#its interesting to think about how long fish could hold it

[the-exiled-comic]

In another ask when you said that if Firespots hadn't done his righteous quest then eventually Fishwhisker or Petalsong would have done it, do you mean one of them would have gotten rid of Crowstar? I think that's interesting and while i know neither girls like Crowstar I am wondering about if/how they would even get to that point to do that to her? (Even tho crowstar is a war criminal both fish and petal are too young to know about the REAL atrocities like Firespots would have seen) Or if you meant something else by finishing his (Fire's) quest?

yeah something like that. theres a lot of ways it could play out, if firespots didnt kill or anyone or antagonize treeclan but remained fishpaw's friend, something (likely starclan/the prophet) would inspire her to make a change. something very key about fish and fire is that they both know things do not have to be this way, they just don't have the best ideas on how to get there. not like getting there is easy when it comes down to the way crowstar is reluctant to change (shes pretty mellowed out now post-lightning strike, but in this scenario she wouldnt have been smited like that yet)

fishwhisker and petalsong are ride or die, so whatever plan one came up the other would back them up. i believe they would be able to start some kind of civil war against crowstar, they would find allies in sunheart and winterwing, talondusk as well. i can see cats like cloverfall and whisperleaf still becoming casualties in this (instead being killed by crowstar or sandywing) which would both just make the girls even more angrier and determined to end this

this was one of the earlier drafts actually (there were many lol) where fishwhisker ends up getting exiled from an oceanclan that *she* broke. though i changed that in the final draft because while firespots and fishwhisker will always make a lot of the same choices... she's not nearly as far gone as he is, she still has perseverance to try bring her clan to a better era without just murdering all the annoying old people. whereas firespots has lost faith in that route entirely

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

45 / 1.9k / soap soulmate au, part 11

...

Mercenaries can be paid off for just about anything.

So when Price rings your cell phone to propose a trade—Laswell had your number, naturally—Horangi has no qualms with fishing it out of your pocket. You glare at him, but he doesn’t bother giving you anything more than a dry look before he answers it.

You hear Price’s voice from the speaker in Horangi’s ear. "Was wondering what was taking you lot so long."

Horangi sighs. It never ends, apparently. "What do you want?" he asks.

"Just to talk," Price replies. "What's your rate?"

"Come again?" Horangi asks.

"We're all soldiers here. Unfortunate that our mission came at the cost of yours, but we can all walk away happy, hm? I want to make sure you don’t go uncompensated. That’d be a shame."

Horangi scowls, but one of your squadmates in the back seat grips your shoulder and shifts his weight toward the phone in obvious interest.

"What do you have in mind?” Horangi asks.

"First, your rate."

"Too rich for your blood."

"Try me."

Horangi narrows his eyes. Then he shrugs and throws out a number. It's far more money than KorTac’s real fee, but before you can decide whether to say something, Price speaks again.

"We'll double that."

"Will you now?"

"I will. Even pay you all directly if you like. No need to involve the company. Just keep your handler’s cut for yourselves. I won’t say a word," Price says. "That should be good enough, shouldn't it?"

Horangi leans back, tapping the steering wheel in thought, but you can tell he's interested now. "What's the job?"

"Not a job, really. Just a favor. Let us have custody of your songbird, and the money's yours. Make up some story about how she got away or got shot if you need a scapegoat. We’ll turn a blind eye if you prefer. Keep the record nice and clean."

Horangi glances at you. “Songbird’s worth a lot to the company.”

“You’re not the company, now are you? You already did the damn job. You should get paid. You and your team.”

He likes the sound of that. Price's offer turns both of your situations into something everybody can be pleased with. Get the mercs paid for what they lost. They get the girl. Fine by him. He hums in thought. “Cash in hand.”

There’s a beat of silence on Price’s end. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Cash in hand,” Horangi says again. “Or no deal.”

“Are you sure about that? Wired funds spend just as well as cash.”

“I can afford to be picky, my friend.”

Another long pause. “Is that so?”

“Apologies. I’d be happy to consider your deal if I hadn’t already made a better one with someone else. He’s willing to pay cash.”

“Who?”

Horangi scoffs and ends the call. He tosses your phone into the backseat floorboards and ignores your stare burning into the side of his head. “Don’t worry, rookie,” he tells you. “You know it’s a better deal than you’d get back at base. You’ll thank me one day.”

…

But you don’t make it back to base.

It’s an ambush. A trap—Horangi doesn’t see the charges on either side of the road until it’s too late, and the truck transporting you flips forward onto its roof. One minute, you’re feeling the melted snow in your boots; the next, you’re looking down at the road through the windshield. Then you’re coming to in a haze of gunfire and hoarse voices barking call-and-response orders all around you.

It’s not until your teammates have evacuated the wrecked truck that you attempt to move yourself and do the same. Maybe they plan to come back for you; maybe they think you’re dead. Maybe you are dead. You really fucking hope not. Whatever death has in store for you, it had better not force you to contend with the agonizing pain of a dislocated shoulder and broken glass buried in every second nerve ending.

You push against the seatbelt holding you to the seat, having to twist out of your coat just to slump to the pavement. You’re still ziptied, but you have to move. If whoever laid this ambush finds you, you're done for.

Somehow, all you can think about is Johnny. If he could see you now, he’d never let you hear the end of it. He’d lecture you like a goddamn recruit. You hate how much you want to see his stupid face get angry at you again.

There’s a long lull in the gunfire. Then the sound of approaching footsteps. Someone curses and orders the others to “spread out,” searching for your scattered teammates—for survivors.

Your teammates aren’t coming. You’re on your own.

Then you remember Price’s call and Horangi swiping your phone from your pocket.

Desperately, you shoulder your way back into the wreckage. Somehow, you find it. The screen is cracked, but it still lights up when you wrestle your bound wrists under your feet and touch the screen. Thank Christ. You redial Price's number from the call log.

He picks up on the first ring. "Go for Price."

"I need to talk to Johnny."

There's a moment of crackling silence through the line. Then: "Soap's tied up at the moment. What's going on?"

"I don't know. Ambush. The car flipped." You wince, feeling broken glass cut into your shoulder. The slushy pavement under you is turning ruddy. Oh, that’s your blood. "It's bad."

Price swears under his breath. "Where are you?"

"Near the base of the mountain. In the side. There's a... a lot of trees. Twenty hostiles. I think. I can't see."

"Stay put. We'll find you. Don’t do anything stupid in the meantime."

"I want to talk to Johnny."

"For God’s sake. You can talk to him in person when we find you. Just sit tight."

"Let me talk to my goddamn soulmate," you hiss. You put as much venom into your voice as you can, but even you hear how weak you sound.

Price says something away from the speaker you can't quite make out. There's shuffling and then another familiar voice picks up, low and gruff, and tinged with a Scottish burr.

"Hen?"

The wave of relief that sweeps through you renders you mute for a second.

That makes the worry in his tone swell. “You okay? They hurt you?"

The concern in his voice has your throat tightening. Dammit.

Before you can reply, there's another burst of gunfire and a hostile voice much too close by for comfort. You grab the phone and edge your way further into the tenuous safety of the wreckage. You clutch the phone in your hands, barely clocking the glass screen digging into your palm.

The sound of your voice cutting out over the line triggers Soap’s anxiety all over again. He curses up a storm on the other end, his voice rising with every word and the urgency in his tone growing as he calls you by name.

You hear more footfalls, but whoever it is, they don't seem to notice you. You've not been gunned down yet, at least. You need to find somewhere safer.

Peering around the wreckage, you look for somewhere else you can hide. The tree line is close. You don't know how long you'll last in the snow no matter what, especially without your coat—but cold cover is safer than none. Staying under a leaking, gasoline-filled truck carcass isn’t a good long-term plan.

Soap’s voice rises over the line. "Dammit, say somethin'!"

Finally you do. "Johnny?"

"Jesus." Soap closes his eyes, hoping like hell he's not about to hear you get shot, or captured, or worse. He can already tell by the rough sound of your voice that he's not going to like what you say next. "I'm here," he says quickly, trying to keep the worry from his own voice. "Where are ya?"

"I’m an idiot. I'm sorry for everything I put you through. I shouldn’t have been so stubborn about..." You let out a harsh sigh. "You. Just wanted to tell you that."

It suddenly feels like there's a block of ice lodged in Soap’s chest. "That a goodbye, darlin'?" he says.

"I'm doing my goddamn best. Alright?"

"That’s a sorry fuckin’ excuse. You’re aways doing your best," Soap snaps. An ugly, hard thread of bitterness creeps into his tone. "Trouble is you always choose the worst way of goin’ about it. I’m not lettin' you go like this.”

"I know it's my fault," you retort. "Okay? I should've listened to you. Are you happy to hear me fucking say it?"

"Does it look like that's gonna fix things?" Soap’s voice rises with every word now. His temper is frayed at the edges. "No, I'm not bloody happy. I don't want apologies. I don't want some grand realization. I just want you to survive. You're damn right you fucked up. And you've got a lot of work to do to make it up to me, so you'd best stay alive. You hear me?"

You swallow, clutching the phone tighter in your hands.

"Answer me."

"I'll try."

"No. You'll do," Soap says in a voice that brooks no argument. His voice drops low again, but the anger is still there. "You will make it back to me. You'll do whatever it takes. You don't get to leave me alone after all the trouble you gave me. I'll not hear one more sorry excuse."

God. You want him so bad it hurts. You close your eyes, concentrating on the pain of the glass in your skin and your dislocated shoulder to sharpen your focus. "Fine."

"That's my girl." The words come out rough, heated, and tinged with something like pride. "You just stay put," he says. "We'll find you."

You tense as another set of voices raise in aggravation nearby. The longer you stay here, the greater the chance you'll be seen. "I have to go," you say lowly into the phone. "Need better cover."

"Stay on the line," he says quickly. "Do not hang up. Hen!"

You bring your ziptied wrists down hard on the edge of your boot—and again, and again, pain radiating up your arm—until it finally snaps.

With your hands free, you pull yourself out from under the wreckage and away, leaving Soap on the line to hear nothing but shouting and gunshots.

Soap listens through the phone, biting down hard on the curse that threatens to tear free. He can't lose you. He's going crazy imagining the worst right now. His mind is all too happy to cycle through a parade of gory images. No. No, you can't go, not like this.

He'd give anything to be a knife on your belt right now. A bullet in your gun. Anything but this—this utter fucking helplessness. He can’t do anything but sit on the other end of a line and listen. It's torture.

Even with Price at the wheel, racing all of them toward the bottom of the mountain.

"We'll make it, Soap," is all Price says.

Soap nods, but he barely hears it. All he can listen to is the sound of gunfire through the phone and the cold, visceral rage in the pit of his stomach. He'll claw his way to you with his bare hands if he has to. It doesn’t matter how much blood and sweat it costs him to get you back. You’d better keep your word and stay alive to make it up to him.

...

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / [part 11] / part 12

more Soap / masterlist

[sanguineterrain]

I am FERAL over your knight Jason thought. FERAL!!! Okay check this out: so Jason's ignoring reader because he feels guilty right? Maybe he tried to give them back but the king wouldn't allow it. But maybe the reader misunderstands and thinks they're not doing their "duties" so they make dinner and breakfast and wash his clothes and basically act like a perfect spouse. How would Jason react? 👀

Dear god... I feel another series coming on...

Idkidk, their dynamic is just really interesting to me! it's probably gonna be a bit of a slow burn here. Feel free to send more thoughts about them. I am rotating these two like a rotisserie chicken in my brain.

knight!jason todd x gn!reader. ambiguous time period but just assume it's olden times *gestures vaguely*. tw arranged marriage/forced relationship but it's complicated! jason is full of angst and self-loathing but he's a sweetie as per usual. original post for context.

****

The soldier—Jason—has said four words since you've arrived.

The first was "here," which he said whilst handing you a mug of milk. He didn't look at you as he said it, and that morning, he left for a five-day long station. You only know that because he said, after handing you the milk, "I've been stationed."

You realized it was five days when you heard his horse galloping towards the house... five days later.

You haven't initiated conversation because though you're a commoner, and no one ever had much hope for you to become anything but an old spinster, you know not to challenge knights.

But this is fucking ridiculous.

"Do you like veal?" you ask on your fourteenth day here.

Jason is about to leave, his boots half laced. He freezes at your question and looks up.

You stand tall, chin up. This is a normal question. A question a wife would ask her husband, except you're not a wife, and you're pretty sure this soldier isn't a husband either.

"I like veal," he says carefully, slowly. "Would you like me to fetch some from the market?"

Now, this is where it gets tricky. When the king summoned you, he made it clear that you were expected to care for Jason under his rules. You don't know how to navigate this world. You know what couples in your village do, but you don't know what's expected of you here.

"Actually, I..." Jason looks at you. His eyes are very green. He has a surprisingly sweet face under his helmet. "Actually, I was wondering if I could go. On my own."

"Oh."

You brace yourself for arguing or yelling. True, he hasn't raised his voice once, but he also hasn't said much at all. It's like living with a ghost.

