before rushing in, looking around and finding her way to what was once my master's favorite squishy seat.

Speaking of my master, I nearly heard her screeching voice in my head: "Just because you think you know what it is doesn't mean you shouldn't check! More mistakes are made in assumption than ignorance!" The fact that she was wise didn't make her shrieks any less painful or her advice any less annoying, but I'd have been stupid not to listen to her because of that. "I have a theory what's causing this, but I'd like to give you an examination to be sure."

"O-of course! *HMNK!*" I switched from my smoky quartz glasses to my normal ones, then turned and started rooting through the previous hag's stuff. Even after months of living here alone, I still hadn't managed to sort out and fix her incomprehensible system of storing things. "Um, m–*HMP* may I ask fo–*URK* for your name? *HNK-lk!*"

"You may ask." After hearing a few hiccups behind me and getting a glimpse at her dumb, confused face, I felt bad enough to decide to elaborate. "But just because you can ask doesn't mean that I'll answer."

"...oh. *HMK*"

Well. She didn't need to sound quite so sad about it. I looked over my shoulder and saw her looking genuinely crestfallen before hiccuping out a large, singular bubble that popped noisily. When it did, she jumped, then caught my gaze and shrunk beneath it, making a small, apologetic gesture. "...but my master used to call me Caelfind. I suppose you can too."

She brightened up immediately and hiccuped a cluster of far smaller bubbles. "Oh! *HIP!* Thank you, Caelfi–*HNK*–ind! My name is—"

"Don't!" I turned around and held my hand out, and she froze, mouth still open around a bubble. I realized how dire I'd sounded, then did my best to relax and turn back to my search. "Don't go around telling unnaturally pale magic women in forests your name."

"...right! *HIK!*" I nearly laughed at just how surprised she sounded, and I heard her pound a fist into an open palm.

"If that's the sort of thing you have trouble remembering, I'm shocked you haven't been kidnapped by elves yet."

She chuckled weakly and I felt a bit bad for being so blunt. After a moment of uncomfortable near silence, she spoke again. "Maybe I ha–*UCK* have and nobody se---seemed to notice."

...I'd heard last words from lonesome old widows that sounded less sad than that.

It was none of my business. What was my business was the fact that this woman kept hiccuping bubbles in my hut. So when I finally got my hand on my master's ear trumpet, I forgot to stop myself from letting out a triumphant "HAH!" I also forgot to make what I was doing clear before storming back over to her and putting the trumpet to her chest, then bending over to listen to it. It was only after I heard her distressed squeak echo through her chest that it occurred to me what I'd just done. "Uh...sorry."

"N-no, no–*HEEP!* please!" She undid the top few buttons of her dress, and even though I'd seen naked people of all kinds come through here, there was still something in me that felt compelled to look away, especially at seeing the way her chest spasmed and bounced her heavy breasts. Her skin was significantly darker than mine, (as was everybody's) but it still seemed flushed, so I supposed at least I wasn't the only embarrassed one here. I put the horn to her chest again and listened carefully, hearing the way the muscles inside of her spasmed. Nothing unusual there. To my...frustration, I'd have to move lower, so I bent down and began pulling across her skin towards her stomach. She inhaled sharply and I decided not to try and interpret that. "Um, Cae–*EEP* Caelfind, can I a–*HUP* ask you so---somethi–*hnk*?"

"I probably can't stop you." The spasming leaps of her round belly and the gurgles and sloshes inside with each hiccup were more than distracting enough.

"Well, u–*HMP* um, why a–*URK* are you a hag?"

I scowled as I looked up at her. "Because the old one died. We've been over this."

"No no no, n–*hnk* not that!" She waved her hands placatingly, and I wondered exactly how intimidating I was coming across, given how much smaller than her I was. "I me–*HEEK* I mean...*hmk* why do you ne–*HEEK* need to be?"

I could feel my eyebrows furrowing and pulled my ear away from the horn. Dammit, I couldn't listen to her and her stomach at the same time and find what I was looking for. "'Need' to be?"

"W-well," her skin was flushed even more, and she wouldn't meet my eyes as she hiccuped a cluster of small bubbles. "I mean–*hnk* being a ha–*UCK* a hag is a job for a sp–*hip* spinster, right? But you're so–*olk* so young a–*hnk* and beautiful, so wh–*up* why couldn't y–*hnk* you get married? *HMK-mmp!*" I was staring. I probably shouldn't have been staring, but that was what I was doing anyway. And one of my hands had ended up resting on her belly, which kept bouncing beneath it, and that wasn't helping. She squirmed under my gaze. "I-I'm so–*hrk* sorry, should I n–*hnk* not have asked? *HEEK* People tell me that I *hmk* have a lot of que–*HNK* questions that nob–*up*–body cares abou–*uck* or needs to kn–*HNK* know the answer to and *HIUK* that I sho–*ULK* should just—"

"Shut up." I covered her mouth. She hiccuped. Tiny bubbles slipped between my fingers. "I can't listen properly if you keep talking."

"Oh." Her shoulders jolted silently and she looked away again. "S---sorry."

I leaned back down towards her belly, but I couldn't focus, and after a moment I sighed. "Just because the questions don't get answered doesn't mean you shouldn't ask them. It just means that whoever you ask isn't answering them. And when someone won't give you an answer, the most important thing you can do is figure out why."

She was (mostly) silent for a moment. "Why?" she asked.

"Yes, why they won't answer you."

"N–*hnk* no, I mean *hmp* I'm asking you." I looked up and saw her gazing down at me. "Why w–*ulk* won't you answer *HNK-lp*  my questions?"

After a long moment, I chuckled. "Well, I guess that's one way to gather information. For the most part, I won't answer them because I'm obstinate and ill-tempered. That was my master's way of saying I was a pain in her ass." She laughed too, a few hiccups and bubbles tangled up with them, and the way she smiled was...painful to look at. But it wasn't like focusing on her chest or stomach would be any better. "...but as for marriage, that wouldn't work for me. Whether or not I'm 'beautiful' is one matter," and my mind frankly wasn't even willing to try and acknowledge that opinion right now, "whether or not I'm fragile is another. I can't go outside in the sun without being burnt. My master taught me some ointments that can protect me, or at least reduce the burns, but there's very few wives I can imagine that need to spend less than an hour at a time in the sun."

"Oh." I didn't know what emotion I was hearing in her voice. I hoped it wasn't pity. I didn't particularly want to be a wife, and I didn't know what I'd do with pity for anything else. "...*hup* but you have a g–*hnk-lk* garden."

I turned towards her. "...and?"

"Doesn't that ne–*heek* need to be tend---ded?"

Huh. That was a more clever question than I'd anticipated. "I tend the gardens at night. The plants need sunlight and they need weeding and watering, but they don't need all of those things at the same time."

"I see! *HEEP*" Her smile was painfully cute. I had to remember that she was just a client like any other...albeit one of my first, and certainly the first to take me seriously. "Wait, *hup* then when do y–*hnk* you sleep?"

At this rate, I was never going to get this examination done, though in fairness to her, I was the one letting her get away with stalling me. Having to be that close to her spasming stomach was going to be a...charged experience, so I could deal with questions. And hers continued to be less inane than expected. "I sleep during the day. Unfortunately, that's also when clients come. Hence the very loud bell."

"Oh! No wo–*hup* wonder you've been gr–*hrk-lk* grouchy! I'm sorr–*EEP!*"

"Grouchy". That was a rather patronizing way to put it. Something offensive in me found it cute. "If I didn't want the clients I wouldn't have the bell." After a moment I sighed. "But yes, I would probably be a significantly more hospitable hag if you had visited me at night."

"I'll rem–*hmp* remember that for ne–*uck* next time!" Given that she'd apparently forgotten to not tell her name to magic women in huts, I doubted it, but the thought was nice at least.

And I should really have been dealing with this nice woman's problem and not letting her waste both of our time. Unlike myself, hers was probably of some value and better utilized elsewhere. "Now shut up, I need to listen to your stomach." She nodded and obligingly covered her mouth. No getting away from it now. I knelt down to get a better angle and undid more buttons of her dress before putting the bell of the trumpet against the apex of her belly, moving it around as I listened from the thin end. I could hear the muscles inside growling, the liquids sloshing, the echoes of the air in her lungs and the spasm of her diaphragm with every hiccup, the burbling and pulsing of—

Wait, there it was!

I forced myself to ignore everything else and stood back up, moving the horn a bit above her navel, and inside of her, I heard a bubbling and something like a high-pitched giggle. "Hah!" I pulled the horn away and clapped my hands before heading over to the pantry of herbs and powders. "It's exactly what I thought it was! Easy fix!"

"Re–*HEEP* really?" She sounded so elated...I was honestly glad to have my head in a pantry. Looking at her smile was becoming troublesome. "What i–*CUP* is it?"

"Just a mischievous spirit. I'll have you exorcised in—"

"EXORC---CIZED?!"

I stared back at her and saw that her face had gone pale enough to vaguely resemble mine. Her big brown eyes were wide with horror, and her half-naked body (why hadn't she buttoned back up, that wasn't helping!) was trembling. "Um...yes?"

Her eyes went even wider. "I-I'm sor–*EEP!* Please don't te–*HUP* tell anyone tha–*HUK* that I've been pos---posessed by de–*HEE*–mons! I swea–*URK* that I—"

"Whoa whoa whoa! Slow down! Who said anything about demons?"

She stared up at me, looking the tiniest bit less like she was panicking. She'd still shrunken back into my master's chair though. "You...*hnk* you said that y---you would exorcize me–*heep*–e-eee..." I noticed that the bubbles had reduced again. It seemed like they seemed to come less when she was stressed. Maybe she was unconsciously suppressing them.

"I mean...yes. That's the procedure."

A bit of the fear came back into her eyes. "S–*hop* so that me---eans I'm possessed *hnk* right?"

