#more like his spirit calling out for comfort from someone not entirely gone

[yourfavoritewitchbitch]

Midnight Temptation

Sweet Seduction

An encounter with a handsome, intriguing stranger who has his eyes set on you. Are you prey... Or something more.

This will be a series of blurbs featuring Vampy Steve!

As always, my works are 18+ MDNI! This one does not contain any smut.

CW: This one is pretty mild. Smoking. Mentions feeding on humans/blood lust. Vampires. No use of Y/N.

WC: 1.6K

The chilled autumn breeze catches you off guard, as you tighten your coat around yourself. Early October winds stripped most of the reds and yellows from the trees, littering the sidewalk with its array of discarded foliage. A pity none crunch under your feet, dampened by the rain that seems to be never ending this week.

It's only another few blocks but the sudden drop in temperature wasn't what you expected today. Then again, you hardly ever caught the weather forecast.

Glancing at your watch, you picked up the pace, trying to avoid another earful from your boss for being late. It was just a shitty dive bar, you could easily pick up another shift at a handful of places around the city, but you’d just gotten the job a month ago and didn’t want to start looking again so soon.

Arriving just in time, you barreled through the door to avoid any backlash, but your spirits were immediately dashed when your boss told you the other waitress called out with no replacement, leaving you alone for the night.

It started out easy enough, a few regulars filtering in that were easy going but before long the place had gotten packed. You were making a mad dash around the place to keep up for the rest of the evening into the late night.

He had slipped in easily, going unnoticed, weaving through the crowd with sure and measured steps. Women took notice as he passed by, along with a few men, as he navigated to the dimly lit booth in the far corner of the bar making himself at home, spreading out and making himself more comfortable. His long legs stretched beneath the table, crossing as the ankle.

You were taking a couple's drink order, pausing mid-sentence when his eyes caught yours. He was shrouded by the dark, but for a moment you could have sworn his eyes were glowing amber before he looked away.

“Are you even listening to me?” The blonde bimbo squeaked, snapping her perfectly manicured fingers in front of your face pulling your attention back to her.

“Shit, yeah, sorry. That was a gin and tonic for him and a cosmopolitan for you, right?” Plastering your best fake smile across your face as you said it. She rolled her eyes replying with an annoyed “yeah.”

You nodded, eyes drifting back over to him as you walked away but he was gone. It had only been a mere few seconds and somehow, he had managed to sneak away. Quickly surveying the room, trying to catch a glimpse of this mystery man, you spot a head caramel highlighted tresses slipping out the door into the night.

Weird.

You checked the rest of your tables before telling your boss you were taking a smoke break, walking through the kitchen and out into the back alley.

-

He was walking downtown late one evening, making his usual rounds. Local dive bars, near the east side, frequented by vagrants and some homeless. They were easy prey, though he had to watch the addicts, their essence tasted like battery acid, burning the entire way down.

He looked for people that weren't believable. The ones that if his mind manipulation failed, no one would bat an eye at thinking an actual vampire lurked in the streets and shadows of Indy. His thoughts drifted to Eddie, how easily he could ease into someone's thoughts, simply by gazing into their eyes. He had always been so much better at making sure no one remembered his late night visits.

He was close to his usual spot, a small diner situated near an alley that was backed up to a row of abandoned warehouses when he caught a scent of someone intoxicating that hit him so hard and potent it stopped him in his tracks.

His body was on autopilot following his nose and blood lust to a small dive bar on the edge of town. He stepped in, eyes quickly searching everyone in the dimly lit bar, but no one stood out right away.

He grabbed a booth at the far end, half shrouded so he could watch the room without being noticed and that's when you stepped out from the back.

His senses were flooded, causing him to close his eyes and take a deep breath. Why you? Why were you so special?

When he allowed himself to look back up, you were staring directly at him. He knew his eyes were burning embers as his canines suddenly pierced his bottom lip, hissing to himself from losing control as he looked away.

You were distracted once he had regained composure, so he quickly moved to leave.

His cold, dead heart suddenly felt like it was pumping blood through his body again, coursing through his veins at a rapid pace. That nervous trepidation when meeting someone that made your stomach flip overtook him. He hadn’t felt like this in years, not since he was still alive.

He HAD to get out of there.

He turned the corner to take the alleyway to stay away from the crowds on the main strip and maybe snag a quick late night snack.

He was taking his time but then you walked out. He moved lightning fast, his back pressed up against the brick exterior of the adjacent building, silently watching you from the shadows.

Inhaling another deep breath, he willed his lungs to expand, relishing your scent this close and personal without the obstruction of other people.

He'd never smelled anything like it. It was sweet. Strawberries and honey, an alluring mixture that called to him like a siren's song, one that he couldn't ignore. It was too tempting to steer himself away before crashing into the rocks and letting you drown him.

He couldn’t stop the words from tumbling from his mouth as he stepped out of his hiding place.

-

There were a couple of old crates stacked in the corner by the dumpster that everyone used as a makeshift stool. You plopped yourself down onto with a heavy sigh, pulling out a crumpled pack of smokes and lighter.

“Great.” Huffing to yourself pulling out the last one and placing the filter between your lips, lighting the end with a cherry red glow illuminating your face.

The back alley was dark, except for one streetlight to the left at the main road. It was quiet. You relished in the few peaceful moments you could steal away from the loud music that faintly trickled out.

You took a long drag, holding the nicotine laced smoke in your lungs for a few seconds, slowly releasing it, when you heard a gravelly voice from the shadows.

“Those things’ll kill you.”

Your head shot toward the sound, heart rate ticking up slightly with the knowledge that he had obviously been watching you.

Slowly he stepped out into the light, worn denim jeans on long legs, slim waist and an expansive chest, clad in a simple black v neck t-shirt under his matching leather jacket. Your eyes trailed slowly up, a silver chain around his neck catching the light and reflecting it back to you when his face was finally revealed.

He was handsome. Too handsome for a place like this.

From your vantage point, you made out his strong jawline and aquiline nose. His dark eyes seemed to look straight through you.

“Sorry, if I spooked you.” Rushing out as if he could feel the tension suddenly radiating from you, making a show of his hands taking another step in your direction.

“You make it a habit of skulking around in dark alleyways?” You smirked, sliding the cigarette back between your lips. There was something about him that intrigued you, your eyes shifting to examine his charming exterior, but it felt like there was something more dark lurking just below the surface.

The words slipped out before you realized it, that snarky, tough girl attitude seeping through but he simply grinned, amused with you.

“Not usually.” He kept his gaze firmly fixated on you as he spoke, giving no other explanation. “Got a smoke I could bum?”

“Sorry, fresh out.” Making a show of crumpling the empty pack and tossing into the dumpster as you stood, finishing the last of yours before stubbing it out. “And I need to get back to work.”

“Right.” He nodded. “Maybe next time.”

“Yeah, sure, pretty boy. Yo—”

“What'd you just call me?” His suddenly demanding voice cut you off as you turned back around, suddenly face to face with him, startling you once again wondering how the hell he got across the alleyway so quickly.

“Wha— I,” your brows marry with confusion. “I— pretty boy?”

“Why'd you call me that?” He asked, leaning further into your space. This close you could see his eyes were a golden array of warmth.

“I don't know. It just— your eyes are really… beautiful.” Blurting out without a second thought, as if those eyes had you pinned under some sort of spell.

He suddenly took a couple steps back, looking away and breaking whatever the moment was.

“I'm sorry, I— you should go back to work. Sorry I bothered you.” He backed further away and turned, working his way towards the shadow. Hoping it wouldn't be the last time you'd see him; you spoke back up.

“Aren't you coming back in?” You rushed out.

“Maybe some other time.” He lamented, a hint of regret in his voice as he stopped but didn’t turn back around.

“Well, can I at least get a name, or do you just prefer pretty boy?” You smirked.

“It's Steve.” If only you could see the smile that split his face. It had been a long time since he'd told anyone his real name and he's still not quite sure why he told you.

“Well, Steve, guess I’ll see you around.” You smiled, as you headed back toward the door without waiting for a response. You gripped the handle and peered back in the direction he had just been walking, but much to your surprise he was already gone.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Saved And Fucked By The Moth Man.

Pairing: Mothman x F. Reader (Cryptozoology).

Word Count: 3.6k.

TW: Death/Gore, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Inhuman Anatomy, Generalized Monster-Fucking, Car Crashes, Reader's Pretty Questionable In This One, and Blood.

Based On The Results of This Poll.

You thought it could’ve been a bird, at first.

A raven, or a crow – you weren’t entirely sure. Something big and black that flew so quickly, you hadn’t been able to make out anything more specific than a dark blur and the vague impression of feathers before it was gone, vanishing into the shadows of the forest before you could realize that you'd reflexively swerved to avoid it, before you could do anything to stop yourself from crashing into the base of an oak so tall and so opposing, it wouldn’t so much as shake under the force of the collision. By the time you stumbled out of your wrecked car, the windshield shattered and the engine utterly decimated, whatever threw you off-course had been gone, and you’d been left alone on a country backroad in the middle of nowhere - bruised, sore, and miles away from the nearest city. Really, the only way your night could get worse was if—

Thunder cracked somewhere in the distance, quaking through the otherwise silent forest. You glanced up, searching for the sky through the dense canopy of overlapping branches and finding it overcast. It’d rain, pretty soon, and you’d be left lost, injured, and drenched.

Well, at least now, it really couldn’t get any worse.

You fished your phone out of your pocket and pressed your back against the most in-tact side of your car, checking if you had reception for the millionth time. Of course, you didn’t, and of course, your battery was in the single digits – too low to justify using your flashlight and risking leaving yourself alone in the dark with a dead phone and no way to call for help if you did, somehow, manage to make it to the border of civilization.

You considered crawling into what was left of the backseat of your car, turning off your phone, and hoping someone else drove down this godforsaken road in the morning, but before you could let exhaustion dampen your better judgement, you heard something in the woods rustle, the sounds of displaced leaves and cracking twigs standing out against the stillness of the woods. Somewhat hesitantly, you turned towards the disturbance, half-expecting to see wolves or coyote or, as unlikely as it was, the same over-sized bird that’d gotten you into this, but instead, much to your relief, you found a group of three men – hunters, judging by the riffles slung over their backs, the dirt caked into their shoes. None of them were wearing visibility gear, and you couldn't say it seemed like a great idea to go skulking through the forest in the middle of the night, but you were already out of your comfort zone. You couldn’t be sure what people walking around in the woods at night were supposed to look like, and at that point, you didn’t really care.

You grinned, moving to call out to them, but the oldest of the group was already addressing you, already stepping out of the forest and onto the road. “What do you think you’re doing out here, darlin’?”

Your expression faltered, but you kept your spirits up. It was fine. This was fine. You could deal with a little backwoods chauvinism until you got to a mechanic. “Got into an accident,” you said, nodding towards where your car where it bent around the oak’s trunk. “No service, either. I guess I wouldn’t be able to bother one of you kind people to call a tow truck, would I?”

There was a long, silent pause. The two younger men exchanged a glance. Again, the oldest spoke to you. “This is private property, y’know. Not a lot of folks come through this patch of woods.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know. I… I’m just in town for the convention.” One of the younger men slid his rifle off of his shoulder, taking it in both hands. The other followed in-suit. “It’s a beautiful area. If I had to get stranded, I’m glad it was here.”

���So, no relatives nearby? Nobody who’d notice if you didn’t get home in the mornin’?”

You pressed yourself against the dented metal, your smile now strained. “You know what?” You asked, forcing out an airy chuckle. “I think I’ll just walk for it. How far could the next town be, right?”

He held up a hand, signaling to the rest of his group. You heard something click, caught boots scraping against rough pavement, and watched a broad grin form across the older man’s features. “Looks like there’s gonna be a hunt tonight after all, boys.”

Your first reflex was, somewhat counterintuitively, to laugh. The sound was jarring, too loud and too stilted, cutting your lips and catching in your throat like pieces of broken glass.

Your second, triggered when one of the younger men moved to step toward you, was to run for your life.

Without thought, without hesitation, you broke into a dead-sprint. There was a holler behind you, a round of hollow clicks and earth-shaking thuds, and then, they were chasing you.

You couldn’t be sure how far you made it. It felt like you ran for seconds, or days, or years. It felt like you traveled miles, or feet, or just a few steps. Everything looked like the same repetitive blur of trees taller than your eyes could follow and roots that jutted from the earth like pikes. Their footsteps remained constant, never growing closer or farther away, always lingering somewhere just behind you, always just barely breathing down your neck. Fuck this. Fuck your car. Fuck this entire goddamn town and their stupid convention. If you made it out of this alive, you’d spend the rest of your life as far from this state as you could get. Coming here had been a stupid idea to begin with, a spontaneous trip planned at the last minute and based on a half-baked desire to see something that probably didn’t even exist. You just thought you might’ve been able to see—

Your foot caught on a half-buried stone, and you were sent crashing into the earth, your shoulder taking the brunt of the fall. You were left on the ground, cursing under your breath and holding your aching arm as you scrambled to get back on your feet, to keep moving before your would-be murderers caught up with you. You weren’t fast enough, though – you couldn’t be, not when they’d always been on your heels, not when you’d already given them an opportunity to put their quarry out of its misery. You’d barely started to push yourself up when they emerged from the tangle of trees, guns cocked and hunting knives drawn. You shrunk into yourself, threw your arms over your face in a last-ditch effort to protect yourself, despite knowing that a bullet would tear through your skin like paper, despite being able to picture your body lying lifeless on the forest floor, bleeding out in the dirt like a wild animal. The last thing you saw was the oldest man, raising his riffle and aiming towards your chest before you shut your eyes.

You heard a shot, sudden and deafening, but the impact never came.

You felt something whip past you. There was a scream, wordless and torn and cut short with a ragged screech and a wet, visceral sound – like flesh being carved open, like teeth tearing into raw meat. It was all you could do to curl into yourself, sinking into your self-made shelter as the forest descended into the sounds of carnage, only falling silent when there was nothing left to cut down. Even then, it took you long, agonizing seconds to open your eyes, to take in the gore splattered across the grass and dirt, the guns that’d been bent and twisted into shapes they weren’t meant to hold. A disembodied leg laid to your side, the torso it’d been ripped from impaled on a branch nearly twenty feet off of the ground. Clumps of torn muscle and split entrails shined reddish-silver in the limited moonlight, but you could only focus on the gore for so long.

Only a few yards away, a man stood in front of you. Only, it wasn’t a man, not really, not when you looked beyond its – his? hers? theirs? – vaguely humanoid form. Its long legs and lanky arms were coated in a thin layer of grey, shaggy fur that grew shorter and finer over its defined chest. You could make out curved talons extending from its massive hands, a pair of ringed antennae curled back along its scalp, a pair of tattered wings folded against its back. Its head might’ve been the strangest part of its anatomy; low and stooped, too round to resemble anything human and too featureless inspire anything but an uncanny sense that you weren’t supposed to be here. From a distance, the only thing you could really make out was its eyes. They were gigantic, nearly spherical – orbs of pure crimson that seemed to glow in the dim light.

Before you could stop yourself, your attention drifted downward, to the space between its legs. It took you an embarrassingly long moment to recognize what you were looking at – the shaft absent of all veins or definition beyond a perfect spiral ridge that coiled from the base to the flushed, lilac-shaded head. The tip was tapered, ending in a sharp slant and budding with something white and thick. The entire thing looked almost painfully erect, inflating it to a size that, even when compared to the rest of its massive body, sparked a raw, preservationist kind of terror inside of you. Fear took root in the pit of your stomach, sprouting up and into the hollow of your chest, making it difficult to breathe, to resist the urge to curl back into yourself and never come out.