"Yes, of course. Of course you can go." He fishes out a pouch of coins and gives them to you. You take it slowly, waiting for him to realize his mistake. He doesn't.

"Thank you," you say.

He nods and watches you walk.

"Wait."

You stop. Here it comes.

"There's a cargo ship in port today. The guards rotate at noon."

He leaves before you can form a thought. You hold the coins, watching blankly as the door shuts behind him. His horse whinnies, and then he's gone.

The market isn't far from the cottage. It's fantastic to be outside again. No one's noticed your absence, clearly, but that's alright. You've never expected more.

You buy a good cut of veal and potatoes and carrots and apples. Jason gave you more money than any cut of meat would cost, so surely he assumed you would buy other food. Why else would he give you so much?

A ship's horn drones in the distance. You're feeling some oranges when you remember his words. A cargo ship.

The sun is almost at its highest point.

"Oi! Either buy 'em or stop feelin' 'em!" the seller snaps.

You roll your eyes and move on from the orange stand. You can see the horizon of where the sky meets the sea from here. Any moment, the guards will change, and the ship will be...

You stop. Was Jason hinting at your escape?

No, he couldn't have been! That's preposterous. Why would he want you gone? The king took you for a reason.

And where would you go anyway? Once you leave, you'd be a criminal forever. You couldn't make a home on your own. And who knows what could happen in between? Pirates, enemy soldiers, anybody could snatch you up.

This must've been a test. A test to see if you would run. That's why he agreed to you going so easily.

No, your escape can't be planned now. Not when you're so obviously uncomfortable, and Jason knows it.

You ignore the ship and go home with your purchases. You spend the rest of the afternoon preparing veal stew. You warm leftover bread over the fire and set a pot of butter on the table.

Jason comes in louder than he has before, humming quietly. You perk up at the sound, happy for the lack of silence.

You set a bowl of stew at his chair and wait by the fire. As soon as he enters the kitchen, the humming stops.

"Welcome home," you say, wringing your hands. "I made supper."

Jason glances at the table, then back at you.

"You came back," he says.

"Why wouldn't I?" you ask, face neutral as you cut the bread into chunks.

"That—did the ship come?"

"Yes."

Jason sits. His face is dirty from training.

"I bought more than veal," you say, and hand him the pouch. "I hope that's alright. We—there were no more potatoes."

He takes the pouch, rubbing the string tied around the top. "You went to the marketplace... and came back."

It's not a question, but it sounds like there might be one behind it.

"Certainly," you say. "I'm loyal to you, Jason. I serve you."

He looks up, blinking rapidly. Then he looks back at his stew.

Oh, right. He's waiting for you to ask permission to sit.

"May I join you?" you ask.

Jason flinches. "You don't... you don't have to ask. I would never stop you from eating."

The words hang in the air. It's like neither one of you can speak right.

You watch him, and he watches you as you serve yourself and sit on the opposite side of the table. Jason takes the first bite, and you eat right after.

"Is the supper satisfactory? Have I done well?" you ask.

Jason stops chewing and sets his spoon down. You're struck by his shift in demeanor. You worry for a moment you've screwed up something as dim-wittingly simple as stew.

His eyes are sad as they fall on you. It's akin to grief, the pain he wears, but you don't know why he's grieving. You silently offer him more bread, pushing it toward him. He takes it.

"Yes," he says quietly and eats another spoonful. "You did. Thank you for supper."

Jason cleans his bowl three times. You have no stew leftover, which pleases you.

But as soon as Jason finishes eating, he gets up, rinses his bowl, and wordlessly leaves.

You don't see him for the rest of the night.

Somehow, you feel lonelier than when you weren't speaking.

[temis-de-leon]

When Greed is too much

Characters: Mammon x gn!MC

Main Masterlist

M. Anon: good day, tennis. im an anon who lurks around your work. i find your work fascinating and I hope you may make a small oneshot for me. can you make a mammon x reader fanfiction? the pronounce doesn't matter. and the fanfiction could be about mammon and reader sneaking out frequently because mammon likes to gamble and they get caught one day and mammon took all of the blame for himself. i think it would be a good idea for a oneshot. but putting that aside, I adore your work. i like how you describe everything and your headcanons are interesting. i hope you can keep uploading. sending platonic loves.

A/N: I got a little distracted and made Mammon feel guilty af instead of taking the blame, I'm sorry, I hope you like it anyways <3 A little reference right at the end

.

Mammon had a complicated relationship with money.

He loved it too much to hate it and he needed it enough to forgive the danger it brought within. He would inlay it under his skin if he could, if Lucifer let him, making him shine under the lights like a kaleidoscope.

Cold metal between his fangs to check its authenticity, smooth paper sliding through his fingers, hard plastic shaping his wallet. Jewellery, clothes, his car. He had them because he needed it in any way, shape or form, like water to fish, riches to him. A bottomless pit that got bigger and bigger the more he threw in.

His fingers were longer and thinner than his brothers’ and more than once he had wondered if his sin had modified his body to easily indulge in it. He was also the fastest runner when he needed to and he could turn his words to honey if the situation required it. An opportunist thief, even if he disliked the term.

And he knew stealing wasn’t okay, but no amount of Lucifer’s punishments would stop him from doing so. He could manage hanging upside down for hours on end and, even when the lectures were painfully boring and made him want to die, sitting in the same position for as long as his brother decided was something he could live through. Lotan, or rather the flood it implied, was a bothersome threat and, although terrifying, the witches wouldn’t seriously hurt him unless Lucifer knew he could take it.

Still, constantly going through that was annoying, so he went to the next best thing, a place where condemned souls like him got together and did what pleasured him the most: bring money to the table. The wheel of fortune laid deep in his chest; sometimes he deceived himself, others, he was right.

Fortunately for his ego, his dignity and his integrity, Mammon had found his perfect lucky charm. Human shape and devoted to him, every time MC joined him in his escapades, his wallet came back home fatter than when they left. It was refreshing and addicting and it didn’t take him too long to actually need MC’s presence each time he left the house to gamble.

At first it was just once or twice every week and a half, then at least once a week, then three times a week, then every night. He would invite them to his room, taking advantage of the alibi their relationship offered, hang out and fool around until every single one of his brothers was asleep and then sneak out through the garage door.

It was a fun, bonding time between them. Holding hands while running from one corner of the town to another, pockets heavier and heavier as the night went by and clothes reeking of the cigars, alcohol and perfume of those who pushed them around amidst the chaos of the casino.

Mammon lived for all of that, especially now that MC was by his side, watching him thrive and win, over and over and over again. In their eyes, he succeeded and he was the one to carry the golden medal. Not his brothers, not their friends, him.

Eventually, he did what he did best and pushed his luck.

After an outstanding winning streak, they finally got to the night when everything went astray, losing every bet and every game, eventually finding themselves deep in debt with the casino and a bunch of furious patrons and, although begrudgingly, admitting that a period of restraint was long overdue.

And then they got home.

“When will you learn?” Lucifer said for the hundredth time while tightening the rope around his torso and trapping his hands behind his back.

“C’mon! It wasn’t that bad!”

He tried to smile to downplay the situation, but it came out wobbly and his fear was too obvious for his brother to ignore. Lucifer grinned with malice, eyes darkening in evil enjoyment before bending down to tie Mammon’s ankles together, slow in his movements and his words.

“Do you truly think this would’ve ended well? We both know you’re an idiot, but the limits you’re willing to cross outstand me. Bringing MC into this? Really? You moronic dimwit… I thought you would be the last to put them in danger. Alas, I was wrong”

“I’ve never put them in danger”

His immediate response brought Lucifer back to his feet, both of them now serious and locking eyes with each other. Mammon felt the rough edges of the rope scraping his skin, uncomfortably keeping him in place under his brother’s infuriated gaze.

“Taking them out of the house for hours every night, making them play games against lowlife demons and risking their safety for a few coins, what is that to you if not jeopardizing their life?”

“A few coins? We made ourselves rich!”

“Is that what bothers you about what I just said?”

“I’m telling you they were safe with me!”

Lucifer sighed, shaking his head in disappointment and going around Mammon. A noise coming from behind filled him with dread and he didn’t have time to beg for more time before something pulled his feet to the side and his body hit the carpeted floor. It barely softened the fall and soon his pained groans reached every corner of the staircase.

“You truly never learn”

“I’ll do it! I’ll learn! Please don’t leave me here! You can’t abandon your baby brother here, can’t you? It was an honest mistake!”

“Mammon”

After securing the rope around one of the beams from the ceiling, the eldest took a few steps down and looked at him from above. His voice was low, hopeless, and Mammon found that more hurtful than the strong grip around his limbs or the pounding on his head.

“You’re lucky MC’s heart shines brighter than mine” Lucifer said, leaving him speechless “One of these days you will go too far and I’m not sure who will be there to catch you”

“What…?”

“Rest well, Mammon” he continued to go down the stairs, not bothering to look at him anymore. He spoke one last time before disappearing completely. “And think about what I said, will you?”

Lucifer’s footsteps merged into the night, the lights turned off and, suddenly, Mammon found himself alone.

He was still wearing the clothes he’d chosen to go to the casino hours ago, jewellery dangling over his face and DDD threatening to fall out of his pocket. The screen lightened up, showing MC’s name, and the desperation to answer the call made him squirm enough to ultimately make the phone fall to the bottom of the stairs. He grimaced at the cracking sound.

Asmo would say it was karma for being a scumbag and he didn’t know if he should start believing that.

He wasn’t a scumbag, was he? MC was fine! Not a scratch in their pretty face to complain about and every bit of their outfit still in place and making them look even better. They had been smiling when they finally got to the garage door, shallowly breathing while they checked him out in search of any type of damage.

They were fine.

They had been smiling because they’d been having fun. Or was it out of relief? Heart beating in fear, terrified about him and the punishment that awaited them both once Lucifer found them.

Mammon craned his neck, looking at the remains of his DDD with a sting in his throat. Why did MC call him? Were they mad at him? Did they have enough? The thought of actually putting them in danger for a piece of metal, easily ripped paper or soon to be frozen plastic made his hear stop in panic.

He was a fast runner, an immortal demon with wings. It was easy for him to flee and leave his troubles behind, but MC didn’t have the same advantages. They were a human, flesh and soul in close proximity, easy to eat and forget.

A gasp escaped him at the image of his partner being tore apart and he shook his head trying to chase it away, but it was no use. He closed his eyes and it was there, like an omen or a reminder, Lucifer’s words roaring in his mind.

His name got louder and louder until It finally sounded right next to his ear. A hand cupped his neck and MC’s worried face appeared in his line of vision, but the remorse didn’t let him feel relief.

“Are you okay? Let me get you down. I got out as soon as I could, but I’m sure Lucifer knows I’m here anyways. What a way to end the night…”

He huffed at their whispers, his heart breaking piece by piece. Looking at MC and the way they carefully untied the knots, he knew Lucifer was right. The dumb human was too good for him and didn’t want to acknowledge it, choosing instead to stick by his side each day until it would be too late.

“I’m sorry” he finally said in a broken voice.

“For what, dummy?”

“I put you in danger”

MC chuckled, kissing his jaw before freeing his arms and watching the rope fall down. Mammon leaned forward until he touched his feet, noticing his body burning while he worked the knots that creased the leather in his boots.

“How did you put me in danger?” they asked with a hint of humour in their voice “As far as I know, I went with you willingly and we had a bad night. It was bound to happen after winning that much money”

“But they almost attacked us…”

“We got out of there just in time” MC interrupted him, then frowned and put their hands on their hips. “Did Lucifer said something to you?”

“No”

The lie was obvious and MC licked their teeth in poorly contained fury. Seconds later, Mammon finally set himself free and swung on the rope to reach the banister. Once he settled and stood straight, MC rushed to hug him. Both of them stayed silent and basking in the comfort that surrounded them.

He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to beg them not to reprimand Lucifer and he wanted to thank them for freeing him and staying with him beyond what he definitely deserved, but no words came out and forcing them would make him cry; and doing that in front of MC would definitely kill him faster than Lucifer could ever do.

In the end, none of them said anything, instead clinging to each other like their lives depended on it. Slowly, as if they were handling a wounded animal, MC grabbed his hands and lead him towards their room.

What did that human movie say?

He’d die for them. He’d kill for them. Either way, what bliss.

.

.

[wardenparker]

Woo hoo! big congrats on the 2.5k. now onto the prompt: I think a Dave York and "I'll protect you" combo could be interesting

Dave York. 1,269 words. "I'll protect you." Co-written with @absurdthirst

Wounded Dave, description of wounds, cursing, character holding a gun. Takes place directly after the events of Equalizer 2.

The address for the farm where you live is pretty straightforward. He’s had it since the day you closed on the property nearly ten years ago. Never needed it until now, but he’s glad that he had kept. Moving is slow, unable to be as stealthy as he once was with the nerve damage and loss of vision in one eye. It takes him nearly three days of watching the small clearing with several buildings before he decides to creep into the house when you are away.