My nose wrinkled. "I, uh...I suppose technically, though that's not really communicating the right idea. Okay, wait, hang on, I think you're thinking about this wrong." I walked back over and crouched by the chair again, working on buttoning her dress back up since apparently she hadn't thought to do so. "It's like how you thought you only come to hags for serious problems. No, you only come to hags for unsolvable problems. Plenty of those are relatively small, and plenty of serious problems are perfectly solvable on your own. Maybe not to everyone's satisfaction, but they can be solved. Exorcisms are like hags. It's just a specific procedure for a specific problem that can be serious or can be relatively benign. This is one of the latter. And it's certainly not a 'demon'. You've been spending time around priests, haven't you?" She nodded slowly and I spat into the fireplace as I finished buttoning her dress again before stalking back over to my pantry. "Insufferable people. Spreading agitation everywhere because scared cattle can be cowed by barking dogs. This is why you come to a professional for these sorts of things, not some elderly godshound who thinks that literacy makes him smarter than everyone else."

"Y–*hnk* you're not lit---terate?" I couldn't help pulling back out of the pantry and glaring at her, and she waved her hands placatingly again, though at least she looked less terrified. "I-I don't be–*HEEP* believe that ma–*huk* makes me smarter than y---you or makes you le---less of a hag—"

"Wait, you are literate?"

She blinked at me. "Yes? Ev–*erk*–ryone in my vi---village is."

Honestly, I had no clue what to do with that. So I went back to the pantry and found the lemon extract powder and treated soda ash, then brought them over to the water I'd pumped last night and mixed some into a bottle before corking it. "It's simple, but it'll take a few hours to prepare."

She'd gotten up and was looking at me from across the room. "To prep–*hup* prepare holy wat–*urk*?"

I resisted rolling my eyes. "It's not holy water any more than soup is holy water. This is all the mixing I'll need to do, but I'm going to put it in the root for an hour or two." I opened the trapdoor and climbed down to the cellar to get to the icebox. A lot of the ice was melting. I was going to have to find a day to take another trip into town to get ice from the yakhchāl. That would be annoying. Sloughing through the rain was misery, and going out on cloudy or foggy days was never completely safe. "Closer to two, from the look of things."

The woman had ended up hovering by the cellar door and scrambled away when I climbed back up. "Doe–*uck* does it nee–*heep* need to be pu–*urk* purified?" She was hiccing up bubbles about every fifth spasm now, so it seemed like she was less anxious than the initial mention of an exorcism made her.

"No, it needs to be cooled while it's corked. That makes the bubbles inside of it form correctly. It makes it 'effervescent,' apparently."

She tilted her head at me. "A–*urk* are you an a–*hulk*–chemist?"

I couldn't help but laugh. "Absolutely not, no! Obnoxious intellectuals, all of them! Thinking that if you heat enough fluids you'll eventually find god in one of them."

"So y---you think they're li–*uck* like priests?"

Even though I shouldn't have, I scoffed at that. "No, of course not. Alchemists actually do something. All priests are good for is reading books and scaring people. Alchemists are a pain, but they're a useful pain. I still get deliveries once a month from one that lives in the city further out west. Never learned who they actually were, but apparently their deal with my master still stands, even after she's dead. Their apprentice is a chatty one." The woman sat back down and nodded, but her lips were pursed. "...so I don't have any books that you could read, but I suppose you could go for a walk or—"

"Wha–*uck* what's the dif---ference?" I blinked at her and she stared back at me. "Betw---between a h–*ic* hag and an a–*ulk*–chemist? You bo–*hulp* both make potions, r---right?"

I looked at her. She looked...weirdly comfortable in that chair. I'd never been able to figure out how to sit in it. Instead, I sat in the chair across from it, like I always had. It was harder. That suited me.

My master always said that our clients didn't need to know how we did what we did. She'd never discussed it with them; around them at best, and even then rarely. She preferred to tell me what to do, let me pick up information from it, then explain it afterward, or have me guess what exactly we'd been doing. Her clients never needed to know anything.

But then, her clients never actually asked.

"...well, for one, alchemists call their potions 'tinctures' or something ridiculous like that. But it does go a little deeper."

It was actually closer to three hours later when I went downstairs to get the bottle back. She was hiccing up bubbles nearly every time now, practically melted into my master's old chair with comfort, smiling wide and eyes shining as we'd talked. I'd only remembered what she was actually here for when a particularly large "*HIGGULP!*" forced a massive bubble out of her and had her resting her hand on her chest, at which point I ran downstairs and forgot to explain myself.

"Alright. So the potion should be ready now." I said as I climbed back up from the cellar. "The taste won't be the best, but it's perfectly safe to drink. I, um, could have added some herbs ahead of time, but—"

"No, no, that's pe–*URK* perfectly fine," she said, taking the glass bottle from me. After a second, she blinked. "Wait, *hnk* 'drink'?"

"...yes?"

"No–*hock* not apply an–*heep* anywhere?"

"It's a potion, not an ungent. The problem is inside of you, so it makes sense the solution would go there too."

"Right..." She looked...oddly skeptical. More so than she had at any point since she'd been here. "A–*hnk* and...then wh---at? What's the e–*huk*–xorcism?"

"Well, the potion should take care of most of it, but..." I had hoped to avoid bringing this up at all, knowing just how badly my unspeakably pale face hid any blushing, but after how many questions I'd answered, it would be more strange to stop now. "...but if that doesn't work, there are some abdominal pressure techniques I can use to help."

I couldn't read her face in response to that. She seemed very focused on the cold glass bottle she was holding. "Ho–*uck* how does wa–*urk* water that's no–*hup* not holy exorc---cise anythi–*ngk*?"

"Like I said, it's not a demon." I finally found a corkscrew from among my master's implements and stuck it into the cork. "The reaction that took place in the water—nnf, come now..." I flinched when she put her large, soft hand on top of mine, then pulled the cork I'd been struggling with almost effortlessly. As soon as she'd pulled it, the bottle opened with a loud pop, and bubbles formed inside of it. "...ah. Thank you. The reaction that took place infused the water with air."

"So we–*uck* we're go–*ingk* to sto–*hup* me from hiccuping bu–*hup*–bbles by...*hnk* adding more bu---bubbles?"

"More or less. It's displacement. If a tub has enough water in it, you can remove water by adding more water, and depending on the temperature or weight, you can eventually replace all of what was inside of it with something new. And these bubbles—" I tapped the glass of the bottle with my nail, "—should be less mischievous than the ones currently inside of you."

"I–*hilp* I see!" Her eyes were shining again. And that was doing unpleasant things to my heart and stomach. Speaking of unpleasant, when she started drinking, even from beneath her stiff dress, I could see her belly expanding slightly with each gulp. She drank it all down before I could tell her not to. It was honestly kind of impressive. When she pulled it away, before she could say or do anything else, her mouth opened with an "EEEUUUUUUURRRRGK! Oh! *HIULK!* Oh my go–*HOOK* goodness, excu–uuUUUUUuuuse me–*HEEK!*"

With every belch, lines of bubbles came up from her throat and floated into the air, and each hiccup brought large singular bubbles alongside. Rather than popping like those she'd hiccuped previously had, these hung in the air, gravitating towards one another. "It's fine, this is to be expected." Against my better judgment, I sat her up slightly so that I could pat her back as she rocked. Her hiccups and belches increased to the point that it was impossible for her to talk, and I could see her belly spasming and contracting a little smaller each time (to my...disappointment? How unprofessional.) Eventually, though, the belches brought up fewer and fewer bubbles and the hiccups stopped summoning them at all. A mass of bubbles floated unpopping at the ceiling of my hut, and I picked up my master's broom and swatted at them. "Alright, you've had your fun! Now get lost! Go on back to wherever you came from!" With enough encouragement, they eventually found their way to the chimney and went up along with the steam from my cauldron and smoke from the fire. "There. Exorcism completed...most likely. If it was a single air or water spirit, you shouldn't have any more bubbles in you, but if it was a colony, you might hiccup or burp a few more, but they shouldn't be interested in sticking around now that all their friends are gone.

The woman was staring up at the ceiling where the bubbles had been, covering her mouth now and muffling the rapid hiccups and short little burps that kept popping out of her. "Oh! *HIC!* Oh, I s–*HEEK* see n–*HUP* now! BORP–*HIK-ULK!* I tho–*HUK* thought the r–*HIP*–ver wat–*URK* was fu–*HUKKUP*–uuuurp funny today!"

"Yep. Sometimes spirits wind up in your food or water and you end up eating or drinking them. Normally it's harmless for everyone involved, but sometimes they like to have a laugh at the eater's expense." A split second later, the woman's stomach growled and gurgled noisily. I turned my head away so she wouldn't see my blush. "And speaking of eating, you've probably stayed longer than you intended to. Let me feed you, I always make more stew than I need."

We ate dinner together that night. Now that her hiccups were mundane, she seemed completely unbothered by them, and a bowl of stew was enough to chase them away, though a few singular hiccups brought up a bubble or two over the course of her meal. When she opened the door, the sun was going down, but I still switched rapidly to my quartz glasses. "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot—"

"It's fine, but warn me next time." ...I said as if there would be a next time anytime soon. It wasn't as if people enjoyed visiting the local hag. "And if anyone else has that problem, send them to me. The same with other hag types of problems."

"Of course!" She smiled at me and my heart fluttered offensively. "Thank you, Caelfind!" And she waved as she ran off.

...I never actually got her name.

...that was fine. Hags didn't ask their patients' names. They didn't need them. I swept up the hairs and dust that the woman had shed and collected drops of the popped bubbles off of the ceiling, then bottled it all to use as reagents later. Anything left behind was my payment. She hadn't forgotten any coins or brought any food, but that was fine. Hags never expected more than reagents and grudging gratitude.