Second to only your fear, just as pervasive and twice as instinctual, was your arousal.

It would’ve been impossible to read its nonexistent expression, but as it shifted its weight, turning to face you, you could’ve sworn the creature was looking at you with as much interest as you held for it. Its scarlet eyes were wide and unfaltering, its gaze only growing more intense as it took a step in your direction, then another, approaching you in slow, tense increments. Despite its stiffness, it didn’t seem awkward or nervous, let alone afraid of you. If anything, it seemed like it was trying not to scare you, even if you couldn’t say there was much weight behind the gesture when you were sitting among the viscera of its last three victims. Still, you held your ground, not daring to so much as blink until it was standing in front of you.

From a distance, it’d been inhumanly tall. Now that it was close enough to touch, it seemed downright monstrous.

With jerky, unpracticed movements, it reached down, towards you. You waited for a beat, then another, and when it failed to pull away or bury its talons in your chest, you hesitantly placed your hand in its palm, a knot forming in the back of your throat as its claws folded and everything up to your wrist was completely encompassed. With a sharp tug, it pulled you to your feet and held steady you when your legs, still shaking, proved too weak to hold your weight. You let out a fleeting, nervous laugh, and in response, it chittered – the sound high-pitched and tittering. It was cute, in the way seeing a lion play with a ball of yarn would’ve been cute. You were still eminently aware that the creature in front of you could end your life, but still.

“Hey,” you managed, eventually, unable to think of anything else to say. You didn’t even know if it could understand you, but you weren’t sure what else to do. “Did you… did you save me?”

Another round of chittering, a slight glimmer in its otherwise blank stare. You smiled. “Thank you, I— I’m not from around here, and I didn’t know I’d have to look out for people like that.” You bowed your head, attempting to let your eyes fall to the ground, but rather, your eyes found its cock again, pressed against its abdomen and leaking. The adrenaline that’d coursed through your veins a few minutes ago was already starting to fade, making room for something else, something closer to an anxious sort of zeal. Something that made you want to do something less than advisable.

Slowly, doing what little you could to stop your hands from shaking, you reached out, your fingertips barely brushing against its soft cheek. It nuzzled into your touch, earning a small smile, a trickle of a laugh. “Poor thing,” you mumbled, almost comforted by the fact that it couldn’t respond, couldn’t mock your poor-excuse for a seductively saccharine tone. “Do you need help with that?”

You saw its talon’s twitch, its wings flutter almost imperceptibly against its back. You weren’t aware that you were moving, not until your back was pressed against the rough bark of the nearest oak, until you felt the clawed hand that it’d wrapped around your waist drop to your hip, then your thigh. The tips of its curved talons scraped against your skin as it ran its claws from your waist to your knee, cutting through the delicate fabric of your shorts and panties and discarding the material without a second thought. The open air was cold against your exposed skin, but something quickly replaced it – a gentle, oppressive warmth that seemed to sap the chill from your skin. Your legs were thrown over its shoulders, held in place by its massive hands as it buried its face between your thighs. You barely had time to straighten your back, to brace yourself before—

Oh.

Oh.

It was more tongue-like than you’d expected.

Not to say that it was a tongue – you weren’t really sure what you should call it. Long, split at the tip, just rough enough to earn a breathy gasp, a new wave of heat rushing from your core to your head, obscuring your few remaining rational thoughts with a shimmering haze. Its tongue (tendril? proboscis?) ran over the length of your exposed slit, leaving a trail of thick, viscous saliva dripping down the inside of your thighs before jerking its head upward and finding your clit, the tip of its tongue circling the sensitive bundle of nerves as soon as it recognized the airy sounds now falling steadily from your lips for the unabashed moans they were. It was almost experimental, the way it bent and curled its tongue, clearly working towards a quickly approaching goal but constantly looking for a way to get there that much faster, to make your legs twitch that much harder, to force the coil writhing violently in the pit of your stomach wind up that much tighter.

It was all you could do to arch your back against the oak’s trunk and clench your eyes shut, your hands falling to the softened ridge between its curved antennae. Only half-consciously, your attention dominated by the feeling of its coarse tongue swirling over your clit, you raked your fingers through its cropped fur, doing what you could to show the creature your appreciation, your gratitude. You tried to be gentle, but the curling tips of its tongue slipped into your tight entrance and the world burnt white, your body jerking forward and your nails biting into its scalp. There was a deep, guttural sound from somewhere deep in its chest, and its hands rose to your hips, claws scrapping lightly against your skin as its tongue fucked into you. It was thin, but long and so flexible – twisting and coiling against the sensitive walls of your cunt, never repeating the same blissful pattern of thrusts and thrashes more than once. You found yourself grinding into its mouth, seeking out whatever friction you could with the clumsy movements of your hips. The pressure, the weight, the sensation – it was more than you could handle. You could already feel it, a certain tightness in your chest, a tension in your core that—

Without warning, without satisfaction, it pulled away from you, leaving you empty and quickly coming down from a high that you never quite reached. You let out a long whine, more desperate than disappointed, and as if to apologize, the creature nuzzled against the inside of your thigh, chirping softly. Thankfully, your reprieve was a short one. With its hands still on your hips, your body still held aloft by its inhuman strength, you were dragged away from the oak and into its chest as it stood to its full height. Your chest was slotted against the creature’s, the pointed head of its cock pressed flush to your dripping cunt. Its wings fanned out, its hips rolling against yours, and a sharp, aching moan was drawn from your lips as it thrust into you, finally filling you to the brim.

For a long moment, it was all you could do to bury your face in its chest and try to put together a coherent thought. Only half of its length was inside of you, and yet, you could practically feel it pressing into your core, rubbing against the walls of your cunt, the cork-screw ridge that ran from the tip to the base threatening to split you open. It didn’t, though, and even if it had, you couldn’t be sure you would’ve cared. Before the creature could even begin to move, to fuck into you from below, you were grinding against it, mindlessly and desperately trying to chase that fullness, that peak. It didn’t take long for the creature to answer your fervor. There was a raised notch just above the base of its cock, a notch that caught on your clit as it beat into you with heavy, rough strokes. A talon was dragged down the back of your top, tearing the fabric away and allowing its tongue to lave over your chest. All of its gentleness, all of its restraint was thrown aside as its claws dug into your hips, cutting through skin and tinting your pleasure with an intensity that wouldn’t have been possible without a drop of pain.

A scream, wild and euphoric, was torn from your throat, and you wrapped your legs around its waist, dragging your own nails over its back as you fought to keep some part of yourself grounded. Even that was an effort made in vain. You heard its wings shift, felt the air rush against your skin, and suddenly, you were breaking through the canopy – speared on the creature’s cock mid-air, being fucked against the backdrop of the dark, velveteen sky.  The shock, the adrenaline, the thrill was enough to leave you clenching around the creature’s cock, your vision burning white as you came undone. You might’ve been able to come down, to melt back into its thrusts and its affection, if something hadn’t clicked in its chest, if its wings hadn’t started to move a little faster, if something hadn’t happened and the creature hadn’t started to emit a sort of reverberating droll – the sort throbbing vibration that only seemed to make the friction against your clit, the feeling of it stretching you open more perfect. You couldn’t be sure how long you stayed in that hazy, half-conscious state – limp and moaning in the arms of a monster, always either spilling over your high or riding out the aftershocks. It only came to a climax – a real climax – when the creature stiffened against you, its cock twitching violently inside of your cunt. It pulled you as close as it possibly could and, with one last wave of pulsing reverberation, released something thick inside of you – viscous and warm and translucent. Like sap. Like nectar.

Light-headed and blissed-out, you buried your face in its chest as it began to descend, the sound of your giddy laughter muffled by its fur. This time, when it pulled away from you with an apologetic chirp, you didn’t complain, only pressing one more lingering kiss into the curve of its shoulder and letting it draw back. Your legs were too weak to hold your weight, so you braced yourself against the nearest oak as the creature disappeared into the dark of the forest, returning a few moments later with a bundle of bloody fabric in its arms. A shirt – a little torn but mostly in one piece, taken from one of the hunters’ corpses, clearly meant to replace your own ruined clothes. You smiled as you slipped it over your head. It was a size too big, and it was sure to raise a few questions, but it would do until you could find help. Whatever ‘help’ meant, at that point.

When you were finished, the creature took you up again; wrapping an arm around your waist and catching you under your knees, pulling you against its broad chest. This time, as it soared over the forest, you were able to admire view, the star-lit sky and sprawling woodland before it landed where the forest had started to thin and give way to the outskirts of a small town. Slowly, carefully, it lowered you to the ground, keeping you upright when your unsteady balance wavered. You laughed and, for longer than a moment, you held its unblinking gaze, Eventually, your hands fell into its claws, your smile turning bitter-sweet and sentimental. “Will I ever see you again?”

There was a slight chittering, a gentle squeeze to your hand. You felt its tongue against your cheek and let your eyes fall shut. By the time you could bring yourself to open them again, Mothman – because it was Mothman, you could only deny it for so long – was gone, barely a silhouette in the distance. You heard the crack of thunder, and watched it fly away as the sky broke open and rain spilled out.

The next day, you would learn that a bridge about twenty miles outside of the city the creature left you in had collapsed the night before, killing hundreds.

[hey-august]

The Tide Comes and Goes | Buggy x gn!Reader

Summary: Stuck in a relationship and a life that you don't want, you're given the chance to get out. WC: ~1k Warnings: pretty much SFW, just a hint of spice, buggy x GN!reader, cheating / infidelity - reader and their partner cheat on each other, profanity, angst, no happy ending A/N: I had this ready for Angst August but forgot to post it oops. I have one more that I want to write, plus an optional comfort ending that will fit into any of the Angst August stories I wrote.

“You could come with me, you know. All you have to do is ask,” Buggy teased. Every visit from the pirate ended with the same offer. A solution to your loveless marriage.

You had hoped to fill the void other ways. Extravagant shopping with the money your partner sent home, volunteering with the fake righteous busybodies in town, pouring bottle after bottle into the emptiness, becoming a temporary port for sailors who needed to wet their dicks. Some of it was fun, but the ache was always there when the morning sun hit your eyes.

The only relief you found was through a clown, of all people. Through his stories and jokes, his sleight of hands, and the bawdy atmosphere he and his crew brought to town.

Buggy was fun. Listening to his adventures, watching him embody the spirit of the story - it was enthralling. When his voice dropped, as soft as the incoming tide, you’d lean in closer. When he slapped the table and shouted with all the air in his lungs, you’d jump in excitement.

Sometimes when only the moon and you were awake, when you laid in a bed too big for one person, you replayed his tales in your mind and allowed yourself to imagine that you were in them too.

Over time, you shared stories with Buggy. About jobs deemed more important than feelings. A familiar stranger whose visits you gave up tracking because they were so infrequent. Of rare calls with laughter in the background and distraction in your partner’s voice. You told him about a life on pause indefinitely.

But when Buggy visited, it felt like the pause was lifted. Like that time was for you. So you took it. You took the freedom he sailed on. You took his taste, his lips pressed against yours. You took his requests for assurance and promised it was okay. That you wanted this. You wanted him.

It felt different, at least to you. Every other time you brought someone to bed, there were no feelings attached. Your heart pounded in your chest and between your legs, drumming away any negative feelings for the moment. With Buggy, the ache only ever dulled. It stayed behind to whisper something different. That you shouldn’t be alone anymore.

You did anything and everything to quiet the voice entirely. Every time you straddled the visiting pirate and his waves, every time you were caged beneath his sweaty body, every time he pressed you into a mattress that didn’t belong to him, you ignored the whispers. You waited until they went silent. Even when you curled into the snoring figure, sharing sheets until the tide came, the inner-voice stopped talking because you stopped listening.

One morning, you woke up after Buggy. He was quiet and gently stroking your arm. Shifting slightly, you looked up at the captain. His facepaint was smudged and faded, no doubt smeared into the pillow he slept on. Your pillow. His hair was loose and a little dirty at the roots from his exertions the night before. Stubble clung to his jaw and neck. It was longer than usual and you liked it.

Buggy looked down and returned the goofy grin that you were wearing. He felt so close. He was within reach.

But his ship would be leaving soon. And he would make that empty offer that you could go with him, even though you would never ask. It was routine. A part of the play.

“You should come with me.”

Wait, that was wrong. That’s not what Buggy was supposed to say. The smile was gone from his face, but the softness wasn’t.

“I want you to co-”

“Stop. Don’t say it,” you interrupted, pushing back from him. You sat up too quickly, bringing sparks of light into your vision. The pounding of your heart was in your ears, drowning any rational thoughts.

This was not how it was supposed to go. You were supposed to be the one to ask. But you never would, because this was your life. This empty fucking house and empty fucking bed were yours. All this loneliness and sadness is what you knew. It hurt, but it was familiar. It was comfortable.

“I’m not going with you, Buggy. I won’t, so don’t ask.”

“Seriously? Haven’t you thought about it? Don’t you want to leave this shit behind?” Buggy asked, torn between wanting to understand and wanting to convince you. He gestured around, his movements hard and rough.

“Stop! You don’t know what I want. Do you even understand what you’re asking me to do? Give up my life, abandon everything, and join a circus?” You laughed loudly. It was ridiculous. It was stupid. It wasn’t for you.

“Fuck, just listen to me f-”

“Stop begging,” you spat, “it’s pathetic.”

Buggy’s jaw tightened. “Fuck you.”

Pushing off the blankets, he got out of the bed and started pulling on the clothes he left on the floor.

You stared at the bottom of the bed, listening to the rustle of clothes while Buggy got dressed. “Why did you ask? Why did you have to do that?”

“Because I wanted to.”

You picked up on the past tense. Wanted. Your chest was burning. It was too full.

“Aren’t you tired of being left behind?” Buggy continued with a sneer that pierced your chest and allowed your toxic insides to drip out.

“Wow…don’t you get it? You were always just entertainment for me, Buggy the Clown. Like I’d want to join you or your fucking freaks.”

Buggy turned to face you so quickly that you couldn’t help but look at him. And the anger on his face. He stared at you, the ocean in his eyes dark and murky. His fingers twitched. Then, without another word, he left.

You listened to his heavy stride, until the front door jingled and slammed shut. Hard.

And you were alone once more. Just like it’s supposed to be.

[izzystizzys]

Die Alone: The Coruscant Guard Christmas Special

All‘s calm and quiet on Coruscant, for once - the Senate‘s either gone home to celebrate the universally beloved Xeshmas with their closest, or is attending the annual festive bash at the Spakatomi Splaza buildings, sponsored by Chandrila. At 79’s, a horde of merry Commanders get together to bask in the Xeshmas spirit (red, green and white shots) and celebrate another year survived. But wait, Bacara groans into someone’s boots only thirty minute into their jolly bash, where the kriff is Fox? Ignored the invite again?

A strange feeling comes over Cody. He spent the entire day brooding, telling everyone who would listen that he has the strangest sensation of having forgotten something important and being told it can’t be that important if he’s forgotten it (Wooley) or to quit being such a partypooper (Rex). Now, it dawns on him.

He never sent that comm to Fox.

To be entirely fair, Fox probably couldn’t have attended either way - stuck as he is as the singular vod on babysitting shift at the empty Senate building. Still, it would’ve been nice to at least hear from some of the others, considering he saw them all loiter towards the clubbing district on security cams anyways. Now, here he sits and gathers dust - as a glorified secretary while his brothers are off partying or on security detail at Spakatomi Splaza.

Fox heaves a deep sigh and traces expletives in the thin film of dust on the reception desk. One positive of this whole thing - for once, he’s safe from being accosted and having slurs thrown at him by uppity senate staff, or, Force forbid, being called on a special mission by the Chancellor. He’s safely in his Nubian mansion by now, thank the Galaxy.

