#not outwardly expressed still of course. but just.. my bones are made of a little more violence recently..

[icewindandboringhorror]

Current temperature inside of my room right now in the middle of the night whilst about to go to sleep... villain origin story...

[lunar-wandering]

Lanterns and Lies

surprise!! here we go, the sequel to Glamours and Gauze!

Word Count: 7k

Read on Ao3

-

Macaque had lied, when he said the shadow lantern was gone.

When the Lady Bone Demon had caught him, she had made a specific note of needing the lantern.

And, well, Macaque wouldn't let that happen.

So he'd shattered it, again, and during the Lady Bone Demon's momentary shock, he'd taken the opportunity to gather the broken pieces and run.

One of her minions had cut him with the cursed knife while he was running away.

That didn't matter now though, his injuries had been healed, and the Lady Bone Demon had yet to make another move. For now, sitting on the roof of the noodle shop, he was safe.

He starred down at the shattered pieces of the lantern in his hands.

With a sigh, he carefully extended his magic, putting the pieces back together again, reforming the lantern. He held it gently in his hands as he looked around the roof.

Now where was he gonna hide this-

"Macaque, I brought plums!"

Macaque startled upon hearing MK's voice, he'd been so distracted focusing on putting the lantern back together, he hadn't even heard the other climb up the ladder to the roof.

The.....lantern....

Which he told MK was gone....

In a rush to avoid MK seeing the lantern, Macaque did the first thing he thought of.

He shoved the lantern into himself, letting it mix into his own magic. Not the smartest way of storing it, it was a highly magical item, who knows how it would act while in direct contact with his magic, but it was the first thing he could think of, and this was only a temporary measure, so it should be fine.

....Probably.

"Hey bud, what's up?" Macaque asked, turning around to face MK, who was setting a small bowl of plums on the ground. "...What are the plums for?"

"You said that if I brought you some plums, you'd tell me about the time Monkey King walked into a tree." MK said, "And I fully expect you to keep your end of the bargain."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." Macaque said, grabbing the bowl of plums. "Well you see, what happened was-"

-

"That had to be the stupidest shit you've ever pulled, Wukong." Macaque said, breathing heavily as he leaned against a tree. Wukong for his part, just smirked.

"I didn't see you try to stop me." He said, laughing as Macaque glared at him.

"I did try to stop you. Multiple times. But you didn't listen." He said, "You really need to stop picking a fight with every random person you meet."

"You're no fun at all." Wukong said, yawning as he stretched. Macaque rolled his eyes.

"Whatever." He said, "Anyways, we should probably head back to the cave, get some rest-"

"I'm not tired." Wukong said.

"You literally yawned a few seconds ago."

"Doesn't mean I'm tired. Besides, there's still more stuff to do." Wukong said, turning and walking off further into the mountain's forest, Macaque trailing behind him. As they walked, Macaque noticed Wukong start slouching, little by little. He didn't say anything though, knowing that Wukong would only deny it if asked.

It would be better just to watch and deal with the consequences when they came.

And oh boy, did the consequences come: in the form of Wukong turning a corner and immediately walking directly into a tree. The tree snapped in half, falling to the ground, with Wukong tumbling down after it. There was a loud thump, as dust and leaves were sent flying into the air. A few nearby birds called out in concern.

"Timber." Macaque said, a smirk on his face, walking over and crouching down beside where Wukong now lay on his back with a dazed expression on his face. "So. Not tired, huh?"

"Shut up." Wukong hissed, sitting up, pulling dirt and leaves out of his fur as he did so. "The tree just. Got in my way, that's all-"

"You're expecting me to believe that a tree got up and put itself in your path?" Macaque asked, "Wukong. I'm not stupid. Let's just hurry up and go back to the cave to rest already."

"I'm fine." Wukong said, moving to stand up, but wobbling a little, tipping backwards again-

Macaque caught him, keeping him from having another close encounter with the ground.

-

"I ended up having to carry him all the way back up the mountain." Macaque said, making little images with his shadows in order to give MK a better visual of what happened. "He ended up sleeping for like, 3 days. Took him still being tired when he woke up again for me to realize he'd gotten cursed. Wasn't hard to break it afterwards, but boy did Wukong protest the whole time. Practically had to tie him to his bed."

MK scribbled in his sketch book, and Macaque, out of curiosity, moved closer, looking over MK's shoulder to see a sketch of what Macaque had just described.

"....You're drawing this?" He asked. MK nodded.

"Yeah! I've got a lifetime goal of illustrating all of Monkey King's adventures!" MK said, pausing his sketching to show Macaque a quick flip through of the rest of the book. "...You got any other stories?"

"Lots." Macaque said, leaning back. "But you're gonna have to bring more plums if you want more stories. I'm not just gonna hand this info out for free."

"Of course, of course." MK said, standing up and walking back over to the ladder, mumbling to himself as he climbed back down. "I'm going to have to permanently add plums to my shopping list...."

Macaque stayed where he was, waiting patiently until he couldn't hear MK anymore, before letting out a relieved sigh.

That had been close.... No matter what, he couldn't let the others know that he still had the lantern. Revealing that would probably cause the others to push him away, they wouldn't trust him anymore, and he really couldn't have that. Hanging around them was the most advantageous position for him to be in right now, and he wasn't about to give it up any time soon.

...He still needed a place to hide it permanently, keeping it inside of himself probably wouldn't be a good idea in the long term. With that thought in mind, he mentally reached inwards with his magic, shadows starting to surround him as he prepared to take the lantern out-

"Hey, Macaque!"

Macaque startled again, the shadows that had condensed around him vanishing as though they'd been popped like party balloons as he whirled around to see-

Mei, who giggled at his shocked expression, holding up her phone and taking a quick picture of him before pocketing it.

"Would you two stop doing that?" Macaque asked, sighing as Mei circled around him.

"Hey, it's not my fault you didn't hear me coming." Mei said, giggling at the expression on Macaque's face. "Seriously, with all those ears you have it's a wonder you didn't-"

"What do you want." Macaque growled, "You wouldn't be here if you didn't want something."

"Wouldn't I?"

That. Wasn't a question Macaque felt that he could answer. He honestly couldn't think of a reason why any of MK's friends would want to be around him, but they hadn't really been pushing him away either....

Mei seemed a little concerned with how he'd suddenly gone silent though, so it was probably best to quickly change the subject.

"Ah, anyways, I have some stuff to do, so I don't really have time for you." Macaque said, walking past Mei and over to the edge of the rooftop. Distantly, he noted a weird tingling sensation come over him, but he ignored it, figuring it wasn't important.

"Oh, now that's a lie." Mei said, a smirk on her face. "You never do anything other than lounge around up here."

"Do not." Macaque said, crossing his arms. "I do plenty, you just haven't noticed."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

Macaque pondered for a moment on how best to answer-

And that was when his foot started sinking into the shadow underneath of him.

Outwardly, Macaque remained perfectly calm, not letting Mei in on the fact that anything was amiss.

Inwardly, he panicked.

That was definitely not supposed to be happening, why was it happening it shouldn't be happening why was he l o s i n g  c o n t r o l-

He was snapped out of his panic when he heard the sound of an engine starting up behind him. Subtly looking over his shoulder, he could see MK, ready to drive off, probably to deliver some noodles.

Macaque made his decision in a split second.

Turning and pulling his foot out of the shadow it'd been sinking into, Macaque jumped off the roof. Ignoring Mei's shout of "Hey, wait!", he slipped into the shadow of the tuk tuk, just before MK started to drive away.

-

Macaque hung out in the shadow of the tuk tuk for about 15 minutes before he actually bothered to wonder where exactly MK was going.

MK slowed down a bit as he turned a corner, and Macaque figured it was as good a time as any to ask.

Carefully, he materialized on the back of the tuk tuk, then, after making sure there wasn't anything around for MK to accidentally hit should he swerve, asked;

"Where are you going?"

MK's foot slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching and Macaque almost falling off from the sudden inertia. As soon as they were still, MK whirled around, staring at Macaque, shocked.

"How long have you been there?" He asked, and the expression on his face genuinely made Macaque laugh.

"Oh, not very long." Macaque said, "I was riding along in the shadow for the most part."

"...You can do that?" MK asked, "You probably save like, so much money when traveling then-"

"Bold of you to assume that I have any money at all." Macaque said, "Anyways, you didn't answer the question. Where are you going?"

"Why do you want to know?" MK asked, crossing his arms. "And why are you here anyways? Usually you just stay on the roof, what changed?"

"Nothing! What, can't I just want to go for a ride once in a while?" Macaque said-

And his hand started sinking into the shadow beside him. Swiftly, he pulled it out, rubbing it to get rid of the remaining tingles. MK watched this happen with a look of suspicion.

"...Uh-huh, sure, like I believe that." He said, tone as dry as the desert. "And anyways, I don't think you'd want to-"

And then he paused, looking as though he'd just been hit with some kind of realization.

"Actually-" MK started, "I think it would be good if you came with me."

He turned back around, taking his foot off the break and turning back onto the road, speeding up a little.

"You still haven't told me where we're going." Macaque said.

"Oh, you'll soon find out."

Macaque had a feeling he wasn't going to like this.

-

He was right. He hated this.

Staring up at a temple that quite obviously belonged to Sun Wukong, Macaque regretted every decision he had made in his life that had led up to this moment.

He regretted it even more when the monkey himself opened the front gate.

"Ah, there you are kid!" Wukong said, "I was beginning to think you'd never show up!"

"I'm only 2 minutes late..." MK muttered, and Macaque couldn't help but laugh a bit at that.

Sun Wukong was not, exactly, known for being very patient after all.

"Oh, I see you brought... an audience." Wukong said, finally noticing that Macaque was, in fact, also there.

"Audience? Please, if anything I'm the lead actor." Macaque said.

"Yeah, sure, keep telling yourself that." MK said, and Macaque would've hit him where it not for the warning glance Wukong gave him.

-

Macaque ended up being dragged to MK's training sessions with Wukong, again and again. Some days it was because MK himself forcibly brought him along, and on other days it was because Macaque was simply avoiding Mei. (He denied the accusation that he was avoiding her when asked...and then almost tripped as his foot sank deeper into the shadows. Luckily he'd managed to blame it on a stray tree root, but he wasn't sure how long he could keep it up...) 

Over the course of said days, Macaque had tried multiple times to find a better place to hide the lantern than within his own magic. (He'd long since figured out that the lantern was reacting whenever he lied, thus messing with his own magic. He had no idea why it was doing this, but the why didn't really matter so long as he could find a way to stop it.) But of course, since karma was apparently out to get him, he was interrupted by someone every single time, forcing him to keep the lantern within himself, lest the others find out about it.

Honestly though, he was shocked that Wukong hadn't noticed, considering his golden vision and all, he should've been able to see the fact that the lantern's magic was contained within Macaque.

(Macaque had nearly panicked when, on day 2 of him following MK to his training, Wukong had leaned close to him with a contemplative look on his face.

"...Why are you so close to me?" Macaque had asked, and huh, how long had that slit been in Wukong's eyebrow? Had it been there for a while and Macaque had just never noticed or-

"I'm checking to see how much of the glamor you're wearing." Was Wukong's response, as he studied him. "You're still recovering, you probably shouldn't be using magic to cover all of it."

So....Wukong was concerned about him. Macaque couldn't really imagine why, but still-

"You didn't need to get so close to me- can't you obviously see I'm wearing it?" Macaque had asked, gesturing at his own face. Wukong, surprisingly, winced at that, finally backing up a bit.

"Well, I guess you seem fine." He'd muttered, turning away, "Don't know why I was even worried."

And Macaque should've been relieved, but for some reason-

For some reason he felt like something was wrong.)

-

Macaque relaxed in the shade of a tree, watching Wukong train MK. It was almost soothing to watch the mentor and student trade hits as they sparred.

But of course, being relaxed didn't mean that Macaque didn't notice things.

Like how Wukong was a full 2 seconds slower in blocking MK's attacks than he'd been when Macaque had stolen MK's powers. Which wasn't really something that would normally raise concern- he probably just wasn't being as serious as he would be when encountering an actual threat, but.

Something about it was making the alarm bells that had been constantly ringing in Macaque's head louder. (Something he, obviously, didn't appreciate. Loud sounds, even mental ones, weren't very pleasant for him).

Macaque, of course, was never one to miss an opportunity to call Wukong out.

Which was why it was so surprising when MK beat him to the punch.