The sun kept setting and I started lighting candles and lanterns. It was going to be a tiring night.

It was after sundown the next day when I heard the bell outside ring. I'd slept the entire day, so I rushed to dress myself and get to the door. "Yes, I'm the hag, the old one—" My words stopped in my mouth, and they still would have even if they hadn't been interrupted by a noisy hiccup.

The woman from yesterday was in front of me again. She had a basket of bread and vegetables. And her round, brown cheeks were smiling, even while they flushed as bubbles hiccuped out of her. "Um, it, eh–*hip!* It seems I fo–*urk* forgot no–*hok* not to drink fr–*up* from the bu–*hup*–bly parts of th---of the river ag–*huk*–gain, Caelfi–*hnk*–ind." She giggled bashfully.

I blinked and stared at her. She had a bag on her hip. I recognized a stylus for a wax writing tablet sticking out of it. "...and yet you remembered what my master called me and remembered to come after dark."

She looked away. "Sh–*hup* should I no---not have?"

"...no. You clearly have a problem for a hag to solve. Now come inside."

How brightly she smiled at me practically burned like the sun. "Of c---course, tha–*HNK!* thank you! Now–*hup* I remember yest–*urk*–terday you sai–*hup* said you'd nee–*heep* need to go in–*hnk*–to town for i---ice soon. *HNKlp!*" Soon, bubbles were floating out of her with every hiccup as she talked at me about whether she might carve some new ice herself and deliver it to me tomorrow night. She also asked what other things in the town could be useful for me and started writing them down on her little wax tablet.

...I was going to have to think of something to call this woman, wasn't I?

As I mixed up more water, lemon extract, and treated soda ash, I also decided I should tell the alchemist's apprentice to increase the amount of those he brought me every month. I didn't think I could trust her not to "forget" about that river again. And selfishly, I didn't particularly want her to try and remember.

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

Black cat: 7 Oct. Suptober

Dean didn't understand cats, except this one at this exact moment.

deancas all-the-way-au meetcute schmoop (allergies what allergies)

The thing was, Dean hadn't meant to care about the cat. The cat, much like the dryer that didn't dry well and the kitchen faucet that dripped and the corner of the porch that leaked, came with the house. Sleek and black and fat as a butterball, as Dean's mom might have said, the cat was in some ways just another fixture. He stayed out of Dean's way (mostly) and Dean stayed out of his.

Sam and the cat were casual buddies, in that Sam fed the cat, gave him fresh water daily, and cleaned the cat pan. Dean spotted Sam trying to fist bump the cat once, when the two of them were plopped on the living room rug; the cat had given Sam a look of utter disdain and gone back to licking his butthole.

Dean chose not to comment. 

It was the third day of Sam visiting his so-called just a friend Eileen a few towns away. Dean had thought it would be nice to be alone for a week – he sorta kinda missed the semesters Sam had lived on campus or been overseas. And the utter quiet inside the house, save the occasional reminding meow, had been soothing a few hours. For company, Dean opened some windows: the trees, with early-season leaves starting to turn crunchy, chittered; a cricket under the back deck was plaintive in its attempts to woo. Down in the woods, slithery shadows, or probably just squirrels, rushed back and forth.

The problem was that the cat also got in on the window action, going from one sill to the other to the other and back. Up down across up down across. Chirping. Trilling. Clacking his teeth at invisible specters. Flicking his tail such that it thumped a side table ominously.

Sam would've known what to do, which was likely nothing at all. Cats were weird, Dean had always held, and nothing about this particular cat disproved his assumptions.

Maybe he was lonesome, Dean thought, watching the cat paw at the window screen.

He who. That thought made Dean huddle down in his old blanket. The house was very, very quiet.

He picked up his phone and scrolled. 'Last owner', he'd named the contact. He dialed the number and held his breath. 

"Deano," answered a smarmy voice. "How goes it?" After a beat of silence: "Name's Gabriel. And you called me."

Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah. Sorry. Hi."

"What's up? House haunted or something?"

"The cat seems restless." Dean groaned inwardly at his patheticness.

Gabriel snorted. "I can't believe you kept him. You struck me – no offense – as the kind of guy who'd pawn a cat off on a one night stand."

"Well, I didn't." Dean sighed. "Do you have any advice?"

"Nah. I'll send over reinforcements. You'll be home in an hour?"

"Yes, but–" Dean glared at the Call Ended screen.

The knock came in less than a half hour. Twenty minutes, tops. Dean hauled himself off the couch and padded over to the porch side door. The cat flew off the window sill and wound himself around and around Dean's ankles.

"Gabriel sent me," a deep voice called out.

Dean opened the door. The deep voice's face blinked blue eyes and smiled shyly. Dean, as if possessed, bent down, without breaking eye contact, and picked up the damn cat, who wriggled around like a bag of eels and launched himself into the other man's arms.

"Hi, Homer," Deep Voice said, scratching the cat behind the ears. 

Homer purred and purred. "Homer?" Dean asked, sounding like he'd just achieved puberty.

"What have you been calling him?" Deep Voice tipped his head, as if genuinely curious.

"Nothing." Dean felt sheepish as a wool sweater. "He's just. A cat."

"Gabriel named him," Deep Voice said. "I'm not surprised he didn't bother to tell you literally anything about him, though. I'm Castiel." 

Homer meowed, as if to agree; he burrowed against Castiel's shoulder and purred and drooled, overcome with affection.

Dean didn't understand cats, except this one at this exact moment.

"You didn't want to take Homer with you?" Dean asked, stepping back to allow Castiel and Homer further into the house. "When Sam and I bought the place, I mean."

"Ah, no." Castiel looked around, a slightly wistful expression crossing his features. "I never lived here. After our grandparents died, it was Gabriel's to sell." He let the cat leap from his hold onto the formal dining room table, where Homer immediately beached himself and started a vigorous grooming ritual.

Castiel gave Dean an apologetic look.

"We seldom eat there," Dean said. "No worries."

"I wasn't in town when Gabriel sold the property." Castiel exhaled slowly; it seemed like being in the house was harder than he'd expected. "You and your brother have made the place very welcoming. I imagine Homer loves it here still."

"Well, it's a work in progress," Dean said, thinking about the long list of projects he planned to tackle in the coming months, if he could ever get out of his own way. "I'm not sure Homer's very happy. He's been wearing grooves in the window sills the last few days."

"Watching bats," Castiel said confidently.

"What," Dean said.

"You've never sat outside this time of year? Bat pups are starting to fly, and everyone's preparing for colder weather. And the nearest caves aren't too far down the hill. I hope Gabriel gave you a map of the woods?"

"Maybe he gave one to Sam." Dean blew out a breath. "I think I've been in a post-moving fog or something."

Castiel nodded. "Moving house is extremely stressful. I only moved back to town a month ago. The readjustment has been… Strange." He glanced up at the kitchen cabinets with another half sad, half remembering expression. "Our grandmother used to line those with baskets. They were mostly decorative, but she always said baskets were useful, and she used them for everything: laundry, flowers, fruit. Our toys when we were younger. Mushrooms when we'd go foraging." He wrung his hands a bit. "Sorry."

"Don't be." Dean felt something in his chest lift, like some weight he hadn't known he'd been carrying had begun to roll away. He and Castiel watched the cat lick his paws and wash his face for a few minutes. 

"Homer like the philosopher?" Dean asked.

"Homer like the Simpson." Castiel shook his head. "I'm not well versed in that show."

Dean had Opinions on the subject. "The first eight seasons are considered classics for a reason, Cas. If you wanna get into them, we could do a marathon." He absolutely refused to mentally acknowledge the color of his cheeks. Let Cas think he was running a fever.

"I'd like that," Cas said, as earnest as though he had no concerns about possible contamination.

Homer meowed his yes vote.

"Are you busy right now?" Dean asked, finding his own confidence.

Cas held out his arms. Homer launched himself into them again and they headed for the couch.

Dean hid a silly little smile and followed.

[spiffysoultarot]

Find a troll, pick it up, all day long, you have good luck 🪺 —> Pick a Troll

Sorry #3, I started this reading a year ago and never finished it and finally decided to post it cause I didn’t wanna waste effort😬

Pile 1: Spiffy the Sailor//Light Seer’s

🫖 I pulled a tea quote, a quarter and then a movie quote to feel out Pile One’s vibe today:

The quarter is Utah and their state bird is a California Gull aka a seagull.

—> Q1: how does pile one give their power away? King of cups (R)

—> Q2: what can help balance out pile one’s emotions? Annunaki (R)

🦤The seagull is Utah’s official state bird due to saving the State during the katydid (Mormon cricket) devastation of 1848, according to Utah’s website. (https://onlinelibrary.utah.gov/utah/symbols/bird/) The pests were destroying the crops but the seagulls ate the crickets, saving the crops and the town. (

🧺Similar to Tommy Boy in that everyone kinda doubted him. Maybe it was different in 1848 but I know where I grew up, seagulls were sort of looked at as pests. They did not cause harm but were greedy and could pester folks outside.

👯‍♀️ The dynamic between Tommy and Richard is coming to mind. Richard is a “smug, unhappy little man who treats others as if they were idiots” - paraphrasing of course. Tommy is a jovial albeit slightly immature college graduate who has come to work at his fathers company. They went through secondary school together in their small town and were at opposite ends of the social spectrum, and thus sort of did not exist to each other.

⚖️ Ultimately they balance out each other nicely though: Richard has the rigid pragmatism Tommy lacks, and Tommy had the ruthless optimism Richard lacks. 👌🏻Some damn good character chemistry of buddy comedies, if you ask me, but I’m not the remaining 51% on Rotten Tomatoes. The audience is at a 90% though. Most of the pull comes from nostalgia undoubtedly.