Thire and Ballsy are heading the party security, which, most ridiculous kriffing thing he’s had to assign troopers to in a long time. He would’ve doomed himself to it, but the Chancellor specially requested he man the desks and empty Senate. Fox is, after all, the best of the best.

Kriffing Xeshmas parties. Mothma, who’s usually capable of critical thought, specially requested they be in softshell for this assignment - to make their guests feel more comfortable and off the clock, she told Fox with a completely straight face.

Imagine that. Off the clock. Hah.

Fox is so busy watching the imaginary off-time he’s only heard of in dreams that he doesn’t even register the sudden plunge into darkness, until he starts to blink and his brain slowly comes back online.

Well, kriff.

With a heavy, internalized eyeroll, he flicks at his vambrace. Nothing. Taps for the light-controls. Nothing. Pokes at the screens of various pads.

Nothing.

…double-kriff.

With a much more external sigh, Fox heaves himself to his feet and attempts to manually flick on his helmet lights, only to grunt out a string of curses when he realizes they shorted out along with everything else. He gropes at his belt and -

Yup, magpack on the blaster too. Great.

Fox trudges through the empty, darkened corridors with all the enthusiasm of the world’s saddest glorified customer service worker, mentally cursing all the great forces at work to create this extraordinarly shit day for him.

Mothma for throwing stupid kriffing Xeshmas parties and requesting an unreasonable amount of softshell (!) Guard for it.

Palpatine for ordering him to babysit the Galaxy’s center of operations alone.

Cody and all the rest of them for not even kriffing pretending to invite him to anything anymore.

This stupid kriffing generator for deciding to kick it at the worst possible moment, and whoever was stupid enough to make the whole Senate power grid and comm access dependent on one single kriffing -

Fox freezes, all at once.

Voices. Plural. Outside.

Slowly, Fox creeps towards the slide doors leading outside. He pries them open gently, careful not to allow for a single creak or slip that could give him away. It’s more likely to be nothing than anything, but -

“ - enter from the trash chute, while Bossk takes the staff entrance on the other side and cover more ground that way. Bane, you will screw off the vent covers through the third floor exit and -“

“I know what I’m doing”, a deep, gravelly voice interrupts that sends shivers down Fox’ spine. He’d hoped he’d never have to encounter it outside a criminal court recording again - triple kriff. “I don’t need your lectures, Sing.”

“Touchy today, are we?”, Aurra Sing says, snidely, and it begins to dawn on Fox exactly how kriffed he really is. “Relax, Bane. We know what we’re doing. The Chancellor’s treasury doesn’t stand a chance in Sith-hell.”

A low, vibrating hiss answers her, trembling with laughter. Fox has to force himself to hold his breath to keep in the expletives that want to slip free, hands cold and clammy in his gloves.

“Alright, everyone on position. We wait an hour for the commotion to really get started over at Spakatomi, and then -“

Deciding he’s heard enough, Fox carefully shifts the sliding doors back closed and inches back through the hallways with his heart hammering in his chest. Kriff, kriff and double-kriff this stupid kriffing holiday - first thing he’s doing when he gets out of this alive is outlaw the very idea of Xeshmas for all acting GAR personnel, and then he’s going to shove a Nabooian fir-tree up the ass of Jango Fett’s kriffing ghost, because somehow, this too is his fault. Fox just knows it.

First, though, he’ll have to keep three of the Galaxy’s most infamous and deadly bounty hunters from stealing Republic secrets and treasures on his own.

(Somewhere, among the debris-littered ring of planetary satellites, a string of increasingly desperate comms waits to go through:

CC-4477: FOX

CC-4477: FOX HELP

CC-4477: FOOOOOOOX

CC-4477: THERE ARE SEPPIE TERRORISTS IN THE LOBBY THEY ARE BEATING UP ORGANA

CC-4477: I AMN HIDNG I TOLET

CC-4477: Sorry for that, Commander. The situation is back under control - I have acquired a bomb. I‘m sure you‘re right outside with the others setting up a perimeter - I‘ll keep the hostages safe, ori‘vod! :) -Thire)

[morganas-pendragons]

Grieving Is Like Suffocating | Elendil

You don't know how to come back up for air.

2/2 on the ROP fan fiction. I can't stop writing for these guys. The ideas just keep pouring.

This is based in S1, Ep 7 and 8. Set when Elendil returns to Númenor. Another female reader. This one is a long time friend of Miriel.

In this fic, Elendil meets Míriel when they're younger as opposed to meeting when they're older in the show.

Enjoy! This got away from me, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. I'd love to know what you guys think!

I'll be writing 2 more for Celebrimbor and 1 for Elrond within the next week or so!

***

It started off with you and a young boy on the shores of Númenor. He was screaming. You were only just learning how to defend yourself during those years, barely an adult and now newly appointed to Miriel's guard, and you found yourself called to the screaming 10 year old by the water.

You quickly realized why as soon as you calmed him down enough to talk. His mother's body was floating face down in the waters of Númenor. He himself was soaked to the bone, so young and so full of fear as he clung to your side.

“I got caught in a riptide. She.. she drowned-“

You held him there, whispering comfort into his ear as you stroked his hair. You later found out his name was Isildur and that his father was Elendil The Tall, someone you’ve known for years but have never actually met.

Elendil spent the entire day looking for Isildur. When he eventually found him, his son was bent over his wife's body, and he was calling out for you.

"Who does that name belong to, son?"

"She found me by the water and helped bring Mother to the shore! She said her name, but she ran away before I could ask her to find you!" Elendil wrapped his hand around Isildur's shoulder as he hid his face in his father's hip, trembling hands clutching the fabric of his trousers. "Mother... Mother's gone...."

Elendil could do nothing but whisper assurances to his little one and wrap him up in his arms to return him home. He dare not let Isildur see his tears fall.

Elendil never learned the face of the one who'd saved his son. See, you'd sworn Isildur to a secret: He had to keep your identity a secret to come back and meet you again. Everyone knew who you were because of your standing with the Queen Regent.

No one knew who you were as a person. No one knew you as the person who saved Isildur and Elendil both.

In the quiet despair of the funeral, someone was singing.

There was a beautifully ornate casket before him with his three children standing idly by on either side of where Elendil knelt before it. Very few people were allowed to the funeral, as he'd wanted it to be a private matter, but the person singing was enough to catch Isildur's attention when they came up behind his father to rest a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Through the shadows falling over Númenor, not one could catch the face belonging to the person standing vigil over his family. Elendil did not care enough to do so. Under most circumstances, he simply would've shrugged off the hand and continued to wallow in his grief.

He was not old enough to be a widower.

"May the spirit of Nienna comfort you, Elendil."

Fingertips tenderly grazed his shoulders before the touch was gone, almost as if it had never been there to begin with.

Elendil never forgot that song or that offer of comfort. Despite years having passed since, he never forgot the sound of that haunting song that brought him some modicum of comfort on the worst day of his life.

Grief was like suffocating. He had always wondered how his wife felt when she sank beneath the waves, desperate to rescue their son before the waters claimed her, and how she'd died with water in her lungs. She'd suffocated.

Elendil understood part of that feeling. He'd been suffocating since he found Isildur on that beach, and it was getting progressively harder to find the will to come back up for air.

He doesn't know how to. Or if he even will.

***

Past

Tar-Míriel was the only daughter of the 24th King of Númenor and one of your dearest friends from your childhood. There had been many nights of complaints, whispered secrets about those in attendance at court, and dreams of lives that people like the two of you could never live.

Fortunately, Tar-Palantír was sharp enough to recognize potential when he saw it. That was what led him to enlist you to be part of Míriel's protection just before you both were to become adults. Your birthday was a mere few weeks away, and you had been asking for your own bow for long enough now for your parents to take notice.

That was what led you to the docks where Númenor's bravest and boldest of the Sea Guard were often found.

"This is quite an interesting place to find respite," Míriel remarked as she took her seat beside you and adjusted the hood of the cloak on her head. "Are you-Is that a bow?"

You tenderly ran your hand down the weapon your father had handed you that morning. "My father gave it to me early. The arrows are handmade as well." Your eyes flickered out across the docks. Elendil The Tall was standing idly beside in deep conversation with a woman you did not recognize. He was one of the most handsome men in Númenor. Every woman knew it. "That up-and-coming Sea Guard. There's just.. something about him."

"Can't be focusing on unattainable futures when you know where your future lies."

You took Míriel's words to heart. They would change later, of course, but you knew why she said them. Despite your curiosity about Elendil, you opted to look from a distance and to never approach him yourself. It was better that way. When you were dedicating yourself to the safety of the future Queen of Númenor, there was no time for idle dreams of romance.

You found yourself meeting Elendil a few months later. With his recent promotion to Captain of the Númenorean Sea Guard, the King had invited him to court to meet the dignitaries and other highly esteemed members of their society who he would frequently interact with.

Both you and Míriel were in attendance that day. Your father, the right hand of Tar-Palantir, took it upon himself to stride up to Elendil and introduce him to the future Queen and the Queen's right hand.

Being in his presence made breathing difficult. If you thought he was handsome from afar, he was a true sight to behold up close.

"It's my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain," You greeted, bowing low to the ground while Elendil reached out to take your hand and place a kiss thereupon. You barely noted the sudden look of astonishment on his face before he turned to do the same to Míriel. "As I am sure you will do Númenor proud."

Elendil would have been lying if he said he didn't find himself drawn to you. Of all the people he knew in Númenor, most of them were fairly easy to read. He was able to tell what kind of person he would be meeting simply by watching them - How they carried themselves and their interactions with others, their body language and facial expressions and intonations in conversation.

You, however, were the first person he met that he could not do that with. You were closed off. Guarded.

And why did you seem so familiar?

"Your kind words speak volumes, my Lady," Elendil returned. "Tell me... Have we met before?"

You tried not to think about the countless dreams you'd had about Elendil since you'd secretly started spending time down at the docks. About how Isildur often came seeking you out at the beaches - because his son was clever and knew you would always return to the site of where you first met - and about how you often intervened with the sailors of Númenor who dared to wish him harm.

"Maybe in another life," You remarked. "If you'll excuse me."

For the next several years after that, Míriel desperately tried to convince you that you should further pursue Elendil. She noted his approach to you during the party and every time after that as one of curiosity and interest. You denied her. Why would he be interested in you?

***

Ironically enough, it is not long before the soldiers of Númenor and the Sea Guard are set to depart with their Queen Regent for Middle-Earth that Isildur finds you again. You were one of the few people present who accepted the elf's presence in Númenor. Many did not, especially with the rising acceptance of Ar-Pharazôn as their desired King.

This time, however, he is with Ontamo and Valandil.

"There you are! I was wondering if you would be down here. Why are you not preparing to depart with the Queen?"

"Keep your voice down, Isildur." You whisper, dragging the younger man behind the cluster of boulders you often sought refuge in when you were down here. It was only the nature of your hiding spot and your disguise that kept most of the people here from recognizing you. "Míriel wishes for me to stay here. Besides, you know as well as I do that your father is enough protection for her. As are you."

You had been one of the few people in his life to offer Isildur the necessary encouragement and affirmation he needed to maintain his confidence as he grew. When he felt as if he could not disclose such struggles to his father, he often came and found you.

"My father speaks very highly of you, you know. The you that he actually knows. Seems like I'm the only person in Númenor besides the Queen-Regent who truly knows you. Doesn't that ever bother you?" He asks.

"It used to." You shrug. "I am duty bound to the Queen of Númenor. Even if I were to tell you how I truly felt about your father-"

"Wait," Despite well knowing they're both there, instinct finds you knocking an arrow and aiming it directly at Valandil as he and Ontamo approach. "Is this the woman from the Queen Regent's court that your father has spoken about?"

Isildur's eyes slowly slide to your face. Valandil was one of the few people in his personal life who was close to his father besides him and his siblings. He knew who you were by your identity in Míriel's court. He did not know you as Isildur did. As a comforter, a warrior, and a friend.

"As I said, my father speaks highly of you. You should see him before he departs for Middle Earth." Isildur motions between himself, Valandil and Ontamo as the three begin to back away from your spot. "We are going with him. I'll see you when I get back!"

You give a half-hearted salute in return. Over the years, you've greatly come to love Isildur. He's been under the shadow of your protection almost his entire life.

"Make sure you come back." You call. "You hear me? No noble deaths out there, not for any of you!"

You contemplate Isildur's request as you venture back to the castle, hidden beneath the sanctuary of your hood. He seems to know something you don't. If you were to be truthful with yourself, it was nice to be aware of a man like Elendil desiring you. Wanting you near.

That thought combined with years of Míriel's desperate pleas is what leads you to the docks. Elendil's ship stands tall and fair against the waters, a trademark of the people who sail upon her and the captain who commands her.

Once you are within earshot, you clear your throat and dust off your clothes as you approach the gangplank.

"Captain?" You call.

Elendil's aspect softens at the sound of your voice. Part of him had quietly hoped you would be here. "Afternoon, My Lady. The Queen told me you would not be joining us." He remarks, turning to face you fully. You find your eyes drawn to his own. They're so blue. "I assume it is because you are needed for another reason here."

The unspoken words of, "Keeping an eye on Pharazôn." do not go unnoticed by you. He's closer to Míriel than you originally realized.

"That's true. That's why I'm coming to you to ensure that you as her Captain will do your duty in protecting our Queen," You tease. "And protecting yourself. We need you to come home."

Daring to be brave, you reach into your pocket and produce a recently made handkerchief with your initials embroidered on the bottom of it. You reach outward and take Elendil's hand into your own so you can wrap his fingers around it.

A stuttering breath flutters in his chest. It's the first time he's felt like his lungs work properly in years, having this token of your affection tucked into his palm.

The words spill from his lips before rationale can take over. "I will return to you. I promise." Elendil lays something of his own between your fingers: A chain containing a token belonging to the Captain of Sea Guard. You tuck your hand just out of sight before anyone can catch it.

You don't think you've ever longed for anyone more.

"Namárië." You whisper.

The chain hangs heavy around your neck.

Present

Here Elendil is on the second worst day of his life, and he is still thinking of that song. Of that offered comfort from someone who may as well be a ghost.

Part of him finds himself wishing for the gentleness of your presence beside him.

"Where is my son?"

No one could tell him where Isildur was. His eldest had fought hard to earn his right to be on this trip to Middle-Earth. Isildur had fought for him and had saved his life when they'd encountered those orcs. According to Miriel, he was the only reason she was still alive.

Isildur and his body are nowhere to be found.

When he's standing on the cliffside with Míriel and Galadriel, it all comes rushing back to him: The way his son had clung to him during that hug after his first battle against the orcs, the curve of his daughter's smile, the warmth of your hands and the gentleness of your touch as you wrapped his fingers around your handkerchief before he'd left.

"You're quiet today." Míriel remarks. The Queen Regent stopped beside him and laid a shaky hand on his shoulder. He knew she was having difficulty adjusting to life without her sight.

"Not much to say."

Elendil and Míriel were closely acquainted. She trusted him implicitly. He was loyal to her through his duty to the Queen of Númenor and to her as a woman. She knew him, and she knew you, which is why she already knew the answer to her next question.

"What are you thinking of?" She asked softly.

Elendil ran his fingertips over the top of the handkerchief.

"Home."

***

It is hard to hide how distraught he really is when Míriel dismisses him upon their return to Númenor. She utters quiet thanks for Isildur's involvement in saving her life and allows him to depart for home before he can argue. He's grateful for it. It's impossible to breathe while in the palace.

Where is my son? My son, my boy...

His heart aches to seek you out instead of going home. Going home is simply another reminder of Isildur. That is not what he wants.