"Monkey King, are you okay?" MK asked, and Macaque sat up straighter, paying more attention, because oh, he wanted to hear this.

"Of course bud! Why do you ask?" Wukong said, and despite the fact that his back was to Macaque, the shadow monkey just knew that the other was lying.

"Well I don't know, you've just- seemed off, is all." MK said, shifting back and forth as he seemed to contemplate what to say. "Like, a little slower maybe? And I haven't seen you use your cloud in days, which is kinda weird, since you normally seem to use it-"

Wukong stiffened, and it was at this point that Macaque got genuinely curious, deciding that he had to see what kind of expression the other monkey was making right now. So, he slipped down into the shadows of the tree, and reappeared out of MK's shadow, startling the both of them as he slung an arm around MK's shoulder. 

"Kid's right y'know." Macaque said, putting on a smirk as he looked at the other. "Even I've noticed, and I've barely even been paying attention."

That was a lie, and he barely kept himself from wincing as he felt the tingle of magic flow through his body.

Only for nothing to seemingly happen. That was...mildly concerning, he'd felt the flow of magic, so something had definitely occurred, he just couldn't tell what.

...Well, whatever. If he couldn't notice it then it probably wasn't important.

Macaque refocused back in on the subject at hand, studying Wukong's expression. Nothing he hadn't expected, the usual nervous smile and look in his eyes that indicated he was lying where all there.

Or, well, most of it was expected.

The slight twinge of fear was new.

"I'm telling you, there's nothing wrong!" Wukong said, taking a slight step back. "I'm fine, really!"

Both MK and Macaque rolled their eyes in sync.

"If you're so fine, then explain to me why you keep waiting until MK is almost right in front of you before blocking him?" Macaque asked, MK nodding along as he spoke. "Seriously, it's like you can't see it unless it's close-"

Both Macaque and MK froze, coming to the same conclusion at the same time. Wukong, seeing the expressions on their faces, scratched his cheek nervously, avoiding their gaze.

"Oh my heavens." MK said, "You need glasses."

"I do not-"

-

Tang had been having a peaceful day at the noodle shop.

Having, being the key word.

Because suddenly, said peaceful day was interrupted as Macaque appeared out of nowhere beside him. Tang barely kept himself from startling out of his stool. (He'd started to grow used to the shadow monkey's sudden appearances, but that didn't really make them any less startling).

Macaque, for a moment, looked confused as to where he was, looking around in surprise, before taking notice of Tang and schooling his features into something unreadable.

"Oh." He said, "Uh. Hello?"

"Hello to you too, Macaque?" Tang said, a little confused, before finally taking notes of one important fact.

Macaque's eyes were fully purple.

"...Ah." Tang said, "Not Macaque."

"Hm, smart man." 'Macaque' said, leaning back, "Nope, I'm not the original. Just a shadow clone, that's all I am."

"Why are you here? Is there trouble?" Tang asked, worry seeping into his voice. The clone just shrugged.

"Dunno." 'Macaque' said, "One minute, I didn't exist, the next, I'm here."

"How can you just not know?" Tang asked, blinking in disbelief.

"He probably created me on accident." 'Macaque' said, almost as casually as though he was reading out a morning newspaper.

"That can happen??"

"Well, not normally, but in certain cases-" The clone started, then paused, eyes narrowing. "Well, actually, if that's the case, he probably doesn't know I exist right now..."

"Shouldn't you... tell him?" Tang asked, and watched as the clone contemplated it.

"Well I mean, not telling him would be kind of funny." He said, before shaking himself out of it. "No- no, you're right, I should probably tell him."

The clone proceeded to go completely silent, and Tang watched him with thinly veiled concern. After about 2 minutes of silence, with the clone making increasingly dramatic facial expressions, Tang decided to comment again.

"...Are you actually contacting him right now?" He asked, and the clone broke out of whatever state he was in to glance at him.

"Hm? Oh- yeah." He said, "Mental connection, y'know?"

"Then how come MK doesn't ever-"

"Cause he doesn't know it exists."

-

Of course. Of course the lantern had made a clone.

That certainly explained why there hadn't been any obvious reaction after the magic tingle.

Although, it was weird that the clone had ended up in the noodle shop. Why on Earth would it have formed there?

(In all honesty, it was probably because, once again, Macaque felt safe there. But he never planned to admit that fact, not even to himself, so he slid that thought back into the deepest part of his mind.)

As it was now though, Macaque sat back under the tree, head in hands, mentally communicating with the clone as MK and Wukong continued to argue about whether or not the Monkey King needed glasses.

"C'mon!" MK said, stomping his foot on the ground, "Just admit that you're nearsighted already! It's obvious!"

"I don't need glasses!" Wukong said, hopping backwards as MK tried to tackle him. "I can see just fine!"

This statement was contradicted, as MK suddenly moved backwards, distancing himself from his mentor. Macaque could see Wukong squint, something he wouldn't normally do-

And then MK moved forwards, with a speed Macaque honestly hadn't seen him use before (and wasn't that funny, that somehow this argument was actually causing MK's speed to improve) and managed to tackle Wukong to the ground.

A roll of parchment fell out of one of Wukong's pockets.

"Oh?" Macaque said, standing up, temporarily blocking his shadow clone's messages out of his mind (it was fine anyways, it seemed to have gotten distracted), he walked over, picking up the roll of parchment. "What's this?"

"Wh-Hey!" Wukong said, looking up from his position of being pinned to the ground by MK, squinting his eyes as he focused on Macaque. "Don't- give that back!"

"Well now, if you're so pressed over it then I kinda have to look, right?" Macaque said, slowly unrolling the scroll despite Wukong's protests. MK, surprisingly, kept Wukong pinned, watching with curiosity as Macaque looked over the parchment's contents. "....Huh."

"What is it?" MK asked, and Macaque turned, holding out the unrolled parchment so that MK could see it. Wukong, at this point, stopped struggling, simply laying on the ground face down.

"Tell me, Wukong, why exactly do you need a map?" Macaque asked, crouching down in front of the other. "You planning on going on vacation again or something?"

"You're going to leave me again?" MK asked, and maybe Macaque was just hearing things (rather unlikely....) but there was almost a note of panic in MK's voice.

Wukong must've picked up on the panic too, as he quickly jumped into reassurance.

"Woah, hey, I'm not- I'm not vacationing any time soon." He said, attempting to shift around a little, before sighing. "...Could you get off me now, please?"

MK scrambled to get off his mentor, Wukong slowly sitting up and stretching a little. Macaque rolled his eyes at the display, shaking the map a little to draw their attention back to it.

"Hey, I'm not letting you off that easily." He said, "Explain the map. Now."

Wukong sighed again, avoiding both Macaque and MK's eyes.

"...Fine, so maybe I.....wasn't exactly on vacation...." Wukong muttered, "I was...searching for something. A weapon."

"...To fight the Lady Bone Demon, right?" MK asked, and Wukong looked at him in shock.

"How'd you-"

"Maybe leaving your successor alone when there's a powerful demon on the loose isn't the best decision, Wukong." Macaque said, rolling up the map and putting into his own pocket, before lightly rubbing his arm, a few specific... memories running through his mind. "Seriously, be glad she still hasn't gotten everything she needs."

"What do you know about what she-" MK started, then cut himself off, looking at Macaque as though he'd been given the answer to everything. "She's the one who hurt you."

Macaque didn't respond, turning around and walking away.

"Hey wait- where are you-" Wukong started-

"I'm going back to my spot under the tree." Macaque said, "You two can sort through whatever your 'vacation' was about on your own."

-

"...Huh." The shadow clone muttered, eyes closed as he seemingly listened in on whatever was happening to the real Macaque. "That's.....interesting."

"What is?" Tang asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Nothing really important." The clone said- and started melting slightly. Tang looked on in confusion as the clone suddenly panicked, stumbling over his words. "Wait- no I mean- it, it is important, but not really something I should be the one to tell you about?"

The melting stopped, the shadow clone returning to normal as he let out a sigh of relief.

"Does that....usually happen?" Tang asked.

"No." The clone answered, but didn't elaborate. Tang figured he'd just have to ask the real Macaque about it later. "...Anyways, do you think you could help the real me out with something?"

"Depends on what said something is." Tang said, crossing his arms.

"It's nothing bad, I promise." The shadow clone said, chuckling. "But, would you happen to know where I could buy a pair of glasses?"

-

"This is dumb. I look stupid."

"Aw come on Monkey King, I think you look cool!" Mei said, MK nodding along with her. "The glasses suit you just fine!"

Wukong sighed, sitting in the noodle shop with his arms crossed, leaning on the counter.

"What's with the sudden need for glasses anyways?" Pigsy asked, sliding a bowl of peach slices over to the monkey. Subtly, he also handed a bowl of plums over to Macaque, who was sitting slightly off to the side in the shadows.

Wukong stiffened, pausing for a moment before opening his mouth to answer-

"And don't lie to me." Pigsy added, and Wukong slouched a little.

(Macaque had to admit, it was kinda fun to watch the Monkey King basically get reprimanded like a child.

The only reason he didn't comment on it was that he was sure that if he did, he'd get the exact same treatment.)

There was a moment of silence, before Wukong groaned, laying his head down on the table, and muttering something that was too quiet for the others to hear, but nearly made Macaque choke on the plum he'd been chewing on.

"What?!" He said, in pure shock, "You- you're losing your powers?!"

Almost instantly, there was pandemonium.

"What do you mean you're losing your powers!" MK practically screeched, "That can happen?!"

"I don't know, but it's the only explanation I've got!" Wukong said, throwing his hands up into the air. "I can't use my golden vision or my cloud anymore- and I don't know why!"

"How, exactly, does this relate back to you suddenly needing glasses?" Pigsy asked, completely ignoring how the others where in varying states of a mental breakdown.

"I- I usually just use my golden vision to make up for it." Wukong said, "Like, magic contacts, you know?"

"...And now you can't do that anymore." Tang said, "Because you can't use your golden vision."

"......Yeah." Wukong sighed.

"Is there...anything we can do to help?" Sandy tentatively asked.

"Well, I was planning on going out and finding.... something." Wukong said, turning to look at Macaque. "Speaking of which, you promised you'd give me the map back once I got glasses, and I'm wearing them now so-"

Macaque tsk'd, pulling the map out of his pocket and tossing it over to the other monkey, who caught it and placed it upon the counter. 

"It's not like I can go and get it now though." Wukong said, the others staring over him to look down at the map. "Since I can't use my cloud anymore..."

"I have an airship." Sandy said, and Wukong turned to look at him in confusion. "We could use that, to travel there."

"What- no. No. Absolutely not." Wukong said, jumping up onto the counter (ignoring Pigsy disapproving glare), and staring down at the others. "In case you don't remember, you guys have something called mortality. I'm not going to just bring you guys with me-"

"Like you have much of a choice." A new voice said, and Macaque barely kept himself from startling as he suddenly noticed Red Son beside him.

"How long have you been there-" Macaque hissed, but was ultimately ignored.

"You coming too, Red Boy?" Mei asked, despite Wukong's faint protests that nobody was coming with him, thank you very much-

"I have nothing better to do." Red Son said, shrugging. "My parents went on vacation a little while ago, I've just been hanging around since then."

"So, we're all going?" MK asked, glancing over at Macaque, who, realizing he was being stared at, sighed, standing up and stepping closer to them, in the light.

"Fine, whatever." He said, "If you guys want me to go, I'll come, but I'm not happy about it."

The others stared at him, with a mixture of confusion and shock.

"....What?" Macaque asked, already dreading the answer. MK slowly pointed behind him.

"Has your shadow always moved like that?" He asked, and Macaque didn't even bother to look, instead immediately slamming his back against the wall to cover it as he threw a glamor over his own shadow. He wasn't sure what it had been doing that the others saw, but he absolutely refused to let it be seen any longer.

"...Whatever it was you saw, forget about it." He said, and while most of the others simply shrugged, accepting it as just him being weird, looking away-

The look in Mei and Wukong's eyes did not promise good things.

-

The first day on the ship, everyone was mainly focused on settling in, making sure all their stuff was where it needed to be, choosing rooms, so on and so forth.

And so, for the most part, Macaque was free from whatever Wukong and Mei were planning.

The second day on the ship, however.

The second day on the ship made Macaque wish the airship had a plank so he could jump off of it.

It had started small.