9️⃣ The ‘90s is one of the most sought after decades of recent times. I find it interesting that in the 1890’s a similar thing happened and would eventually lead to people referring to that time as the “gay” era in some way as in happy. That is extra interesting because 9’s represent an ending.

🍿 Look at the majority of popular films in the last decade — are not a good portion of them remakes from the 90s?

👹Upright the Annunaki quite literally speaks of how their people created a hybrid workforce that “was smart enough to follow directions but stupid enough to rebel” (Mystic Martian Oracle Deck © Lisa Porter, Rockpool Publishing, 2021) The Annunaki are in alignment with the Alpha Draconians and Reptile Beings mindset, sort of like Emperor reversed energy— power, control, black-and-white thinking, disliking those that mess up the conformity and the audacity to question their authority.

🌅 Reversed Annunaki speaks of cooperation, fairness, compromise, unity, open-minded, progressive thinking. The belief that everyone is equal and deserves to be treated equally. What might help is seeking out like-minded people and/or organizations with similar values.

🚙 Similar to Tommy Boy! I would totally say he’s a 9. Kinda like Amity vibes from Divergent too.

🍷King of Cups Reversed energy can speak of someone moody, temperamental and hasty with others feelings —> Richard in a nutshell, right? It can also speak of old wounds, which he likely carries from childhood. He sort of unfairly treats Tommy due to jealousy from not having the caring, loving father he did.

💍 Fun fact: Sea gulls typically mate for life, equally caring for their chicks. However, sometimes it does not work out between the pair. Afterward they are typically seen as less attractive and left alone for a few nesting seasons as a “sea gull divorcee.” (Source: https://www.birdspikesonline.co.uk/Blog/Understanding-the-seagull-and-its-behaviour)

📕Honesty and being genuine is key here. Patience may be necessary too, especially if you’re resonating more with the Richard side. A need to believe in yourself if you’re doubting.

🌏The Annunaki are from the planet Nibiru, a distant planet that enters our solar system every 3600 years and was thought to have caused the great deluge, according to the Mystic Martian Oracle deck (© Lisa Porter, Rockpool Publishing, 2021). I looked up what the great deluge was and according to Wikipedia (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flood_myth ), it was a flood sent by a deity to destroy civilization in means of divine retribution. I wanted to share the image:

Pile 2: Bunny troll//Rider-Waite

What do you want to talk about pile 2?

Romy and Michelle quote —> one of my personal favorites

Moral of the story? Missouri quarter

Missouris state bird is a cardinal — Missouri and six other states.

Second arch signification today. Utah had an arch in pile one. Arches signify new opportunities or phases in life.

What does pile two need to know?

Five of wands clarified by fourth house

Past energy: four of pentacles clarified by queen of cups

Present: four of swords reversed

Future: Empress clarified by Ace of Pentacles reversed

Hidden money matters can sum it up.

Five of wands actually signifies great wealth and is like a play fight this is the overall context gold, gain, opulence, the competition and search after riches…. And fourth house

I find it funny that Venus came out on the dice for the present energy and that the Empress came out with the Libra dice because that quarter I have is ugly af. I thought that I put the shiny, pretty Missouri quarter back but apparently I put the dark, ugly one in - I had duplicates.

Something is not as it seems here and absolutely hidden. The fourth house talks about hidden matters, death, parents, home.

Given that almost every single card on the spread is associated with finances (except queen of cups), I am going to say this has something to do with money.

The past signifies a fair, honest upbringing that may have appeared nice on the outside. Either material struggle was present or a vital support was missing. Neglect can be emotional too — ignoring your kids and just placating them is sort of cruel because you are not actually seeing them.

The fact that Venus rules Empress and the Libra dice clarified it, is a very good signification. Venus rules Libra so it’s in its domicile. Ace of Pentacles (R) actually speaks of great riches. So the future to this outcome is great. It’s supported on both “ends” too:

5 of wands to left speaks of affluence as does the ace of pentacles (R) so it is confirmed.

Be sure to watch out for the small details to ensure you aren’t being deceived, possibly by promise of great riches.

All that glitters isn’t gold, and not everything is what it seems. Remain vigilant in the present, focusing on loving yourself and doing what brings you joy.

With the taking of the burger (when it’s Romys favorite lunch day!) was unnecessarily cruel and petty in the film Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion. I see you moving AWAY from this energy.

Four of swords reversed can signify a need for greed but also speaks of precaution and discernment.

In Romy and Michelle, they have each other they can trust each other. The queen of cups dynamic is present within them, they have their friendship but not riches.

I am honestly not one to try to fill my audience with false hope to simply garner likes. The cards have spoken, I listened and relayed the best I could.

[givemeuniversalcrossovers]

Mario Sunshine remake/Sequel where its a canonically few years on from the last sunshine game and Bowser Jr is a bit older and a bit bigger and hears that the Mario and Princess are going back to the island on holiday and goes huh, well, I'm bigger. I think I'm gonna get that Mario.

And thus plans to kidnap Princess Peach again to try again because he's gotten bigger he's got a bigger ego big man syndrome but he's not dumb he recruits his siblings too because hey potentially fighting / messing with Mario AND warm holiday fun times. I feel like Wendy would love it like yes relaxation Sun and fun. So they go to cause mayhem, Bowser probably knows they're up to something since they all just leave but eh, they'll holler if they need help they're getting older he trusts they'll be okay, maybe sends Kamek to spy/for updates he doesn't wanna be a helicopter parent but also wants to see how well they do and be ready to leap in and help if necessary. It'll mean that each area likely has a Koopalings boss or two so fun spicing it up from last time with obviously some old bosses thrown in.

They don't realise though that Luigi got sent in advance as bait pretending to be Peach arriving early blacked out plane windows guards with umbrellas to hide the 'princess' from view ect, just in case of a repeat of last time/bowsers shows up so at least if they do cause problems the Princess can be kept out of the way as Mario arrives to fix things. So the Koopalings show up and go to the hotel demanding for the Princess' room, don't question the fact they're given her room number no problem and go and grab 'her' hastily tied up gagged and in a sack or something. Poor Luigi was probably just out/was going in the shower getting dressed/not yet undressed (no nakey weegie here) and the steam obscured the Koopas vision and so he got snagged.

And thus game begins Mario has to go save his brother who was kidnapped, recollecting suns in the process ect like a good person since the Koopalings probably screwed with them too and paint absolutely everywhere with probably color coordination/pattern coordination to each Koopa so you can guess who's in which level like pink hearts for Wendy, crazy multicolor swirls for i believe Larry or iggy whichever the hyperactive one is ect. At some point in the game there's a cutscene of the Koopalings all enjoying the steamy warm flying jacuzzi, some nursing wounds after a beat up from Mario and probably Wendy maybe Roy Roy strikes me as empathetic is like hey it kinda feels unfair to have Peach tied up in a sack in a floating cage while we enjoy the hot water, maybe we should let her out for a bit? And after some debating Jr mentioning that well she didn't want to join him and dad last time they agree cause like they all kinda like momma Peach even if they know she's not really their mom they're more here for fun than malice so it feels right to let her enjoy the warm water and drinks with them. Ludwig waves his wand and the cage floats down and they open it taking off the sack and, "LUIGI???" They're all fucking stunned cause???? The green one??? What?? Where's Peach?? How?? When?? Ludwig did you mess up your magic and swap them??? Promptly starting a major uproar argument between all the siblings over who cocked this up big time. Luigi is just eehhhehe. He's very awkward. At one point one of them is like well I mean sometimes hes there when beating dad this might stall Mario for a bit, plus we can always still get Peach later and that'll be two captives over Mario. This settles them as they murmur agreements and Ludwig magics more drinks which definitely helps ease over the mood, they're probably drinking pg safe coconuts with straws no tropical island drinks here if you get my drift they're probably not old enough to drink alcohol XD. One of them puts Luigi on the floating duck in the middle of the water so he can't escape and puts a drink in his tied hands adjusting the knots so he has enough mobility to lift it to drink from the straw.

Meanwhile Bowser? Absolutely cackling losing his shit laughing at his kids rookie mistake of not questioning the lack of resistance. He loves his kids but he is gonna laugh at the cock up. But he is proud they're doing well despite that but he's on the throne wheezing and has dented his arm rest from banging his fist down in laughing hysteria.

Another cutscene later in the game, Luigi still on the duck drinking coconut drink as Ludwig complains to him about something maybe his siblings not appreciating music as Luigi nods his head understandingly. Every so often there's a cutscene with a Koopaling just kinda talking to Luigi while he floats on his duck it's for character building and just funny imagining him just stuck duck floating around as the kids talk to him. Maybe at one point he's actually in the water floating on his back while Junior floats beside him also on his back like "I just worry ill never surpass my dad you know? Like, I'll always just be Junior. A smaller Bowser. A shadow of my father's glory." and Luigi balancing a coconut drink on his stomach is like "Hmm. I knowa what you mean." just lmao bonding floating about together, "Illa say you're definitely a lotta more scary then you were, youra growing into your own person with your owna style. Working witha your siblings very clever." and Junior scoffs and is like "It's nothing my dad's never done we've always helped him." and Luigi counters, "But, youra helping eacha other, Morton has beena here twice healed up went backa out there, Ludwig hasa boosted Wendy and Lemmy witha magic already fora rematches. Thata will be keepinga Mario on his toes. Workinga with other bosses too, tricky stuff, you have good ideas." just lmao being nice he knows what it's like to be in a shadow and he is kinda terrified and impressed by juniors game plan with the Koopalings being able to swap back recharge swap back in. Plus he doesn't know if the Koopas temper will shift so genuine compliments and peace keeping so he's not drowned.