It is mere luck that he finds you in the courtyard training with another archer in front of a row of targets. Elendil's form shifts in the corner of your eye, and you thank your companion for the training time together before slipping your bow over your shoulder.

The breath is knocked from your lungs once the two of you lock eyes. He is wrecked.

"Oh, Elendil." You murmur. Your hand is moving of its own accord before you can stop yourself, and part of you is expecting him to flinch when your fingertips just barely touch his cheek. He leans into the warmth with all the fervor of a man starved and presses his hand against your own. Yours dwarfs his in comparison. Everything about him is so mighty in comparison to you. You're so small... and yet he makes you feel so safe. "Come on. I know a place."

The place in question is a private part of the beach that few ever dare to wander for fear of reprimanding from the Crown. It is usually only used in circumstances for private gatherings or weddings. You toe off your boots upon approach, removing your quiver and bow before extending your hands to him.

You can tell he doesn't wish to talk about it. Part of you is curious about the whereabouts of Isildur, as he is not with his father, and a deeper part of you dreads that the reason for this anguish is because Isildur did not make it home.

"I do not understand what it is that draws me to you," Elendil's confession is quiet, barely perceptible through the crash of waves against the shoreline just feet to your right. "Perhaps it is your gentleness and devotion to that which you care for." Elendil pauses to glance down at your hands, both still extended as he links them with his own to press them against his chest. The action has you blushing as you gaze up at him. "I know how much you love my son. I have seen it. That is why I wish to tell you-"

Dread curls in your belly as he rapidly blinks away tears and turns his head to the coming sunset just over Númenor's ocean.

You have so many questions. You don't ask a single one. The only thing you can do is hum a familiar tune that has always brought you comfort and stand on your tiptoes to envelop him in an embrace.

Everything comes to a screeching halt once he hears the song. It takes him back to the darkest time of his life, weary and drowning in his anguish in front of the casket of his wife. Of the comfort of a stranger.

"All this time, all these years," He moves you away just enough to gaze into your face, and you know then that he's figured you out. You are the angel who stood vigil. You are the one who has been secretly protecting his son. "It was you."

You nod. You fear that this will force the two of you apart, driven away by secrets and deceit. You face two roads now. Will he let you in, or will he force you out?

Your eyes meet Elendil's with all the confidence of a soldier ready to face a horde of the enemy alone. You will not falter no matter what choice Elendil may make.

"Me."

part two?

[vishnavishivaa]

Edhuvum Avanukkaga- Chapter 1- Manadhin Dhairyam

Manadhin Dhairyam- Courage of the heart

I have tried hard not to write too much in Tamizh so that everyone can relate. I will, however, also be doing stories with heavy Tamizh words.

*******

Vaanathi peered at the Prince, as he was shivering in fever. Her heart filled with tears at his pain, and she made to gently sooth him by touching his forehead, but paused. She did not have the right to touch him like this, and yet, he needed someone. She sighed, taking the edge of her pallu and placing it on his forehead, gently rubbing her hand over the pallu to give him some basic comfort.

Ponniyin Selvar's beauty was beyond explanation even in that moment. While he had classically handsome features, he had an ethereal charm to him along with that, which made him beyond everything in Vaanathi's eyes. He was her Deivam, and she knew that. All those lessons on how Sita Devi treated Rama as Her God reminded Vaanathi of what she always had dreamt of for herself- she wanted what SitaRama had, and so she had done everything to emulate Sita, to try and understand Sita, to at least be a miniscule part of the Mother Goddess.

But Vaanathi knew from the moment that doomed letter came from her Selvar to her Akka, things had changed. She remembered the words of the letter as vividly as if it had happened just a moment ago.

'Akka, I met an amazing woman,' his words said, Vaanathi's delicate frame trembling the moment those words left Ilaya Piratti Kundavai's mouth. Vaanathi knew the latter was looking at her with sympathy, but she shook her head. No no, she had no need for that right now.

He had gone on to describe her in detail, of her adventurous spirit and beautiful voice, of her bold opinions and strong skills, he sounded entirely in admiration of her. Vaanathi had felt the collapse of her heart, but she soldiered on, listening to every word he had said about this Samudrakumari with a strange detachment.

She had known her luck was too good to be true!

Vaanathi had accepted this gracefully, she would like to think. She had not said an angry word, she had just smiled, quietly said, "If this is his wish, I should not try to change it," and tried not to cry. She had failed when Kundavai's warm arms wrapped around her, and she had failed when she had met Aditha Karikalan in Kanchi, and the Prince had called her 'little sister.' But other than that, she had not pushed anything, and had not even reacted to Arulmozhi asking about her, though a small part of her delighted in that he still cared.

Well, a large part, for that allowed her to indulge in her dream of being his wife a little at least. She shook herself out of the day dream, instead focusing on the medicine preparation. She had wandered outside through her long thought process. She had pleaded to be allowed to make the medicines, and had been allowed to do so. She was to get these medicines to Sendhan Amudhan, who will take them to the main Buddhist monk, who was in charge of the well-being of her Aruma Deva.

For that is what he was to her, even to this moment. Her Lord of Light, even if he never wanted her like she did him.

Edhuvum Avanukaaga, she chanted in her mind, as she finished getting the medicines ready.

"Here you go, Ayya. Please give it to the monks," she gave the medicines to Sendhan Amudhan, who observed her for a moment.

"Ungalin manadhai kondavar Ponniyin Selvar," he said it as a statement, and he was right. Ponniyin Selvar had taken her entire heart the moment she had met him. She nodded with a melancholic smile, not saying more. She knew it was not needed, for Sendhan Amudhan's eyes held a deep compassion and understanding, one that comes from personal experience.

"May Emperuman be with you, Ammani," Sendhan Amudhan said gently, and Vaanathi smiled. He understood that she did not want anyone to pacify her, but only someone who could accept that she was in pain. She quietly watched him leave, aware of Vanthiyathevan's presence as well. He had brought Karikalar with him to Nagaipattinam, and was thus around.

She sang quietly, "Thodudaiya seviyan vidai eriyor..."

The Thevaram gave her peace of mind, and she continued, lost in devotion to Emperuman, the one soothing balm of her heart, the only one who stood by her through every turmoil. She did not bother about the tears that fell down her cheeks, nor did she about the tremble of her body- she just sang and sang thevaram after thevaram, even as Kundavai and Karikalar came up to her, even as dusk approached, even as the water bubbled hearing her. Vaanathi simply sang and sang, till she felt so exhausted, that she surrendered herself in Kundavai's arms, allowing her Akka to lead her back to her chambers in the palace at Aanaimangalam.

****

It had been two days since the evening she had sung so many Thevarams, and Vaanathi was peering through the small window at Arulmozhi, who was finally breathing easy. She noticed his fingers move mildly, and she knew that he was now returning to consciousness. She saw the tears of happiness in Kundavai's eyes briefly, but her eyes stayed on Arulmozhi, and delight filled her as he got up. His eyes glanced in her direction and met her eyes, before she looked away and hid from him. She smiled quietly as she heard the two banter, and Karikalar join in, and slipped away. He was awake, and she had to go for her prayers of gratitude. She was thankful for Emperuman, who had awakened Arulmozhi as time turned right.

As she walked to the temple with her entourage after getting a message to her Akka, she wondered something to herself suddenly. Who was she? Was Vaanathi defined as the woman who loved Ponniyin Selvar? Was that her identity? If it was, she would gladly live with that one thing for the rest of her life. And yet...

What was Vaanathi's value as a person, she thought, as she entered the temple, not all that surprised to find Sendhan Amudhan there. She silently greeted him and offered flowers to Kaayarohanar, the form of Shiva who shone resplendent as the overlord of Naagai. She stared at the Lingam, glowing in paarijaatam and bilvam, and smiled quietly.

Shiva gave her peace through all the pain enshrined in her heart due to the current happenings.

"Ayya, can I ask you something?" she looked at Sendhan, who nodded courteously. She continued, "Why does Emperuman give us so much strength, so that we are able to bear pain?"

"He loves us, Thaaye," Sendhan Amudhan says. "He gives us this strength to make us bear the pain because He loves us. For Him, it is easy to rewrite our Destiny even, but He would never do that, because whatever happens to us, it is by His own decision. He does give difficulties, but also gives us the strength to face them, and the only reason that comes to my understanding for this is that He wants these difficulties to make us evolve into our real person."

"And how do we find our real selves, Ayya?" a now melancholic Vaanathi asked.

"Devote yourself to Shiva, and He will reveal your true self to you by guiding you," Sendhan said, and Vaanathi nodded. She looked at Kaayarohanar and teared.

'Emperumane,' Vaanathi prayed. 'Guide me such that I become who I am meant to be, guide me to be strong to make the choices I have at heart, guide me to support my Chozha Nadu. Kundavai Akka once teased me saying I don't care about the motherland as much as I do about the one I view as Chozha Nadu. Give me true devotion to my motherland, such that I will understand what it is to serve my Nadu. I truly do not deserve to be Ponniyin Selvar's wife, for I am nothing compared to not just Samudrakumari, but also to the other Princesses who have pure thoughts of serving this glorious Chozha Nadu. Oh husband of Parvati, guide me such that I put my motherland first too, along with Ponniyin Selvar and his wishes. The husband is everything, and he is my husband at heart. You gave me a wedding in my dreams, and I will live with those memories for the rest my life. May I forever serve you, oh Rudra!'

****

Vaanathi was back again to pray to the Lord. It had been two days since Ponniyin Selvar had first gained consciousness, and Vaanathi had refused to meet him. He too had not asked for her, nor had he wanted her. She had seen Samudrakumari go to meet him, and her heart had stung. So she had run to Kaayarohanar instead. He and Nilayatakshi gave her peace for the burn her soul experienced.

'May his light ever live on,' prayed Vanathi quietly, in front of Kaayarohanar, the presiding form of Ishvara at Nagapattinam. She had been extremely restless since she heard about Poonkuzhali in the letter her Prince had written to her Akka, or rather letters. This thought kept circling back to her, despite him never failing to ask about her. It felt perfunctory. Vanathi was no fool, though many thought her to be so.

She was glad that she had refused to even meet Arulmozhi, instead having seen him that one time as he woke up. She had not left her chambers except for her prayers, even food, she had gotten to her chambers itself. She had come on Akka's wish, but she was not going to involve herself anywhere near Arulmozhi. She had to lick her wounds in private, and smile to show the world she was happy with his choice of woman. She would always love him, and thus, she will let him go. For his happiness, anything.

Tears filled her eyes at her own thoughts, and she wiped them off, looking straight at the One she worshipped above all, at the One who was everything in the Universe.

"Emperumane, give me strength," she whispered softly, getting up after a prayer to Nilayatakshi and Kaayarohanar, when her Sakhi Tulasi came running in, saying, "Ponniyin Selvar is to visit the temple now with Ilaya Piratti, Vanthiyathevar, Sendhan Amudhan and the odakkari."

Vanathi felt her heart stop and she got up, saying, "Come Tulasi, let us leave. I have some work in my chambers. I need to stitch the pallu for Vanavan Athai. Come come."

Vanathi slipped out of the temple, hurrying to her palanquin faster when she saw the said group of people walking in that direction. Luckily, only her Akka had seen her, and she shook her head, running and entering her palanquin, not knowing that Arulmozhi had seen the end of her saree as she got in.

She heaved a sigh of relief, and asked the bearers to go ahead, when his familiar voice reached her ears.

"I have never known the Princess of Kodumbalur to run away from her Akka or me, have you, Devi?"

She trembled when she heard his voice, and thought of Shiva, prayed to Him again and again, and stepped out. She folded her hands and greeted the younger Prince of Chozha Nadu, her heart beating out of her chest. She did not want to look at him, but by protocol she had to.

"Vanangugiren, Ponniyin Selvare. I am glad to see you awake and doing well now."

"I am surprised to see that you did not come to visit me, Vaanathi," he said, and Vaanathi resisted the urge to snap. Why should she go to see him? And why did it matter to him if she did or not, she thought a bit sulkily.

"Ilavarase, I came as Akka's companion," she said. "By protocol, I should not come to meet you alone."

Her eyes met his steadily, and she could catch the hint of surprise in his lovely amber eyes, the hint of something amiss, and she smiled a little more. She wanted his happiness, and he clearly was, around Poonkuzhali. She must thank the woman for not just saving the Prince, but for also giving him that happiness and contentment. Swallowing quietly, she allowed herself to still look at him, not letting the flood of her heart reflect in her eyes.

"But you can with Akka," he pointed out correctly, but she shook her head.

"Ilavarase, only those whose presence is needed must come to see you. My presence would be a disturbance. But I am thrilled to see you doing well. I will pray to Emperuman for you. For now, please let me take leave and not disturb you all in your darshanam."

"You will not come with us?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"No Ilavarase. I already finished my darshanam. I have some work, vanangugiren."

Saying thus, and smiling at Kundavai, Vaanathi went back to her palanquin, feeling his eyes on her, but refusing to look back or at him.

It was not her right, not any longer.

*******

Please tell me what you all think! I cannot proceed without that.

@ahamasmiyodhah @thegleamingmoon @yehsahihai @mahaswrites @hum-suffer @theramblergal @moon-880 @arachneofthoughts @whippersnappersbookworm @rang-lo @celestesinsight @willkatfanfromasia @mahi-wayy @ragkee @houseofbreadpakoda @sambaridli @nidhi-writes @leoprincess21

[wutheringmights]

Can we get the latest directors commentary pls?

Of course you can!

All things considered, this chapter actually came together really quickly. I haven't had a free weekend in a while, so that the chapter got done in a little over a month is really cool and sexy of me

My original plan was to have the bit about the war ending and the engineer leaving in secret at the end of the last chapter, and for this chapter to be the scene about Kat plus its consequences. The entire year would have passed between chapters with the reader getting no glimpses into what happened

Obviously, things got screwed up and I had to think of a way to make the war ending work with the Kat scene. I ended up with the idea of showing the passage of time with Link constantly reflecting back on how he failed to see the engineer. And I think it worked really well! For once my bad pacing was a blessing in disguise.

A part of me feels bad that I didn't do more with the friends of the Heroes Spirit, though I already struggle at times to give Midna things to do. I don't think I could have handled more of Ravio or Tetra.

There was going to be way more of Marin, including a bit about how she fades in and out of existence since she's only a dream. The engineer was always going to be the first person who knew when she was back, as he could always sense her presence.

This chapter also has one of my knew favorite lines (which I will highlight because I want to draw attention to it): "He hadn’t been a child for a long time now. But he had been in that comfortable space where he wasn’t a kid but not yet an adult. He always had the sense that if he turned around, he could walk back into a small shape his mother could hold in her arms."

Fort Raven was named after Sir Raven, from the Oracle of Time manga

Where do I start with the Kat stuff?

First off, I almost named this part of the chapter after the pudding bun. I really wanted to highlight the idea that what breaks through Link's disassociation is one person being selflessly nice to him. Like showing someone humanity begets more humanity

Also, the auburn woman who pointed out which direction Kat went in is the same auburn woman who danced with Link and spread rumors about the engineer in chapter 16. This is a detail only I care about.

Okay, so random trivia aside, let's actually talk about Kat

I have mentioned many times before that Kat is based off of Kattrin from Mother Courage and Her Children. Kattrin is a girl who became non-verbal after she was sexually assaulted by a soldier when she was a kid. You can obviously see how that relates to my Kat.

A long time ago, I mentioned that one of the deleted subplots in CTB was about Link dealing with the Waltons wanting to connect with him now that he was the hero. A character who was deleted from that plotline was a slightly older cousin who was also in the army, and was a total asshole of a man.