Grocery shopping is only a small project, but you do it once a week at the break of dawn on Sunday morning when most of the devout town in the valley below your little farm is either at church or having a family meal. Most people don't bother with you after so long. You have your little farm and you're mostly self-sustaining at this point. There is fishing and hunting in the area so no one notices when a few extra fish or one more deer go missing every once in a while, and you only need to venture into the local grocery store for a ten minute trip of things you simply can't buy or make yourself.

Or sometimes, like today, you just need a little treat. A bag of chocolate chips and some bananas make their way back to the farm with you in what is probably your most decadent purchase in a year.

Something is different when you get to the farmhouse, though, and even the simple act of walking through the front door has you on high alert. The house feels different. Smells different. And you glance down at the threshold to see mud caked in your entry way. Just a dab of it, but it's enough to have you carefully and silently dropping your groceries inside the doorway and filling your hands instead with the gun you carry every time you leave the house. It's small, concealed, but effective.

"You have to the count of three to get out of my fucking house," you call to whoever it is that has snuck in, in your absence.

He’s got to give it to you, you haven’t slipped. Your senses are just as sharp as they had been when you left the team. Purposefully making noise to alert you to the direction he’s coming from, Dave manages to shuffle forward enough to step into the doorway. “Might take me longer than three seconds, Slim.” He huffs, calling you by the nickname that you had begrudgingly adopted when you realized it wasn’t an insult. They had been talking about your slender fingers and how you could do some of the delicate work they couldn’t. He’s exhausted and ready to collapse, but he keeps his lone eye on the gun in your hand.

You recognize his voice faster than his face. It's been ten years since the last time you saw Dave York and he's in rough fucking shape. In fact, he is the smell that first alerted you to your house being compromised when you got home. He reeks like three days in a swamp. But it isn't until he comes around the corner that you understand why.

"Fuck, Dave." One look at the wreck he's become after whatever the fuck happened to him and you're slipping the gun back into its holster and rushing forward to keep him upright long enough that he can make it to an actual seat instead of collapsing on your floor. "What the hell happened to you?"

“Bad day.” Dave jokes weakly, barely managing to not lean all his weight against you as you guide him to a chair. His wounds are still bleeding, seeping through the bandages that he’s managed to wrap around them and to be honest, he’s got a fucking infection or ten. “McCall.”

“Ah, fuck.” For whatever it’s worth, you never liked McCall that much. Too self-righteous. Smug about being intelligent. Sanctimonious to the point of irritation. Parting ways with the team a decade ago had been a blessing. “Is he gonna come track you down while I’m cleaning you up, or do we have time to figure out how bad a shape you’re actually in?”

Dave grunts in pain after he tried to shake his head. “He— he thinks I’m dead.” He hisses. “I should be.”

"Stop trying to move, you dumbass." 'Affectionate heckling' is what you once called the name calling on the team and apparently you haven't lost that touch. Although it shouldn't surprise you – the other reason you left the team when Dave and some of the other guys were getting into mercenary work is because you've had feelings for Dave York so long that it feels like part of your DNA at this point. "Let me get my kit and a wash basin. We'll get you cleaned up and rebandaged and figure out how fucked you are. Okay?"

“Same old Slim.” Dave grunts, but it’s warm, softer than he would have talked to anyone else on the team. Not that he can talk to them anymore. They’re dead. He thinks about Carol and the kids and his stomach twists, knowing that he has to stay away now. He will be a danger to them if he shows up again. His entire world is gone and now he has to figure out what to do.

"Do I even want to know what happened?" The farmhouse isn't large, and once Dave is leaning against the counter you dart across the room to scoop up your groceries and get the few cold things put away before you head into the bathroom to retrieve your first aid kit and a basin of clean water.

“Shit went sideways.” He can always be honest with you; in a way he couldn’t be honest with the team or with Carol. You know his soul. Even as dark as it is. “We tried to clean it up and there was a casualty that was McCall’s friend.”

“The rest of the team on your heels?” If they are, you’ll need to prep. There aren’t enough places for four guys to sleep in this house, but you’ll make it work.

“Everyone’s dead.” Dave murmurs quietly. There was no way anyone else survived. Hell, the only reason he survived was because the water was freezing. Slowing down the bleed out and the storm washed his body away before McCall could do anything else.

"Fuck." That has you stopping in your tracks, whipping around on the spot to turn and look him in the eye. The one he has that is still working well. The wreckage of the powerful man you had fallen in love with so many years ago and pined for ever since makes your chest ache in a hollow and long-forgotten sort of way. Like your heart had forgotten how to beat, but even the sight of a bruised and beaten Dave York is enough to bring it back again.

"Don't worry," you murmur, reaching out to put your hand over his. "We can keep you hidden up here as long as we need to." It's no small feat, but you have and would do far less for this man. "I'll protect you. I promise."

Closing his eyes, Dave relaxes, knowing you will keep your word. He’s always known you’ve had his back, even when you left the team. You left because of him, because of Carol, and not for the first time he wishes he had followed you. “I know, Slim.” He murmurs softly. “You’re the only one I trust. Always have been.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer @shakespeareanwannabe

My Masterlist!

[bookofthegear]

You decide to keep going north, although you do keep looking behind yourself to make sure the stairweight isn’t following you. You don’t think it could get through the doorway, but you’re not entirely sure.

Another open doorway on your left leads to a small, square room with absolutely nothing in it. Three joined lines, like a square with no top bar, are chalked on the inside wall beside the door. You poke in the corners of the room but find absolutely nothing of interest.

As you continue down the corridor, another glass fish tube emerges from the right hand wall. This one is as thick around as your thigh, and holds a single immense fish, a good four feet long, with skin like leather. Fish ID is not your strong suit, but it looks almost prehistoric, with catfish whiskers and a row of points down its back. You wonder how the hell it turns around. Presumably there’s a wider spot somewhere in this strange fish hamster-tube set up? And a feeding station? Or maybe the fish are immortal. Or maybe they’re not actually real, but made of clockwork, like the bees. Waterproof clockwork. Or they’re things like the stairweight and if you let your guard down…

Stop, you tell yourself. You’re letting this place get to you.

It’s the silence, probably. Everything has been so quiet since you left the frogs behind. You start whistling to make a small brave noise against the dark. Jimmy joins in after a moment, trilling in harmony. The fish ignores you both, tail moving lazily to hold its place in the invisible current.

Past the fish, on the right side, is a door. An actual door, not a concrete doorway! It’s made of weathered wood and has a clear cut glass doorknob. The sight is so incongruous that you stop and stare at it. It’s one of the first objects you’ve seen, other than the stained mattress, that looks like someone made it, instead of it just growing out of the walls in a strange extension of the labyrinth.

About ten feet down the corridor, a flight of stairs goes down.

[koji-haru]

Swap AU Part: 4

[One last update before I no longer have free time aaahhh]

It was yet another perfect day in Eden. Bright blue skies spotted with fluffy white clouds, midday rays warming up the inhabitants of the garden. Michael sat on a rock by the lake basking in the sun’s relaxing warmth, his lunch for today in a small woven basket beside him. The basket was filled with mangoes. Yellow mangoes. The soft, sweet and juicy kind, not those sour green ones Adam had given him before. Ever since Adam’s little trick on him, Michael had become more careful and observant of the fruits Adam offered him. He actually found it quite interesting to learn about the plants in the garden. To think that there were multiple variations of the same fruit, each differing in texture, smell and flavour. How despite their similarities, some require widely different conditions in order to grow and flourish. He was starting to see why Lucifer was always eager to explore the garden. 

Michael bit into the ripe mango he was holding, its sweet juices a pleasant wash on his taste buds. The food in Eden was good and unique in its own ways, the environment had this atmosphere that seemed to always drain stress and fatigue away, and the animals were all so beautiful and playful. Those things made Eden a place worth visiting, but… Michael looked on towards the lake, loud splashes and carefree laughter could be heard not too far from him. Somehow, Adam had managed to drag a lion in the lake to play with him and the fishes. Michael let out a small chuckle at the absurdity of the scene in front of him. The first man’s sunny and adventurous disposition, including his mischievous antics, had certainly caused the angel to become quite fond of him. The garden itself was definitely something worth visiting, but Adam kept him coming back. 

Heavy wet fur dragged itself across the lake towards the rock Michael was on. He could hear Adam’s whines begging the feline to stay longer in the water with him as he clung onto it, his weight of no effect to the large, clearly fed up, animal. Michael scooched away from the approaching pair, careful not to wet his robes, as they approached the rock. The lion dropped Adam onto the rock before it dragged itself towards the grass to shake the water off its coat. For all his whining and begging the lion to stay in the water, Adam himself looked exhausted as he remained prone on his spot, limp and barely moving. Michael poked his head with a mango and Adam turned his head to face the angel.

“Peel it for me?,” Adam asked using his, as he called it, ‘puppy dog eyes’.

How bold. The first man had been becoming more and more brazen towards him these past few days, though Michael hadn’t put much effort to prevent it. He couldn’t help it, he had come to care for this fragile human. And so, he peeled the mango before handing it over to Adam, who simply opened his mouth as he continued lying on the rock. 

Michael paused, pulling the fruit away. “Adam, you’re not a baby.”

“But I’m tiiiired,” whined Adam. “I can’t move my limbs.”

Michael simply looked at him with an unsmiling, blank face before slowly moving the mango towards his mouth ready to take a bite.

“Ah noo!,” Adam suddenly got up from his spot, one hand reaching out for the mango.

“See?,” Michael said as he stopped himself from eating the fruit and placed it on Adam's hand. “You’re not that tired.”

Adam took the fruit placed in his hands a small pout on his lips. “How merciless,” he huffed. 

“Yes yes, I’m Michael the merciless warrior of God,” Michael smiled. 

The smile on his face quickly faded though, once a thought crossed his mind. Back up in Heaven, he remembered overhearing some angels’ talk about their concerns about Adam and Lilith’s progress. How they had waited so long, and yet, they had nothing to show for it. 

“How long has it been?,” one angel asked.

“Too long as far as I know,” another answered. 

“I think I heard they don’t even get along well.”

“At this point, we might as well consider it a failure.”

Michael frowned. There was no way someone like Adam was a failure. True, his relationship with Lilith was rocky at best, and he had been having some difficulties, but Michael was sure it was something that could be mended in due time. In fact, Adam was already doing way better than when he first took the duty to care for him. Still, he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to give the first man a little push. Just to ease the concerns up in Heaven. 

Michael cleared his throat, requesting Adam’s attention. “Adam, I know I said I wouldn’t force you to tell me anything but,” he inched a little closer to the human. “Heaven is a little concerned about humanity’s progress.”

The way Adam shifted and looked away from him told him that the man still wasn’t willing to tell him anything. What could it be that he was so adamant to keep quiet about?

“If you divulge to me what caused your rift with Lilith, then I might be able to help,” he continued. “Only if you wish of course.”

After a few moments of silence, Adam finally turned to face him, but still not looking into his eyes. Instead he focused on the mango on his hand, fiddling with it. He took a peek at Michael, who tried to make himself look as benign as possible. The angel had been nothing but kind to him, and so far had kept his words, evident by his continued visits and lack of other angels prying into his business. With a deep sigh, he finally spoke, “You have to promise not to tell anyone.”

“I promise,” Michael quickly answered.

Adam turned his whole body to face the angel fully, his golden eyes hardened with seriousness. “Not like that. You have to truly promise! Swear that you won’t tell anyone else!”

Had Michael been negligent? Was it actually more serious than he initially thought? Now he was unsure if he had handled the situation properly. He knew he shouldn’t agree to Adam’s terms. If it was something important, then Heaven had to be informed. It was just the way things were.

Sensing his reluctance, Adam sat back down away from Michael, a frown on his face. “Otherwise, I won’t tell you anything.”

Well, he couldn’t have that. But to keep some things hidden from Heaven didn’t sit well with him. It almost felt like going behind their back in some way. He leaned back a bit, a hand on his chin, blue eyes in an ocean of thoughts. If he thought carefully about it… He was part of Heaven, one of its highest ranking angels, in fact. So if Adam talked to him about it, it would just be like telling Heaven about it. He was also involved in this Eden project, he had authority, the only difference would be that not everyone would know. And they didn’t have to. Yeah, that still sounded wrong to the upright angel. But, if he could solve it, then the others wouldn’t even need to know. Michael nodded to himself, trying very hard to convince himself to agree to Adam’s terms. 

Having convinced himself, Michael focused back on Adam. He hoped he wouldn’t regret this decision. With a hand over his chest, he finally responded, “Alright. I swear as an angel that I won’t reveal to anyone else what you are about to tell me.”

Adam let out a sigh of relief, his body visibly relaxing as he let his previous unease drain away. He was glad that Michael was willing to compromise for him. With a deep breath, he finally revealed what he had been holding back, “Lilith and Lucifer are…together.”

…

“What?” 

Did Michael hear him wrong? Did he just hear Adam say that his brother was with the first woman?

Adam shifted awkwardly on his seat. “They admitted it to me,” he continued with a bit of difficulty. His voice trembled a little, after having spent time away from them, he thought he would find it easier to digest, but apparently not. He had come to terms with it in his mind, but talking about it out loud was a different ordeal. His throat felt dry and it was as if there was a lump in his throat. Still, he managed to continue, “That’s why I couldn’t bear to be with them anymore.”