This game definitely is probably longer and harder with the kids getting stronger and coming back for more but eventually they'll reach their limit unable to go back to fighting. In cutscenes they'll be seen sat out the water or in the water with bandages looking too tired to go back and fight. The end fight is likely with Junior at the jacuzzi his siblings tho tired lend some help making it very difficult but their attacks are infrequent and slow. Maybe Bowser shows up probably right at the end after beating junior but I don't think he'd join the end fight/be a final surprise boss, the kids did a good fight but they've lost and he doesn't think they'd want him jumping in stealing their fight so he shows up as the escape assist and they all escape to dad cause ya know a good future king knows when to retreat. And like you get Luigi back the kids noticeably waving bye to him Junior saying "I'll see you next time Luigi! And I'll get you Mario!!!" as Luigi shyly laughs cause oh no what has he started. Ends happy Peach arrives they all enjoy their holiday, though Luigi absolutely passes out at his hotel room on his bed as he's thoroughly holidayed out. Mario and Peach walk the beach together into the sunset chatting and laughing.

Cut to bowsers Castle of kamek helping heal the kids up while Bowser absolutely lovingly laughs at and bullies his kids for the hotel mix up and junior is very embarrassed before Bowser scoops him into a playful noogie saying "I couldn't be more proud of you!" and Junior just??? "but we failed to get peach??" and Bowser laughs and is like "you think /I/ succeeded the first time I tried?? It went horribly wrong and blew up in my face! You actually kidnapped someone, Mario was terrified and you all planned to raise the stakes if given the chance adapting to the situation. You did really brilliantly." just tells his kids how good of a job they did but also laughs and is like "oh the old wrong hotel room trick" wiping his eye from crying laughing. Let him lovingly rib on his kids XD bullying is a love language.

[berryscaryskies]

"You’ve always been a bit of a daydreamer, and oft forgotten as the middle child of such a big family. You’ve never been quite sure what to do with your life so you decide to put off deciding by going into massive debt and furthering your schooling! And then furthering it some more, and well now what? Guess you’ll spend the rest of your days working a nine to seven to pay off all that schooling."

-Sundae's always had her head in the clouds a bit, she loves music and picture books, and generally being creative. She was also hecking smart though, she graduated high school a whole year ahead of schedule and unsure what else to do with her life she decided to get a head start on college.

-At the time her older sister Juno had also being living on her own for college so after a lot of pleading and a bunch of agreed upon rules, Sundae was allowed to move in with her sister so she could go to college too. At first Sundae really loved this, she liked the freedom of being away from home and away from most her siblings, even Juno left her to her own devices most the time.

-Her only really friend she had during this was her old middle school pal Maia. The two have been close-knit forever, and since Maia was a grade ahead of her anyways it left the two open to spend more one on one time together. Such as karako-ing or exploring the library.

-Despite her love of varying arts, Art College didn't really work out, it was a lot more competitive and mentally draining then it had any right to be. Upon graduating and realizing she absolutely did not want to waste her passions on turning them into careers she turned right back around and picked a more applicable degree program. She went for Business.

-Maia supported her through all of her second round of schooling, to the point where she was practically living at Sundae's place (once she had her own place instead of rooming with Juno). With the amount of time the spent together and Sundae now trying to get out there and start dating it didn't take long for the two to stumble into a little bit more than just being friends.

-Sundae actually has really bad taste in men, every man she's ever had a crush on was wildly uninterested in her, kinda shitty, or just flat out unattractive. She turned to Maia for some comfort, and after a night together goofing off and playing video games and accidentally making out, the two came out of it with a new understanding of one another. Sundae slowly pieced together that she's actually a lesbian(based off an in-game glitch where after an update the sims changed her setting so she was no longer into men anymore lol)

-During this time Sundae also got really into crafting her own jewelry and gifting it to people she cared about, so maybe gifting a ring to Maia after like one official date was a bad decision. Even though it majorly freaked Maia out thinking the relationship was moving way too fast the two worked it out.

-The two STILL aren't married actually, despite their partnership being very stable life just keeps getting in the way of having a wedding. They might just elope actually.

-The two also had a science baby and wound up with twins, woops! Which is stressful because Sundae's job keeps her busy, so a lot of the infant care gets left to Maia during the day.

[pool-floatie]

Dead by twilight - Pt 1

I have decided for you guys you get a merry crisis Vampire borrower fic! 🚨TW: for blood and death described kinda graphically I guess. like it's vampires, what are ya gonna do🤷 Also as a heads up this will contain vore in the future, it shall be appropriately tagged, none in this chapter tho 👍. Soooo I guess, Enjoy part one!✌

Lazarus sharp white fangs sink deep into the humans warm flesh. He enjoys the warmth and sweet taste of their blood, savoring the meal.

He hadn't properly fed in a week, which might have justified him drinking so much from the human that their face paled.

Dropping from the vampires hold, Lazarus's victim slumped onto the cold concrete.

He cringed at himself

"oooh.... Shit."

It wasnt the first time he had taken a life, sure, But he tried to avoid it when possible. Lazarus much perfered drinking his fill, healing the wound and erasing the humans memory, that way they could go on with their night normally, albeit a bit dizzy, and Lazarus could feed without worrying about police banging on his door.

But thats not how the night went, and now he had a crime scene to cover up, great...

(Wren pov)

Outside in the chilly night air, Wren watched as the bean strolled happily along the sidewalk. It was strange, usually beans kept inside at night, allowing borrowers to, well, borrow, but this one seemed to enjoy the fall air, unbothered by its icy sting as they were protected by a thick orange sweater. Wren noticed them slowing down to admire the turning leaves and the clear night sky. Finally they sat on the old wooden bench across the street, crossing their legs, and pulling out a book.

Out from the shadows, a bean dressed in a black cloak approached the other from behind. Wrens eyes narrowed, this bean seemed.... Odd in a way. Wren stared in disgust as they put their mouth onto the other. only able to guess at what the hell they were doing. Wren watched, confused as the color drained from the orange-clad beans face, staring dumbly as they slumped limply to the ground.

Their eyes became blank and soulless.

Dead.

Wrens' eyes widened, hands rose to their face to hide their gasp.

They werent really d e a d, were they ? Wren thought.

They heard the colaked figure muttering to themself.

Wren watched. They knew they should just bolt, but... What point was there, really, they had such a good hiding space , it would be a shame for it to go to waste...

Wren stared wide eyed, intrigued as to what this horrible bean planned to do with the body.

Wren saw the figures head move as they sniffed the air, suddenly their head shot up and turned, looking left and right before settling forwards.

The borrower paled.

Before them the cloaked figure stared, eyes locking directly onto the missing brick at the bottom of the wall.

Right onto Wren.

(Lazarus pov)

Lazarus' head shot up as he smelled something peculiar, a human scent, mixed with fear, meaning that someone had seen him, but peculiarly, it was very... Light? like the person was a mile away from him...

Nonetheless, whatever it was needed to be dealt with. Lazarus sighed and began to track the scent, closing his eyes, he quickly pinpointed the smell, coming from....

From right across the street...?

Lazarus used his superspeed, zipping across the empty road, he searched in the nearby alley, throwing open the dumpster and upturning a few boxes, but the scent was.... lower? Lazarus looked downwards towards a missing brick at the bottom of the wall, he sniffed again. The scent was undeniaby right there, but how ...

Curious, Lazarus crouched down, as he did so, he saw something dart out of the hole, dashing away and turning outside the alley so fast that anyone would have mistaken it for a mouse, but Lazarus wasnt anyone, his enhanced vision allowed him to see more detail than any human, but right now, he felt as though his sight was betraying him. That thing... it had a tail, but no other animalistic features, and wearing a red jacket and pants wasnt typical of any rodent the vampire knew of, how curious....

(Wren pov)

Wren winced, No of course this thing couldnt see them, no human would think to look for a borrower right after committing murder, obviously, Wren thought. Looking back the strange bean seemed to dissappear, one moment there, the next, gone. Wren frantically looked from left to right as all they could sense was a wooshing sound and a barely visible blur. The dumpster lid was thrown open by seemingly nothing, boxes were upturned and trash flew around the alley.

The blur finally slowed and In front of the borrower stood a pair of polished jet black boots.

Wren didnt even look up, they bolted from the broken wall, dashing straight towards the road before turning sharply at the corner. maybe they would just think it was a mouse, o-or a hallucination! They rationalised, before being met with the same pair of black boots that seemed to appear from nowhere just like before.

Wren screamed as they switched back around towards the alley.

They felt something push them, toppling them to the ground.

"AAAgHhhh!!"

a sharp pain ran through their leg as they scrambled to get up, making them faceplant into the concrete

They twisted around the best they could, finding a maroon claw digging into their calf.

They tried again to drag themself away "gaaah!!" they cried out as the claw opened the wound even farther.

The borrowers breathing quickened as they imagined horrible scenarios, horror stories told by their parents and friends about what beans would do to their kind.

Wren didn't know what to do, they couldn't run, couldnt hide from this apparently all seeing, sonic speed, murderous monster. They pressed their face into the concrete and began to sob and shake against their will.

They felt that horrid claw finally release itself from their leg, but they still didnt move. Wren knew they were caught, dead. Anything this monster wanted with them, they could do, besides, it hurt far too much to even think about moving, their bruised, mangled body refused the natural instinct to run even as they felt cool fingers wrap around them.

[2n2n]

Chapter 101

*dies in the street like a dog* aaoaoaouuouu *swings body from the rafters* aaorurouoouu no rest for the wicked no rest no rest... aa aa aa ach ach ack ack agh agh

there could not be a more earth-shattering opening... the first real peak into living, middle-school-aged Tsukasa... pictured in the rafters of the theater, singing. Singing, like he does---! I'm not ready I'm not ready ...

It's not set in stone, but he might be doing a little vocalization (like a coloratura....?) of Over the Rainbow.... ah you know, I get emotional, as his VA, Megumi Ogata, can sure as hell sing....! So can Nene's, who sings the ED of the anime... it might be rather beautiful....