I bring the cousin up because the cousin's storyline was going to end with Kat-- that's right, he was supposed to play the role that the major with the slicked back hair played in this chapter.

Obviously, this would mean that this bit about Kat being continuously harassed would have gotten a lot more attention and gone on way longer before climaxing with cousin assaulting Kat.

The cousin got deleted from the story when I got rid of the subplot with the Waltons. I told myself that having a random character attack Kat would still work, but it still feels a little sudden to me.

I really wanted to keep this scene not only for the ways it forces Link to respond, but also to show how shitty soldiers are to civilians, especially men in power

And yeah, I wanted Link trying and failing to save someone to be what triggers his wake-up call. Link definitively fucked up. The only thing he has left is being the hero, and he just fucked up saving someone he cares about.

Watching you all speculate about how Kat got injured up until this point was interesting. For a long while, a lot of you thought that the engineer would be involved. I somehow never expected anyone to associate the engineer with Kat's injury.

There were also a lot of people who thought Link was the one who injured Kat. That, I saw coming. It's been interesting to see how people think about what actually happened.

Of course, I was going to have this section go all the way until the end of the next scene, where Link faces the consequences of his actions. You'll have to see next chapter what those consequences will be.

Okay, onto the present--

Up until this chapter, I was utterly convinced that Twilight and Spirit would hate each other from the moment they meet. Then I wrote this chapter and realized that Twilight's protective gene would triumph any misgivings he would otherwise have. Absolutely no way he wouldn't find out about Spirit and not decide he was going to be the only bozo standing in his corner.

I really wanted this bit with Time and Warriors talking to be at the end of the last chapter. In my brain, the pacing just makes more sense that way. I can't even regret pushing it off until this chapter because their talk ended up being so long.

I also had to write this scene twice because the first time, Time was way out of character.

I was initially worried that Time explaining his point of view would be redundant, but after blindsiding you all with his extremely bias POV during his argument with Spirit, this ended up being necessary. My bad.

But also, Time's perspective is so, so... *vague gesturing*

There were a lot of people who were really certain that the child must have hated Link after Link hit him in the temple. Since then, I have been waiting for someone to connect that scene with the moment where the engineer hit the child first. I thought someone would point this point out after Time's argument with Spirit. But, no! No one did! So I had to point it out in this chapter!

I gotta emphasize that Time is not necessarily correct. But I swore that once I got everyone comfortable with Warriors's morality, I was going to start throwing curve balls to challenge your opinion. And as Time puts it, if Spirit can be forgiven, then why not Warriors? Weren't they both responding to shitty situations? And is Warriors correct when he says it's different?

And why am I writing literary response questions for my own fic? Damn.

I originally scrapped the Wolfie scene because it was too cheesy, then I had to put it back in because I had been writing Twilight like the scene was still there

I've been worried that CTB Hyrule has become so iconic for being kinda a hard ass that he's being flanderized, so I figured he could be the one who declares that everyone is safe and sound.

Wind gets a new haircut because it's not real trauma unless your hair changes. The author is someone who changes her hair every time her life falls apart.

And he has a cool anime-esque eye patch because he's thirteen and he deserves a cool anime-esque eye patch

There actually was going to be a scene where Warriors shared his plan for the Triforce with Lana first, but I cut it since I didn't want to have the same argument twice, once with Lana and once with the Chain; it still feels a little out of character for Link to not talk to Lana first.

So the Warriors and Spirit scene

I wanted to convey that talking about everything that happened too soon would cause Warriors to sort of relive his memories and worsen his trauma. I wanted to try showing that without needing to outright state it, hence the dream-like sequence.

I think this was largely successful. People get the idea. Shout out to this story for forcing me to get good at writing trippy sequences, though. I wasn't really planning on that.

I think my favorite part about Twilight taking control is that he still needed Four to do some of the heavy talking for him. Power duo between a grown man and his 16 year old BFF

As I promised, a Triforce quest comes with a lot of morale quandaries that we now have to navigate with the characters, the biggest one being what is the definition of a war won? How do you wish for a war to be over without causing a larger disaster?

Everything about the world building for the Faovarian government and society was designed to add complications to that question. You can't annihilate the army without killing thralls. You can't use it on their ruler because they have a senate who can be replaced. They're an empire made of conquered people, so there's the risk that you could hurt an oppressed state.

But yeah, we're ready to go on another adventure. The boys are sticking together a little bit longer, and now we have to go meet up with Lincoln.

I wanted to get them on the road this chapter too, especially so that I could end with another really important Spirit scene, but I punted that off to the next chapter. Hopefully, the pacing for the next chapter won't be too weird.

And because the ending is different from what I had planned, I didn't know HOW to end things. Then I remembered how much you all liked dog imagery.

One last note: I love reading everyone's thoughts on the story, especially your thoughts on Warriors, Spirit, and Time. I am amazed by how many different takes I have seen. There is no one out there who is thinking the same thing.

On one hand, that's terrifying for me. When I was younger, I was really into the idea that a successful story left every reader thinking the same thing. The part of me that is forever 20 years old is scared shitless that someone is going to have a bad take and get mad at me for it.

The part of me that is older and somewhat wiser wants all of these polarizing opinions. Every reader brings their own experiences to the table, and I want to see everyone reaching their own conclusions about the characters. I love this. I relish in every ask, reply, or AO3 comment. I love your mini-essays and note taking. I love knowing what everyone thinks.

So, yeah. I just wanted to take a moment to reflect on that. Things are a little terrifying, but they have to be in order to be exciting as well.

[sasster]

Funny Business

You know what I never do? I never talk about my character's pasts.

Okay, that's a lie.

Anyway. :)

Have a baby young adult Vineno, as your official introduction to the man!

If you see any typos, no you didn't <3

[Oh yeah, google doc]

--

It’s grisly work, what purple bloods are comfortable doing to their fellow trolls. As he watches yet another body fall limp at the blow of a flailing club, Vineno thinks that this might be a far cry from the actual responsibilities of the highest of the land dwelling castes. To say nothing of the smell of blood thick in the air and the deafening sound of laughter and horrified screams. It’s enough to give the purple blood a headache that’ll last him the rest of the week.

Needless violence, needless noise.

As if his prayer were being answered, all at once the shouting from either side of the fiasco is gone. Silence and the smell of death are all that hang in the aftermath. Vineno, for his part, is less than impressed by the entire display.

“Let me get this straight,” he speaks slowly as he steps around the carnage left behind by the subjugglators seeking to indoctrinate him into their sect. “There’s no real rhyme or reason to it? Wrong place, wrong time?”

That’d always been a burning question of his, but he was fortunate enough to make it this far into his life without having to deal with clowns this up close and personal.

“Maybe if they were faster and stronger, they wouldn't have anything to worry about.” One replies with a grin.

A few others roar with laughter behind her.

“Just that simple, huh?”

“Yep. You in?”

It’s not logic that he felt particularly interested in arguing against.

Easy enough to follow.

Vineno shrugs. 

“Yeah, why not? It’s about time I did my part in the name of the Messiahs.”

The other purple bloods cheer, quite boisterously, in response.

They are simple creatures.

“Alright, that’s what I like to hear!” The leader, he guesses, manages above her troupe. “Now we just gotta get some paint on you and the Grand Sunderer will be happy to meet ya’!”

What a name.

“Good plan.”

There is an increase in the volume of whooping as greasy hands pull him into the group.

“New guy has to get the drinks!” Someone calls from the back, and Vineno feels himself smile.

How contagious, their mirth!

“Easy enough.”

–

Hours must have passed from the raid, to the securing of drinks, to the two pairs of hands that slather his face in grease paint.

The two artists above him discuss the best design to adorn him with, barely glancing down to get his input on the matter.

“How’d you make it a whole ten sweeps without finding yourself a troupe anyway?” One asks.

He shrugs.

“Not much of a talker, huh?”

“���Least he’s cute!” The other, awfully bubbly, chimes in.

This is more socializing than he ever bargained for.

Finally, the finishing touches are being put on his face and he is shown a mirror.

It takes a lot for him to bite back the laughter their handiwork conjures; Two thick gray markings, in a sea of white, come down from the bridge of his nose and around his eyes, then they skew sharply down his cheeks toward his neck.

Pure artistry.

“Snakes! They’re like. Minimalist snakes.”

“I see.”

“Sunderer will love to see it, we promise!”

He couldn’t care less. He only nods in response.

“Alright, alright. Let's get you out there!”

And then those greasy hands are on him again, tugging him up and out of the room.

What a handsy group of people.

–

“Vineno! Welcome to the family, brother!” Calls who must be the Grand Sunderer as he is tugged along by the two trolls that did his makeup. The pageantry of this lot is almost entirely too much to suffer.

They stand by a table at the end of a great hall that must be stuffed with all of the clowns this church had to offer.

Even better.

“Just like that?”

“Of course! Unless the drinks are bad.” The Sunderer is a large and jovial spirit, but the thinly veiled threat is a bit heavy handed.

They’re never seen outside of their church walls. Why should they be when they have such a good troupe to subjugate the masses?

Such a hard mark.

Vineno says nothing as the leader that got him into this mess brings him to the head of the table where the grand highblood pushes one of the drinks the newcomer supplied forward.

“You first,” their smile goes nowhere. “No funny business, eh?”

He eyes the drink for a moment before securing his hand around the glass and knocking it all back in one go.

“I am a terrible clown, I don’t do funny business.” He says as he sets the glass back down.

“Ah, there’s plenty of time to fix that!” Sunderer declares as they chug down their own drink which gets another uproar in response.

The rest of the clowns start to drink their fill.

–

The drinking lasts well into the morning and the following evening. If he’d known that these clowns were going to drink themselves into their graves, he would not have bothered wasting all of those vials of his poisonous mixtures in their booze.

Each of those morons must’ve had four times the amount he intended to give. Mixed with alcohol?

That sounds fatal.

Vineno steps around the bodies, twitching in their stupors, as he douses the last of the church in the gasoline from his pack. They were having so much fun they never even realized he slipped away from their celebration to grab it.

Simple, simple creatures.

As he passes by, the Sunderer grabs hold of his ankle. The grasp is much more feeble than their stature implies they should be capable of.

He says nothing as he looks down at them.

“What did you do?”

“Mm?”

Their face contorts into something that must be anger.

Vineno shrugs and dumps the remainder of the canister directly onto their face.

“Supplied the drinks.” He says finally, flashing a grin that shows off his fangs as he pats around his pockets for the matches.

[jenbobbyy]

hey if youre still doing hcs could you do specimen 12/old man pls?

INHALES. okay. i dont even know where to start

old man. for convenience im just gonna call him OM for the rest of this because i refuse to call him stanley. stanley is a SPECIFIC name that can only be given to SPECIFIC people with a SPECIFIC voice commanding their actions

looking at the wiki he's described as middle aged... maybe early 50s-early 60s?

youtube has been around for about 15 years and it probably started out as a hobby when he was in his 40s. although he never gained THAT much traction he was probably a niche exploration channel with a little following that dwindled over the years

the guy has a past in professional climbing but urban exploration was a prominent side hobby and interest for him so!!!

most of his notes as the vlogger victim are weirdly calm? i doubt he had much experience in paranormal prior but i guess if you're an urban explorer you're used to places being pretty nasty the further you go

he definitely encountered the specimen (since they're referenced in pretty much every other victim's notes and it's described that he went through specimen areas) but the fact that he never mentions them in his notes is interesting (i guess all these horrors beyond comprehension all equate to an 'uneasy vibe'). there's a lot of persona involved in vlogging so in refraining from actually mentioning any wounds or monsters he's encountered OM is masking the fear he has. he wants to let everyone know 'hey!!! hey im okay and managing!!'

i think the prospect of having an audience might have left him at least a little comforted. he probably found other lines of notes at the time and took solace in the concept of people knowing he's alive and moving (even if they don't know him personally)

i still hate the fact that his writing patterns completely change between specimen 12 and endless mode hallways but i get that if he was going 'hey guys. erm, so THAT just happened.' it would ruin suspense from a gameplay point of view so. I'll let that slide :/

he's been in for a few months and by the time the protagonist meets him, he's not COMPLETELY gone. specimen 12's weird parasitic nature relies on the prior host's death, and in parrying axe attacks he still has some kind of self preservation. but he definitely doesn't remember who he is or why he's there. 12 isn't exactly fully possessing but is more of a mindfuck like foodie and bab that mess with perception and mental state. it controls but doesn't invade

in OG OM was voiced by vernon shaw (hot pepper gaming). altho this was changed as well as the chillis being removed from specimen 12 in HD, the concept of specimen 12 being so deathly and terrible that only incredibly spicy and near-toxic food being able to grow in it is funny. no wonder he sounds like that.

as to further agitate hosts into murder, 12 doesn't actually generate any food. luckily, OM isn't a cannibal host and lives off of whatever he can grow down in the basement and any dead rats or (god forbid) specimen 3 carcasses that are around. If it wasn't for the strength given to him around 12 he would have died in a week

being an extrovert and feeding from that concept of an audience, being alone has had a massive toll on his mental state. this probably made him a more desirable host for 12 - if he's craving conversation and people then having voices and mirages impact his perception would definitely fuck him up enough to give in to kill. i don't usually take common headcanon names into account but people calling 12 'parry' gave me the idea of the spirits of 12 manifesting in visions as a singular being (although this vision is different to every host) in an attempt to aid with the host sympathising and agreeing with it.......

the entire hide-and-seek style game he creates for the protagonist - as well as sparked on by the protag being someone much younger than the typical victim (ILL WRITE MY PROTAG HCS IF ASKED.....) - is a reflection of him stalling to kill in order to entertain himself and 'entertain' his victim. if it weren't for his longing for human contact he'd probably kill straight off-the-bat but the opportunity to fulfill the gap for a short amount of time is open and sought-after.

despite this, there's a mutual separation between him and other specimen. he's not seen as a nuisance alike specimen 14 as he doesn't openly attack the others but is still a missed opportunity and not particularly wanted by anyone. most of the time he remains in specimen 12 but OM will venture out (on occasion) to specimen 13's rooms. his ONE good specimen relationship!!!

ok. POST BAD-END HCS.

fumbling their way thru the mansion would likely lead 14 to again meet OM at some point. 14 being hit with the SPECIMEN BEAM definitely enhanced their strength at least enough to kill and swing that axe more effectively. in anycase, if the two were to fight and OM almost loses, the clarity given through his self preservation is enough to at least make him aware that

1. He's being beat the shit out of by a teenager

2. He's attempting to kill the only other person in a similar situation to him

speaking OF that, the parallels within sjsm of the protag and [i guess ex-protag] seem to be everywhere when it comes to OM.

posters

sprinting mechanics

garden tool weapon in 500

him recovering (or getting worse depending on how you see it) by mentoring and helping 14 survive within the mansion is always a concept i thought of given they're both humans who have (somewhat) made it through. he'd definitely have more of a drive to live on (and kill the enterers b4 they could kill him)

i had the idea that if 12 is constantly expanding and shifting through the mansion then OM and 14 could take advantage of that and start actually growing stuff.... making a little survivors camp and plotting.

anyways. those are my old man headcanons. I have absolutely taken canon and stabbed it 30 times but the concept of an ex protag is so cool

UNDERRATED CHARACTER. OLD MAN FANS WHERE ARE YOU?!

the scar i draw on him is from the fight with 14.......................

[quinst]

Pavitr prabhakar x reader comfort fluff

Y/n had been feeling a bit low the entire day because she was on her period and had watched a movie with a romantic ending that she couldn't help but think was a metaphor for her own life. She had no one special to love, no one to hold her hand and make her feel special. Despite her strong and independent personality, the loneliness was still a major part of her.