"Hey, Macaque?" Mei asked, grabbing his attention before practically shoving her phone into his face. "What do you think about this?"

Macaque could barely register the image in front of his face, but eventually parsed it out to be a picture of- a kitten??

"I hate it." He said, instinctively, and almost immediately started sinking into the shadow beneath him. Mei, being so close to him, immediately noticed, confusion flashing on her face for a brief second, before a smirk took over.

"If you say so." She said, and backed off, turning away as Macaque hurriedly pulled his feet out of the shadows before he could sink any further.

Some part of him hoped that would be the end of it.

As soon as he ran into Wukong though, he instantly knew that this wasn't over by a long shot.

"Macaque." Wukong said, leaning against the wall, and Macaque instantly noticed that his glasses were missing.

"You owe Tang 5 cents." Macaque hissed, it was well known that Tang had made the Monkey King promise to pay him whenever the monkey was caught not wearing his glasses. Macaque, of course, didn't really care, but he was looking for some way to distract Wukong from whatever he was planning to do to him.

"I'll pay him later." Wukong shrugged, and Macaque mentally cursed. "So. How'd you sleep last night?"

Macaque wasn't going to be led into the trap this obviously was.

"How did you sleep last night?" He shot back.

"I didn't." Wukong said, perfectly honest. "I did see you walking around for a bit though, so I'm curious as to whether or not you slept. You need it more than I do, remember?"

That.... was true. Macaque did need to sleep more than Wukong did, but-

"I slept just fine." Macaque lied, sighing as he felt the glamor over his ears fade away. Wukong crossed his arms, a concerned look on his face, but Macaque ignored it, choosing instead to walk into a nearby shadow to teleport to another location on the ship, throwing his glamor back on as he did so.

(He, in truth, was in the same boat as Wukong, both literally and figuratively. He hadn't slept at all, instead laying awake all night, worrying.

Wukong was losing his powers. MK was not nearly close enough to being ready. The others, outside of Red Son, might have some powers or abilities, but they are no where near close enough to being capable of beating the Lady Bone Demon.

He'd have to rely on the unknowns of this weapon Wukong was seeking out.

Macaque didn't like relying on unknowns.)

He emerged in the ships engine room-

And very nearly fell right on top of Red Son.

"Watch where you're going!" Red Son huffed, dodging out of the way and angrily brushing non existent dirt off of his jacket. "Seriously, what is with you guys and trying to knock me to the ground?"

"Maybe you just look very squishable." Macaque muttered, not really intending on giving Red Son a proper response. He actually didn't want to interact with anyone right now, especially not Red Son, so he turned, moving to leave the engine room-

"Not so fast." Red Son said, stopping Macaque in his tracks by grabbing hold of the back of his scarf. "I've got some questions for you."

Hm. That didn't bode well.

"What makes you think that I have any answers?" Macaque asked, only to be met by a deadpan look that promised-

That promised fire if he didn't co-operate.

If there was a list of things Macaque strictly didn't want, fire would be number one, at the top of the list.

"...What do you want to know?" He asked, slumping a little in defeat.

"Why you stayed." Red Son said, elaborating when Macaque only looked at him in confusion. "Your wound healed. You were perfectly free to go. And yet.... you stayed. Like you were....trying to protect something."

"Uh, yeah, myself, obviously." Macaque said, shrugging. "Hanging out around the Monkey King and his successor is the safest place to be after-"

"That's not it." Red Son said, and Macaque froze. "Sure, staying around them while you're weak makes sense, you'd need someone to protect you. But after you've recovered? Once you're strong again? Sure, I can understand you getting attached, but always staying around them is a little strange."

There was a glint, in Red Son's eye, and Macaque suddenly remembered a moment, yesterday, where Mei had dragged the fire demon off to the side to have a little conversation. He'd thought nothing about it at the time, but now-

"You say that you're protecting yourself....But at this point, somehow, you're mostly protecting them, aren't you?" Red Son asked, "Whatever it is you're hiding, you're hiding it to protect both yourself and them."

Macaque didn't answer, instead staring at the floor.

Whatever Mei and Wukong had been planning, Red Son was in on it.

And he was very clearly not as interested in taking a subtle approach.

"Your powers have been on the fritz lately." Red Son said, almost like it was an afterthought to his whole theory. "Don't think that we haven't noticed. It's different from Wukong though, in that you're not losing your powers, if anything, it's like they're getting stronger, almost as though they're being drawn from a different source-"

Macaque didn't want to stay here any longer.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He lied, and didn't resist as his powers fluctuated in response, letting himself completely fall into the shadow behind him.

-

He ended up falling out of a shadow on the ceiling.

Luckily, it was in his own room, so no-one else was there to witness it.

Didn't mean it didn't hurt though.

"...That's gonna bruise later...." He muttered to himself as he slowly pushed himself off the floor and stood up.

For a moment, he just stood there, slightly dazed.

And then he started pacing.

This was not good, the others were onto him, he wouldn't be able to keep this up for much longer.

Not to mention the lantern, it's influence on his abilities was getting stronger the longer he left it inside himself. There was literally no telling how far it's influence would go.

(He'd already started noticing some strands of his fur turning purple. It wasn't anything that couldn't easily be covered up by a glamor, but the fact it was happening at all was incredibly concerning.)

He had to find another place to hide it. But where-

And suddenly, Macaque was struck by an idea. A rather bad idea, honestly, there was sure to be consequences from this, but it was the only idea he had right now.

-

The ship's clock struck 4 am.

Macaque slipped into MK's room, holding the faintly glowing lantern.

For a moment, he stood there, beside MK's bed, letting the lantern hover over top of him, thinking.

Maybe......maybe he shouldn't do this. He could probably find another way, something more reasonable than a hastily made, sleep deprived, decision. After all, the lantern had proven that it came with side effects, who knows how it'd affect MK?

Well. If he's actually being honest, he was hoping that the Monkey King Magic MK had would effectively cancel out the lanterns effects.

...He had no way of proving that it could do that though.

After a few more minutes of standing there, mentally debating, Macaque finally came to the decision that, yeah, this wasn't a good idea, he should just go back to his room and try to sleep for the few remaining hours of the night, come up with a better plan tomorrow-

A loud sound clanged from the engine room, and Macaque startled, barely keeping himself from squeaking as the sudden noise surprised him, squeezing his hands on instinct-

And snapping the lantern in half, the bottom piece falling and merging into MK's magic.

For a moment, Macaque just stood there in shock.

Then MK curled up, letting out a small noise of pain as little golden and purple sparks started shooting across his body, and Macaque panicked, reaching into MK's magic and hurriedly pulling out the other half of the lantern, shoving both pieces back into himself as MK started to stir.

By the time MK was sitting up, blinking his eyes open, rubbing his arms and looking around the room in confusion, Macaque was gone.

-

The next day, Wukong practically broke down Macaque's door, MK in tow.

"Mine explaining to me why there are traces of shadow magic all over MK?" He asked, before pausing as he registered the scene in front of him.

Macaque was curled up under his blankets, a pillow over his head effectively hiding him from view. The only part of the other monkey that Wukong could actually see was his tail, which was dangling over the side.

This wasn't really that weird, Wukong fully remembered that the other monkey was in no way a morning person.

...It was slightly more weird due to the fact that it was lunchtime.

"Is he...okay?" MK asked, leaning over his mentor's shoulder.

"You tell me." Wukong said, "You're the one with the golden vision right now."

Macaque's tail, which had been swinging idly, froze, and suddenly there was a mad scramble as he tried to pull all the blankets off of himself and sit up at the same time. Essentially, he ended up rather tangled, and was far too late to stop MK from using his golden vision.

-

At first there was nothing MK hadn't already expected. The bags under the eyes, the mussed up fur, the six ears and the scar. These were all things he knew that he'd find.

The purple streaks in Macaque's fur was surprising.

But not nearly as surprising as the lantern that lay intermingled with Macaque's own magic.

"What do you see, kid?" Wukong asked, and MK watched as Macaque sat up straighter, finally managing to pull the blankets off of himself.

"Nothing! He sees nothing! Right, bud?" Macaque asked, a panicked twinge in his voice, and-

MK could see the lantern flare, the magic traversing Macaque's entire body, before condensing around his arm.

Which proceeded to sink into the shadow on the bed.

"...Well." MK started, staring as Macaque pulled his hand out of the shadow and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "That's not something you see every day."

-

"So I was right then?" Red Son asked, "He's been storing the lantern within himself?"

"How'd you even know about the lantern..." Macaque muttered, from where he sat at the kitchen table, leaning back with his arms crossed. His glamor had been taken down, allowing everyone to see the purple streaks in his fur.

The lantern sat on the table in front of him.

"I have my sources." Red Son said, looking overly proud of himself. Macaque huffed, looking away.

"I thought you said the lantern was destroyed?" Mei said, using a spoon to lightly poke the lantern, almost as though it would grow legs and run away.

"Yeah, like, I saw you break it-" MK started, and then was stopped mid sentence as Macaque raised his fist, before harshly crushing the lantern, breaking it into pieces. A few of the others jumped. "What did you do that for-"

Macaque simply raised his hand, letting his magic call out, and letting the pieces slide back into their proper place. By the end of it, the lantern looked as good as new, as though it'd never been broken. MK watched the display with wide eyes.

"I did break the lantern." Macaque said, "It's just not that hard to fix."

"Regardless-" Wukong started, grabbing the lantern out of Macaque's hand, the lantern switching from it's usual purple to a soft golden glow as he did so. "You seriously should've told us that you have this. It would've saved you so much trouble."

"Would you have trusted me, if you knew I still had it?" Macaque asked, only to be met with silence. "...Yeah. Thought so."

There was a moment of silence as Macaque sat there, looking down, not meeting anyone's eyes. Then Sandy softly placed his hand on Macaque's shoulder.

"It's not that we wouldn't have trusted you." He said, gently. "We would've just taken a bit longer to come around, is all."

"Uh-huh, sure, keep telling yourself that." Macaque said, still looking at the floor, and thus missing the entirely silent conversation everyone else shared.

They all agreed they probably weren't going to get very far with this issue any time soon, by the look of things. (That didn't mean they wouldn't bring it up later, though.)

"If you thought we wouldn't trust you if we knew you had the lantern, then why didn't you just, I don't know, throw it away?" MK asked, and Macaque sighed, slouching down in his chair.

"...Lady Bone Demon wanted it." He muttered, and everyone immediately stood up ramrod straight.

"What?" Wukong hissed, staring down at the lantern in his hands as though he was seeing it in a new light. "Why- what could she possibly want with-"

"Don't know, didn't stick around long enough to find out." Macaque said, shrugging. MK and Red Son both looked horrified.

"That's how you got injured." MK muttered, "She must've captured you because she wanted the lantern...."

"The Lady Bone Demon has a cursed blade..." Red Son said, under his breath, only Macaque hearing him.

"Yeah yeah, I got captured, I got injured, whatever, it's all over with now." Macaque said, waving a hand around as though he wasn't making light of something horrifying. "Anyways, anyone else got any bright ideas on where to hide the lantern?"

"....Was that a pun." Wukong asked, "Seriously. You reveal that the Lady Bone Demon is after both you and the lantern and then you swap topics with a pun?"

"You got a problem with that?" Macaque asked, a smirk on his face. There was a moment of tense silence as the two of them stared at each other.

Wukong set the lantern back down on the table.

And then tackled Macaque out of his chair and onto the floor. Macaque let out a startled yelp as they went down, before quickly switching to clawing at the other as Wukong easily pinned him to the ground-

And then suddenly Wukong's grip weakened, and Macaque easily reversed their positions, pinning Wukong to the floor. For a moment the Monkey King looked confused, before a look of nervous realization appeared on his face.

"Uh- guys?" He said, nervously giggling as Macaque and the others stared at him in confusion. "Um. I think I just lost my super strength?"