I hope someone super into music can properly confirm the song...

please, Amane... what do you want... ? you can't stay quiet and obtuse forever... can we hear it out loud?

overwhelmingly full of love... Aida is an unbearable master of expression....

I really love ah... this simple interaction, it's so full. Amane knows there's better things for Tsukasa to do, that it's not fun or interesting to stay here, that there would be other people wanting his help... it's not the responsible thing, to ask Tsukasa to stay. But what do we care about that? We only want to know what Amane himself wishes would happen... if he could have anything, if it was only up to him, if we disregard the students, if we disregard what is responsible or proper to want, what would he really want....?

the most exciting image to ever see... aahhh. Living twins together in their first year of middle school... Amane isn't yet covered in wounds, bandages, and bruises... no rope burns. He's a bit dirty from messing with the clock, is all. Tsukasa's pose is sublime... also, how incredibly small Aida makes the boy's asses in the modern day is wondrous, lol. There was a short period in her art where there was more going on there, but she returned to the stick-thin principle from ye olde times (early JSHK is so ah... 'filled out'? but Snow White is sssooo sticks ... I prefer her more extreme styling, I really love how young and gangly the boys feel....). Tsukasa's shirt isn't tucked in, while Amane's is .... ♥ Such tiny little hips they have... I could really drink in these panels for a century..

you know, Aoi is always describing Akane as so helpful and kind and always doing everything for everybody, but I feel like we constantly see him being mean and fussy wwwww it's either such a 'tell and not show' situation, or Aoi has way too kind of a view on Akane wwww...

oh yeah! My husband wondered if maybe Aoi can't tie her hair so easily anymore, after losing the feeling in one of her hands.... maybe she'll wear it down more often, as a result.

Anyway Hanako being all whiney left out sad boy is always my favorite... I love little sulking boy. I'm glad Nene is so kind with him. She really does her best for her little man. I love his overly specific ideas of what to do, lol.... Ah... he's very cute isn't he... yabai...

GETTING TO THE MEAT OF THIS ALL, though. Haha .. uah, I dunno... was Amane a Clockkeeper, is that the implication....? Clockkeepers are indentured into servitude in their first year, and serve for the duration of their time at Kamome...

on the first day no less, the Clockkeepers nab they boy. The Clockkeepers stage something to make a kid desperate... in Akane's case, they endanger Aoi, right in front of Akane..

is it possible...? Well at least, I don't see why not.... maybe yes maybe no...

if Amane has been trapped in this system for so much of his life, how miserable that would be... Akane was targetted by the Clockkeepers surely because of how devoted to Aoi he was, while Amane is naturally protective of his little brother....

I wonder if this is kinda 'moments before disaster' then...

We'll have our whimsy for now, imagining it, at least. Amane wouldn't have Teru there to make him special enchanted glasses, which are what allow Akane to live a somewhat normal life. Amane would have to see kaii everywhere! His power meanwhile, could only stop time for short durations... ah, I've always thought of him as so ignorant of the world of mysticism, so this would be such a shift....

I wonder what sort of measures are taken to keep Clockkeepers in line? Akane is a dutiful boy and even outside of Aoi, does as he's asked in most situations, easily cajoled into anything, as Aoi describes him... but Amane was a difficult boy who is often enough, defecting responsibility, by 2nd year (age 13) anyway....

I'd imagine there's a kind of mind-wiping of your Clockkeeping career post-serving in order to preserve mysteries... as much as the mysteries erase things suchas memories of missing students.

well, I would love the resentment and betrayal this would give Amane to recall! Feeling messed with, feeling manipulated, even after all of these years working as a mystery, mingling with No. 1.... aha, really made a fool of, every day, right? Again and again ... And just in time, if the Broadcast Club is angling to snatch the Clockkeepers....

whatever the case... let's get those damn Clockkeepers!! Whether you ruined Amane's school life or not... ! Aha, sounds like a good motivator to me, and even a good reason for Tsukasa to want to unpack some things to Amane.. what if all the mysteries have done, is ruin the Yugi's lives, ruin Amane's life? We really should tear the place apart then... and as often as possible, use those within the system suffering from it to do it....

uauuuhhhh I'm so worried Amane won't be able to keep his promise for any reason, and will again be too caught up in the mysteries world to enjoy a festival....

I wonder if even Nene-chan would prefer to miss the festival, than be without you, just like Tsukasa ... wouldn't your girlies always prefer to be with you, even if it means no rainbow cotton candy, no snacks, no plays.... ahhhh.

Nene-chan being so cute... Amane being so romantic.... them being such goons.... all so healingly precious... enough healing preciousness to balance out the looming dangers....

I hope you two get to do something wonderful and fun, at some point...

ugh...acting so handsomely....

acting too handsomely....

me too. Nene-chan.

its too much when he's being charming.... please spin him and send him to the ground, over and over and over, OK... I can't handle him like this.... but also, let's do everything in our power to give him everything he wants and appease his every ounce of neediness, OK? So that he can become an even greater monster of charisma, and then we can just die about it forever.

[tehriel]

Category is: Religious discourse with Papa Emeritus the Third

Chapter 5 of my long fic Character interaction is my fucking meat and potatoes my guy. I hope you enjoy religious discourse as much as I do. TW: Religious topics, vaccines, trumpet and heinous flirting

Before note: Our reader is a painter commissioned by the clergy to paint a portrait of Papa. They have recently been stabbed in the arm but have chosen not to involve the church because they want to get the work done and get out of there. They are also trying to keep Papa at arm’s length by playing a game of assumptions with eachother.

Chapter 5 - Blocking in

“You okay, caro Pittore?” He was watching you set up, leaned on the desk to the side, “You seem tired. You up all night partying without me, huh?”

It had been a couple days since your first session, and for some reason, sleep eludes those on a hit list. Contrary to what the detective might have said, finding the wounded asshole in the ghoul mask was not easy. You’d heard nothing about the case. You’d grown increasingly glad you had decided to keep the blade that was then sitting in your backpack feet away. The town was beginning to creep you out. It had the atmosphere of a Lovecraft novel, signs, symbols—Jesus chrimany! there were so many fucking churches for such a small town. Made you wonder if you should be drinking the tap water.

“Mm, yeah, late night working on commissions and an uncomfortable motel room bed.”

“Oh, so I'm not your only one?” He piqued a brow.

“Oh no, the others I do through the phone. Sit, Papa,” you smirked, stretched out your fingers, and gingerly patted your shoulder.

“You know there is a remedy to your uncomfortable motel bed. It's called ‘mine’.” He grinned and took his time to sit and arrange himself for you.

“Wow, we are starting out early today,” you mused, grabbing your brush.

“Hey, you uh, caught me off guard last time, you could say. And today, I am on top of my game.”

“Oh? Is that so?” You looked around the scene, feeling his eyes on you as you worked, “I’m blocking today; you don’t have to be super still again, just colours. It's kinda like a camera beginning to focus, going to be fuzzy for a while.”

“I have an answer for my question last time.”

“Oh, and which question would that be?” You begin mixing at your pallet, and the stretch of oil paint begins to rekindle.

“Why you began painting.”

You cocked your head with intrigue.

“You fell in love with someone so beautiful you wanted to capture them eternally.”

“Oh, Papa, I didn't take you for a romantic~” you chuckled.

“Do I not? Passion is an original fucking sin, old as time. To love something more than god, heh?” He shook a finger and clicked his tongue.

“Tell me about this love, woman, man, or other? Paint me a picture, Papa,” you smirked, testing his open-mindedness, but realised your hand was beginning to shake. They had been doing that since the attempt. Your left hand was being useless in all ways, too. You tried to loosen your shoulder, only to feel the pain of seven stitches.

“Hmmm, she was a… gymnast, flexible.”

“You know I made her use it,” you chirped along as you worked through your world coming loose.

He made a growl of agreement. “She was going to be an athlete, and though you originally fell in love with her, you then realised you fell more in love with painting her. So when you got into the most prestigious university in your home country, and she was to be in the Olympics, you tried long distance until you both inevitably let go. And that is the story of your long lost Lenoir.”

You realised your hands had stopped shaking to listen to him. You huffed a soft laugh, “I still dream of her, my Lenoir. I wonder if she even thinks of me these days.”

“It would be very fucking hard to forget you, caro Pittore,” He growled.

“Yikes, Papa, you’ll have me blushing,” you laughed off easily, brushing away his compliment, “And you? Any heartbreak in your midsts?”

“You tell me, Pittore.”

And you understood. He was saying it was a two-way street. If he couldn't know about you, he wouldn't let you in either. You respected it. “One word, Jeremy.” You were then more curious, figuring out how fruity Papa was.

He broke his pose for a moment to clutch his heart, “Ooft, tell me of my sweet Jeremy.” He returned to his position. You were always acutely aware of his hand placement on his thigh.

“You met him on a field trip with your satanic college(?).. yeah, if you can say catholic college, satanic college is correct,” you decided to yourself. He seemed quietly amused, “Multiple colleges, skill building. Your college hated his and visa versa, but you met him during…tug of war. You tripped over a stray ball from the field, and you both landed in a tangle.”

“Uh, huh, I like where this is going. Ah~ take me now Jeremy~” he made a lewd face.

“Cupid slapped you both; this is before when you believed in fate.”

“Nice callback,” he nodded along.

“It was meant to be, you know? But he kept getting caught up in the dogma of his college hating your college. Kept pulling away while simultaneously telling you that he loved you; really confusing shit, you deserve better, Papa.”

“Why does this one fucking hurt?” He laughed.

“Like a fool, you stayed until he finally had his fill of you, and then you returned to being your mother’s footrest.”

“Ah, look at us, so tragic. A miracle two people so fucking broken could find each other, si Pittore?”