Pavitr had been trying to reach her all day as he hadn't heard from her in days, but she hadn't answered his texts or calls. Worried about his best friend, he decided to head to her house to make sure she was alright. He took some ice cream with him, thinking that he might have done something wrong to make her angry and hoped that this would serve as a peace offering.

When he arrived, Y/n was curled up on the couch, clearly lost in her thoughts. Pavitr slipped into the room and started to pick up the details that he had overlooked before. He noticed how lonely she looked despite her strong spirit and he realized just how much she must be aching for love and someone to be a partner by her side.

He cleared his throat to get her attention and her eyes snapped up, wide in surprise. He smiled softly and gestured to the ice cream he had brought. It was then that he opened up his heart and confessed his feelings for her, he told her that he was madly in love with her and was finally ready to take the plunge.

Y/n was taken aback by his confession, but could not deny the warmth that blossomed in her chest at his words. She smiled, a genuine smile of joy, and Pavitr knew then and there that he had found the one.

That night they had decided to stay in and watch some more romantic movies. Y/N had trouble staying awake, so Pavitr decided to feed them some ice cream between scenes. As he spoon-fed Y/N the sweet treat, he looked into their eyes and said, 'I must be the luckiest guy in the world for getting to do this with you.'

Y/N smiled sweetly, her heart afluttering at the sight of Pavitr gazing at her with so much affection. She took his hands in her own and said, 'I'm the lucky one! You've gone out of your way to make this night so special for me.'

Pavitr smiled back and pulled Y/N close into a hug, both of them basking in the warm feeling of contentment. They continued their movie marathon, the night passing faster than they had expected, but both of them blissfully happy. As they said goodbye for the night, Y/N had no doubt that they had found something priceless and special in each other. They had truly found someone to share a night like this with.

[just-barrow]

day 31 of @almost-a-class-act's War Is Helloween prompts!

SAS: Rogue Heroes - Johnny Cooper/Reg Seekings

Character A really wanted to get the most out of this supposedly haunted hotel by booking the most haunted room on Halloween night (bonus points if this is also the Doll Room).

"Wasn't an entire family murdered here in the thirties?"

"Yeah, they say their spirits still haunt the hallways."

"Great."

Johnny and Reg are making their way to the haunted hotel they are going to spend their Halloween night in. Reg had been a little hesitant beforehand—he still is—but let himself be dragged into it by his friend’s enthusiasm. No one else had wanted to come, and Reg wasn’t about to let people think he was a wuss. 

Johnny may have neglected to mention that he has booked them the most haunted room of the hotel.

The hotel lobby is old-fashioned and richly decorated to make it look even more spooky. The receptionist who checks them in is in full zombie make-up, and Johnny grins excitedly at Reg as he takes the keys from her. 

“Why did she call us brave?” Reg asks, eyes narrowing with suspicion as they make their way upstairs.

“No reason.” 

“Johnny.”

He doesn’t have to answer; next to their door is a little plaque that says ‘Welcome to our most haunted room! Enter at your own risk…’

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

With a sweep of his arm and a ‘ta-da!’ Johnny throws open the door. 

Reg takes a hesitant step inside and looks around at the, he has to admit, very normal hotel room. There are two beds, a bathroom, and a desk with a TV on it. It’s old-fashioned, just like the rest of the hotel, but he had expected a lot more from it. 

He turns around and yelps.

“What is it?” 

“Fucking doll.” It’s sitting next to the TV. Reg quickly turns it around to face the wall. 

Johnny can’t help but chuckle and makes a mental note to turn it back when Reg isn’t looking.

They get settled in as evening falls. Reg casually suggests taking a tour of the rest of the–slightly less haunted–hotel, but Johnny is determined to stay in their room and experience the alleged hauntings himself. Reg concedes and tries to get comfortable, but his shoulders are hunched up around his ears. A cold wind blows past him every few minutes. He tells himself it’s just because it’s a drafty old building.

Meanwhile, Johnny is reading from the little pamphlet that came with the room, animatedly telling Reg all about how a father gruesomely hacked his whole family to death on this very floor; the cause of all the unexplainable occurrences at the hotel. He’s on his stomach on his bed, kicking his feet like a teenage girl reading a magazine. 

Reg huffs a sigh, shooting the occasional glance at the doll. “Glad someone’s having fun.”

Suddenly, the TV turns on. The screen shows static. 

Johnny perks up. “Did you do that?”

Reg’s eyes have gone wide. “Stop pissing about, that was you.”

“I swear it wasn’t!” 

They both look at the doll. The remote control is lying next to her.

“Oh, fuck yes, here we go.” Johnny jumps from his bed and walks closer, the light of the screen illuminating his face.

Reg automatically follows suit, even though every fiber of his being is telling him to duck under the covers. The longer he is here, the more unnerved he feels. Something about this room is very off. He stands a little closer to Johnny than he usually would.

Johnny quickly glances at him and smiles, turning the TV off with the remote. “Don’t think the TV is going to do us any harm.”

“It’s not the TV I’m worried about,” Reg mutters uneasily, eyes locked on the creepy doll.

Then something giggles behind him.

Despite his ever growing fear, Reg whips around and stands protectively in front of Johnny, shielding him from whatever is in the room with them. 

There is nothing there.

“I don’t know what it is you want but you can fuck right off,” he growls into the semi-darkness.

Johnny isn't scared at all, his stomach instead fluttering with a mixture of adrenaline and butterflies. He presses close to Reg's firm back. After a brief hesitation, he reaches down and takes his hand. 

When Reg tenses up for a moment Johnny thinks he has made a huge mistake, but then their fingers tangle together and Reg gives his hand a light squeeze.

Biting his lower lip to keep from bursting into a relieved grin, Johnny noses behind Reg’s ear, his warm breath tickling his neck. Clearly shivering at the sensation, Reg turns around to face Johnny, hauntings now entirely forgotten. When Johnny tugs him closer and presses their foreheads together, a broken little sound escapes Reg’s throat. His free hand finds Johnny’s hip. He seems a little breathless and his eyes are pleading—it makes Johnny’s chest feel tight. 

Deep inside he has known for a while that he isn't the only one who has been yearning for this. 

It feels good to be right. 

And as Reg finally gives in and softly kisses Johnny on the lips, Johnny smiles into it and congratulates himself on a plan well executed.

He silently thanks the hotel spirits.

A light on one of the nightstands starts to flicker as they tumble into bed together.

[elvisabutler]

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

:))

ME. AT YOU. these are all under a cut because you're mad, i swear.

housewife kink related to austin COMPLETELY SLEEPING THROUGH HIS OSCAR NOM.

"I asked for a breakfast burrito, not a show and one." Austin whistles from the doorway of your shared bedroom. "That's not supposed to be till later, babe." "And here I thought it was last night. Or did the sleep make you forget?

asshole austin part 3? ( where's part two, ally? i don't know probably at the bottom of this. this was not the original plan for this!! )

In hindsight, Austin should have known better. In hindsight Austin should know lately he's been getting a little too into his roles. In hindsight Austin's pretty sure he's an idiot but you've both known this from the second he turned those blue eyes- those stupid sapphire eyes your way. In hindsight it could have gone much worse.

merman austin ( this is part of the ending but i don't have the bits above it written. )

"We'll be on the run if we do this. All three of us. No more somewhat easy escapades. They're going to hunt us down for you, Austin." You say glancing at Olivia who looks so sure of what she wants to do, how she wants to save him same as you even with how much it's going to change things and potentially harm the crew. "If I had to run with someone, I'm thankful it's the two of you. There's no one else I'd rather do it with." He answers with a soft kiss to both you and Olivia, allowing himself to nuzzle against both of your hands when you both try to touch his face.

i'm not explaining this one. 😈

If she had looked up as she tried to hide the laughter escaping her she would have seen Elvis’s gaze on her and the slight smile that had formed on his face as he saw how her nose scrunched up and how the corners of her eyes crinkled just a little bit. If she had looked up and paid more attention she would have heard him whisper something so soft that no one but her could have heard it.  “God she’s pretty.” That’s the funny thing though, isn’t it? That when you need to pay attention to something or look at someone you never are.

these next few are short but they're all catherine and elvis tbh.

"Princess isn't the word you need to be calling your director. Do I look like one of your little starlets?"

i had to literally check what i had already posted for the. i forgot i gave daisy a whole ass chunk that's in this word doc.

She huffs out a breath of air before rolling her eyes. "Hardly. I just am worried you're going to make all those shots unusable. Those eyes are dangerous. Might have me a bit hot under the collar."

i told you. so much catherine and elvis. i haven't gotten to my notebook, elise.

"Aw hell Princess, would it kill ya to go all out? I gotta real good feelin' 'bout how people are gonna like it. Figure you could look like a real princess in your dress." "Does that make you my prince charming?" "If that's what ya want me t'be."

i'm stopping with them after this. i really truly kept jumping around in their timeline.

He knows he shouldn’t be strutting around like a proud peacock around her- he knows it won’t work because she’s always been able to see through him, strip him bare in ways no other woman has. He shouldn’t have been strutting around because now his punishment is having to hoist Catherine up onto Spirit and watching- feeling her hips as she tries to get comfortable.

when i actually post this. and get to the part before it. hehehe.

Her eyes don't leave the wet- God, could he even call it a patch still- spot on his jumpsuit even as it starts to cool and starts to make his entire front stick to it. He has to get up and out of this suit and ignore the fact that for some godforsaken- for God truly is forsaking him- reason she is looking at his damn crotch and licking her lips and biting her lip softly.

again. with my giggles. anyone who has heard screams about this probably can guess where this comes from.

She doesn’t need to see an old fat man like him with his hillbilly uncut cock. She deserves- God she deserves so much more than a man who got himself off without touching himself at her pleasuring herself. 

mysteries where this comes from i don't have the doc titled.

A brief thought of him wondering about a wet spot- a stain- crosses his mind before he tamp down on it, his eyes zeroing in on her fingers starting to work at her little clit- her nub- that little button he wants to feel against his calloused fingers. Would she sing like she is now? Would her moans sound deeper or higher from the different texture? Would she whisper his name like a prayer- like that prayer she sent to God that night he gave into his baser desires? Please, please, please.

is this ever going to be posted beyond this who knows.

Your mama didn't send you to me any more than my dad sent you to me. It's- Austin, it's not fair. You didn't even- I wish you could hear voicemails after you've sent them, you didn't even say my name once. Just your nickname for me. Do you even remember my name, Satnin? Do you remember I'm not 'Cilla, Elvis. Remember that I'm the girl you called a brat, the girl- You were supposed to be different, you know? Supposed to make me feel safe and loved and Pere loves you- no, god I'll tell you who it is- Vincent adores you. Thinks you're perfect for me. Thinks you're exactly what I needed. I thought you were too. You take care of me, you've been taking such good care of me but I- it wasn't you taking care of me lately was it? It hasn't been since we started acting like them. It's Elvis taking care of 'Cilla. Fixing what he broke back then? I don't know. If- I want a baby with you, god, I want a baby with you but I think you don’t know who I am any more, I don't know who you are any more.

one day i'll post this. finish it even. my little babies dealing with the effects of covid making things go weird.

The morning starts like any other with you blearily waking up and grabbing your phone off the nightstand. You are up a bit later than you want to be but sometimes you need your rest and you have learned to never begrudge your body for it. What is different about this morning is how when you look at your phone you see about ten missed calls from Austin within the span of about 30 minutes as well as multiple voicemails. It’s been your experience that when people call you that many times, when people seem that insistent on getting ahold of you something drastic has happened. A large part of you wants to avoid listening to the messages fearful of just what you're going to hear. Yet, you know you shouldn’t. You know if you don’t he’s just going to keep calling because that’s what people do. It takes you a moment to dial Austin’s number but you barely hear the first ring before Austin is picking up almost breathless.

this has been the start of multiple fics before it became the start of its own that i haven't finished.

“And if I was cheating on you with your daddy? Would you be mad at your little bunny? Because it’d only be because you’re not paying enough attention to me, Mr. Presley.”

this was a weird jealousy fic it's my wip list always.

You don’t- you’re used to Austin as Elvis. It’s not a bad thing, and you consider yourself lucky that the role and life had finally made him and Vanessa break things off before you met him. However, it’s- the press tour is what got to you. You had been so used to having him around that when you didn’t it broke something in you. You break up but you two still have the same friend group because your friends loved him and they treat him like a normal person, but damn if it doesn’t make hanging out to be the most awkward mess you’ve been in since every High School.

another jealousy fic. this might just get reused for something else.

Austin prides himself on being a calm individual. He is shy and he is mostly collected. Nervous, yes, but collected, almost one hundred percent. It’s something he knows you love about him because bless your soul you are not necessarily that person. Austin prides himself on being calm but sometimes he knows he fails at it. Usually when he’s drunk as he is right at the present moment. Honestly, there isn’t a person in your general vicinity that isn’t some degree of drunk or tipsy and it shows in how everyone feels the need to be on top of one another and how Austin wishes he was near you but there’s all your friends and his friends between the two of you.

i'm never going to post this. it's from the 10 years later au for dove and austin. that will never get done.

They say it's hard to get over your first love and well, you know that so much much better than anyone but they what they don't tell you is that the one you think you're going to marry the one who is perfect for you in what feels like every way? That's the one that's almost impossible to get over. That's the one you can pretend you recover from but you don't- not really.

selkie au sequel where i have toyed with this multiple times since jan for. the obvious reasons. finally think i came to terms with the fact that i want to do it this way.

"Gonna hafta teach her more often now that I can. Mama'd kill me if she knew her grandbaby had such a problem goin' between human and seal. You wanna come with us for a swim?" "You forget I'm human?"

olivia x reader that i've been debating if anyone still wants.

"I'm not going to ask you to break up with him. But you should." "And what? Date you?"

take a guess at who this might be.

"If you're still hungry you can sleep with someone else, Elvis." You say as you watch him force himself to move to the other side of the room. "No. Made a promise t'ya didn't I?"

😈

"Call that handyman- the one from the church. I have to get to work." Her husband, Nathan calls out as he leaves without a kiss exchanged between the two of them.

frat boy austin is a menace except not really. i am though for making the summary sound like sk8er boi.

"It means you should have led with free if you wanted me to go do it. You know I avoid frat and sorority things like the plague."

i think this is the last of it? maybe. i think i've combed through everything that has more than a word in it?

Elvis knows that it can't be good with that reaction- knows it's gotta be a total he doesn't have. BB's words come to mind about business doing you and those words in this moment ring so painfully true Elvis feels his head starting to throb.

[riahlynn101]

Whumptober Day Twenty-Nine: "What Happened to Me?"

Takes place in the FNAF movie universe.

May contain spoilers for the FNAF movie.

Trigger warnings: Child death, implied/referenced kidnapping and murder, blood, knifes, and major character death.

Part one of two. This one is from Mike's POV. Day 30 is from Garrett's.

((Work in progress)).

--

“C…O….M….E…..F…I….N…D…..M….E….”

Mike hangs up the phone, thoroughly confused by the entire interaction. First he gets a job application for the (supposedly) new and improved Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria, and now someone is using a ‘Speak and Spell,” to harass him over the phone. 

He sighs, eyeing the application laying facedown on the dining room table. It would be stupid of him to go back. They were lucky to get out alive last time, and there’s no guarantee this time would be any better. 

His sister’s older now. Not by much, but he has faith that Abby isn’t going to follow any more animatronics to abandoned pizzerias. Probably. 

The job doesn’t sound bad, and they really need the money. But Mike can’t bring himself to go back. Knowing what he knows. Seeing what he’s seen. Even if they discommissed all the robots from the last location, who’s to say that the ghosts wouldn’t jump to this location. Or that Afton’s own spirit (God, Mike hopes that man isn’t a vengeful spirit. He has enough problems without adding the ghost of the serial killer who murdered his brother to the list) isn’t wreaking havoc. 