To say that he was shocked would be an understatement. Michael appalled. His very own brother, the one who was supposed to be the main caretaker of the garden and its inhabitants, the one who was supposed to guide the first humans, was also the one to have brought ruin to their relationship. This was not something to be taken lightly. Lucifer had committed a transgression towards Heaven. 

“Adam, this can’t continue. They cannot get away with infidelity. They must face the consequences,” Michael told Adam as he got ready to confront both Lucifer and Lilith. 

“No!,” Adam exclaimed. His hands were immediately on the angel’s shoulders urging him to back down. “You promised!”

“I promised not to tell anyone, but I can still give out their punishment myself,” Michael stated. 

“Michael, please.” Adam looked at him with desperate sad eyes that looked about to burst. “They’ve hurt me, I know, but I still care for them,” he paused, taking one of Michael’s hands into his, grasping it firmly as he begged for both Lucifer and Lilith’s well being. “I don’t wish harm on them.”

Michael looked down on the tanned hands that desperately grasped onto his. Now what? With Lucifer in the picture, humanity couldn’t really progress from here. He could just ignore Adam’s pleading and punish both Lucifer and Lilith, maybe even salvage the project in the process. But he couldn’t just do that, could he? Adam’s hands still held Michael’s, still trying to stop the mighty angel, knowing fully well that he couldn’t do anything if Michael decided to go anyway. How could his heart ache for those who have betrayed him like that? Where did he find the space in his heart to still worry for them? Again, this was something Michael would like to correct Adam about. It was great to be kind as one should be, but that didn’t mean you should allow others to escape the consequences of their misdeeds. Adam was kind, too kind to the point that it was blinding him. But then it seemed that Michael himself was also too kind to Adam, and was willing to be blind this time. 

He didn’t know what to do, but perhaps all of Heaven would soon notice the obvious lack of progress in Eden and come up with a solution themselves. He supposed he could just…wait it out. 

Michael took a deep breath in, and then a deep breath out. He really truly didn’t want to do this but…he had been blinded. 

“Do you know how long they had been going behind your back?,” Michael asked.

Adam looked up from where he still held the angel’s hand, a little confused by the sudden change. “Um…f-for about half a year.”

Michael winced. How cruel. To do that to someone so innocent. “Once I see Lucifer again…” Michael thought to himself. While he would spare Lucifer punishment, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t confront him about what he did. He was being too kind already.

“Well, since I already know, do you want to talk about it?”

“Um.”

“Just what you’re willing to share.”

Adam nodded at that. And so, he spilled his heart out to Michael. How he was trying so hard to fix his relationship with Lilith and how Lucifer seemed willing to help, only for the two of them to reveal their betrayal the following day. How he felt that all those moments he spent with them in those six months they were going behind his back felt like a lie. How his friendship with Lucifer didn’t feel real anymore. 

“Sometimes, I wonder, was I the problem?,” Adam sniffled. “Was something wrong with me? Lilith never seemed to truly like me, while even someone as nice as Lucifer still deceived me.” He was told on the day he was made that he was God’s most perfect creation, but sometimes he didn’t think it was true. 

Michael stretched out his wings and covered Adam with them, pushing the first man towards him in a comforting hug. The coolness of his wings were a solace to Adam’s pain like a protective shield against any further heartache. It was difficult for Michael to comfort someone, he wasn’t exactly the best when it came to these kinds of situations. Oftentimes, he wasn’t sure what to do and simply asked others to help him out or to do it in his stead. But Adam had no one else to seek comfort from except Michael, so despite being unsure of what to do, he would try his best anyway. 

“How could there be something wrong with you?,” he said as he gazed sincerely into Adam’s beautiful golden eyes. “You have done nothing but followed God’s commands. You remain pure and perfect, still God’s most perfect creation, alright?”

Adam didn’t know what it was. Whether it was the soft embrace of Michael’s wings around him or the way streaks of sunlight peeked through the feathers, shining speckles of golden light on the angel’s handsome face under the darkness of their cover. But for a brief moment, he could feel his own heart beating erratically as it pumped blood towards his face, warming it up. Adam quickly turned away, his cheeks flushed pink. Why was he nervous so suddenly? 

With his face still turned away, Adam nodded, “A-alright, thank you.” He turned his face slightly to glimpse at Michael. With an earnest smile on his lips, he continued, “Really. Thank you for listening to me. It’s like you’ve lifted a heavy burden off my shoulders.”

“I’m glad to help, and I’ll always be glad to help.” Seeing Adam so relieved and happy like this filled Michael with contentment. He supposed it was worth postponing Lucifer and Lilith’s punishment if it resulted in easing Adam’s burdens.

Part 3

Part 5

[cuubism]

for @magnusbae

--

“Hob Gadling,” Dream says, and there’s a laugh deep in it, hidden in his eyes. “Am I to understand you’ve been engaging in petty theft?”

“I used to rob people on the road, and this surprises you?” says Hob, leaning against his kitchen counter. Then holds up a hand before Dream can respond. “Now, to be clear, my highwayman days are behind me. I’ve evolved. I’ve no interest in hurting people over riches. Also, would be bloody difficult to commit highway robbery nowadays.”

“I see you’ve thought it through,” says Dream from where he’s still lingering in the kitchen doorway. He clearly finds all of this highly amusing.

“I have, and rest assured, this theft was by no means petty. I’m pretty sure this is considered grand larceny.”

“Ah. I see it is no fun for you if decades of prison time are not on the line,” says Dream.

Hob winks at him. “Would you really let me go to prison for decades?”

Dream raises a haughty eyebrow. “I am your get-out-of-jail-free card?”

“Not getting caught is my get-out-of-jail-free card. You think I don’t know what I’m doing? You think I would do this for a lark without a plan?”

“Speaking frankly?” says Dream. “Yes.”

Hob laughs. “Alright, caught. But in my defense! It was for an important reason.”

Dream finally steps properly into the kitchen. “And what reason is that? I know you have no need for riches.”

“Wasn’t about need. Was only about charm. And getting in your good graces. And being the most irresistible and rakish boyfriend I can. Don’t think I didn’t see the way you looked at me at that first, portentous meeting.”

He lets Dream step in, closer and closer, like a predator with its prey. Doesn’t move. “You wish to give me the scrappy bandit I apparently so desired back then?”

“No apparently about it,” says Hob, and oh, it’s fun to be bold with Dream, now that he feels reasonably sure of not scaring him off. “But it’s okay, because I was even more weak for the prissy lord that you were. You know how much you could have gotten me to do if only you’d asked?”

Dream is standing right before him now, crowding him against the counter. His eyes gleam in the dark. “Does that include grand larceny?”

Hob laughs and lays his hands on his sides, feeling the taught realness of him, so much more dangerous than he’d thought of the lord he’d met in that tavern, and so much more glorious for it. “And more.”

He fishes the ruby from his pocket, letting it dangle on its long chain and catch the kitchen lights. He dips his head low as he holds it out to Dream. “A token of my affection. For my lord.”

Dream lets the gem fall into his palm, examining the fine cut of it. It doesn’t have the darkness, the strange angles of his now-broken dreamstone, but it’s still a gorgeous gem. Deep wine red, bottomless depths within the facets. Like Dream himself.

“A token?” He echoes, lips tugging up in a smile. “A courtly gift for one you have no need to court?”

“A small gift for one I am endlessly devoted to,” Hob says, and Dream’s eyes meet his again. There’s a smile in them, now, a real one. The gem is worth a bloody fortune, but Dream cares not for the monetary value of things. This is about the symbol, the game, the effort of it, and it seems it’s landed.

He does like pretty things, too. Hob knows it well.

“Put it on me, then,” Dream says.

He ducks his head for Hob to clasp the chain around the back of his neck. Hob kisses his forehead when he’s done.

The ruby sits against his breastbone, shining against the bare skin at the center of the deep vee in his shirt.

Hob squints. He could have sworn Dream was wearing something with more coverage when he arrived. “Did you… change your shirt?”

Dream smirks. “Perhaps. Such art requires its proper canvas.”

“Cheeky. You’re right, though.” Hob admires it on him, and sighs. So worth it.

Dream kisses his cheek, like they really are courting and he’s shyly accepting the gift. Hob takes hold of his face and pulls him into a proper one, one that’ll leave his lips as red as the gem. God, he better be able to convince Dream into wearing that and nothing else in bed. That sounds like a good way to die, if he ever were to choose one.

“How’d you find out about this, anyway?” he asks, letting his hands wander to Dream’s hair to keep him close.

“Matthew. He admitted that he helped you.” He doesn’t sound too upset about it, fortunately, for Matthew’s sake.

Hob sighs. “I tried to keep his involvement quiet. Blabbermouth.”

“He had fun, apparently,” says Dream wryly.

“Hope you won’t punish him too much.”

Dream smirks. “Just a little.”

“Going to punish me, then?” Hob says. It's meant to be challenging but he can’t keep the grin off his face.

Dream pushes him against the counter, hands pressed tight to his hips. “Hmm.” His voice rumbles through Hob’s body. His eyes are alight with fondness and danger both, and a shiver runs up Hob’s spine. “Just a little.”

[pain-in-the-butler]

How was the rest of the Kuroshitsuji panel? I'm curious lol

I'm so glad you asked! I was actually planning to make a post on this regardless of interest, so it's convenient that someone will actually already be curious to hear lol. Here is the long version of what happened at the panel:

Before CDawgVA, the directors, and Daisuke Ono came out onstage, they had a hype man going around and interviewing cosplayers in the audience/giving them random Crunchyroll prizes. He would ask the cosplayers to tell him something about their costume. My favorites were the Sebastian who cut their wig just that morning and the Ciel who left their neck bow at home, so they improvised one out of tissues and it actually looked pretty good. Here's my picture of it on the big screen:

I guess I'm an outlier who never watched a CDawgVA video, so seeing him in person was actually my first time seeing him ever. He seemed like a nice guy and happy to be there, I can see why people like him. He did a pretty good job inviting the guests onstage and asking them questions -

Producer Yoshito Ito and director Kenjirou Okada both received applause when they came out, but the crowd fuckin exploded for Daisuke Ono. He clearly has a lot of experience in working a room, he did a little theatrical bow when he walked out, and I think he said "yes, my lord" or something like that, I don't remember exactly. I'm actually not much of a fan of his, but I still joined everyone else in cheering loudly for him -

All the guests spoke Japanese and as far as I could tell the translator did a really good job up there, he was quick on the draw every time. I could tell the fan next to me spoke some Japanese and he seemed to think it was accurate -

To break the ice, CDawg asked the three panelists about what they thought of Los Angeles. I can't remember what the director and producer said, but Ono went to see a Lakers game and had a good time even though they lost -

Then CDawg (do people call him that or Connor? I actually don't know, sorry if I sound like a pleb) said that because Sebastian likes cats so much, he wonders if any of the panelists would like to have a cat. I believe it was Okada who said he had a cat two years ago when he lived with his parents, but when he moved out, his mother told him "The cat is staying here." Ito said he would rather have a dog, and Ono said he would also prefer a dog, but he would definitely name the dog "Sebastian" -

The panel was scheduled to be under an hour, so I was kind of glad when CDawg moved on from the goofy questions and asked about the anime. Ito and Okada talked about location scouting a little bit in England. They said the oddest thing for them was how there weren't mountains and that they could see the horizon even when they weren't near water. They said if they hadn't actually visited England, they probably would have put mountains around Weston...... -

CDawg also asked them about the food (and apologized for its taste before they could answer lol). Ito and Okada said that they enjoyed the fish and chips, but were surprised that afternoon tea did not live up to the hype. They didn't like the scones with clotted cream, which surprised CDawg, who said "clotted cream is the only good food we have" lmao -

Ito and Okada also talked about how they initially turned down an offer to make a new season, supposedly because they didn't think they could hold a candle to the earlier seasons. They said they later changed their minds when they realized that there were still fans of the series who wanted to see what came next. I personally don't buy that answer, but not for any reason other than it sounds fake. Maybe there's some truth to it (maybe) -

They also talked about how they really went into the Public School arc hoping to create something that felt different from the previous seasons. That was interesting to me, because it didn't really feel like that's what they were going for when I watched it, but okay I guess they were -

Ono said the most exciting thing for him about working on the Public School arc was that he was granted permission to give a more emotional performance this time. He believes that Ciel and Sebastian's experience fighting Undertaker on the Campania was a turning point in their relationship and that it changed the way he voiced Sebastian. He really did seem pleased with this fact, though it seemed to me that he could not remember Book of Atlantic very well lol—but that could have simply been due to the way the translator referred to it as "that cruise ship" -

I think that was when they took another little break to play a game CDawg came up with where the panelists had to guess what a few words in British slang meant. The first was the Welsh word "cwtch". We weren't supposed to take pictures but your girl took one anyway