“Let us cling onto each other forevermore, create a safe corner to lick each other's wounds. Us against the world, I will fix you, and you fix me.” You chuckled at the toxic nature of it all. You reflected on the story you made for him and frowned at yourself, taking a sip of water. Part of that was your experience with Rhea. Inspiration didn’t always come from nowhere; could he have done the same with some of his stories for you? No, you weren’t dissecting it. You would leave as strangers.

His eyes had also darkened. “Enough of heartbreak,” he waved off, almost forgetting he was still supposed to be posing for you. You saw... hurt, just a brief moment of it. You left a mark on his cheek in paint.

“Look at me, Papa,” you said, only realising your wording after—suddenly breaking off any of his notions.

“I am,” he said simply, and he became still.

You blocked in the square of his jaw. You watched the slight rise and fall of his chest, the slight shift of his painted lips and the bob of his throat swallowing. His eye, the white one, for the first time, you wondered if it was natural. The way he looked at you, you wondered how much of you he was seeing. “Beautiful,” you said to signal that he could relax again.

“Yes,” he said quietly but couldn't find any more words. He became tranquil, thoughtful. “Yes.”

You sipped your water, hands becoming clammy again, your attention shifting to the ghoul’s mask beneath his foot. You cursed yourself for squinting to see any signs of red powder.

“I… find myself wanting to talk to you, but I am… unsure how to talk without asking questions,” he admitted after a while.

“I can understand that,” you said softly, “I’m happy to discuss discourse, news… just nothing in personal history,” you shrugged, “I imagine we have wildly different world views, it could be interesting.”

“Discourse, huh? Hard questions, then how do you feel about the church, what with all your religious trauma and all?” He grinned, showing his teeth. It seemed he wanted to see you squirm because he was Papa. Because he is the head of the church.

You bit your tongue in thought, “Are we going to stay friends after this one?” You wondered out loud, giving him a cheeky look.

“We are friends, Pittore?”

You shrugged, “friendly?” You supposed. “Let's see,” you began blocking in the shapes of his gown; it would be challenging because the fabric ripples would change the next time. You would have to take a photo of this moment to rearrange him the best you could. You aimed up your phone. “I think faith is beautiful,” You said simply.

“I know what you mean—I sense a but.”

After taking some snaps, you returned to painting. “But,” you began, and Papa smiled, egging you on. “Churches are often… bad translations of original stories, people put their own spins on things, and teachings that are often good in theory can get distorted in any which way. Not to mention the hypocrisy…”

“Hypocrisy?” He arched a brow.

You hadn't looked at his face in a moment; you'd been on a roll. You hadn’t realised it, but though the discourse wasn't about you—it was a core belief. It was you. “Ah, it doesn't matter what I think.” You waved off in an effort to shove yourself back in the box.

“No, no, this interests me; I can see the hypocrisy in other churches, that makes sense to me, they fucking lie for control, make eternal promises for money, praise the elite, it's… but I cannot see it in my own.”

You ran your tongue over your teeth; you suggested discourse because you liked going in. But there was a struggle with wanting to keep Papa at arm's reach; then again, this might help with that. It might just frighten him away. “You told me about free will; that's a core Satanic belief, right?”

“Si.” He nodded fervently.

“and I haven't seen inside your church, so this is partly the assumptions game on my behalf, alright?”

“Si,” and he remembered he was supposed to keep still.

“You can relax your skull hand again, by the way,” You added absently. “I don't believe free will can exist within an established hierarchy because there can only be one Papa, correct?”

“You are correct.” He frowned lightly as he placed the skull down to stretch out his leathery fingers. His brow was almost always slightly downturned; beneath that makeup, you would guess they were nice eyebrows. You painted in a little gesture of them.

“What if it's another’s will to become Papa?”

“I supposed they cannot, but we treat everyone equally,” he debated, “it is our vow to protect the free will of others…” he explained, and it took a lot of him not to move his hands. You watched the fingers of his right-hand flicker on his thigh.

“I'm painting your other hand now,” you advised, “does ‘Papa’ come with power over others? Does it encroach on their free will?”

“I, of course, am trying not to, you know, it's very fucking important to me.”

“Then does that encroach on yours?”

You watched him beginning to unfold a little.

“There is a silent expectation in the church. This portrait wasn’t your will; it was the will of the church.”

“It is my will that the church is sated in all ways possible,” he said so with a purr of confidence as he relaxed into his conviction.

“And what about my will, hmm? As someone not a part of the church?”

“Oh, your will? What is your will, dear child?”

“What if…” you had a think, “What if I want to be Papa?”

“I can call you Papa if you would like; not sure it would be recognised.”

“You'd call me Papa?” Your smile twisted.

“Of course, Papa,” he raised his chin with a half-lidded smirk.

“Feels like you did that on purpose.”

“I don't know what you mean~”

“And if I want to wear your pope-hat?”

“That would deny my free will because it is my fucking mitre.”

“You don't want to give me your pope-hat?”

“No, you disrespect it. You call it fucking ‘pope-hat’.” His chin jutted out slightly.

“Fine, you acknowledge some power play here, so can anyone hold a sermon?”

“It's true; the cardinals, sisters, and I are the only ones who generally hold mass.”

“What, everyone else's voices don’t matter?” You were teasing.

“All voices matter.. unless they're fucking stupid, like trumpet.” He growled ‘trumpet’, “I don’t think we’ve ever been asked.”

“So, if it was my free will to hold a sermon?” You arched a brow.

“Then, as someone who upholds free will, I make it happen.”

“What if I want to make it about Jesus Christ riding a donkey, in the literal sense? Or inflated Christian fan fiction teachings?” You were just having fun with him at that point.

“Then that wouldn't be very fucking respectful to the free will of the church, would it?”

“And if it was my free will to be disrespectful?” You grinned.

“Then you would be a fucking brat,” you don't know when he started breathing deeper. His usual growl hindered on a groan.

“No, Papa, it wouldn't,” you shook your head, and he tilted his. “Brats like the idea of someone who’d tame them or try to. That hinders my freedom; why would I want that? I want someone whose free will aligns with mine to run wild and free like a twin flame that burns the sky. I want no hierarchy.” Your cheeks flushed, and you reminded yourself you only painting a portrait.

He was biting his lip, “is it still your will to hold a sermon?”

“Only because I don’t think Sister Imperator would allow it,” you chuckled behind your canvas.

“Sister? But I am fucking Papa,” he frowned.

“Go on then, Papa, show me what free will is worth,” you stuck your head out and challenged with a smirk.

He shook a finger at you, “I will make this happen. I will show you my church isn't hypocritical.. or it's trying not to be,” he amended.

“On that note, how many women or people of colour have been Papa?”

He made a fizzling noise, “Fuck. alright, alright, we are a forward church but there are things that still need addressing, yes. We already celebrate the female orgasm, but I happen to also like the idea of a woman of colour being my fucking Papa,” he informed unabashedly. “Things are fucking sticky sometimes. If you want to go there, where do vaccinations sit with your absolute ‘free will’. Huh?”

“Hey, you're a church; that’s more of a you thing.”

“So you have no answer?” He looked pleased with himself.

“Well, like your free will is your ‘mitre’, free will is also a person’s health. To endanger another person’s health is to take away their free will, yeah? Vaccinations are for the populis as well as the individual. Get jabbed.”

“I hate how fucking quick that was for you. But spoken like a true Papa of the church.”

“I studied philosophy and art at university,” you explain, absently filling in the chair’s golden form.

“I see why you have problems with the church. Did you really not grow up in a heavy catholic boarding school?” He asked without realising.

“Catholic college, because it was the only school in town. It wasn't particularly traumatising, but it did cordon off some ways of thinking until later in life. Also, incense reminds me of taking naps in forced mass,” you answered without thinking before touching your lips as if to take it back.

“Fuck, I apologise,” he began.

“It's okay…I started it,” you ended and looked away to the sun as it began to dip.

“No, it isn’t. I… I uh, understand there are times it is scary to let new people in. We didn’t meet at the right time.”

“That’s…” you shook your head and sighed, disengaging with the conversation. “I really didn't get very far again.” You looked over your work, “I can put more hours in the background before I see you again….”

“I want to be here for it,” he said stubbornly, “and before you say another fucking thing about underpaying you… I think you're being too nice.”

You began washing and whacking your brushes to the drop sheets below. “Too nice?” Where was this coming from? “You can relax; we’ve run out of light for today, the downside to using natural light.”

He pulled himself out of the chair with a moan you pretended to not hear, “You could stand to be meaner. You just tore my church a new unholy hole; you did not fucking care whether I liked what you had to say or non. It was.. beautiful discourse. I see you care for big-world concepts but leave some care for yourself, too, Pittore. I see you working hard. You should take what you fucking deserve.”

He’d stunned you into fumbling for words before you could adequately hide again, “Is this a religious teaching from Papa Emeritus the Third himself?” You looked in mock surprise, covering up hurriedly in humour.

“Hey, I'm being fucking serious. Know your worth… I can see it. I, uh, found your Wikipedia page,” he looked sheepish before he stretched and looked away from you.

He sounded like Marie, and you also liked how his accent tackled 'Wikipedia page’. “Oh, did you now? What does it say about me~?”

“Ah, I didn't read much; I wanted to see your work. You are very impressive, caro Pittore.”

“Thank you,” you didn't let the compliment sink particularly deep. That would mean caring about Papa’s opinion, and you wouldn't allow yourself. You deliberated—fine, “I googled you too,” you peeked up from spraying your pallet to store in an airtight place.

He was smiling.

“I like your voice, Papa.”

Then he was grinning. “Grazie, Caro.”

You both stood there momentarily before remembering you were storing things.

He leaned against the desk and stretched out some more, which came with interesting hip movements. “We have a mass tonight; Cardinal Copia is taking it, so I didn’t have to prepare. I think you’d like him. He thinks entirely too fucking much, all the books and all the ‘discourse’... If you wanted to come…” he shrugged as if it made no difference.