[narrators-journal]

Step three

Back with another spicy part while I wait for more tasty tasty asks! This one includes consent! Look at Illumi go!

cw: nsfw, possessiveness, mentions of murder, that’s about it honestly

Previous part: here

First part: here

Illumi enjoyed his new relationship, but he was also somewhat confused by it. He was never taught much about 'dating', marriage was about the only romantic dynamic he knew of in detail, but after 5 or so outings together with you, his mother had informed him that you two were officially a couple. However, when the dark haired assassin had assured her he'd be swift in getting a wedding band for you, she'd put a halt to his plans,           "Now now Illumi dear, you can't just jump to marriage with this girl." she'd chided gently, "She's shy, you'll overwhelm her with talk of marriage so soon. You still have wooing to do, so start out slow, 'boyfriend and girlfriend' status for now." The thought made the man grimace,          "Mother, I can further court her when she's my fiancee," His mother huffed at his stubborn tone,          "Dear, the titles of 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend' are basically the same as fiance. The only difference is referring to this girl as your girlfriend will spook her less than calling her your wife. Trust me on this, your father was not the first man to date m-" He hung up on her before she could finish that thought. Nonetheless, he took her advice and refrained from calling you his fiancee, for now, though that's what you were to him in his mind. He'd confirmed his status on your next outing together, and it was reassuring for him to see how you turned pink at his inquiry and stuttered out your acceptance, it solidified the fact that you wouldn't be a wife he needed to worry about too much. However, this progression brought a new level of reluctance to leave you, to let Milluki watch you while he was on jobs. He very much wanted to just scoop you up now and take you to the safety of his family home, but Kikyo shot the idea down again, forcing him to 'take things slow' and 'ease (y/n) into things' . This issue was, of course, never a problem at work though. While it did bother him like a needle pressed too deeply into his shirt, he was a perfect professional, and didn't let his musings over what to do about you turn his work sloppy. If anything, his desire to return to you as soon as possible made him seek out more efficient methods of disposing of his targets, which permitted him some free time to pick off the meager few friends you had on his way back to his secondary home. That sort of detour is what earned him his current position. He'd returned home from a rather textbook assassination that had been simple to do and spared him a day or two to hunt down and kill your final remaining friend to you once again miserable.        "W-we're dating, right?" you'd asked, your voice shakey with anguish despite the (favorite flower) Illumi was standing on your porch offering to you. He nodded, hiding his disdain at the word behind a mask of his usual unchanging expression, "Than...do you mind staying the night with me? I've now l-lost all of mm-my friends and I've been so lonely..." you explained, physically shaking from the strain of fighting back tears. Illumi adored seeing you so isolated and alone, it was adorable in a dark way, and it meant he could finally be your only source of substantial human contact. You'd finally depend on him severely. Of course Illumi agreed to your demand, so the two of you spent the day together, and when evening fell, you snuggled into his side, squishing your form to him as if that would push out more of the attention you so craved. It was honestly hard for him not to smile in the dark living room while you watched a movie and clung to him while he played with your (h/l), (h/c) hair, you were just too cute when you were so needy for him. Just like she was the night I'd moved in. he thought, but than had to force himself not to recall the night you'd slept on the couch in nothing but your panties and a shirt, begging for him to claim you with the way you laid on your back, shirt pushed up just enough to preview a hint of your (r/c) panties. Now was not the time to rile himself up. He might not have much self-restraint. Luckily, he had the discipline to focus on something else aside from that night, and he found he rather enjoyed having you nestled beneath his arm, your own (s/c) arm draped loosely across his chest and, after a while, your leg thrown over his lap. The simple physical contact made Illumi burn with an addictive, yet not lustful, warmth. He couldn't place the feeling, but it made the ebony haired assassin tighten his grip on your dozing form. If he wasn't certain of your destiny as his wife, he was now. After that night, he admittedly lingered a tad. He came over quite a bit under the guise of checking on you while you were so vulnerable, but it seemed he wasn't as skilled at hiding such an unknown emotion.        "Illumi?" you hummed one night when he was over, laying between your legs with his head on your chest while you lounged on the couch with a tv show on as a way to keep you from being awkward in the silence,        "Yes, (y/n)?" he responded, moving to look up at you while you threaded your fingers through his silky black hair,       "I do enjoy you coming over and spending time with me, but you do realize you can just come over to hang out sometimes, right?" you asked, smiling slightly.        "Ah, I don't want to seem overbearing," he said, lying slightly, not wanting to try and explain this addiction to your soft, affectionate touches and cuddles. You giggled, blushing a bit as you spoke again,      "Well, I-I don't mind you being over, so as long as you ask first, I don't see how you'd be overbearing." you assured. Illumi hummed in response, looking at you curiously for a moment before he resituated himself so that he was propped up on his elbows, your face darkening in response to the shift causing his hips to be pressed more against yours, to look down at you. For a moment the two of you looked at one another, than he lowered his head and kissed you. He felt you tense in response, so he pulled away slightly, far enough to break the kiss, but close enough so that his warm breath gently fanned over your (s/c) face. However, you didn't complain, instead giggling and turning a darker shade of pink, so after a short moment, he pressed his lips to yours again in a quick kiss, pausing for a shorter time before doing it again. Much to his delight, you began kissing back. With that encouragement, he held the next kiss, leading you into a short make out session. After he pulled away again, you giggled again, your face now pretty red, which gave Illumi a spark of smug satisfaction, I'm the only man you'll be this vulnerable for. He mentally told you, but he refrained from verbalizing the thought at this moment. He could potentially get consent for sex, he couldn't risk it for his controlling urges.         "Um, 'lumi?" you asked, your voice a quiet, slightly breathy whisper, drawing the man out of his possessive thoughts and back to the moment, "d-do you think we could, I dunno, um, s-see how far this goes?" you asked, your (e/c) eyes now refusing to meet his, but this time it wasn't because of how empty they were, but because of your flustered nerves.          "Only if you want to," he assured, "though, you should know that I have a habit to get a bit rough," he warned, more to see how you'd react. Judging from your embarrassed silence, you weren't opposed to that.          Such a good girl, (y/n) He thought before going in for another kiss, moving one hand to wrap around your waist, pulling you against him possessively. You squeaked, but only wrapped your arms around his neck, wiggling your hips testingly against the growing bulge in his pants, mewling when he mindlessly rutted against you. After that, things swiftly got more heated. He snuck a hand up your shirt as he moved his mouth down to your neck, no longer hesitating to leave a trail of rather rough love-bites down to your collar bone. He relished the little noises each nip and bite brought, even if they were more pained than pleasurable whimpers, as he tugged your top off and let you tentatively remove your bra, willingly revealing the soft breasts he'd memorized the night he'd laid his claim on you. Something about you shyly removing your clothes made his dick throb more. He was rather eager to nibble and suck at the tender (s/c) skin until you were writhing and whining more, your noises encouraging his touches, especially when he snaked a hand between your bodies to press against your clit and you gasped, pressing your hips into his hand hungrily. With that, he tugged your bottoms off, getting up to shed his own pants but returning to station himself back between your legs before you could sit up. He pushed you back down onto the couch and kissed you again, this time more forceful in the way he claimed your mouth and ate the needy moans you gave in response. The way you clawed into his shirt and did your best to grind against his cock to achieve any friction you could woke that primal emotion he always failed to repress, threatening to drive him crazy.       "(y/n)," he breathed, not outwardly showing just how badly a possessive, neglected desire was burning him from the inside out beyond his stiff member and the tight grip he had on your thighs, "I'm sorry if I hurt you," he said, his urges mixing with his lust strong enough for him to realize the likelihood of him potentially crossing a line. With your shy nod, he positioned himself correctly and pushed into you. He hummed along with your slightly shocked moan at the feeling of his throbbing member pressing into the delicious warmth of your welcoming cunt until he was buried up to his hilt.        "I-Illumi!" you breathed, gripping his shirt desperately while your walls twitched and spasmed around him as you adjusted to the intrusion. He grunted and kissed you as he began moving, slowly at first, but it didn't take long for the pleasure to drive him to pushing your thighs up to your chest and speeding up until the only sounds he heard in the room was the slew of lascivious noises you made and the slapping of skin upon skin. The new position made you moan more, slurring out his name, drunk on the delectable sensations after only a short while, when you orgasmed and your walls tightened around the assassin. However, he didn't stop to give you a break, only letting one of your legs go to move his hand to your hip, keeping you in place as he now plowed into you, driven by the overwhelming waves of pleasure that rolled through him. Outwardly, he didn't seem terribly phased, making few noises, but if the rough pace didn't reveal his feelings, the burning urge to make you scream his name was a big piece of evidence.         "Tell me who you belong to," he ordered, his voice firm and steady as always, despite how he was skillfully thrusting into you to make your (e/c) eyes roll into the back of your head. "Say it" he repeated, gripping your hip so hard it'd bruise again until you managed,       "y-yours! I'm yours!" you whined, clawing into the couch since you could no longer reach his shoulders,       "Again," he ordered, making sure to hit your g-spot so that you once again arched your back and moaned his name loudly,      "I'm yours! I-I'm all yours Illumi!" you gasped out, beginning to whine and whimper from the creeping pain of overstimulation, though luckily for you, the sound of you saying you belonged to  him was the push the assassin needed. He locked his hips against yours, ensuring he was as deep as he could be before shooting ropes of cum into you with a groan. As he came down from his euphoria high, he realized he still held onto your thigh and hip so hard that your thigh at least was beginning to bleed under his nails. You, however, didn't seem to mind or notice. He could see that your (e/c) eyes were already beginning to drift shut, your brain more than likely fried from your own repeated orgasm. It wasn't a new sight to him, but he savored it and the thought that he was the only one who would give you such ecstasy from now on. Once he could regain his composure, the little he lost, the man was careful as he moved you to lay on him, his dick still nestled snugly inside you, ensuring none of his potent seed slipped out while the two of you dozed off to the sounds of the forgotten TV.

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

dearest comfy <3 what if Triss was a blacksmith AND Eskel was a blacksmith??? What then?? Enemies to lovers maybe? <3

Ellie. I love you. I love this prompt. And I love Trisskel. This is a triple threat of wonderfulness. Hopefully the fic delivers 💖💖

Warnings: no violence, some hostile Triss (mostly internal), lmao is this considered idiot and exasperated to lovers? idk you tell me, its pretty chill tbh, unless you don’t like daggers. there's lots of daggers. 

_____________________

Triss was furious. 

She had spent her whole life stoking a furnace, shadowing her father, sweating, suffering burn after burn and later cut after searing cut as she learned to forge all sorts of weaponry. Now, this teddy bear-shaped child was setting up shop in her courtyard?! Unacceptable. Unbelievable! She’d staked a claim on her territory for market day early. So early she hadn’t even made her first blade. Her father still had her hammering out decorative discs and fastenings for armor. 

One of her customers had the audacity to call him ‘cute’ to her face.

He was no more than twenty-five, tall and stocky like most people expected of a blacksmith, but they claimed there was a softness about him. Triss remembered that softness well, before loss and responsibility really set in. What others saw as sweet, boyish charm she saw as a weakness. 

She sent her assistant to assess his booth, maybe flirt and ask some questions, and was even more annoyed when they came back. 

“He’s young but he’s not inexperienced. His blades are good. So is his uh… customer service.” 

Triss rolled her eyes, “What kind of weapons was he selling? I don’t care about his looks. I have breasts.”

Her assistant shrugged and described his table. 

That following week she put in double the hours at her workshop, put the extra flourish on every piece, perfected every detail until her arms ached and her head pounded. She often forgot to drink water, let alone eat, when she got worked up, so her assistant brought her meals. 

When the next market day came, she proudly displayed her new wares.

And if she took her hair out of the usual braids and unbuttoned her blouse a bit lower than last week, who would be brave enough to point it out?

This time the newcomer had the gaul to visit her booth. 

“Good morning, Miss Merigold,” he dipped in a bow of respect before she even turned around to greet him, straightening up and disarming her with a lopsided grin, “My apologies, I meant to introduce myself after last week’s market. But you were far more efficient at break-down than I.” 

She wouldn’t have called him cute by a long shot. He was downright handsome.

Then she remembered they were rivals. There would be no fraternizing with the enemy.  

It took her a moment to gather her wits before she responded, “Good morning. To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

She knew. 

Of course she knew. But he was far better looking than she had assumed, his scars only adding to his alluring presence, and she needed to feel like she had the upper hand. 

His smile grew a bit sheepish, “Eskel of the Blue Mountains. I’m your new neighbor… sort of,” he offered his hand over her table and she took it, hoping her hesitation wasn’t too obvious. 

“Welcome. I hope the city is treating you well?” 

“Well enough,” he acquiesced, letting go of her hand after a moment, “To be truthful, I haven’t left my forge much at all. I’m still getting used to her. But you know how that goes.” 

Triss raised her eyebrows and plastered an over-polite smile on her face, “I must say I wouldn’t. I inherited my forge from my father. I learned with her. We get along quite well.” 