No matter what, Mike promises himself, he won’t take the job. It’s stupid, and he’s 99% sure he’ll nail the interview at the local diner. 

-x-x-x-

Let it be known that Mike did not, in fact, nail that interview at Sparky’s Diner. But it’s not his fault. The person interviewing him went on long tangents about random theories, and it kept tripping him up. How is he supposed to know why he applied for the job when Ness won’t stop interrupting him? 

He settles in his seat, at least this time upper management invested in a good quality chair. If Mike has to fear for his life, then he should be comfortable while doing it. 

The camera setup is much the same as last time, if not a little higher in quality. He flips through them, eyeing each of the robots to see if they’ve moved. Because, unlike last time, he doesn’t have the protection of a door. The whole setup feels weird. It’s too open.

At least the animatronics-all twelve of them-don’t seem as murderous as last time. They wander around the pizzeria, but none of them bother him, so Mike just lets them be. Besides that, all he has to worry about is remotely rewinding a music box of some sort. It connects to the prize corner, but he has no idea what its function is. The new owners gave him minimal instructions, but he really doesn’t want to find out what happens if he doesn’t keep it wound-up. 

He yawns, looking down at his watch. It’s barely one, which means he has a long night ahead of him. Mike should really look into renegotiating his hours, because this is ridiculous. 

He puts his head on the table, deciding to rest for a few minutes. It’s not like the animatronics are going to hurt him, and admittedly he hasn’t been sleeping the best lately. 

Mike closes his eyes. Calm washes over him. He sleeps. 

He dreams. 

Mike stands in the forest that has haunted his dreams for years on end. He searches for his parents and brother, but they aren’t there. The entire campsite is gone, save for a couple of indentations where the tents and picnic table once were. 

“Mike!” He hears his brother call, and Mike knows it’s him. Decades a part, and he can remember Garrett’s voice. It’s imprinted in his memory. “Mikey!”

Without thinking, he runs in the direction the voice came from. “Garrett!?” 

His brother pulls him into a hug. It feels surreal, like he’s not quite here. The pressure around his midsection and the warmth of his brother’s body heat feels real. But it can’t be, because Garrett’s….

Tears stream down his face, making his neck sticky. He sniffles, choosing-for a moment-to put his pride aside. Even if this isn’t real, Garrett is here, in front of him, alive and happy. 

“I…I’ve missed you,” he murmurs. 

Garett giggles. The sound relights something deep within Mike. A piece of his very soul. “Miss you too.”

He suddenly feels guilty. The memories of not keeping an eye on his brother come back in full force. It feels different than his usual guilt. That guilt is expressed internally, where no one besides a few lingering figures of his subconscious can bear witness. But here, with Garrett seemingly more alive than he’s been in decades, it’s harder. “And I’m sorry, I should have-”

His brother pulls away, brows furrowed. “Nope. Not here. Not today.”

And that makes sense. “Okay…yeah…sorry.”

[books-of-the-great-leviathan]

Chapter 32- Alois

***

There was a big difference, he decided on the fifth day out, between ranging through the wilderness on elk-back and tromping through it on foot, in muggy late-summer heat, battling not just sweat but clouds of stinging, biting gnats that wanted nothing more than to drain him of his fluids. Niive, noticing his misery, had chewed a mouthful of bluish moss and spat out the resultant goo onto his bites, and that eased the itching.

When he tried to say thank you, she tossed her head and strode off, hair glimmering in the swirl of cool breeze she'd summoned.

"I was growing weary of your endless moaning," she'd called back, and Alois, heaving his pack higher on his shoulder, stifled a smile.

Then he slapped a gnat on his wrist before it bit down.

Cereza led them like a bird tied to a string, pulling her toward some distant unknown. She sometimes seemed no longer in control of her body, her limbs; she walked like a dreamer, her eyes closed, her lips fluttering. Her path took them along the aqueduct- it snaked beside them, rising and falling and crumbling away for long stretches before looming from the forest gloom again, pale and overgrown with vegetation. Like its shadow raced the little stream, coursing down from some hidden mountain source.

They were headed upslope and into the foothills, the mountains drawing closer day by day. Alois took it in wide-eyed, wishing he could somehow gather and preserve the sights around him like bottled specimens in spirit, to be returned to, in full sensory splendor, after they were gone to him. For all the Lapidaean mountains' annoyances, the landscape was beautiful, wholly distinct from barren Estara. Here all was lush, all was green and gold and deep bark-red, abundant moss lending a brushstroke softness to the fortress boulders looming amidst the forest. Shadows were blue and deep as wells. The trees here were unlike any he had elsewhere seen, so massive that to be amongst them was like walking between slumbering giants. Their hush seemed a holy thing, profound as any he'd experienced in Bellana's cathedral, back in Pavaloir.

"These are some big trees," he said, running his hand over a rough crust of bark. They'd passed a few that could comfortably house the Tower's entire throne room within. The cones littering the forest floor were huge as elk heads. It seemed impossible such a thing could grow and live at all.

Luca had laughed. "Big indeed. I suspect no one's taken an axe to these giants since the Sundered Empire, or before. These aren't even the largest or oldest I've seen up in these mountains, not by a long shot."

"You've come here before?"

"I used to do work for the magisters at the Academy. Looking for reagents, surveying, collecting samples, observing wildlife and plant growth."

"Cooing over flowers, you mean," Cereza sang back.

Luca smiled. "I suppose I wanted to become Grand Magister one day. Or maybe be lost up here, and not come back until centuries had passed, and my beard was past my knees, and all had turned to dust, like some enchanted troubadour in a cradle song."

"Lapra," Alois said suddenly.

"Come again?"

"That's the word for trees in Old Estaran. That's what gave Lapide its name. Daval taught me that in one of his history lessons." He tipped back his head, letting the sunlight fall dense and golden over his face. "To see this place for the first time must have felt like a dream."

"You'll make a linguist yet," Luca said, sounding impressed. Alois flushed, but Luca had already gone on, singing some taberna song off-key.

Alois knew what he meant by enchantment. There was power here, but it wasn't mighty, no lightning bolt nor vengeful goddess. Sometimes the group's conversations died, and they walked in silence for hours at a time. Alois was overcome with a feeling close to tears, close to ecstasy, wavering always in between. When he did, he felt himself flinch inside, an instant of panic- would someone see? Would his father know? It always faded, though, as he let himself calm again, as he reminded himself there was no one here who would be ashamed of him. Daval was dead, however strong his ghost. These ancient trees, who had lived through so many wars and so much silence, watched him, and then he moved on.

Eventually, the aqueduct ended in a soaring incomplete half-arch, the rest crumbled away into nothingness. The stream remained, sometimes no more than a trickle, sometimes a torrent spraying down a rockslide, all rapids and icy spume. When the treeline thinned Alois glimpsed of the ocean, cobalt-blue and seamed with whitecaps.

Cereza steered them away from the roads, and slowly their ascent steepened, taking them ever higher into the mountains. Valeris was visible for a few days, its spires glinting in the sunlight, before the foothills claimed it. Here, the only signs of civilization were the occasional trails of smoke from some croft on the lower hill or a distant fishing village clinging to the rocky coastline, patches of yellow that meant lillem groves, shimmering with pollinator beetles.

Once, Luca hushed their conversation and held his finger to his mouth, staring off into the shadows between the trees. Something huge moved back there, snapping twigs and stripping the vast ferns of their fronds: a massive low-slung beast with a broad, flat tail and humped back bristling with quills of white-banded black, saber fangs flashing as it curled its tongue around the next mouthful of vegetation. Cereza let out a silent laugh, while Sirin knelt next to Luca, arms folded over her knees. Luca himself watched the creature with the same kind of rapt wonder with which he watched Sirin, and only stirred when Alois crept close.

"It's a mogo-beast," he whispered. "Precious rare. See those quills? Each full of enough venom to stun a wild gholiant."

"Does it see us?"

"Doubt it. But it smells us, I'm sure."

"...Smells us?"

"They eat plants and cedar-bark, not islanders. See the tusks? Cantankerous beastie, but it won't attack, not if we let it be."

Alois didn't move. He stood there, silent, watching the creature as it moved on, leaving a stripe of broken ferns in its wake, vanishing once more into the deep gloom of the forest.

Hours passed, sun-drenched and sticky, relieved only by the wind off the sea. They were winding along the spine of a ridge, one side sweeping upward into a mountain flank, the other a sheer fall of white cliff struck blinding by the sunlight, when Alois stumbled. His vision darkened, like a moth-nest veiling his eyes.

He put out a hand against a tree, heart racing, his breath tightening in his throat. Calm down, he urged himself. Breathe.

"Need me to chew you more moss, Belmont?" Niive called.

"Give me a moment," Alois muttered.

"Or I could carry you, if you'd prefer."

"I said wait," Alois snarled.

He went to the cliffside and stood, staring out over the edge, into the vast emptiness. Birds drifted on the wind- not gulls, but forest birds he couldn't name, vast-winged and fantastically-crested, riding the air currents like a ship rides swells. He made himself breathe, made himself close his eyes to come back to his own body, not be swept away on a wave of his own terror. He heard voices murmuring behind him, then a scuff of boots against dirt, and a presence. Alois opened his eyes again as a shadow fell over him. Luca stood near him on the cliff, staring out to sea, his eyes narrowed, his expression grim.

Alois followed his gaze, and cold plunged through him like an axe stroke. Darkness massed at the horizon, the waves there vast ship-breakers, towering like hills. Blue light shone through them, and as lightning speared the storm, Alois glimpsed the warp-slither of the Leviathan's long body beneath the ocean surface.

It was out there, swimming, matching their pace. Following them.

"Drink?" Luca said after a moment.

"Yes."

He passed Alois the canteen. Alois took a swig.

"I wish this weren't water," he said.

"A man after my own heart."

They watched the Leviathan. "Strange," Alois said, after a while. "Isn't it."

"Yes, I'd say that out there is rather strange."

"Not that. Well, yes, that, but...strange we're standing here sweating our skin off and not standing in Pavaloir's Cathedral of Bellana, bound by blood as brothers."

"Ah."

"I know...I know it was all a lie," Alois said. "But I didn't want it to be. Maybe if I had wanted peace less, maybe I'd have seen into my father's schemes, maybe..."

He shook his head. "I suppose that doesn't matter so much anymore. It's over. It's done."

Luca nodded, his gray eyes narrowed against the sunlight. "You know," he said. "I thought you'd be an almighty ponce."

Alois laughed mid-swig, snorting water. He flung his hand up to catch it. "A what, now?"

"I figured you'd be arrogant, dreadful. Strutting about like you were planning the annexation of Lapide yourself. Believe me, the reality is a great relief."

"I figured you'd be crouching around a sacrificial altar, muttering to the pagan gods and waving witch-feathers."

Luca grinned. "You're not far off."

Alois laughed again. It felt good: a loosening of the fist that seemed forever clenched in his chest. "Your particular witch doesn't seem to like me very much."

"I think she's jealous."

"Jealous? What by all Saints would she have to be jealous of?"

Luca gave him a sidelong look. "Take your pick," he said. "For an immortal creature she's not particularly rational. You'd look and her and Cereza and think my sister the one awestruck, but I think it's the other way round. Cereza's cannier than she lets on. Worse, too. She can be unbelievably vexing in matters of the heart."

"What?" Alois spluttered, in the midst of taking another drink from the canteen. At this rate there wouldn't be any water left.

"One time I caught her kissing the daughter of some visiting foreign dignitary in a broom cupboard. It was by the skin of my teeth I prevented an international scandal."

It took a moment for Alois to realize he was joking- about the scandal, at least. He tried to imagine Cereza flirting her way into a broom cupboard, and couldn't. It was difficult to reconcile that girl with the girl he'd met first in the throne room of Valeris Palace, dressed in blue and seed pearls, pretty as the flowering tree that was her namesake. How little he knew her. How little he would have known her, had they been married as planned. As little as his father had known his mother at their own wedding, two strangers bound together for a cause.

She isn't bound to you anymore, he told himself. It stung a little.

"I never told you," Luca went on. "I didn't believe you, before, when you said you had nothing to do with Cereza's curse. I wish I had."

"I think you made it up to me by saving her life."

Together, he and Luca stood, watching the monster at the horizon as it swam round and round,  wreathed in lightning. At last, Luca glanced up at the sinking sun and sighed.

"We'd best get a move on," he said, and with a last smile at Alois, retreated back to the group. Alois took a moment longer, taking in the cliffside, the country below, the glimpse of coastline and field. It would be good, he thought, to vanish, like Luca had said- to wait until the weary hurts of the world had spun themselves into dust. But he couldn't live that way. He couldn't abandon it.

Besides, he didn't have to be alone in it anymore.

He took a last drink of water and rejoined the others.

***

"That's it," Luca announced as he rummaged through his pack. He produced the object in question: a twist of touga jerky. "That's the last of it."

"That's it?" Cereza echoed. "Are you serious?"

"Unless you're stockpiling jerky in your skirts, there's nowhere for more to be, my darling." He tossed both pack and jerky to the moss. "Here, you lot fight over it."

They had come to the end of their already-meager provisions from Lapide, and while they'd scavenged all the tubers and berries and tortoise eggs they could, such things had a tendency to spoil in the muggy heat of the day. Alois sat on a nearby rock, his stomach snarling, not wanting to be the first to reach for the jerky.

"Give it to Puppy," Cereza suggested. No one protested. Alois watched as Luca fed the last of the jerky to the little creature, bit by bit.

Sirin signed something.

"Have you seen any animals in these woods?" Luca said.

She signed again, sharper.

"Fine, fine," Luca said. "Just don't draw any attention to yourself, all right?"

"I'll go try to find food," Alois said, standing and making for the edge of the clearing. They'd stopped at a bend in the stream, where the water pooled and stood still, shadowed by an overhanging thicket of thorn bushes and bitter-smelling mudlily, their blossoms white with delicate starbursts of pink at their centers. "I can...I don't know, catch fish, or...dig for roots..."

"Have you ever dug for a root in your life?" Cereza said.

"How difficult can it be?"

She stood, too, dusting off her skirts. "I'll come with you. You might need some protection." She patted the oyster knife at her belt.

"Don't go too far," Luca called.

"Stop worrying over me!" Cereza yelled back.

"Never!"

She smiled and shook her head, the forest shadows closing over it, dousing the brightness of her blonde hair. Alois stuck his hands in his pockets, looking down at his feet- so he wouldn't trip over hidden roots, he told himself.

They walked in silence for a while, picking at the bushes, nosing under ferns, as if someone might have stashed a banquet under there. Alois found a cluster of berries clinging to a bush, but they were overripe and oozing, much-abused by the birds.

"I'm not that hungry yet," Cereza said.

He poked at a remarkable growth of shelf fungus sprouting from a cedar. "You fancy this is poisonous?"

"Almost certainly." She smiled. "I'm glad we're out here together. I...I wanted to talk to you alone."

"Me, too."

They fell silent again, not making eye contact. They hadn't spoken much since leaving Valeris- first out of shock, the disaster rendering them numb and mute, attuned to little more than escape and survival. Afterward she was occupied with leading them, or with Niive, or joking with Luca, her voice always a little too bright.

Now it wasn't. Her face looked older in the shadows, her eyes dark-socketed, wisps of hair straggling from her braid.

You had chances, Alois admonished himself. You're just too much of a coward to approach her. Now he'd manufactured a chance, and he was reduced to monosyllables.