“I…” and then you remembered your last nights of terror, of the endless dark. The nightmares of waking up to a man in a ghoul mask standing over you. Your left arm arched. You didn't particularly want to go back to your motel room. “Will there be nuns?”

He chuckled, “Yes, but I will keep them at bay. I am very talented at that sort of thing~”

“You know I wasn't kidding about the incense putting me to sleep?”

“I'm sure I could keep you awake all fucking night if you wanted me to,” he promised, voice low.

“How did you ever get so quick on your feet?” You laughed, pretending whatever he had to say had no effect on you whatsoever.

“I uh, practice rigorously.”

“Well, maybe I am curious to see what a black mass looks like; just how hypocritical could it be?”

“Then I am honoured to be a part of your first.”

You scrubbed your hands in the turps bucket. People think artists' hands are soft, but they’d be incorrect. Marie’s, maybe. You moved on to a rag, then would wash them in a bathroom when most convenient.

Papa had the look of someone wanting to look at your painting but knew he could not.

“Soon,” you promised.

“Not too soon, I hope,” he said honestly.

“You really are….” you sighed.

“Fucking brilliant, uh?”

“Not what I was going to say.”

“I need to change; I don’t want to upstage the cardinal.” He opened the door for you and stepped to the side.

“Oh, is the pope-dress too much for the event, am I overdressed then?” You lead out to the hallway and wait for him to show you the way.

“Pope-dress?!” He raises a finger to his lips, “This is a test; firstly, I'm happy to wear dresses. Secondly, this is not a fucking pope-dress. It's a chasuble, and before you say anything, this is not a ‘pope-scarf’; it is a pallium.”

You were just laughing at this point. “Oh, that so is a pope-scarf.”

“So fucking uncultured,” he chuckled and scanned over your smile. “Ah, looks like you need to get cleaned up too.” He reached for a moment but let his hand fall, “uh, your cheek has paint on it.”

“Oh? So does yours; I just wanted to fit in around here.” You made no move to get it; you'd deal with your appearance in a mirror.

“Ah, I see what you have done. Is it because you are the new Papa?”

“Exactly.” You gingerly touched your left shoulder in curiosity. It was hurting more than it had that morning, feeling hot. You might need to check you haven't split anything.

~~~

If you like this kind of thing, I am adding to it every day on archive c: It is completed and in editing phase~ https://archiveofourown.org/works/44321002/chapters/111461152 

[imbonewary]

Shifting Sans Chapter 12 "Taking a Hike"

~

Chapter 1 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 13

~

Equipped with a pair of boots that felt oddly natural on my feet, I followed Frisk out of the Ruins. We wove around rocks and rubble as glowing mushrooms lit our path and the distant sound of water echoed through the streets as they slowly became more tunnel-like. We were likely somewhere under Waterfall but it was hard to tell. It was surprisingly peaceful, though, considering how wound up I’d been recently. I can’t decide if the lack of other monsters was creepy or calming.

“What is the Deep, anyways?” I asked, just to fill the silence. “I don’t think we had anything like that where I’m from.”

“The Deep is a labyrinth of lava tunnels filled with monsters that don’t participate in polite society,” Frisk answered as he clamored over a particularly large boulder blocking the path before offering me a hand up. “Or at least, that’s how it’s usually described to me anyways. I know some of the shadier experiments from the Labs happened down there but even before that it was kinda lawless, I think. Monsters that couldn’t or wouldn’t conform to society’s standards live down there, where might makes right and everyone only looks after themselves. Not that I’d know anything about that kind of attitude,” Frisk looked back at me with a cheeky grin.

“Even in my day,” Chara interjected from somewhere over our heads, audible but invisible. “a common saying from the Deep was “kill or be killed”. Some say that something down there can influence a monster’s soul, making them more aggressive, more likely to accept that kind of mindset; it's part of why the Ruins stand abandoned now. Many tests were conducted but all were inconclusive at best.”

“Quit being spooky, Chara!” Frisk laughed. I could feel a cold sliver of fear buried under a bold heat. The kid’s literally haunted and he’s afraid of ghost stories?

“Probably a psychological trigger then,” I nodded absently. The path was smoothing out and I could feel the temperature slowly dropping as the path wound upward. “Just knowing you’re exposed in a place that’s unprotected can do that.”

“Probably. Sans lives in the upper parts of the Ruins,” Frisk continued. “Which is at the upper part of the Deep, and most entrances to both have been blocked off, so anyone trying to get between The Deep and the rest of the Underground would have to pass by his place. Being a boss monster, Sans is no pushover and has a bit of a reputation in the Deep; most monsters don’t mess with him and sometimes injured monsters will ask him for help, if they can swallow their pride. I explored a lot of it during the resets but not so much this time around. Nothing like that where you’re from, huh?”

“Nope, closest we had was an abyss that we could never fully explore,” I replied as we stopped at a stream with small bits of ice building up on the sides. We must be close to the Snowdin side of Waterfall. “Sans’d have my head if I let you walk around Snowdin in wet clothes. Lemme see if I can still do a shortcut, haven’t tried since I got here…”

I held up my hand, cautiously going through the magic motions; I wanted to be ready in case it imploded or something. Reaching for that old, familiar window, I mentally tossed the other opening to the opposite side of the stream but when the portal itself opened, way too much magic flooded into it, making what should’ve been a hand-sized hole in reality suddenly explode over my head and I immediately shut it down with a gasp and a step back. The thin line around the opening and the opaque screen separating the two realities should’ve been blue, the usual color of my magic, but there was definitely some mottled red bits bleeding through.

Right, so the influx of soul magic must’ve affected how much pressure is in the hose. Just have to adjust for that. At least the magic pathway is the same, even if the magic coming out of it is slightly altered.

Good thing I was cautious.

I squared my shoulders to try again but felt that building determination from before and caught myself, folding my wings tight against my back. I really don’t need any extra fire power behind my magic right now. Shaking my head I tried again, slowly letting the pressure build until I could call forth the hand-sized portal again, careful to keep the overwhelming power in check and only drip what I needed into it. The window opened, chest-sized rather than hand-sized, but definitely more blue with only a faint flicker of red now and again. I could feel the different magic types, my own calm blue against the fiery red that I assume was coming from the soul piece. I’ll have to tease the two apart more later, but for now…

I glanced through the gate, then across the stream, confirming that it was stable before opening the shortcut wide enough to walk through, beckoning Frisk to follow. They did without hesitation but upon reaching the other side and dismissing the shortcut, letting my wings relax, I felt what I can only describe as a sigh of relief, but not from Frisk. I guess Chara had her concerns, which may not have been unfounded, all things considered.

“Well that was an experience,” Frisk said with a grin as they started walking again. “Guess your shortcuts are different than Sans’s.”

“Yeah,” I fell in behind them. “I noticed that when he shortcutted me home last night.”

Was that really just last night? It feels like ages ago. And I called it home. I didn't even think about it. I shook my head. 

“What happened that first time, anyways?” I could see their breath now. “You looked uh… surprised.”

“Oh, uh,” I stumbled slightly. “How do I explain?... I said I absorbed a piece of the human’s soul, right? Well human souls have a lot of magic potential and my body decided to accommodate the influx by making these wings.” I ruffled them slightly. Dunno if I'd made that obvious to them before. “But that can’t account for all of the magic I’ve gained so it’s like shaking a carbonated soda bottle; the magic was pressurized so I had to open the bottle very slowly and carefully to avoid making a mess. I thought I’d opened it slowly enough the first time but it started to overflow so I screwed the lid back on in a hurry. Does that make sense?”

“I think so,” Frisk replied. “Do you think that’s part of why your magic has been on a hair trigger this morning? Like, you can feel the pressure and it’s been leaking out more?”

“That… is a good question,” I mused. “That might explain some of my jumpiness, at least.”

Frisk shivered. We’d been walking through a misty fog for a few minutes now but the temperature had dropped suddenly and I was now acutely aware that Frisk hadn’t brought a jacket, just wearing a long sleeved shirt, blue with yellow stripes.

“Snowdin’s just through here,” Frisk said, ignoring the cold. “This place is always misty because of Waterfall’s warm humidity meeting Snowdin’s chill. I call it Misty Pass but I don’t think it has a true name.”

The mist suddenly faded, rising to obscure the roof of a large opening containing a very familiar little settlement. Stalactites pierced the mist occasionally, reminding me that it wasn’t just a layer of clouds and we were, in fact, still underground. I knew this wasn’t my Snowdin, but at least the familiar crunch of snow under my feet was comforting.

Even if those feet were covered in boots rather than slippers.

Ignoring the niggling conflict of wrongness and rightness in my soul, I followed Frisk down the street, lit with lamps and salvaged Christmas lights. It reflected off the snow and the mist to create a warm glow that didn’t really have a source.

Frisk shivered again.

“Need a jacket?” I asked, grabbing the front of mine in offering. “The cold doesn’t bother me much.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Frisk waved me off. “We’re almost there anyways.”

“You sure?”

“If I thought I’d need one I would’ve grabbed one.”

“Ok, if you’re sure.”

“I am sure.”

“Right.”

“Besides, we’re here.”

We approached a familiar house on a familiar street but instead of being lined with colorful lights like mine had, these lights were all white or off-white. It made it look sterile compared to the cheerfully careless colors I was used to. Just one more difference.

I let Frisk knock while some bystanders walking down the street stared at me and I pretended to not notice.

“Frisk!” I jolted back to the present. “Why are you still not wearing a jacket?!” Papyrus admonished. “You’ll catch your death of cold!”

“Awe~ it warms my heart that you care,” Frisk grinned cheekily. Does the kid even know how to smile any other way?

“Ugh, you belong with Sans, alright,” Papyrus groaned. “Get in here, lunch is almost ready.”