Eskel was called by someone from his booth as he made to speak. He waved at them to wait a moment and turned back to Triss with a wink, “Well if you have any relationship advice, let me know.”

Before she could think of a polite but not too friendly response, he was gone. 

She turned back to her assistant in a huff, “He’s infuriating.” 

“He’s dreamy.”

“Hush,” she snapped, pointing to her sketch pad, “Hand me that. Call for me if there’s a large sale or a problem.”

She sketched and planned half the day away. But when she realized how much the materials for her plans would cost she adjusted her cleavage and left her tent. Someone had to drive the hard bargain around here, and she knew her assistant was too kind. 

The next week she arrived with a beautiful set of delicate-looking throwing knives, a few different ornate daggers, and a sword fit for a king alongside her typical, practical items. However, she was seeing more than just her flowing hilt designs inlaid with etchings. 

Eskel seemed to have had a similar idea.

She wandered past his booth, pretending to buy fabric from the stall next to him, and fumed. It seemed Eskel had a sharper eye than she’d anticipated. He very clearly mimicked her setup and emphasized the smaller wares like she did. He even had the same sign in three different languages about customizations and bulk orders.

This had become all out war. 

When her sword sold that day she decided to finish off the dozen or so she had laying in wait for specific orders over the week. She even detailed a breastplate to match for three of them, guessing at the size in reference to the sword as best she could. As she worked she mulled over her new competition. His soft golden eyes that crinkled ever so slightly when he smiled were absolutely aggravating. At least that’s what she told herself. It was simply her competitive nature that had her fixating on this mountain of a man. 

She returned the next week with a spread so large she could barely fit it on her table.

Eskel had come back with daggers inlaid with precious stones of dazzling pale blue and sparkling greys and whites. Blue Mountains indeed.

Polite customers started mumbling comparisons to themselves while the brash ones outwardly used the other stall to barter a better price. Every time Eskel was mentioned Triss would bristle, hold back a snarl, and turn on every bit of innocent charm she had. 

She began leaving with a lighter cart and a challenging wink from her competition. Over the week she worked her fingers to the bone over fine details and getting the balance absolutely perfect. 

After months of competition, months of uncomfortable eye contact, she finally broke when he sold a matching helmet, breastplate, and dagger to one of her most loyal customers. 

“Eskel. We need to have a word,” she marched right up to his tent, hands tucked into her half apron at her waist. 

He smirked, “That all?”

She glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest, “We can’t keep making the same things.”

“Pretty daggers and ceremonial armor? Why not?” he mimicked her, folding his massive arms over his own chest, leaning back against his table, making him just a little bit taller than Triss rather than the usual towering over her. 

She rolled her eyes and stepped a little closer, “We’ve both done well, or I’m assuming you have, but eventually all the nobility this side of the canal will have been sold to. We’ll have saturated the market and be left with an armory full of ornate weaponry with no one to buy it.”

“Preserving the market means one gets to keep said market.”

Triss nodded but Eskel seemed unimpressed. 

“And how would you suggest we settle who keeps it?” he raised an eyebrow at her and she just wanted to smack the smug look off his face. Or kiss it. She really wasn’t sure anymore. 

She scrambled for a moment, not having entirely thought this through, “A competition.”

He stood to full height and sighed, “What are the terms?”

“One dagger. Same price. Whoever sells first gets the market. The other has to branch out or move.”

Eskel nodded and held his hand out, “Agreed.”

Triss went to take his hand but he gripped her forearm, his whole hand covering much of her elbow. She did her best not to think about how strong his arm felt in her grasp, how when she squeezed she felt a gentle give before she hit muscle. 

He winked at her as he released his grasp and turned back to work, “See you next week Merigold.” 

Triss worked on a single dagger all week. 

She couldn’t get Eskel’s stupid cocky smile or his tanned arms out of her head. The way he looked down at her with that condescending smile enraged her. Her assistant claimed he looked more fond than condescending, but Triss only narrowed her eyes and shook her head. She’d been raised in the marketplace. She knew exactly how men viewed her. 

In the end, her dagger looked very fitting for a man like him. Broad, sturdy, a bit curved at the tip, and simply yet elegantly decorated. She cooled it in a liquid mixture her father had made and kept secret, giving the blade a finish similar to copper, but with all the strength of steel. 

If she noticed the coincidence she stubbornly ignored it. 

Eskel was already set up and waiting when she arrived at the market. She spared him only a curt nod while she set up her booth as if preparing for battle. 

He sauntered over to her before dawn had officially broken, blade in hand with what Triss might guess to be a nervous expression. 

“Good morning, Merigold,” he cleared his throat and set the dagger currently wrapped in cloth on the table between them, “What have you for our little competition?” 

Triss proudly pulled the dagger she had made from her case, handing it over by the hilt as she spoke, “Good morning, Eskel.”

He took the blade and hummed as he inspected it, whispering, “It’s beautiful...”

She wasn’t prepared for such a genuine compliment. Nor was she prepared for how much she loved hearing that word fall from his lips.

“Th-thank you.”

Eskel handed it back before unwrapping his.

Triss almost had to catch her breath. It was gorgeous, gracefully curved, a turquoise stone grip bordered by an ornate handguard. The part that really got her though was the engraving on the blade. She stepped out and around the table to catch more of the sunlight to see what it was and gasped. Little jasmine flowers were etched into the flat of the blade. 

She looked up at him in awe, “Why jasmine?”

He gave her a crooked smile, rubbing the back of his neck, “You, ahm- your perfume. It is jasmine right?” 

She tilted her head and really looked at him since the first time she met him, “You noticed my perfume?”

“It’s nice,” he shrugged, stuffing his hands in his leather apron pockets. 

Triss thought about all the winks and the ‘good mornings’ and compliments. She’d thought they were just to get her buttered up, but maybe she’d been a little harsher than she needed to.

“It’s stunning,” she breathed, reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, not wanting to pull away from his warmth when she had to. 

They were interrupted by her assistant and set a price quickly before scurrying back to their tents. 

All day they would glance toward the other’s booth, but Triss was no longer checking his table. She was looking for him. His kind smile and boisterous laugh. His easy charm and especially his humility under pressure. 

All day she struggled with the realization that she was just a little bit in love with her competition. 

Nearing sundown she told her assistant to begin cleaning up and grabbed her coin purse before marching over to his stand once again. 

“Did you sell it?” Eskel looked disappointed and she was surprised to be glad to tell him no. 

“I have two things to say and I will only say them once, so listen carefully. I realize I’ve been unduly cold to you and I want to apologize. You’ve proven that you’re not only a skilled craftsman but seem to be a good man as well and you don’t deserve it. “

“Apology accepted,” Eskel grinned, leaning back on his table as he waited for her next item.

“Thank you. Now, I’d like to buy the dagger. The one with the jasmines.”

Eskel frowned, “You- you’re forfeiting?”

Triss bit her lip and forced herself to look him in his honey gold eyes, “Yes. Though I hope we can both agree to stay where we are? I think I might miss you if you leave.”

He grinned and pushed off the table, standing just inches from Triss now that he was upright. His hand hesitantly brushed a stray curl out of her eyes as he leaned closer, hesitating to give her time to leave if she wanted, before he brushed his lips against hers. She melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck as they kissed. His hands covered her back, pressing her to him and nearly lifting her off her feet. 

When they parted they were gasping for breath they both wished they didn't need.

“What about a trade and a truce?” 

Triss nodded, standing up on her tiptoes to plant another kiss on his lips, “And dinner.”

Eskel chuckled, “I think that’s perfectly reasonable.” 

[sireniana]

A Gift of a Better Kind- Part Six

"I- um, am I here to be a vessel?" No use putting off the inevitable, after all.

"No! No, you're to-too special for that, I don't like using nice people. Makes me sad."

Nice? How on earth had I been nice to him?

"I'm not special, unless you count being a weirdo to be particularly special." I mumbled, crossing my arms over my chest defensively.

"You're not really a weirdo! Besides, you're special in my m-mind. That counts, doesn't it?" He hurried, words more fluid in his apparent urgency.

Ok, why is he being sweet? Isn't this man supposed to be a creepy, cold blooded, human-experimenting cultist?

"Ummm, I suppose in a way, yes." I managed as calmly as could be expected.

My train of thought was cut short as a cold wind whipped up from the water and rapped itself about me like a chilling embrace, sending a shiver down my body. Even in the height of summer the domain of Lord Moreau held its own chill, pressing in like an unwelcome guest. I shuddered again, trying to wrap my thin, short sleeved dress closer about me.

A door creaked, and then:

"Come in, it's no good for you to be out here getting ch-chilly."

I stepped slowly across the platform, boards creaking slightly with every step, and at last reached the open doorway. Hesitantly, I moved through it, wishing for the hundredth time that I could have foregone the abhorrent blindfold.

"Moreau?" I asked, testing his name, and finding it gave a similar chill to his territory, "May I take this off now?"

A sudden shuffling sound, like he expected me to grab for it again.

"Wa-wait till I hide, please." Came from my left, and then more hurried shuffling.

I waited, still feeling like the wind held me tight, despite being indoors now. Finally, after a bit of shuffling and bumping into things:

"Ok, you c-can take it off now."

I did just that with much relief. Despite being somewhat short sighted, I relied heavily on my sight to guard from dangers, such as: giant monsters who wanted to lock me away.

Not like that was a likely scenario or anything.

Through with my mental sass, I eyed my new cell. It was an old shack, small, decrepit, and littered with old rags and fish bones. Gross, but still nearly not as bad as my friend's room. At least I had something to keep me occupied.

He must have still been able to see me because he abruptly began apologizing for the state of the place.

Barely resisting the urge to spin toward his voice, I waved him off gently; something a bit more interesting (not to mention organized) had caught my eye.

A small bookshelf, the only thing that seemed well maintained. At first I thought it held what most bookshelves find themselves laiden with: books. And there were a few, but what really caught my eye were the movies.

Hundreds of dvd cases, many of them in black and white and almost all romance, sat neatly stacked on the shelves.

"You really like romance, huh?" I blurted before I could think.

"...Yes." He mumbled. He sounded closer than before, but I ignored my immediate goosebumps.

"I wouldn't know what I like," I said lightly, "I've never seen a movie before."

A small gasp, and then:

"How could you not have? They're so wonderful!" He was no longer reserved, for the moment he seemed positively bubbly.

I laughed, this new mood was so surprising that I couldn't help myself.

"I never got the opportunity, we aren't exactly loaded with technology in the village." I explained hurriedly, before he could ask why I was laughing.

A pause and then, timid again:

"Would you like to?"

One little movie couldn't hurt, after all,

at least I'd come back to the village with more stories to tell, right?

It turned out that I do, in fact, like romance movies. And if I and the giant monster just out of my sight both let out a sob at the exact same time on numerous occasions, well, nobody needed to know.

I wiped the tears (Moreau had been cutting onions, there was no other reason) from my eyes and smiled.

"That was so cool!" I grinned.

"Yes, the cinematography is excellent, especially for the time. I just wish they hadn't killed him!"

Moreau agreed, voice full of passion this time, not mucus.

"I mean, he did kidnap her…." I argued hesitantly, despite agreeing with him.

"He didn't know how to express his love!" He clamoured, and I chuckled.

"Fine, fine, I admit I was sad they killed him." I begrudgingly conceded, throwing up my hands in defeat.

"Seee? I told you!" He rumbled happily.

"Yeah, but at least I wasn't yelling at Christine not to take his mask off!"

He stopped, and the room fell dead quiet.

"What?" I asked, inadvertently turning slightly.

He let out a terrified "No!" And I heard running, and a splash.

He thought I was going to look at him. Why did he care?

What was with him? Shouldn't he love his "gifts" or whatever that Mother Miranda called them? It made no…

Sense.

"Mother!" Squealed a five year old me, "Why did the doctor become a monster?"

Her expression changed from wistful to serious instantaneously.

"My dear…" she began slowly. "Have you heard of… Mother Miranda?"

"Of course! People talk about her all the time! I'm practically an expert!" I grinned with all the self importance a chubby little girl can muster.

"And of her "gifts" she gave to those whom she took many years ago?"

"Yup!" I said, looking up at her with bright eyes.

"You know how Mother Miranda gave her "gifts" to many, but only few could truly receive them?" She asked, looking pale and tired, like this part of the story was more than a fairytale.

I nodded, my eyes growing round with curiosity.