"Cwtch" is pronounced "cootch" and CDawg said "Here's a hint: when you see Ciel, you want to give him a cwtch." Through no fault of the Welsh, CDawg clearly picked this word to sound like an innuendo, and some people in the audience were shouting "Kiss? Kiss?" I can't remember who, but either Ito or Okada's guess was something the translator apparently "Couldn't say out loud" with the impression that their guess was sexually inappropriate? Ono and the remaining director/producer guessed the word "hug" which was close: "cwtch" means "cuddle." It was such a bizarre moment, I stg when will we stop making sexual jokes about this child character. That includes you, Yana 🫵 -

The next word CDawg had everyone guess was "chuffed", with a picture of young Vincent celebrating his cricket victory. The hint was "you feel this after you win a cricket match." Both Ito and Okada correctly guessed "happy" and Ono guessed "like you want to drink a beer." CDawg said that that was truly in the spirit of English culture -

After that we got the Green Witch trailer, which was another bizarre moment, this time for the reason that we saw no new animation and we basically knew it was coming. Still, the audience went wild and it was fun to experience it together. We also got the 2025 release date so I guess that's cool -

Next, Ito and Okada talked about the upcoming season a little bit. The only thing of note that I can recall is that they said they weren't going location scouting this time because Sieglinde's village wasn't a real place. However, they said they planned to take a lot of inspiration from the manga itself. These points struck me as disheartening and obvious in turn, but I guess at least they were honest -

Ono said he was excited to give a darker performance this time around. He also said, mostly likely to drum up the crowd, that he was a little nervous but that he could do anything with "Ciel" (Maaya Sakamoto) by his side, and yes the audience did eat it up with more applause -

After that, CDawg raffled off what looked to be a drawing of Sebastian, possibly by Yumi Shimizu, signed by Daisuke Ono. They had given us these tickets before the panel started and the person with the winning number got the prize. Shockingly, I did not win -

Next someone came and took a picture of the panelists and the audience in the background, then Daisuke Ono did this thing where he waved at everyone and got us to wave with him, and finally the panel ended after roughly fifty minutes

Overall, I give the event a 6/10. We didn't have a lot of time, so I understood that they couldn't go too in-depth and that they wanted to keep it lighthearted too, but I personally would have appreciated some more interesting information on season 4 or something juicy about season 5. As it was, it felt like a lot of what we learned was entirely unsurprising. But it was nice of everyone to come all the way from Japan and the UK, and I guess it's kind of cool to say I've seen Daisuke Ono live now, even though he's only my third favorite Sebastian. My expectations were low, I went just to say I was there, and what I mainly gained was a bit of whimsical joy at being in a room full of Kuro fans, which is no bad prize at all.

[skele-bunny]

Had this idea for a while and I fell in love with how you write the ghouls and their past so I offer you my AU... Siren/Pirates!! Rain getting caught in a net by the pack, unaware that theyre now being stalked by a second siren. Aether waking up in the middle of the night to see a strange person helping Rain back overboard. Aether instead grabs them both with a fight but the others come out and they're captured again. Dewdrop has no interest and is violent while Rain is just so curious about these humans and having the time of his life. I'll leave you the rest!

A Fool. (No CW) Implied Rain/Dewdrop

CW - NONE, Implications of injury, unintentional misgendering

Characters: Dewdrop, Rain, Aether, Mountain

(I have no idea how to write pirates but yeehaw! Some asshole Aeth for an equal asshole Dew. Divider by @ wrathofrats )

Struggling against bonds, Dewdrop kept his head against the forecastle deck, eye bags heavy. His gills yearned and ached, teeth subconsciously chewing at the cloth between his teeth. A simply way to shut him up. To keep danger at bay. His vicious mouth and luring voice that threatened their lives so quickly. His eyes shifted to the water barrel nearby, Rain curled over the side with his own wrist shackles obvious. Rain had to stay submerged, those idiotic humans realizing quickly as his gills refused the topside air. The ship rocking back and forth was nauseating, reminding them both of the storm nights they sheltered for in the depths, curled in their comfortable cove.

Stretching his legs that were wrapped together in net, Dewdrop let out a small growl as the silhouette of one of the humans approach, a much larger right behind. His eyes quickly contracted, hissing underneath his gag as the taller went to Rain, carefully pushing back his hair and lifting his head to confirm he was live. Dew thrashed more, slamming himself to his side and glaring up with such a heavy hatred.

"Careful now," The shorter said. "That lass doesn't like you touching her own."

"Can't help myself. Never seen something so shiny..." It mumbled, carefully laying Rain back down.

Dew squirmed, huffing as his energy was already so depleted, watching with demonic eyes as the two crowded him. He watched the shorter crouch down, grabbing his hair with a particularly hard grasp.

"Gonna cut you and your lady a deal. You haven't eaten anything since two days ago. You can be nice and not bite us again, and we can feed ya'. How's' about that?"

The blonde siren only attempted to screech, cut off as the hand tightened, yanking him up to look at Rain. "You think she'll last another day with your attitude? I really suggest you think nice, long, and hard about it, lass."

The pale form of Rain sunk into Dew's chest, the two humans quietly noticing the tone change and the siren's eyes filling back in.

"There we go! See, ain't bad is it?" The taller smiled, moving away as the smaller let go.

Dew laid still, eyes never leaving Rain's face. He was still so new, didn't even understand the concept of humans. No matter how hard his mate tried to explain how vicious they were, just meals, Rain stayed curious. Dew never wanted him to break his fantasy this way—stuck gagged, and bound to a barrel while he slowly starved to death. How could the younger even know? Rain was so sheltered by not just him but the rest of their school for his lack of voice, unable to lure or defend himself should the situation arise. He didn't even know how to change his tail to legs.

The humans returned to break Dew out of his own mind, watching as they moved to Rain first; holding up a catch from earlier this morning. They undid his gag, holding the fish by its tail and dangling it in front of the siren. It took a moment before Rain's eyes quickly came to life, jaw opening and snatching the carp away. His fangs dug into the scales and dried skin, pulling meat like it was nothing. The two humans laughed as it was some kind of show to them, having taken a step out of reach so Rain didn't get the chance to snatch at them next. The water siren slammed the spine at their feet, sobbing quietly as he slunk back into his barrel, still looking at the taller human with such sad eyes.

"You want another?" It asked, watching Rain nod with shaking hands.

The taller held up another before dropping it into the barrel, once again watching as Rain became animalistic, blood now flowing in his once clear water. While occupied, the smaller human turned to Dew.

It tilted it's head. "You gonna behave like your lady, or do you need to starve a little more?"

Dewdrop wouldn't lie. The scent made his stomach curl on itself, only running on what he had so long ago. He simply huffed, finally closing his eyes in defeat. A silent thing of compliance. He felt his gag be removed, exhaling and being sat up. The smaller human grabbed a smaller fish while being sturdy with its placement as he pushed it towards the siren's mouth—hands still tied behind his back unlike Rain.

"Well? Go ahead. Watch those pretty teeth, lady." He chuckled, his spare hand never leaving the pistol on his hip.

Slowly, Dew unhinged his jaw just for the fuck of it, leaning forwards and snapping right near the humans fingers. His tongue shuffled through the meat, pushing the skeletal remains to the side and spitting it at the human's feet. It only caused a laugh, a sly smirk on the top side's face as he readjusted his grip to throw the rest directly into Dewdrop's mouth. The process repeated, and now they just stared at one another, hatred once again boiling to the surface as Dew let out a low hiss.

"I don't suggest doing that, love. Won't end up well for you." He hummed back, patting Dewdrop's cheek.

"Do you take me for a fool?"

The taller one whipped around, the smaller's eyes widening as the siren talked.

"Huh... Ain't that something." The taller mumbled, looking between the dark haired siren that was now sunken completely at the barrel. "What about this one? Does it talk?"

Dewdrop glanced over, huffing. "No. He doesn't. He means no harm to anything."

"He?" The smaller took mental note. "Yourself?"

"Of the same."

"Noted."

The two humans now sat next to the siren, their curiosity piqued. "What's your name?" The smaller asked.

The one of water simply stared, lip curling back. "Dewdrop. That's Rain. And you two are simple idiots who don't understand just what you've done."

Leaning up with an elbow on its knee, hand holding his chin. "And how's that, Dewdrop?"

"Your ship enters Siren territory no matter which way you go ahead. From what I understand, that's the way you need to go... Our kind will smell us. Alive. You'll have no choice but to release us or face your death."

He could see the two exchange glances, trying to determine if what Dew was saying was true or not. Their facial expression held a simple word of "talk about this later."

Turning their attention back to the siren, the smaller hummed. "We'll just have to see then, won't we?"

Dew could only laugh back at them. Idiots. "Guess we will, human."

"Aether," He corrected. "My name is Aether. This is Mountain."

"Shame." Dewdrop laughed again. "Such pretty names for dead men."

In an instant, Mountain had lifted Dew's gag, grimacing and standing. Aether followed suit, watching as Dew continued laughing beneath the rag and staring directly at them. With a scoff, Aether shook his head, crouching a bit just so he and Dew's noses were almost touching.

"A bit of advice... I wouldn't threaten the people keeping you and your fish stick over there alive. I also wouldn't recommend pissing off the man with a flask."

The comment caught the siren off guard, watching as Aether stood fully up and pulled out a silver container from his leather jacket. He brought the top to his lips, swishing the unknown liquid in his cheeks before bending down and spitting it on Dew's thigh that still held a giant gash. In an instant, the Siren folded over, thrashing and giving muffled screams. His leg burned like it was caught on fire, skin bubbling as blood now joined the ooze down his pale skin. Aether just watched with a somewhat laugh, taking another drink before handing the silver flask to Mountain.

A boot poked at Dew's ribs as he stayed bent over. "I'll see you later, fishy!"

An angry heave left the siren, thanking his hair for covering his face as tears of pain began to fall into the wooden deck below. Slowly, he lifted his head to peek through the curtains of his own strands. So fucking be it. Let the fools stay head on. Dew couldn't wait to rip their fucking throats out as his sisters and brothers would rock the ship into death. He and Rain would escape, and feast on these mere sources of food—Dew filled with determination he'd get Aether all to his own.

He will kill Aether.

[ghcstao3]

By God, would it be possible for us to get more of soap and his tinder adventure with ghost.

I beg you from the bottom of my heart to grace the world with more because this is simply the best thing on earth.

Please please please.

(hope it’s still okay i’m using your ask for this haha)

not sure why it took me so long but finally! more of the tinder adventure :) this may go on ao3 later but i haven’t decided yet

tinder roulette

2.9k words

-

Tinder, in Soap’s opinion, is more of a fun pastime than anything else.

Of course, that isn’t to say he hasn’t used it for its intended purposes—hookups, if anyone is to be honest, it really isn’t a dating app—but it’s long since lost its novelty and has instead become something solely built for Soap’s entertainment.

And Gaz’s, too, apparently.

“I can’t believe how many men on here actually use those stupid fishing pictures on their profiles.”

Gaz has been hoarding Soap’s phone for the better part of an hour, now, liberally swiping left and right on others’ accounts as per routine when neither of them have anything to do. Only this time he’s essentially just been swiping left for a variety of reasons that are mostly beyond Soap.

“I don’t like how he’s holding his phone.”

“Then swipe left,” is usually Soap’s unhelpful and unheeded input.

“Already did,” is what Gaz will say.

Soap sighs as Gaz continues browsing. Normally it’s more fun for Soap than what it’s been that day, but something about the current selection feels… lacklustre. There hasn’t been much of anything funny or fascinating to pique his interest, so Gaz’s say has remained precedent.

It usually does. Just more so today, which Soap is completely fine with—at most he might chat with someone that matches with him (or, again, Gaz might chat with someone under the guise of being John, 28), and otherwise he’ll do absolutely nothing.

Until he hears Gaz suck in a sharp breath beside him. Which could be either a very good or very bad sign.

But by the way Gaz tenses, finger hovering over the screen like he’s afraid he’ll be electrocuted if he does anything, Soap takes it as a very bad thing.

Soap finally looks back at the screen after having been off in his own head for the past fifteen minutes.

At first glance, there isn’t anything that Soap sees that makes him think Gaz’s reaction was warranted. Then, and unfortunately, he starts connecting the different things he’s seeing across the profile—the glaring Simon, 32, the cheesy bio classified underneath it.

And the photos. God, the photos. Soap would hate himself for his immediate recognition coming from a set of bare, scarred and broad shoulders if he didn’t have the excuse of being familiar with the identifiable tattoo that stretches up Simon, 32’s forearm.

Gaz turns to Soap. “You don’t think…?”

“If I’m being honest, Gaz,” Soap says slowly, “I dinnae want to think about this at all.”

Gaz’s thumb inches closer to the screen, and Soap’s heart stops when he sees the hint of a mischievous grin begin to form on his fellow sergeant’s face.

“So then you wouldn’t mind if I…?”

“Gaz,” Soap warns.

“What? It’s probably just an old profile like yours. And besides,” Gaz huffs, and Soap really does not like where this is going, “aren’t you at least a little curious to see what happens? Given your…”

Soap scoffs. “No, because nothing will happen. So hand over my—“

He makes to grab for his phone but is unsuccessful when Gaz, with stupidly lightning reflexes, stretches his arm out of Soap’s reach, and, very much to Soap’s dismay, presses down his thumb and swipes right on their lieutenant’s profile.