They kicked on, coming to another, smaller clearing. Here, the break in the canopy had come at the cost of a cedar, huge as the collapse of a temple. The great fallen tree lay angled, one end lifted on its roots, the undergrowth already begun to swallow it back into the earth. Shafts of sun reached down from above, green and full of cyclones of insects. A small rill bubbled up from the crater beneath the fallen cedar's roots, plashing through the glade and filling it with drifts of mud lilies.

Alois stopped, marveling. Cereza wasn't nearly so reverent. She moved past him and scrambled onto the log, standing balanced on its lower end. The sunlight fell across her, suffusing her. The fine hairs on her arms seemed gilt.

She faced the mountains, their peaks visible above the trees. Alois felt a chill. What did she see? What did she feel like, to have a shard of the Leviathan's power inside her, to be within the shadow of the divine?

"See any food from up there?" he asked.

"Oh. No."

Alois shifted his weight. "What...what happened to you, out there? Really? Are you witchborn, like Sirin?"

"I don't think so. I don't think this is my power." She lifted her hands, turning them over. "I'm more like...a lens, and this- my dreams, my visions- they're the light. All I do is focus, amplify."

"And this? Now?"

"It's a pull, Alois. More than that. It's like I've walked here before. Like I've been here before. It's me, and it's not me. It's my eyes, but not my sight." She shook her head. "I can barely make sense of it myself."

"It takes a lot of faith to trust in it like that."

"Faith in myself, mostly. Without me, where do the dreams have to go?" She smiled a crooked smile down at him. "They'd be lost in the dark without me."

"I wish I could be as confident as you."

She looked away. "As do I, Alois Belmont."

He pointed at her knife. "You're good with that thing."

"Oh. Yes. Your- er. Captain Azare showed me a thing or two on our journey to Lapide."

"You can say my father. I know."

Cereza nodded, too quickly.

"He grew fond of you, I think," Alois went on.

"Yes, well," she said archly, walking heel to toe up the fallen log with her arms spread like wings. "I'm easy to grow fond of."

"Yes," Alois said. "You are."

She stopped above him, staring down. One heartbeat, two. She knelt, hugging her knees to her chest, her expression subdued.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"What for?"

"Us. It all went so wrong."

"That is hardly your fault."

"No. But can anyone apologize enough for it?" She paused again. "I didn't want to marry you. But I would have. And...Alois, I think I would have been happy. It would be easy, to be happy with you."

"I-" Alois began. He thought of Luca standing by him in the sunlight. "I don't- Cereza, I don't mean to give you insult-"

"Enough of the formal Lapidaean, Alois. Say what you want to say."

"Yes. Yes." He drew a short breath, heat creeping up his neck. "If I were to marry, it would be another...sort."

"What sort?"

Alois paused. Then- "A sort like Luca."

Cereza gave a guffaw that was half a shriek, loud enough that a pair of birds burst from a nearby tree and went clattering off. Alois winced, but after a moment he realized, with a strange wash of relief, that she wasn't laughing at his feelings, but how he'd conveyed them.

"Luca?" she echoed. She laughed again, tossing her head back. "Luca...specifically?"

"No. Not- stop laughing."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Just imagining you and- I'm sorry. Please go on." "Not just- not just Luca."

"Another man, then? So find one." A thought seemed to occur to her. "Or do they not like that in Estara?"

"There's nothing in Bellana's books against it. Simply...if I am to be king, I would need heirs." He let out a short breath. "We each in Estara have our part to play."

Cereza gave a flick of her hand. "Many Lapidaean regents got around it. Creatively. Spectacularly."

"It's not so simple as that. My father and mother were such terribly-matched people," Alois said. "So terribly-matched it might've split Estara in two."

"Didn't it?" Cereza said softly.

Alois managed a laugh. She really was right, and it really was a bit funny. "Didn't it," he agreed, with feeling. "I never want their misery inflicted on another, especially not you. I can see how you and Niive are together. She's...beautiful, she's-"

"She's a terror," Cereza said. "But I think I need that. We're very alike, you know."

"Very alike," Alois echoed. And he was not. For a moment he felt the familiar pang of shame- a bastard, a blinded thing, cursed by Bellana, no true Belmont at all. But what use was that? He was the same man he'd been before, no matter his name and the chains that came with it. There was nothing to be ashamed of. He did not need to be ashamed of himself.

He met Cereza's eyes, the gray of stormclouds. "I would have been happy with you, too."

She gave him a soft smile. "Then let's be miserable apart."

Cereza stretched out her hands, and he took them, and she slid down the log and into his arms. Her skin was cool and soft, her hands bunching in his curls. For a moment he held all of her to all of him, her hair tickling his throat, her feet dangling inches above the ground. Then he let her go. She slid down him and alit.

"Here," Alois said, plucking a nearby mud lily. He threaded it into her braid, by the long black feather she kept woven there. "It suits you."

She turned her head this way and that, preening. "You suppose we can eat it?" she said, and he laughed with her.

A snarl rippled from behind them.

Alois whirled. Cereza gasped, reaching for her knife. An animal paced toward them, out from a hollow underneath the fallen tree. A den. Alois recognized the beast in an instant: brush-tailed and long-bodied, its head slung low, its ears flat back against its skull. Short spike horns jutted before its ears, gleaming like jet. Its sleek summer pelt was black, too, rippling with faint spots, its eyes pale blue and fixed on him.

It let out another snarl, baring sharp cuspids. A fellfox. He smelled its sharp, musky scent as it paced closer, footfall silent on the moss.

"Oh," Alois breathed. His heart hammered. Fellfoxes were vicious creatures, all the more reason they were Estara's sigil. If only Daval were here- he'd find the prospect of one killing Alois hilarious. "Saints- Cereza, the knife-"

"No." She pointed. Several sets of round blue eyes stared back at them from deeper in the den. "It's protecting its kits."

"It'll feed us to its kits if you don't-"

The fellfox lunged with a yowl; its teeth clashed shut inches from Alois's face. He stumbled, falling hard to his hands and knees. "Cereza!" he cried, but his voice died in his throat. All he could do was stare.

Cereza stood before the fellfox, her hands by her sides, staring into its eyes. The fellfox stared back, its gaze bright, its teeth still bared. It didn't attack. Why didn't it attack? Alois took a sharp breath, and tasted it: the bitter tang of magic. He felt it, then, its pulse coursing through him from Cereza.

Her lips fluttered. The fellfox gave a softer snarl and paced back- one step, then two, its head lowered, its bristled fur relaxing. It turned and trotted off, slipping into its den without another glance. Cereza let out her breath, staring after it with huge eyes.

Alois scrambled to his feet. "How," he panted, "did you do that?"

"I...I'm not sure," she said. "I felt its anger. How dare we threaten its kits? It felt like...like one of my dreams. So I refocused it. To not harm us. To go back to its kits. And it did." She shook her head with a nervous laugh. "That's it."

"Whatever you did, it was-" Alois started.

He cut off. Voices echoed through the trees, alongside the sound of clanging metal.

Alois looked up, but didn't see the others approaching. The sound came from the wrong direction, anyhow- ahead, not behind. Alois stepped past Cereza, moving toward them. He heard her follow, her knife a glint of steel in her hand. They crept toward the treeline, which ended in a fall of jagged boulders. The rocks plunged down, an abrupt descent into a spreading meadow of wildflowers and windswept grass and road. It threaded down the mountainside: a narrow dirt track cut into the meadow, and on it were people.

"Hells," Cereza whispered, but Alois held up his hand, quieting her. The people looked like farmers, dressed in roughspun: a pair of young women driving a snuffling touga between them. It wore a bell- that was what made the clanging sound-  and a yoke laden down with baskets.

"Look at that," Alois whispered, and pointed. The touga's baskets were full of fruit, knobby-skinned and bright yellow. "Food. You don't suppose-"

"I do suppose," Cereza said. "There's a village nearby."

Alois chewed his lip. "We can't stop. Suppose Isabella's soldiers are there, searching for us. Suppose-"

"No." Cereza looked at him. The sunlight fell in her eyes, and they were bright, their gray ghostly, touched with the same faraway brightness that had filled them in the hidden library's depths. "No. We have to stop."

She caught his wrist and held it, tight. "This is where the trail ends. This place is what we came to find."

[rockheadcd]

@electrivolt​ said: And once again Roark is taking too long to come back home, isn't he? Who knows exactly what kind of rock he got distracted with now. And there Volkner is, huffing to himself as he sits on the couch waiting, Lux so casually curled up against his side and Roark's massive cat watching him grow more and more impatient by the minute.

Well, no one can say he wasn't waiting, even if when Roark finally decides to come back he may of may not find his love stealing his big cat to take a nap in the nice and cozy fur, Lux settling for half laying on top of him. That cat is his now. / unprompted. | accepting.

And so Blondie, Lux, Bigcat, whatever Roark refers to him by struts around where he can fit his large mass, curious to where his trainer is now that the sun has almost entirely gone down. It's cold, it's windy—it's many things that settled into ingrained habits of a large cat that hasn't completely tempered his own survival instincts when under a roof and surrounded by the most friendly and energetic group of 'mons he's ever seen in his life. With an additional human to add, one that cares so much no less, it's the most safety Luxray has ever known.

But, he can't help but worry when he sits upright from across the living room and observes Volkner sitting there, impatiently bouncing limbs in place, the much smaller yet mature Lux as he's so called putting up with being a drum set with as much aloofness that could only be seen in a creature that has seen far too much.

Well, on the plus side, none of them had to worry about Roark being chased by a certain malicious spirit in the flesh. Luxray idly shakes his poofy mane to rid himself of the thought ( he doesn't want to think about those nights, his trainer's blood sticking and staining his fur when weakly tasked to bolt as fast as he could across the icelands. those days were gone—they must be ). Watching Volkner slowly combust was far less stressful, but even then, he can't help but fret, much like his modern companion. So, he pads closer, wedging himself between coffee table and sofa, just to lay his head on his legs with a trill—he'll be okay, right? Is he okay? Surely, it was just only because it had been a couple of hours since Roark's usual time home ( he better come home with something nice for their patience ).

Okay, maybe he can't deny it. He's bored, too, and a little hungry, and Roark is the one that has thumbs and an apt for cooking. Bigcat wouldn't force Volkner to, anyway, not after the unstable mess he'd become by the time Roark had….come to the present day, as he explained. But, he can ask Volkner for pets and comfort his terrible lack of patience, easily so considering just how high of an affinity with electric types he had—his own line specifically. He was difficult not to get attached to ( he could empathize with roark's tendencies to dote over him.. he needed it and often looked relieved ). With a huff through his snout, Luxray simply rests there for some time, basking in attention and content to fall asleep there—at least until Volkner's impatience melts into boredom, and the boredom simmers into sleepiness. He can't blame him—either of them, really. Maybe a nap sounds good after all, seeing as it's officially dark out and Roark is off distracted somewhere underground. One of his teammates will eventually remind him he has someone waiting for him at home, surely.

Well. He can make himself just as comfortable, too, can't he? ( and he will, if he can fit his large mass on the couch with the other two ). With a deep mrrp and a swishing tail, it was time to get creative, to sleep.

…—

When Roark finally, finally comes home ( he can't help it, he has to make up for not being able to fool around in the underground and his time blindness has perhaps, just maybe, has become significantly worse without messages from his poor love ), a whole satchel full of neat finds, he almost calls for Volkner until he sees a mass of cat taking up the entirety of the couch—of course, he's probably in there somewhere, isn't he? Maybe the fossils and rocks can wait for now, even suffering the scalding shower alone finding Volkner warm and content being smothered in Luxray fur from every possible direction.

The notion melts his heart plenty enough, thrilled to know how the Hisuian team has been so readily loved like one of his own. "Hey, love, sorry about that," he ushers quietly, maneuvering his way much like Luxray, crouching and running a hand through blond hair affectionately. "Got a little distracted." Just a little. "But.. I'm glad the cats took care of you." Roark has the scritch the cats, too, or he won't hear the end of it. "I'm stinky, but stay comfy if you want, okay?" And despite his stinkiness, he still has to give him his mandated kiss upon returning home. He'll just feel a little bad taking him from what can only be described as paradise.

[the-witchhunter]

The multiverse was vast and weird, as Danny quickly found out. Various earths had differences, in their histories, in their populations, and in certain aspects of their realities. It turns out in his native reality, the separation between his world and the afterlife was thinner than most.

He’d spent years traveling his world and what his parents had called the ghost zone. More accurately it was the astral realm, a reality overlapping the earth’s where spirits dwelt that intersected with various afterlives. He’d backpacked across Europe, climbed mountains. He’d gone to Valhalla and had fought and feasted with the great warriors there. He’d explored the far frozen and what lay beyond even further in its frozen wastes. He’d seen the gates of hell, though he’d never had the nerve to enter. Demons were a different beast altogether from ghosts and he’d had no intention of staying potentially forever. He wished he had been that cautious when he had managed to find a doorway into this earth.

Compared to his home, the veil between worlds was more like the comforter between worlds here. Turns out physical portals to the astral realm or afterlife were much harder to produce. Most capable of traversing the astral realm is so by projecting their spirit out of their body instead. Danny had met a couple over the course of his travels, but he didn’t have a clue how to do it himself. Aside from finding a way back, another key difference is how much weaker he was comparatively. Ghosts tended to lack physical form here, another effect of the separation between worlds being thicker here. He still could go invisible and intangible easily enough, but he found himself tiring after a while. He tried flying and realized he’d have to be conservative with it after how much it had drained him. Ecto blasts were the most taxing. He was a bit out of practice but at present he could do about five before he was tapped out for a while.

Danny found a green sticky note on a pay phone. Frankly he was shocked there was a working one still around. He deducted it was meant for him using his keens observation skills. Mainly he observed it said

“Danny,

Jack Fenton = Thomas Wayne

Call Bruce xxx-xxxx-xxxx

-CW”

Danny called the number. No one answered the first time but the voicemail confirmed it was Bruce Wayne’s phone. Using the last of his change he dialed again. After a couple rings, someone picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Bruce?”

“Yes, this is Bruce. Might I ask who you are and how you got this number?”

“That’s kind of complicated to explain. My name is Danny, Danny Fenton? I think I might be your brother?”

“You think you’re my brother?” The voice sounded skeptical.

“Your father is Thomas Wayne, right? I think he’s my dad.”

“Listen, if you’re after money-“

“No! No no no! I don’t really care about money, something just told me I should reach out to you? Jeez that sounds stupid when I say it out loud. Listen, I just found this out, and I don’t really have other family around. I guess I don’t even know if it’s true, but contacting you seemed like the thing to do.”

“… I don’t want to say I don’t believe you, but if there’s a chance what you’re saying is true, I think a DNA test is in order.”

“That’s entirely fair. Like I said, I don’t know if this is for certain but knowing I guess is better than not knowing.” Danny said with a small laugh.

“I suppose it is.” The voice chuckled, and something about the quality of it reminded Danny of Jack. “Let’s meets at [this address] at [this date] if that works for you?”

“Yes, I can be there!” Danny was already planning the route to New Jersey. He’d have to hitch, at least to the nearest Greyhound station. He could either panhandle for the fare or use his powers to stash himself in the luggage compartment if need be.

“Great, see you then Danny.”

———

Bruce hung up the phone. He didn’t know what to make about a sudden half brother coming out of the woodworks. It wasn’t the first time and it certainly would not be the last. What interested Bruce was the fact he had his cellphone number. His personal cellphone number, the one only Alfred, Dick, and a select number of associates from his night life have.

Danny reaches out to Bruce and tells him that he’s a brother of his that was hidden away from all this time.

This is like the eighth “secret relative” Bruce has encountered and the sixteenth fake secret relative message he’s received this month. He’s ready for it to be just another man out for the Wayne fortune, but as always he asks for a DNA test to be done to confirm the man is lying.