"The doctor, poor man, was doomed to be between, never fully receiving or rejecting, but always bearing her gift outwardly, to show the world what she could do to those who questioned her. You must always remember, only a true monster can take an innocent and create in them something monstrous too. It only makes sense."

It would seem that some stories ring with more truth than even the tellers imagine.

♥️

[all-theimaginess]

“Awkwardly Close”

Prompt: Imagine injuring yourself on a mission and Pietro is the only one in the tower so you have to ask him to help you get undressed Requested by: Anonymous Warnings?: Partial nudity. Language? A/N: Happy New Years Eve! I hope you all enjoy this. Not my gif. This is a repost!

Of course you had to accidentally hurt yourself on a mission. It was bound to happen sooner or later, but you were hoping it would have been much later. You wince when the quinjet lands, clutching your arm which was in a makeshift sling. Somehow you had managed to dislocate your shoulder, which Clint popped back into place, fracture a bone in your upper arm, and bruise a couple of ribs. Needless to say, S.H.I.E.L.D. got you out of there as soon as they could. You slowly rise from your seat as the door opens and make your way inside. The feeling of being home was the only relief you felt as your side throbbed.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., Is there anyone here?” You ask when you finally get inside.

“Just you and Mr. Maximoff. Do you need assistance, Y/N?” The system asked.

“I might.. but unfortunately I don’t think that it’s anything that you can help me with.” You said, doubt in your voice.

You wince as a fresh wave of pain radiates through your body. You couldn’t wait until you could go in your room and relax. The thought of a shower made you smile, but then you remembered your predicament. How were you going to change? You groaned outwardly as you sat gingerly on your bed. You guessed the shower would have to wait, but you still needed to get out of your battle worn clothes. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., could you please get Pietro for me?”

“Right away, Y/N.” There’s a brief pause before the A.I. speaks once more. “He is on his way..”

“Thank you.” You say as you feel a gust of air across your face.

“What do you need, draga.?” He asks with his signature smirk.

You eye him as you grasp your side. “I might need some help… I’m having some trouble lifting my arm… And I would really like to change out of these clothes.” You explain, watching his expression and the realization hitting him.

A smirk appeared on his features so quickly that you weren’t sure that the previous one ever left. “You need help undressing?” He asked, confirming.

“Yes..” You reply hesitantly.

Pietro’s expression softened as he took a couple of steps toward you. “Of course I’ll help you, Y/N.” He said sweetly, touching your good arm and trying to make you feel more comfortable.

You smile in gratitude before moving to your closet. It took more effort than you would have liked, but it was manageable. A couple of minutes later, you had a nice comfy outfit to change into. You glance at Pietro and he offers you a warm smile. You sighed and a another wave of pain coursed through you making you whimper. You carefully turned to Pietro. It wasn’t like you were going to be completely naked in front of him. Maybe you were more nervous than you should be. It would be just like him seeing you in a bathing suit… but there was something different about underwear. You and Pietro were friends and you hoped that this wouldn’t be too awkward.

Sensing your pause, Pietro sped over to you. “It’s okay draga. This is only as awkward as we make it, right?” He paused, looking into your eyes. “I will try not to look if that makes you feel better.” The silver-haired man said in a comforting tone, which you really appreciated, so you nodded. Then, Pietro slowly moved to help you with your jacket, which had been ripped on the sleeve during the battle.

You tried to relax a little, but every time you did, a spasm of pain would hit you. You could see the worry in Pietro’s eyes every time you flinched. “I’ll be okay, Piet.” You assured him with a weak smile. The time had come for him to help you with your shirt since your jacket was laying in the chair next to your closet. ‘This is probably going to hurt like a bitch.’ You thought to yourself.

“Do you have another one of these shirts?” He asked, to which you nod and give him a puzzled look.

“It’s a long sleeve though. Why? What do you want to do?”

“I just thought it might be less painful for you if I just rip the shirt.” He suggested.

You pause in thought before responding. “Okay, go ahead.” You concede, giving him permission.

Probably about two seconds later your shirt was in two pieces, ripped at the seams, and laying on your floor. You tried to cover yourself with your good arm over your bra while Pietro stood in front of you with the tank top that you had chosen. You thought that you saw his eyes widen, but maybe it was a trick of the light, nonetheless heat still rose to your cheeks. He leaned in, raising the shirt above your head and bringing it down. The fabric slid down your body easily as your good arm came out and went into the designated arm hole. Pietro tried to help you move your wounded arm gingerly into the arm hole. This sparked more pain radiating through your arm and side. You winced and bit your lip, trying to hide some of the whimpering that was sure to follow soon. Unknowingly, a tear fell down your cheek from the pain. Finally your arm was through the hole and back to your side.

Pietro wiped the tear away. “The worst part is over, draga.” He assured you with a bit of relief. He didn’t like seeing you in pain like this. “When everyone returns, we should get you to the infirmary.” He suggested.

You nod, still trying to mentally make the pain ease. Reaching down, you try to unbutton your pants, successfully. You know it’s a rare kind of day when you can say that undoing your pants is a win. You wiggle your hips gingerly, your brows furrowing when the pants only went down a little bit.

“Let me help. I thought that’s what you asked me here for.” He smiles, grabbing the sides of your pants and pulling them down.

“Show-off.” You grumble as you kick off your pants. You look back to Pietro, who now has your comfy shorts in his hands. He kneeled with his head down and you put your hand on his shoulder for support. One foot in after the other. He slid the shorts up your legs as he lifted from the kneel. Your good hand caught the shorts and pulled them up the rest of the way, fixing them the best you could. Pietro pulled up slightly on the other side so that the waistband was just above your hips.

Pietro stepped back and smiled. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t.” You smile weakly back, starting to feel woozy. “Thank you for helping me, Piet.” Your smile was warmer this time around.

“Anytime, draga.” He smiled warmly back. “Do you want me to stay with you? You know, until the others return.. In case you need anything..” He offered sweetly.

You nod once more, clutching your side, and Pietro helped you to your bed. You ended up sitting straight against your headboard while you and Pietro watched television. “I have to thank you again. Not only for helping me, but for being a perfect gentleman through it.” You smile over to him.

Pietro smiled back. “Again, anytime. Don’t tell anyone about the gentleman part though, I have reputation to protect.”

You chuckle in response. “Yeah, okay Speedy.”

[thechaoticcherub]

I was wondering, if you could write a Kylo and reader smut where he’s got the readers back like presses against his front while he’s fucking her and maybe chokes her a bit. Cause like. I need they in my life. Maybe even someone like Hux walks in on them? I really just need some rough dominant kylo smut in my life. 🤪😍 your writing is amazing by the way

Okay so I may have wrote something really long, really smutty and like...really terrible. Like...Kylo is not even kind of a good guy in this. So I mixed this request with another one: “hey!!! Love love LOVE your blog!! 😍 alsooo could you write something in which Kylo and reader are not really together but they have really really rough sex and kinda dub con but not really and the reader asks him to stop bc it’s hurting a little too much and kylo realises and starts being super soft™️ and kissing her and saying he’s sorry?” but like...god he does not say sorry and is not soft. So maybe this isn’t anything either of you want, its entirely self indulgent, annndd actually kind of personal? But it is SUPER long so you know:

Following Rating: Explicit/NSFWCW: dubcon/noncon, nasty sex, throat fuckingWord count: 2,234Prompt/summary:rough dominant Kylo, mildly obsessed reader. 

Your mind was always filled with daydreams, plans, fantasies, impossible ones but you couldn’t help but indulge them. You had lived on and off Star Destroyers and other ships your whole life. You mother was a highly regarded engineer, your father, the Captain of a Dreadnaught, they were decorated veterans of the Empire and now decorated in The First Order. You were supposed to follow in their footsteps, be smart, powerful, courageously  wage war agains the Resistance, but you couldn’t find that drive in you. What motivated you was the love of language, of stories, fantasies, and people. You always felt too connected with people to be part of the cold regime of the First Order. You couldn’t detach yourself the way others could, you couldn’t let go of your empathy. Your daydreams and feelings had always been a source of frustration in your parents, you were born into a good family, a good name with the chance to really make a name for yourself, they gave you all the opportunities. The best education. The best introductions. Yet, you still struggle.

You still lived in your father’s quarters on the Supremacy while you finished your schooling, but you had begun to fixate on something, The Supreme Leader. You didn’t see him often, but when you caught glimpses of him around the ship your imagination would run wild. You wondered what he was like, if he was really as hot tempered as everyone said, you wondered at how powerful he was and you tried to understand how someone so outwardly beautiful could be as dark and twisted as everyone said he was. You didn’t believe it so you did something stupid. You took to following him around the ship. You tried to stay back from him and of course, you could never go into rooms you didn’t have clearance to enter, but you lagged behind him as he walked through the halls. You listened to his hushed conversations with Generals and other leaders within the First Order.

You ever started to write about him, just little notes about the way he moved or the tilt of his head as he listened to something he didn’t like. Nothing of significance to anyone but yourself. You kept it all on your datapad, not thinking about if anyone would be able to read it. You were finishing writing something down in the hallway right after he had ducked into a door you couldn’t follow him through when the door unexpectedly opened with a blast of air. You jumped so bad you nearly dropped your datapad and you tried to step towards the wall so Kylo wouldn’t notice you but it was too late, he had stepped into your path, towering over you.

“Are you following me?” He asked, his voice filled with a dark anger.

“N-No!” You said immediately, but your voice was shaking. Kylo’s eyes darted over your face, taking you in.

“Then how come every time I turn around, I see you?” he asked, he took a step towards you, you stepped back but it didn’t do much, he was still directly in front of you. Your heart thudded in your chest hard, you had thought you had been so sneaky, you had thought no one noticed. That was obviously not the case.

“I…” You didn’t know what to say, you had no explanation. His dark brown eyes seemed black with anger and there was a spark of electricity that ran through his expression. His energy crackled with instability. It was everything that had attracted you to him in the first place. You swallowed, searching for something to say. You were at a loss though.

“Nothing to say?” he asked.

“I don’t f-follow you.” You insisted. His mouth twisted into a grimace at the lie and he lifted his hand. There was a moment where you wondered what he was doing but then he was in your mind. You felt as though your skull might crack open from the pressure. It came in waves that staggered you, you stumbled backwards again and your back in the wall. He must have followed you because as you tried to force your eyes open to look at him, he was still right in front of you. Each thought of him was pulled to the forefront of your mind, your attraction, your curiosity, your admiration, your interest, and your writing. The vice grip on your mind released in a whoosh and a gasp. You leaned forward, trying to catch your breath,

“Insolent, girl.” He snarled and his hand closed around your datapad. You lunged for it but your hand froze in the air, it tensed there, completely locked up. Panic swept through you as he looked at the datapad, scrolling through your pages of notes on…him. There were things in there that you would have never admitted to anyone. “You stupid girl, did you think I didn’t notice you lurking around me?” he asked, looking up from the datapad. He dropped it onto the ground, it didn’t smash but the screen went dark.

Kylo released the Force that had been holding you but his hand found your upper arm. His fingers closed in a vice grip reminiscent of what he had done to your mind earlier. He drags you away from the wall, across the hall to the door he had come out of. He placed his other palm against the scanner and the doors whooshed open again. He marched you inside and shoved you so hard that you lost your balance and fell to the ground in front of him.

“If you’re so obsessed with knowing the real me, why don’t I show you?” He asked, his voice had a tiny tremor in it, like he was trying to keep himself under some control.

“No, I didn’t mean-please!” You gasped but he strode up to you and grabbed the back of your head, his other hand worked on his trousers, unbuckling them with a swift precision. You found yourself in a position you had thought about a number of times.You were stiffened by fear much more now than you had been in your fantasies but at the same time, liquid excitement gathered in your belly. It made your nipples go stiff, it made your heart beat a little faster-or maybe that was the fear.

“I thought this is what you wanted, you dirty slut.” His breathing was rough, that strained lilt in his voice echoed in your mind. His hand had worked his pants down by now and the size of his cock panicked you and turned your bones to mush.  “You fantasized about it, little girl. You’ve never been fucked by anyone and yet you thought about getting on your knees and pleasing my cock, haven’t you?” he asked. He didn’t need to ask, he had seen it. He had watched your fantasies in your mind. “It’s almost endearing. Your obsession.” He said. Your face was hot with embarrassment and tears welled up, making your eyes prickle and you lip tremble. You had no words.