“See? What’s the worst that could—oh.”

It’s glaring, that horrible, awful, eyesore of a pop-up that reads It’s a match!

Soap thinks he might die. This is when and where he lays to rest permanently. Because what the fuck?

Gaz winces, sheepishly handing the phone back to Soap. “That is… this is a good thing, innit? Means he likes you back, right? Right?”

Soap doesn’t take it right away, instead shrinking in on himself, desperately scrubbing at his face with the heels of his palms as if it’d erase the last minute of his life. As if it’d erase his entire existence. Because even if they matched—a fact in and of itself that Soap is still having a tough time processing—Soap will eventually have to face Ghost knowing that they had, whether or not the man has checked his own notifications, and that idea alone is mortifying.

Soap is going to kill Gaz.

“This is what I get for not listening to my Mam about goin’ to mass,” Soap groans, plucking the phone from Gaz’s hold. The first picture on Ghost’s profile stares back at him—a goddamn mirror selfie angled in a way that hides his face, but definitely not the definition of his arms thanks to lighting and a muscle tee Soap would have never thought his lieutenant to own—and he doesn’t so much as hesitate to exit out of the notification so he can forget this all happened as soon as possible.

Which would be never, in all honesty, but Soap’s an optimist.

Most days.

“You think I could get a transfer before I have to see him again?”

Gaz quirks an eyebrow. “A transfer by this afternoon? Ain’t gonna happen, mate. Not even the higher-ups could manage that.”

Soap frowns. “This after—what are you talking about?”

Gaz makes an affronted sound. “What am I…? Training, you idiot,” he snaps, smacking Soap upside the head. “You’re on duty with him later. Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“‘Course not.” Soap pauses. He tries to smile but all that forms is a grimace. “If I asked you to fill in for me…“

“Absolutely not,” Gaz says. “You’re facing this yourself, mate. Today. And then maybe after you and Ghost can snog, or something.”

Soap jabs his elbow into Gaz’s side. “You act like this isn’t your fault.”

“But it’s a yes to the snogging?”

As much as Soap might like to entertain the thought any other time, he just groans as he stands from the ratty couch kept in the common room with nothing more than the intention to hide away until facing his inevitable doom.

It’s great, the things he’s feeling at the moment. So great.

And of course that feeling stays all throughout what seems like no time at all before Soap is procrastinating his way to training, an extra weight on his shoulders and far too many thoughts swirling around his head that all cease the second he makes eye contact with Ghost.

A pissy Ghost.

“You’re late,” the lieutenant says.

“Sorry, sir,” Soap mutters. He keeps his gaze anywhere but on Ghost. “Got… caught up.”

Ghost grunts. “Right.”

The silence that follows is characteristic on Ghost’s end. Soap, however, can’t bring himself to say anything without the fear of it somehow leading to asking Ghost if he’s been on his phone at all since that morning without reason to justify the question.

But obviously Ghost picks up on his nerves, and given the man’s irritatingly blunt nature, it’s no surprise he’s confronting Soap about it the moment the recruits are busy and out of earshot.

“You tense, sergeant?” Ghost says. Never a question with him; always an accusation.

“No,” Soap lies. He can’t look over to his colleague without that stupid picture appearing in his mind. “Just…”

“Tense?” Ghost repeats.

Soap sighs. Concedes, “Aye. Tense.”

When Ghost says nothing, Soap finally risks a glance at his lieutenant only to be met with Ghost’s own gaze—too intense, too piercing. Soap hadn’t known brown eyes could look so cold until Ghost.

Soap can’t help but feel as if Ghost already knows. Because in all honesty, he probably does, and there had never been any use in trying to maintain what little remains of Soap’s own dignity.

If he had had any to begin with.

Ghost tilts his head. Scrutinizes Soap further with those eternally analytic pupils of his. “And for what reason, sergeant?”

Soap is going to throttle his superior officer. He’s going to wring the man’s neck, get discharged, and never have to worry about this ever again. Because Ghost is taunting him, clearly, and how unfair is that?

“I think you know, sir,” Soap grumbles through grit teeth, because he supposes he may as well face this head-on now as much as he fears the moment it’s said aloud.

But to his surprise, Ghost actually falls back just a bit, shifting his weight between feet in that awkward, stilted way he rarely does.

Like a kid caught with their hand shoved in the cookie jar.

“Well, don’t dwell on it too much, Johnny,” Ghost finally says—the words are quieter, softer this time. “Was an accident.”

Soap curses the crumbling feeling of hope in his chest that maybe, best case scenario, this whole incident would lead to a confession. But of course not—Ghost swiping right on Soap was an accident.

“Ah. Well.” Soap clears his throat, shying away from what’s become a much kinder gaze, “So was—for me too. Gaz had my phone.”

Ghost hums. Some look glasses over his eyes before he turns from Soap and marches away to continue barking orders at the rookies. Soap doesn’t know if it’s any better than having them both linger in a suffocating awkwardness.

An accident. Right. Why did Soap think it could ever be anything else?

The remainder of training is torturous, with the way Ghost doesn’t utter a word to Soap beyond anything work-related, or some professional-opinion bullshit—all the while was an accident rattles around Soap’s head as the day progresses at a snail’s pace.

He can’t decide if it all being an accident makes the situation any better. He can’t decide on a lot of things today.

And clearly, for Ghost, it doesn’t matter either way.

Soap is going to kill someone. He just hasn’t figured out who yet.

*

“He said it was an accident.”

Gaz hardly looks up from his tray as Soap slumps into a seat across from him. The mess hall is filled with the hushed buzz of chatter, sporadic and spaced out about the room. The open, public environment is the only reason he feels safe enough talking about it—it’s the only place he isn’t concerned about having Ghost suddenly appear in that eerie, ghostlike way of his.

“Told me not to worry about it,” Soap continues, “as if he hadn’t been making me more worried with his weird interrogation.”

“Remind me why you like him like him again,” Gaz mutters before shoving another forkful of food in his mouth. He chews and swallows unreasonably quickly. “Starting to seem like you don’t actually have feelings for him, mate.”

Soap huffs. “Only because it’s obvious the bastard doesnae feel the same. What’s the point, Gaz?”

Gaz stares at him. Blinks once, twice. “I don’t know,” he says. “You tell me.”

Soap groans loudly, sinking low in his seat. He wishes just one person could give him a straight answer to resolve this entire thing. A be-all-end-all solution to put him out of his misery—because even if Ghost says it was an accident, it still happened, and it still means Ghost is active on his own Tinder to some horrifying-to-think-about extent.

And Soap is horrified to think about it. Not to mention terribly conscious of the fact.

“That’s not even the worst part,” Soap grouses. Admits, “I just told him it was a mistake for me too.”

Soap has endured many looks from many people, and he doesn’t think anything compares to the incredulity on Gaz’s face at that moment.

“You know, I felt bad for getting you into this up until you said that,” Gaz tells him. “But hearing that shit is just unbelievable. You hear yourself, right?”

“Every fucking day,” Soap sighs. He buries his face in his hands, shoulders bunched as he grumbles nonsense into his palms. “What do I even do now?”

“Nothing,” Gaz says, then pauses, shrugs his shoulders. “Or tell him the truth. Maybe he also lied.”

Soap frowns, brows furrowing deeply behind the cover of his hands. The idea never occurred to him, because what would be the likelihood of Ghost ever lying about something as trivial as this? Near zero, Soap would think.

But the idea gives him just a piece of that crumbling hope back. And so does the tone of Gaz’s voice that hints he may know more about something than he lets on.

He always seems to. Soap doesn’t know whether or not he should be thankful.

Before he can decide, however, Gaz is continuing with his ever-so-sage counselling, “If you’re going with the latter, you’d better start looking for him now. ‘Cause if he was lying, he will be avoiding you at all costs.”

Soap huffs, finally letting his arms drop back to his sides as he begins to get up. Once standing, he says to Gaz, “I hate that you’re right.”

Gaz snorts. “Usually am.”

Despite his eye roll, Soap does plan on heeding his advice instead of arguing that no, Gaz is definitely not usually right. Because he isn’t. So what if he’s just on the nose today?

Soap sets off on his search.

*

It takes well over an hour to locate Ghost, after checking all of his usual spots and hiding places several times over, and asking just about everyone he saw if they knew about the lieutenant’s whereabouts.

The answer, of course, is always no idea, but it was worth a shot anyway—only considering he still manages to find Ghost on his own in the end.

Elusive bastard. Soap thinks if the disappearing act is kept up, he might start to be inclined to agree that Gaz was onto something about Ghost’s own dishonesty.

Maybe it’s a little unethical to be confronting him right out of the showers, though.

It’s a surprise Ghost doesn’t appear to be immediately alerted of Soap’s presence with the loud thud of the door swinging shut, his back remaining turned to Soap all the while the sergeant works up the courage to clear his throat.

And maybe admire the planes of his lieutenant’s back just a moment. He’s pulled on everything but a shirt already—even one of his gaiters has made it on before the hoodie that lies in a heap on a bench beside him as he dries his hair.

Again, though, Soap is more focused on the muscles that had him recognizing Ghost in those photos earlier that day.

“Can I help you, Soap?” Ghost grunts. He drops the towel he’d been using for his hair next to the hoodie he shortly pulls over his head—Soap is only allowed a brief glimpse at damp, tousled, blond hair before a hood is obscuring it.

Soap isn’t sure why he thought Ghost hadn’t noticed him enter.

“You lied to me before,” Soap says. He may as well bite the bullet now—to drag this out any longer than a day seems childish, really. He’s old enough to know that, but stupid enough to have let Gaz have access to his phone, and to still have a Tinder account in the first place.

Ghost tenses. His back stays to Soap as he freezes, and just barely Soap is able to make out the sharp intake of breath.

“Thought I told you not to dwell.”

Soap shrugs, though Ghost can’t see it. “You tell me a lot of things, sir.”

Ghost seems to consider this in the minute rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes, in the echo of a distant, residual dripping and an overhead fan.

He finally ducks his head, the sound of fabric shifting as he shoves his hands deep into his hoodie pockets. “Maybe I did lie. Maybe I didn’t. S’pose it doesn’t matter either way, does it, Johnny?”

“Why not?” Soap cocks his head. “I mean, Gaz did have my phone, but he had a point about getting my head out of my arse.”

Ghost turns, then, eyes narrowed at Soap with something akin to skepticism. “And what point is that?”

And for what reason, sergeant?

“That I needed to grow a pair and tell you how I feel,” Soap confesses. “To just use this whole thing as an excuse to do that.”

Ghost blinks, those stupidly brown doe eyes of his widening. “Is that what this is?”

Soap chews the inside of his cheek. “If you were lying.” He attempts something playful, but it falls flat. Meek.

There’s still so much distance between them. Too much. And with the way Soap’s heart currently swells with hope, he’s praying that changes soon.

He just has to wait on Ghost.

“I didn’t think anything would happen,” Ghost says.

“Neither did Gaz,” Soap replies. “But I could forgive him.”

“Only if I was lying?”

Soap nods.

“Then you’re a better friend than I’d be, Johnny.”

It’s enough of a confession for Soap. It’s likely the closest thing he’d ever get to one from Ghost.

And that’s alright. Because it’s the best thing to be getting out of what (admittedly) mild fiasco he’d gotten into.

“I’m only so willing because it ended me here,” Soap says. He stalls a moment, almost unashamed in the way he properly looks Ghost over. “And I’d really like to compare those pictures to real life, if I’m honest.”

Ghost huffs. He grabs his towel and slings it over his shoulder before he’s moving toward the exit just behind Soap. Soap’s heart jumps as he gets closer, closing that distance, until Ghost is leaning down to Soap’s ear and murmuring, “I can make that happen.”

The lieutenant teases Soap’s hand, pretending to grab at it but stopping at a mere brush of fingers before he disappears out the door and leaves Soap to stand alone, dumbfounded.

But only for a moment. Because goddamnit if he isn’t immediately trailing Ghost to his quarters after that.

-

(taglist!! i didn’t forget i swear: @sketchscientist @crazy-phan-girl13 @crazies-unanimous @hanniballecterkinnie @lunainlove @lucibell-writes )

[rafayelsss]

Heyo! I love your Rafie fics! I was wondering if you would like to write a fanfic where S/I doesn't like rain. Like she jokes about them feeling like "watery knives", but even if she doesn't like rain too much... She plays in it just to see fish boyo happy even though she is grumbling.

Idk just wanna see Rafayel be a tease more. Lol thank you for your hard work!

my first official request on this blog!! tysm for requesting! i had fun with this one bc i love him

SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

content: rafayel x gn!reader (was meant to be fem but in the end no gendered terms were used), no y/n, raf gets a cold at the end

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Rafayel somehow convinces you into the rain with him.

The streetlamps scattered around glowed in contrast to the dimly lit afternoon sky, hues of indigo and rouge signaling the beginning of a cold, familiar night in Linkon City.

And what would be a familiar night without Rafayel at your side?

He’s slowly and surely weaseled his way into your routine strolls, in which he now accompanies you whenever he has the time to. Strangely, he always has free space in his schedule for you, which he insists is a coincidence, or that it was simply fate that brought you two together once more.

“So what’s our next stop? The bakery downtown for the third time this week?” Rafayel asked, balancing himself on the curbs of the sidewalk.

“Second, actually.” You corrected quickly with a glare. “Besides, you didn’t have to come along today either… Stop complaining.”

Rafayel feigned mock offense, bringing a hand to his chest as he shook his head. “And leave you all alone in this vast, wide, big and scary city? No way. How could you ever live without me?”

You actually could very well live without him. But he’s too cute to leave, unfortunately.

“I can handle myself just fine, Rafie… You can leave if you don’t want to be he-”

Rafayel cuts through your sentence swiftly. “No thanks.”

Before you could even open your mouth to raise more questions as to what he exactly means by that plain and final answer, your words are diluted by the sudden downpour of rain above.

You watch as most people around you run for shelter from the rain, some more prepared ones opening their umbrellas and calmly carrying on with their day. Being a part of the unlucky few that didn’t bring one, you drag Rafayel to a nearby bus stop.

“Weird… They said it’d be cloudy at most today.” You muttered under your breath, the top of your head already wet, water dripping off the strands of hair.

Rafayel chuckles at you drenched state. “When were weather forecasts ever 100%? This is why you have to think of every possibility.”

“Oh? Does this mean you brought an umbrella?” You raised a brow at him expectantly. If he was so confident, then surely…–

“Nope.”

You stared at him in sheer, unbridled disappointment and confusion. “What do you mean, ‘nope’?”

“I was going to bring an umbrella,” Rafayel paused for effect to tap on his chin to ponder for half a second. “but it looks like I forgot. I was so excited to see you again that it completely slipped out of my mind.”

“You…” You inhaled sharply and exhaled back out deeply to keep your blood pressure steady.

He flashes you a grin in an attempt to be a little apologetic, but it was obvious he wasn’t one bit.

“How am I supposed to go home with the weather this bad?” You looked up at the sky, the rain still unrelenting in its showers. You didn’t know how long it would last, and it was getting rather late into the day already.

Rafayel tilts his head at you and grabs a hold of your wrist, stepping forward from under the cover of the bus stop and into the drizzling skies. “We make a run for it, duh.”

He says it as if it’s such an obvious solution, one you should have thought of much sooner.

“We could get a cold, and I don’t look forward to walking past the front door soaked from head to toe!” You argue, disapproving of such a reckless idea. But then again, you’d be lying if his suggestion didn’t pique some sort of interest within you. “And it feels like a bunch of watery knives raining down from up above.”

“Don’t worry, if you flap your limbs, dance and doge around enough, and run as fast as you can, you’ll be able to deflect its attacks. And… A little rain never hurt anyone.”

Rafayel eagerly awaits your answer, but you both knew you didn’t have the heart to turn him down if he kept looking at you with those sparkling purple eyes, practically begging for you to accept and loose a little.

His hand slid down from your wrist to your hand, intertwining your fingers together lightly. You return his gesture with a smile.

“Okay, fine.”

—

The next morning, you receive a text message from Rafayel.

Rafayel poked you

Rafayel: [im dying]

You: [Told you you’d get sick.]

Rafayel: [dun u want me to get better? come here and nurse me back to health urself]

—

[my-little-loverboy]

Oughsgksh thinking about newly human Neuvillette.

Pairing: Neuvillette / gn! oceanid! Reader

Cws: lil bit of hurt/comfort, sfw.

WC: 0.5k

“You’re like a fish out of water.”

The lithe man scowls at you as you chuckle at your own joke, your voice echoing from the water around him as his silvery scales fade in and out of existence as he practices moving between his human and dragon forms.

“I would like to see you try and engage successfully with a human. They’re painfully fickle, and their social structure is nuanced and strange compared to our own.”

He flexes his talons as they become hands, and you manifest your own flowing hands to hold them.

“Though I can’t help but feel like it’s not worth the effort.”

He frowns and stares at his hands and yours together.

“My love. You’ve been interested in humans for centuries, how many books do you have filled with notes on them hm? What has you discouraged after so long?”

He leans into you as you manifest the rest of your form out of the previously shapeless water. The smooth scales of his tail wrapping around you as you engulf him in your wings.

“I’ve spent many nights telling you about their mannerisms, do you happen to remember their social hierarchy?”

“Of course my love, I remember all that you’ve told me of them.”

His lips pull into a small smile, and his grip on his human form wanes, skin shaping back into scales as he speaks.

“Then you know the rigidity of it, how it’s easy to fall down through the ranks and near impossible to rise back up… I was firmly cast to its lowest tiers.”

He makes a point of keeping his form smaller than you as he settled into his draconic form, his wings folded neatly as he turned in your hold. Resting his head on your chest.

“I see… I’m shocked people weren’t more reverent. I thought the elemental dragons were important figures to them?”

“They are. But I fear my human disguise was too good. When I tried to introduce myself as the descendant of the hydro dragon they treated me like a madman.”

“Hm… I’m inclined to believe you'd not like to prove it to them?”

He tilts his head and blinks slowly, before speaking.

“No… no I fear their reaction would be too intense. I don’t seek worship, I simply want to…”

“You’d like to be human.”

He winces and looks away from you. Moving away from your hold, you make no effort to stop him, allowing him to make as much distance as he needs.

“You’re not upset at me for it, are you darling?”

“Of course not, with the fondness you speak of them with it’s unsurprising to be entirely honest with you love.”

He nods and offers you a distinctly human hand. Taking it gently with your wing you continue.

“Should you ever want to visit me I will always be here.”

He grips your wing tighter and kisses the appendage softly, looking up at you with a newfound determination.

“I suppose working from the bottom up is the most human thing I could do.”

You talk together until the early morning, when he chooses to make his way out of the water. The fresh morning sun catching his silky white hair as he wicks the water out of his clothing. He was a beautiful man as he was a beautiful dragon, and you find yourself admiring him as he left for his new life as Neuvillette, a human and nothing more.

Taglist: @yarnnerdally / @starrry-angel

Wanna be added? Send me an ask off anon!

[ghoulsgraveyard]

Wear Them 2/3

a/n: so i decided to split this into three parts because i felt bad about how long its been since an update, i needed to feed yall. so this will have to tie you over until we get into the good shit. i may split this again just bc this fic has a mind of its own. this is not proofread, i will proof read it later tho.

warnings: Content warnings: feminization (reader calls Eddie a girl), panty theft (obvi), subsequent panty wearing, perv!eddie, degradation (the fun kind), fem!reader, reader has a vagina, sub!eddie, dom!reader, slut shaming but also virgin shaming (it makes sense don’t worry), some light cock and ball torture (genital slapping), spanking, emotional hurt/comfort (I dont know how that happened it just did) aftercare!

read part one here

You flicked the panties at his chest “you wanted them so bad. Wear them.”

Eddie seemed to realize what you meant in slow motion, putting the pieces together “intended purpose” and talking of him stretching them out… holy shit. You wanted him to wear your panties, and even more shocking to him, he wanted that too.

His mouth gaped like a fish, his lack of response causing you to pause “is that- would that be something you would want to do?” his response was immediate “yes fuck yes please uhh yes I feel like I should call you something other than your name while we do this or maybe I'm over thinking this and you’re not into that and the whole idea of calling you something else isn’t because I want to do this with someone else because uh im uh only interested in you and doing this with you and uh now I'm talking too much an-” shutting him up with a kiss “don’t worry about it baby. You can call me whatever you want, whatever makes you the most comfortable” you smiled against his lips. Eddie thought for a bit “promise you won’t laugh?” he said meekly, still fearing your judgment.

You held your hand up to his cheek and smoothed the skin of his cheek with your thumb, holding his face. In that moment you realized why Eddie was so hypersensitive towards you in particular. He can handle the judgment and ridicule from everyone else in this town, but not from you. You remembered all the times he would look to you after telling a joke to see if you’d laugh, or asking you to double check an assignment, even letting you read his book of lyrics. He had given you every piece of him, he looked to you for your approval, he looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky, and in that moment you have never felt more important to another human being.

All you could do was smile warmly at him “oh baby I would never laugh at you” he practically whimpered, melting into your hand, then murmured “thank you master” he looked to you, silently asking if you liked that one, the groan you released more than answered him but just to reassure “that’s a great name you picked thank you baby.” Eddie beamed at the praise.

“Okay baby, before we do this I want to make sure you’re happy and safe the whole time, okay lovely? So to check in with you I'll ask you what color you’re feeling. If you feel good and safe say green, if you want to pause or slow down say yellow, and if I do something that makes you feel bad or unsafe I want you to say red. In the event you want to stop or pause or slow down, don’t wait for me to ask you baby, just shout out your color, okay?” he nodded along “I need to hear you tell me you understand baby” “I understand master” you smiled at him “good girl” eddie was immediately confused “I'm- master I'm a boy I'm not a girl” you raised your eyebrow at him, still smiling “honey I think you’re a bit confused, yeah?” you spoke to him like he was a lost dog, he nodded and you pouted at him “okay baby I'll help you make sense” suddenly you grabbed his chin, smushing his face in your hand forcing him to meet your gaze “when we’re playing, you are whatever I say you are. So if your master calls you a good girl, that’s what you are. Got it?” Eddie whined at the roughness of your grasp, “yes master thank you master” you gave him a curt nod “what’s your color baby?” eddie was still reeling but buzzing with excitement “green, master”

“Well?” you gestured to the panties “put them on slut.” eddie was beyond flustered, he began moving, then a truly delicious idea came to you “actually baby just lay there. Master will put them on for you.” he was glowing with embarrassment “what do you say sweetheart?” there was a pause as eddie tried to think of what you wanted to hear “thank you master” you beamed with pride “good girl, you’re catching on so quick! Such a good girl for your master” you swiped the panties off of his chest and settled yourself at the foot of the bed, the image was erotic. This big intimidating man who scared the whole town was trembling on his bed while you slipped a pair of panties between his feet. You swept them up slowly, the hair on his legs being pulled by the fabric, then released. The elastic of the legholes fought to accommodate his large thighs. You situated the underwear in the back first, pulling the gstring up so it sat correctly between his cheeks, now was the fun part. Eddie whimpered and you pull the fabric up in the front, slowly, torturously, the back of the panties pressed and pulled his tender sack while the front was still being rolled up by you. Swift finger adjusting the fabric that pushed his weeping cock against his stomach, you were delighted by a revelation: he was too big. Eddie’s dick was too long to fit in these panties, the elastic stopped about 3/4s of the way up, leaving the rest of him exposed. You watched as the red tip of his aching cock seemed to cry pre-cum, sticking to the patch of hair that trailed from his navel to his bush. You leaned back to take in the image. It was beautiful.

You looked at him from all angles like he was an art piece, how the straps sat above his hipbones, the way the elastic stretched to accommodate the cock sticking out of the top, how his full hairy balls couldn’t fit in the crotch and were practically cut in half by the g-string, the delicious way the fabric desperately stretched to hold his hard cock, practically busting at the seems. It was beautiful.

Eddie couldnt help but squirm under your watchful eye, and for the obvious reason. He whined which caused your gaze to snap back at his face “you look so pretty baby” you cooed at him “so pretty all dressed up for your master, such a pretty girl” eddie blushed and hid his face behind his hair when you called him that. He feels like he shouldn't like it as much as he does. You pet his face “you like that don’t you sweetheart? Hmm? You like it when master calls you a pretty girl?” clearing his throat “y-yes master I like being your pr-pretty girl” he was so bashful it was adorable

“why don't you go look at yourself in the mirror?” you stood up off the bed and offered him a hand, which he took shakingly, you led him to the full body mirror in his room, then stood behind him, both of you looking at him. Eddie rotates his hips, looking at himself from different angles just like you did. Your hands wrapped around his chest and grazed his torso with featherlight touches leaving goosebumps in their wake “look at you” you whispered “just gorgeous” your hands made their way down to his groin “such a pretty cock all wrapped up in lace” you squeezed his dick, hard. He hissed at the feeling “hurts'' he said through his teeth “good hurt or bad hurt baby?” you rubbed your palm over his bulge “g-good hurt.” a grin split your face “oh that’s good baby. You like it when your master hurts you?” you grabbed the leg holes of the panties and pulled them up roughly, causing the g-string to harshly dig into his balls, Eddie yelped at the sensation, the sound quickly morphing into a moan.