“I didn’t-“

“Didn’t what? Want this?” His hand curled into your hair, his fingers scraped your scalp as he gathered a fistful of it. “We both know that isn’t true.” He said through a nasty chuckle. You hated that he was right. “Open your mouth before I lose patience.” He said. His fist in your hair dragged you down towards his cock, your mouth opened almost instinctually and you felt the warmth of the tip of his cock thrust into your mouth. His hips rocked forward and his cock entered your mouth, enveloped in heat and wetness. Your tongue circled his head, while your lips struggled to wrap around how thick his cock was. His hand in your hair tightened, pulling you unquestioningly forward, the tip pressed into the back of your throat. Spit filled your mouth, slipping in streams and rivulets down out of your mouth and down the sides of his cock. You gagged and tried to pull back. His hand at the back of your head an immoveable barrier, keeping you locked on his cock.

You couldn’t breath, your body screamed for release from choking on the intrusion in your throat. Your throat contracted around his cock, tears streamed out of your eyes. Kylo ripped your head back from his cock and you sucked in air finally. You nearly retched. He caught your face in his hand, pinching your cheeks between his thumb and his fingers.

“Do you think I’m as dark as everyone says I am, yet?” his deep voice rolled out of him and that sparking energy around him burned through you.

“Yes,” you managed to garble out through your spit and tears. You regretted every thought you had had about him, everything you wrote wondering if he was really as fearful as everyone said seemed so foolish now.

“I dont think you understand just yet.” He said. He shoved you down by your hair, pushing you onto all fours.

“No, no, no no!” you sobbed, realizing what he was doing you struggled forward but he caught your hips in his big hands, keeping you in place. You said no, but your body was a traitor and it was screaming yes. Kylo’s hands shoved your skirt up. It would only take a flick of his hand and he would see your shame, he would see how excited you had gotten by being used by him. Kylo must have head this in your thoughts because his hand paused in its movements,

“You’re desperate for me, aren’t you, little slut?” he asked. You whined, unable to manage something else. He knew it was true. He could see your mind. There was no use arguing, and he was going to use you even more. You wanted it and didn’t at the same time. Your cunt was throbbing with need but you remembered his size, you remembered how rough he was and ice daggers of fear spiked through you.

“You write all about me, about how you know I would make you feel good and now you can’t even manage a ‘yes sir’ ? Disgusting.” Kylo ripped your underwear down and you moaned in shame, pleasure and fear. Course leather ran over your exposed pussy, dipping into the folds. He knelt behind you, your fear and burning pleasure mounted at the same time. He pressed the head of his cock against you, running it along your slit, it grazed against your clit and you yelped at the sensitive bundle of nerves being touched without warning. Involuntarily your hips shimmed back towards his cock,

“You nasty girl. If your cunt didn’t look so inviting I wouldn’t bother giving you what you want.” He growled. You wanted to sob that it wasn’t what you wanted, that you couldn’t take his cock but you doubted it would matter to him. He shoved himself forward and the breath was kicked out of you in a gasp. He filled your whole pussy, he had buried his  whole cock deep inside of you in one thrust. There was no room left for motion, you were sure of it. Pleasure, pain and a mix of desperation and distress filled your body, you felt weak and unable to move. His cock felt like it would split you in half but you could also feel how lubricated you were.

“Your cunt  is so tight,” he gasped, he started to drag his cock back out, looking down at it. “You didn’t even bleed, little girl. You’re just that desperate.” He growled. Your pussy was burning with the stretch, burning with the pleasure. His cock smacked into you again, you felt garbled, uncontrollable and lost. You felt like you were unfurling underneath him, your fantasies becoming reality was too much and you were losing your mind each time he slammed into you. Each thrust sent your jerking forward. Your face pressed into the floor and he held your hips up as he rocked into you. Your breath came out in gasps or low pained moans,

“Oh…ah…Oh! No! Oh…” each thrust sent fireworks bursting under your skin, not only in a good way, not only in a burning pain. All of the above.  Kylo leaned over your back, pressing his lips to your ear,

“Do you think you understand me now?” He asked. You sobbed in response. His fingers closed into your hair again and he ground your face against the floor. “Do you think I care even a iota about you? Or that you’re sobbing on my floor?” His hips hadn’t slowed, they snapped into you again and again and again.

“No!” you sobbed.

“Good job, whore. You’ve gotten one thing right.” He snarled, his hips smacked into yours over and over. Pleasure washed over you, but it was like an out of body pleasure. You could feel your own orgasm mounting. He must have heard this, “No. You don’t get to cum.” His hips sped again and the pleasure mingled with pain once again. With his hand in your hair, tugging your head back from the floor now he thrust one last time inside before ripping away, leaving your cunt dripping and clenching on air. Hot ropes of cum spilled over your back, ass and up into your hair. Kylo smacked your ass and stood up.

“Get out.” He said.

[afni-fics]

In Hindsight: Chapter 5: In the Present... At Face Value

In Hindsight: Chapter 5: In the Present... At Face Value by C_R_Scott

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Tim Drake/Tam Fox, Jack Drake/Janet Drake, Janet Drake & Tim Drake, Jack Drake & Tim Drake, Lucius Fox/Tanya Fox, Tim Drake & Tam Fox

Characters: Tim Drake, Tam Fox, Janet Drake, Jack Drake, Lucius Fox, Bruce Wayne

Additional Tags: Tim Drake-centric, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Family Feels, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Childhood Memories, Childhood Sweethearts, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Good Parent Janet Drake, Bad Parent Jack Drake, no beta we die like robins, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Story Summary: What if Tim Drake was originally raised by his maternal grandmother for the first eight years of his life due to "circumstances" involving his biological parents? What if Tim's grandmother was also the next door neighbor and occasional sitter for Lucius Fox's family?

Chapter Summary: When Tim was a child, his father Jack had told him and his mother that his beloved grandmother had passed away while she was in the hospital due to pneumonia. But eight years later, a trusted family friend is telling him something very different.

"Is that what Jack told you and your mother? He told you both your Nana was dead?"

Out of all of Bruce's Robins, past and present, Tim was proud of having the distinction of being known as the best detective out of all of them. His mind was as nimble as Nightwing was agile. He had figured out Batman's true identity at age nine. He discovered his father was lost in time when everyone else thought he was dead. He successfully routed Ra's al Ghul and prevented him from stealing Wayne Enterprises out from under the family.

Unfortunately, having such a nimble mind meant that the moment Lucius Fox's words left his mouth, Tim was already more than halfway to formulating a theory based on the statement he heard and the context of the conversation that immediately preceded it.  However, it was the horrified tone of Lucius's voice, the appalled expression he saw on the elder man's face, and something deeper in his subconscious that slammed the brakes on his thought processes and caused his brain to short circuit before it could reach the conclusion they had been barreling towards.

Tim froze. He felt his heart stutter in his chest. Outwardly, he clamped down on his composure before daring to add his voice to the air.  He took a deep breath and released it slowly. 

"I'm fine," he thought to himself. "This is all just a misunderstanding."

Everything Jack told him that awful day was burned into his memory. It was the very first death of a loved one in his life and his first experience with grief. However, it endured it. He accepted it. He moved on.

"Everything is fine."

"Of course he did," Tim said matter-of-factly with a slight tilt of his head. "Nana was sick. She passed away in the hospital. Dad told us the day he got the call."

However, Tim felt a churning start low in his stomach as he observed Lucius's reaction to his words. The sensation was faint at first, but grew slowly in intensity as he watched the man on the other side of the desk. Lucius's expression was stricken as he shook his head.  "No. Timber..." he started tentatively, as if trying to speak to a spooked animal. "That's not... Your grandmother isn't--"

"She had pneumonia," Tim interrupted with a shake of his head as he turned away from his old family friend, from the man who had been like an uncle to him once upon a time. "And she never got better." He closed his eyes as he clung to his faded memories from that horrible time so many years ago. "Mom was so depressed because we couldn't go to the funeral. She and Dad had a job in Cairo the same--"

"Timothy--"

He felt Lucius's hand settle on his shoulder. It should have been a comforting gesture, along with the elder man's gentle but firm expression of his full name. Instead, it caused of army of goosebumps to race across his skin and seemed to disconnect his brain from his voice box. Lucius waited until Tim hesitantly turned to meet and hold his gaze before continuing.

"--There was no funeral." 

The muscles beneath Lucius's hand tensed immediately. 

"It took a few months, but she recovered. She went home. She's alive."

Tim shook his head again before finally finding his voice. When he spoke, his tone was strained and brittle. 

"No. That can't be right," he said. "Dad said... He told us she died. Why would he tell us that if it wasn't true?" 

"I'm sorry Tim, but Jack lied to you and your mother."

The faded memories in Tim's mind began to crack. The aborted theory his brain had been processing earlier suddenly re-asserted itself and reached its logical conclusion. However, it was not a conclusion that Tim was in any frame of mind to accept.

Not in that moment.

"I'm sorry Lucius. I... I need to go."

Before Lucius could say anything more, Tim shrugged himself out from under the older man's hand and slipped out of the office, shutting the door quickly behind him.

As soon as he was in the relative privacy and safety of the elevator, he used his security clearance to make sure it would go straight to the garage where his car was parked without stopping on any other floor. As the elevator descended, Tim backed himself into the corner and buried his face in his hand while his mind ran a mile a minute. 

"Nana can't be alive. Dad said she died...

"But Lucius would never say something like this if it wasn't true...

"But it can't be true...

"If Nana's alive, then that mean...

"No! That makes no sense... 

"Dad wouldn't have lied to me about Nana...

"He wouldn't have lied to Mom...

"He couldn't have...

"He didn't...

Tim lifted his head from his hand and stared at hand, which was trembling slightly.

"Did he?"

   It was a little nearly ten in the morning when Bruce's cell phone started ringing, the light from the screen illuminating the nightstand that rested next to his bed in the otherwise pitch black room. A weary arm snaked its way out from beneath the thick comforter on the bed. It took several tries, but finally the hand landed on the phone and pulled it toward the head still lying on the pillow.

Bleary eyes squinted as they peered at name on the too-bright screen before reluctantly pressing the "Accept" button. 

"Yes Lucius?" Bruce mumbled, his deep voice weighed down by the bone-deep fatigue trying to drag him back into slumber.

"Is Tim at the manor?"

Bruce's brow furrowed. There was an edge of distress in his old friend's voice that managed to shove some of the lethargy out of his mind with a small spike of adrenaline. He pushed himself up into a seated position. "He shouldn't be? Last I saw him was around five am in the Cave before I went to bed. Did he not make it to the office?"

"He did," Lucius confirmed as Bruce put on his bluetooth headset so he could pull on his housecoat. "But something happened in the office that upset him, and now he won't answer my calls and the tracker in his work cell has been shut off."

It didn't take long for Bruce to leave his bedroom and go a few doors down the hall to Tim's bedroom. As he expected, the room was empty. The bed itself was still perfectly made with Alfred's usual attention to detail, but his closet door was open and there was a notable gap where one of his spare business suits was missing. His bathroom door was also ajar. Tim may not have slept at the manor, but he did shower and change there before heading to work. 

"What happened at the office?" Bruce asked as he left Tim's room and made his way downstairs to the kitchen. 

It took longer than it should have for Lucius to answer. "It's complicated."

Bruce frowned. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones. "One moment Lucius." He'd just entered the kitchen and zeroed in on Alfred, who was sitting at the breakfast nook sipping a cup of tea. 

The old butler was startled at the sight of the Wayne patriarch awake and out of bed before noon. "Master Bruce? What on earth--" 

"Has Tim come back from the office this morning?"

Alfred shook his head. "No. I haven't seen him since he left the manor around eight am." He set down his teacup and immediately got to his feet.

"Can you check the Cave and make sure he didn't return when no one was looking? Also, if he's not there, can you activate the tracker in his personal cell and find out where he is right now?"

"Of course sir." With a crisp nod, Alfred went to the library where the entrance to the Cave was hidden.

Finally, Bruce turned his attention back to Lucius. "I'm back, so explain. What happened at the office?"

"It actually started last night when Tim got hit with Crane's new fear toxin..." Lucius told Bruce about the encounter Tim had with Tam after crashing into her apartment, and quickly explained how Bruce's adopted son was actually the same boy who used to live next door to him for several years as he was raised by his grandmother.

Bruce absorbed the new information with confusion. "Ok... That's definitely surprising, but doesn't sound bad at all. Why would that upset Tim?"