You bark out a cruel laugh at his response. “Well?” you growl at him, Eddie pants, his mind empty, his wide eyes bright but thoughtless, his jaw slightly dropped so his pink lips form an ‘o’ as he pants “I asked you a question. I expect you to answer me.” Eddie desperately wracks his brain for the question, finally he remembers, stuttering out “Y-yes master I l-love, I love it when you hu- hurt me master.” Whines caused him to interrupt himself, in his empty head all he could think about was how he could please you, impress you, you seemed happy when he talked, so he tried again to form words “Th-thank you for being so p-patient with m-me master” he gasped out. You gasped in delight, smiling wide “Oh baby look at you! My good girl has amazing manners. So proud of you sweetheart. I’m so happy with my little slut” Eddie soaked up the praise like a sponge to water, bathing in the warmth and depravity of your words “You’ve been so good for me, i think you deserve a reward.” you whisper to him like a secret “what do you think?” he nods quickly, hair shaking with the motion “yes master I would like a reward please.” you dig your nails into his hipbones and roughly pull him back onto the bed so he’s sitting back to chest with you facing his mirror. You lick and bite at his earlobe while snaking your legs to sit over his thighs, somewhat restraining him with your body. You let your fingernails drag up his hip bones and dance across his torso, his abdomen twitching at the light touches, cock continuing to drool just below his navel. Your fingers skirt up to his chest, drumming your fingers on his pectorals before allowing yourself to lightly circle his right nipple with your finger tip, the rosy bud hardening as you circle in tighter, you repeat the ministration on his other side before taking each nipple between your pointer and thumb. Eddie lets out a low hum at the sensation. You gently roll the skin between your fingers, gradually increasing pressure, until you’re fully pinching him. He squirms in your hold letting out whimpers and moans. You smile and continue to roll and tug at his sensitive skin, his hips jumping when you slap his chest. His gasp transfers seamlessly to a loud moan, skin prickling in reaction. “That feel good, little one?” you smile, already knowing the answer “uh-uh-huh feels really” you interrupt him with a slap to his other nipple, causing him to moan loudly “really, r-really good” the rest of his response came out in a whine. His head rolls back to rest on your shoulder, bangs sticky with sweat against his forehead, eyebrows pulled together with fluttering eyelids occasionally revealing the whites of eyes rolled back, mouth hung open in pleasure. He looks depraved. He looks divine.

You drag your nails across the reddened and raised skin “it’s a little bit funny” you muse “because you’re a slut, but you’re such a little virgin huh baby?” he whimpers, you continue “it’s pathetic, it really is, but it’s endearing how hard you try. Try hard to come across as this big scary man out in the world, but i slap you around and suddenly you’re my pathetic little girl. You’re not scary at all, you couldn’t hurt anything.” he nods in agreement, you lick the skin between his chin and his ear, biting his earlobe before you whisper “but I can” he whines loud and high in his throat, at the sensation and your promise of delicious pain. “Wh-what do you mean master?” he licks his lips, eyes straining to look at you from his place on your shoulder “oh all sorts of good hurt i could give you. I was thinking, because of how much you like when i slap you, i’d like to see your pretty ass over my lap.” He blinks at you slowly “Thats your cue to lay yourself over my lap baby.” He quickly scrambles into position in a manner who’s absence of grace is substituted by enthusiasm.

taglist:

@g4ys0n @sunxflowerlou @maxwiththeaxe @creepyco13 @billhaderstan420 0 @ilovestrongmen @sad1st1c-wh0re @santawasbisexual

[iheartgracie]

jude duarte soft quotes

“So, in short, Valerian tried to kill me,” I say, finishing my story. “And I stabbed him… So I might be in some trouble.”

“He grabs hold of my wrist. I am shocked by the sensation of his skin warm against mine. “Take care,” he says, and then smiles. “It would be very dull to have to sit here for an entire day just because you went and got yourself killed.”

“My last thoughts would be of your boredom,”

“You were just going,” I tell Locke.

He grins. “I find I am very comfortable here,” Locke says. “Surely there’s nothing you have to say to the king that is so very personal or private.”

“It’s a shame you’ll never find out. Go. Now.”

“Stop you?” I echo. “Sure. If you’re a huge jerk and a threat to Elfhame, I’ll pop your head right off.”

“If you joke about this, I am going to—”

“Kill me?” he asks, raising both black brows.

I think I might hate him after all.”

i cant believe the land chose me

i, jude duarte, high queen of elfhame, in exile, spend most of my mornings dozing in front of daytime television watching cooking competitions and cartoons

“i don’t take commands from mortals” he says with his customary cruel smile. “so your gonna say something nice?” i don’t think so faeries cant lie.

“have i told you how hideous you look tonight?” “no tell me”

“i cant”

i can be charming, i charmed you didnt i?

you never break.

i know when we come to a door because i walk straight into it, much to the roaches amusement. “you really cant see” he says. i rubbed my forehead “i told you i couldn’t” “yes but you’re the liar, i’m not supposed to believe anything you say” “why would i lie about something like that?”

i am no longer a child and i don’t need comfort.

“you betraying toad”

“I’m a jerk. I’m an idiot,” I say. “I admit it. You don’t have to lecture me.”

“I thought you were going to give me a hard time about the glamour,” she says. “You know, the one you resisted.”

“You shouldn’t magic your sisters.”

“And you shouldn’t try to chop yours in half.”

“Maybe he regrets it. After all, I could be scolding him right now, instead of you.”

That makes me smile.”

“You won’t believe what we found in the treasury,” Vivi says.

“I thought treasuries were just full of gems and gold and stuff.”

“We found armor. Glorious armor. For you.”

“For a queen, Which, you may recall, there hasn’t been in a little while.”

“It may well have belonged to Mab herself,”

“You’re really building this up,”

“Well, even if the serpent bites off your head,” says Tatterfell, “the rest of you will still look good.”

“That’s the spirit,” I tell her.”

“Nothing can be seen until the event is concluded.”

“No pressure, then,” I mutter.”

“Do you remember the fairy tale with the snake who has the helicopter parents and marries the princess?”

“Helicopter?”

“You’re the one who’s late. But as the hero of the hour, that’s all to the good. I am going to make you into a vision.”

“Sounds like a lot of work on your part,”

“Will you dance?” he asks, presenting his hand.

“You may remember that I am not particularly accomplished at it,”

“I don’t know what to apologize for first,” I say. “Cutting off your head or hesitating so long to do it. ”

“I grin irrepressibly at Cardan. He smiles back, with a little surprise. It’s possible I don’t smile like that very often.”

“Vivi blows a noisemaker. “Here,” she says, passing out paper crowns for us to wear.

“This is ridiculous,” I complain, but put mine on.”

“A black horse was nibbling the grass of the lawn when they went outside. Its eyes were big and soft. Jude wanted to throw her arms around its neck and press her wet face into its silky mane.”

“In Faerie, there are no fish sticks, no ketchup, no television”

“There are two ways for mortals to become permanent subjects of the Court: marrying into it or honing some great skill—in metallurgy or lute playing or whatever. Not interested in the first, I have to hope I can be talented enough for the second.”

“She hops onto the bed beside me, disarranging my small pile of threadbare stuffed animals—a koala, a snake, a black cat—all beloved of my seven-year-old self. I cannot bear to throw out any of my relics.”

“We’re going to have fun tonight.”

“Fun?”

“I can see why humans succumb to the beautiful nightmare of the Court, why they willingly drown in it.

I know I shouldn’t love it as I do, stolen as I am from the mortal world, my parents murdered. But I love it all the same.”

“They talk about honor, but what they really care about is power. I am good enough with a blade, knowledgeable in strategy. All I need is a chance to prove myself.”

“Someone who, along with Princess Rhyia, doesn’t appear to be attending tonight. But—oh no. I do see him.

Prince Cardan, sixth-born to the High King Eldred, yet still the absolute worst, strides across the floor toward us.”

“Vivi said she wishes she had one.”

“I’m glad she doesn’t,” I say firmly, which is stupid. I have nothing against tails.”

“I stand in front of my window and imagine myself a fearless knight, imagine myself a witch who hid her heart in her finger and then chopped her finger off.”

“Are you going to quit the tournament?”

“You mean because of Cardan and his Court of Jerks?”

“You’re littering in a magical lake,” she tells me.

“It’ll rot,” I say. “And so will we”

“Cardan’s gaze catches mine, and I can’t help the evil smile that pulls up the corners of my mouth”

“There is always a moment when it begins to move that I can’t help grinning. There is something about the sheer impossibility of it, the magnificence of the woods streaking by and the way the ragwort hooves kick up gravel as they leap up into the air, that gives me an electric rush of pure adrenaline.”

“You want to sit down or something?” Heather says, nodding toward the food court.

“Somebody owes me coffee,” I say pointedly to Vivi.”

[derww]

Crowns/Swords | Midmysticx&/Kaboodle

Mid is not a warrior in the full sense, but she has been here too long for this not to change her. She's not a warrior in the full sense, but she still picked up a sword and fought because that's what this world was about. 

And in the end she managed to become – not dangerous, just a builder, just a quest maker – but she never forgot how to hold a sword and shield and how to defend herself and how to attack and how to kill. She had zero kills in statistics, but it never changed anything.

She stays on spawn for a long time, just building, and building, and building, and building. And most people are just letting her be! New members – because she is a builder, someone absolutely harmless, someone they have no excuse to kill, and veterans – as someone they have known for too long, with whom they fought side by side, out of respect familiar to those who were in this world for far too long.

And – despite the fact that she builds and needs as many inventory slots as possible, she never puts the sword away. It is personally forged by Clown, a welcome back gift and a reminder of their connection. A lightweight bastard sword, shimmering purple, curving inwards, and topped with black decorative patterns. A harmless toy but a deadly weapon, because there was no thing created by Clown that was not invented for killing. She happily accepted the gift, hugged Clown, and then waved and shouted after him for a long time. She wasn't going to fight anyone, but she always had the sword with her anyway, and no one even dared to think about taking it away.

It's a quiet life. She doesn't have to think about much. There are enough things in her secret base under spawn to keep her fed and clothed, and wool and concrete farms supply all the necessary materials. People drop in to see her – just to say hello, just to find out how she is, just to share the news, just to chat – but they don't stay long, flying past the fish stuck in the current, returning to the deaths and murders. 

And then the spawn turns out to be blown up – this is how people talk about it, and Mid, remembering the wastelands of previous seasons, looks at the destruction with a smile – and the seasonal winds bring Kaboodle to spawn like a nimble lyretail. She, like surprisingly many people lately, calls herself a pacifist. Zam hands Kaboodle a task, and she accepts it as an order.

This is what distinguishes the two of them significantly: Mid could stop fighting, but she never called herself a pacifist. She had nothing against murder and violence; she just had more interesting things to do. If she had to fight, she fought, and if she lost, she died. It was a part of the server – but Kab, it seemed to her, would definitely have called herself a pacifist just to save herself. Not that Mid blamed her for that, of course. There was nothing terrible about wanting to live.

Kab stays on spawn for a long time, repairing destroyed buildings, and Mid is here all day anyway, so they see each other over and over again even without much desire – they fly past, exchange greetings, collide foreheads. Mid pranks her a couple of times, Kab gets scared and laughs and builds equanimity, and they jokingly chat for a long time, starting laughing and shoving every now and then. They may not know each other too well, but their vibes fit each other. Mid shares build materials with her. Kab gives her a fragrant armful of black lilacs. Mid hits her on the top of the head and screams and laughs for a long time. She leaves lilacs in a vase at home and takes care of them.

Kab calls herself a pacifist, but she continues to carry a sword. This is Staboodle, one of its many versions, and even without knowing the history, Mid could still easily guess who forged this sword for her. In the style of Clown's weapons, there was that simultaneous precision but also sophistication that was not inherent to anyone else on the server, and blue lines on the staboodle were forming into graceful waves that diverged in the hilt. Mid had never seen the sword from the outside of its case, but she didn't need to.

It doesn't take her long to realize that Kab is not really a pacifist – not that she doesn't adhere to pacifist principles, because it was obvious from the very beginning, but that she doesn't kill just for her own purposes. Mid is perceptive in her own way, but that doesn't change anything. There was no innocent person on the Lifesteal, and even if there were, Mid wouldn't be interested in them, and Kab was funny. 

Once upon a time, an infinity ago, Mid was a queen. But the further she went forward, without aging or changing, the further she found herself from humanity, until the only thing she could carry was her own knowledge. She was a queen, even if her kingdom continued to live without her for many centuries, independently deciding its own fate, and, even if her power could be called rather symbolic, she never lost her title. And if she remained the queen, then there could be a beautiful consort in the kingdom, right? She had never put a crown on someone else's head before, but she was excited even by the prospect.

She's not stupid, but she's definitely inspired by the idea. There is naivety in this, but she likes to just... not pay attention. She talks to Kab, and she laughs, and they walk around the spawn that is being destroyed and restored over and over again – a ghostly image on a ghostly image, like there is at least a moment for a simple walk and smile at each other, and something about it gives Mid faith that there is still a salvation.

And she should understand cycles, she should see their flows and patterns in the fabric of reality, but for some reason she doesn't – and that's solely why the moment where Kaboodle threatens to kill her turns out to be so sudden. Glass waves on the Staboodle are merged into a crushing tsunami at the tip of the blade. Stained with Planet's blood, the glass blade turned almost black, and Mid gives Kab her – haha! – heart, because she has no choice. It is also quite expected that after that she demands Mane to cleave Kab's head off in return.