On the other end of the phone, Bruce could hear Lucius groan in frustration. "When Tim was eight, his grandmother got sick and ended up hospitalized so he had to go back to living with his parents. Then Jack told him and his mom that his Nana had died."

"I remember. Before I adopted Tim, he told me all his grandparents had passed away, and he had no other living relatives."

"Jack lied."

Bruce's blood ran ice cold in his veins. "What?"

"Tim's grandmother never died. Her name is Susan Klein and she still lives next door to my family. I tried to tell Tim his Nana was alive, and that's when he ran off. I think he's in denial."

Bruce had to sit down as he processed this information. For years, he'd cared for Tim while his parents were out of the country, and then after his mother died and his father was in a coma. And then when Jack died, he adopted the boy he'd grown to love as his own son... But it was all under the assumption that Tim had no one else in his life. Tim had believed he had no one else.

And it was all a lie?

"Why?" Bruce asked, confused. "Why would Jack lie about that?"

Before Lucius could offer any explanation, Bruce saw Alfred emerge from the library. "Timothy is not in the Cave, but I did track his phone. Right now he's stationary in his new house in Gotham. He's logged into his workstation in the Nest." The old man's brow furrowed. "I've tried reaching out to him both by phone and computer, but he's not responding to anything."

Bruce got to his feet. "We can talk more about this later, Lucius. Tim's at his new place in the city, so I'm going to check on him now."

"I'll have Tam meet you there."

"That's not necess--"

"Do either you or Alfred have a key to the front door, and have your biometrics been programed into the house security system yet?"

Bruce and Alfred shared a glance, but said nothing, much to both of their mutual surprises.

Lucius apparently took their joint silence as a negative. "Tam was present while the theater renovations were in their early planning stages, and her biometrics were preinstalled into the security matrix while Tim was programming it. She can get you in without the Nest locking itself down." Bruce could hear the sound of Lucius's computer shutting down as well as the rustling of an overcoat being pulled on. "I'll call Tam on my way home."

"You're leaving the office?" Bruce asked as he went to his bedroom so he could change out of his nightclothes.

"This is a family emergency, and Susan has been like a grandmother to my own kids for nearly twenty-five years now. She needs to know her grandson is alive and well."

Bruce had just gotten back to his room, though he paused at the door. That feeling of ice in his veins had reasserted itself. "Did she think Tim was dead?"

In the background, Bruce could hear the sound of Lucius taking the elevator. "Honestly... we didn't know what had happened to him," Lucius admitted in a low tone. "We weren't sure exactly what Jack was capable of back then."

Once inside his bedroom, Bruce immediately began to quickly gather his clothes to change. "Please Lucius. I want to help my son, but I need more information. Tell me what you know about Tim's parents and grandmother."

Author's Notes:

At first, I was going to make this a much longer chapter. However, midway through writing it, I decided to split this chapter into two parts, with another chapter taking place in the past splitting the differences. I really hope everyone is enjoying this tale so far. If anyone has any questions or comments, please feel free to post them. I'll do my best to answer them.

#tim drake#tam fox#tim/tam#red robin#fanfiction#wip#rr: in hindsight#batfam#batfamily#lucius fox#bruce wayne

[its-warm-in-here]

This is an early draft of an Astarion x Ofc thing that might continue. Buuuuut it may not go that direction. Im not sure! I haven't written for a fun in a while and hopefully I can actually see this though. Nothing explicit! hardly anything but a start

In all honesty, she had smelled fantastic. And in his defense, he was very, very hungry. It was hardly an uncommon habit at this point. Astarion knew his companions were aware that sipping her blood has become almost a nightly ritual here in the underdark. Still, as Wyll fired a blast of eldritch energy into the bulette, his gaze was firmly locked to the vampire’s teeth affixed to the inside of her wrist. Her wrist! It was hardly the most scandalous place he could have bitten her. Nizana hardly seemed to mind the nip. He had caught her arm on the way to nock an arrow and she didn’t even hesitate to extend it to him. Astarion released her, quickly pecking a quick kiss to her warm skin. She fired her shot without a second thought and the shaft impaled itself into one of the beast’s eyes.

 Yet, he could feel the warlock’s eyes glaring cinders into his skull. Astarion swiped his open palm against the hard scales of the bulette, leaving a greenish line of necrosis as he did. Inwardly, Astarion groaned at the thought of having to put up with another one of the lad’s righteous anecdotes which he knew would soon follow.

The thing leapt. This time outwardly, he groaned again. He supposed it could be called graceful. For the large monstrosity that it was. It always seemed to know just where to fling itself and send at least two of them flying. In this case he and Shadowheart. Astarion barely had time to register the stab of pain in the back of his skull when the bulette’s jaws snapped hungrily above him. With little grace, the elf threw himself in a half tumble away, somehow managing to make it to his feet in the process, rapier at the ready. Astarion flashed the bulette a dark smirk before plunging his blade into its thigh. The thing’s cry was piercing and suddenly Asatrion was reminded how unstable this cavern was. The floor swayed and the very air rumbled. From above, the sound of stone crumbling and rocks falling could be heard. Unconsciously, he hunkered a bit lower to the ground. 

Then came a crunch and a squelch. Another piercing cry was cut short as Lae’zel’s warhammer burst through it’s skull. With a heave, she brought the weapon down a second time, the beast letting out one last whimper before collapsing to the hollow ground. Lae’zel brought the hammer above her head a third and final time; she took in a deep breath and let out an echoing victory cry. 

Astarion sliced his bloodied rapier through the air before him, then delicately swiped the blade between his gloved fingers. “Excellent show, my dear, but do be careful to not bring the ceiling down on us, won’t you?”  He gave the sword one last flick befor replacing it at his hip. 

The gith hopped from her position on her kill’s head. “Chkt. Would you rather that thing slither off and come after us again? I would not,” she scoffed. 

“You bashed it’s brains in, I doubt its slithing anywhere,” he put plainly. She waved him away with another scoff, no longer interested in his opinions. 

It wasn’t long before they were back on the path. The bulette held nothing of interest and they had little reason to hang around this territory any longer. And of course Wyll was side eyeing him. Astarion’s lip twitched, threatening to turn into a smug smile. The warlock wasn’t even subtle about the disapproval. Still, Astarion composed himself, keeping his expression blank as possible. “Is something bothering you, Wyll?” he asked, biting back as much malice as he could muster. 

“Hm?” Wyll looked him dead in the face, the resentment suddenly hidden, but not gone, “Nothing. Well, I was wondering why you would think draining us in a fight would be a good idea.” 

Astarion opened his mouth to respond, venomed words at the ready. 

“We already discussed it,” Nizana cut him off. “There’s not much he can hunt down here and I don’t mind.” 

“Really.”

A lie. Astarion quirked a brow at her backside, the smirk he’d been trying to hide breaking into full over his features. “Yes, we want me at my best, especially down here,” he quickly agreed. 

“Look, we don’t need our archer light headed because you needed a pick me up,” Wyll said. He wasn’t hostile. “Nizana, we need you at your best too.” 

She rolled her shoulders and turned back from her position to look them up and down. “It’ll be easier on me if he doesn't drain me dry all in one sitting. I can make my shots.” Wyll gave her a conflicted frown which made Astarion’s eye’s roll. With a sigh, she added, “If it becomes a problem, we,” Nizana gestured between her and Astarion, “will address it. It is my blood, you know.” 

Wyll’s frown deepened, but he let out a defeated sigh, “You’re right, it’s none of my business. Just, don’t let it become my business, alright?” He flashed a good hearted smile.

“Believe me, we will not,” Astarion added flatly. 

-

It wasn’t long before they stopped to rest. Camping in the underdark was different from the surface, that was certain. There was too much light for one thing. Too many of the plants would glow. Even the cavern ceiling and walls were luminescent in places. Disappearing away into the night was much more difficult when all times of the day were equally well lit. Still, slipping away after dinner wasn’t too hard. He found Nizana a few levels down, atop an outcropping of giant mushrooms. The drow greeted him with a half smile. 

Astarion took a seat next to her on the orange fungus. “Here I was, impressed that you would lie to a stranger without my ask. But our companions?” he let a hand trail up her back, all the way up her spine to her back of her neck. “And I thought you counted Wyll as a friend." 

Nizana shivered at his cool touch, "It's not like he couldn't find out if he wanted to." She taped her ring and middle finger to her temple. The worm in his head shifted in response. 

"So lying for me, and taking advantage of our resident monster hunter's good nature," he notes with a touch of pride. 

"It's like I said; I don't mind," again Nizana brushed her short hair away from her jugular. The puncture wounds at her throat had become an ever present adornment ever since arriving here. Astarions thumb left the nape of her neck, and instead gently teased over the bite. She was bruised, that much was certain. Her dark grey skin was nearly purple around the abrasion. It bloomed rather nicely near her collar bone, Astarion decided. Like lavender, or maybe a lilac. Either way, it suited her.  

He let out a hum as she fell back onto the spongey surface, "You know,I think you might enjoy this as much as I do."

[mackenzieparker]

ok lets do this one more time, yeah? for real this time. this is it. my name is nika (she/hers, est). i like to write and hang out cool communities like this and for the last first time, i have brought a brand new muse to y’all. below you’ll find all the details on a ms. mackenzie “mack” rae parker, plucky country gal and badass babe. please love me and her and smash that like button or send me a dm (discord ichoosenikachu#4859 )  to plot.

( tw: drunk driver, death, sexism )

B A C K S T O R Y →

meet mackenzie rae parker, born august 17, 1989 in grove, oklahoma. mack (as she’s gone by since she was a kid and it won’t be changing anytime soon) was born to two loving parents Steven and Margaret Parker, the youngest daughter of three boys: morgan, matthew, and merritt. yes, her parents did have a thing for m names--and no, it didn’t help her momma remember her name any better, like they told their kids growing up. 

Maggie and Steve loved their daughter--their whole family, really--to bits and pieces. It had been Maggie’s dream to have a little girl when the couple first got together and when they had first received the ultrasound, well, they were overjoyed. When Mackenzie came into the world, there was cause for joyous celebration and laughter. Everyone was happy the Parker’s finally had a little pink bundle of joy. 

Little Mackenzie’s personality was--well, let’s just say she had never been one to shy away from an exciting situation. Her brothers’ had taught her early on that life wouldn’t always be easy so she had to be tough enough to take it head on. In fact, they made it a point to remind her whenever they had a chance. Buts she was also their little sister, and fiercely protective of her. And while it annoyed Mack to no end, she adored her brothers endlessly. 

Mack may not have been the strongest Parker in the household, but next to her Momma she was the wittiest. Her comebacks were always sharp and as she grew up, she honed her sarcastic, dry wit in addition to her own athletic talent.

Mack loved her Momma. In fact, if she had to pick favorites her Momma would have won every time. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her father. Her father was a good man--he was a local mechanic at Grove Automotive, always greeted everyone with a smile and cared deeply for his family. But Mack and him were never as close as she was with her momma. Maggie understood her daughter’s firey nature but compassionate heart and saw the way it warred within her--especially after she’d gotten into a fight with one of her brothers. 

( tw: drunk driving & death ) When Mack was twelve, though--tragedy struck. Maggie was on her back from work after parent teacher conferences; she was the local kindergarten teacher at Grove Elementary, when a drunk drive t-boned her car and Maggie was killed on impact. thankfully (if one can say that in this situation) no one else was in the car. but suddenly the Parker family had lost its matriarch and Mack, the one person who might have been able to understand her. 

She had always grown up as a tomboy--a fact that even her momma, a woman who had been raised in South Carolina to rather traditional parents couldn’t stamp out of her. But even so, after Maggie Parker passed on, Mack became even more of one, almost shunning all that was feminine away from her, as if any reminder of her mother would be the end of her as she knew it. And, for her, it might have been. It was no secret she had been the closest to Maggie--and her death hit her the hardest. Mack got rid of all her dresses, all her skirts, anything that reminded her of her mother--save for the small box of photos and momentos she kept heavily hidden under her bed. On her worst days, she’d pull the box out and talk to the photo of her Momma--it was the only time the blonde ever outwardly expressed emotions, specifically crying. 

To distract herself from the grief, Mack threw herself into everything she could in high school--archery, debate, robotics club, anything to keep her mind off of the encroaching cloud that now lived around her heart. It was in Robotics club, though, she learned she had a real knack for using her hands. She had learned early on about cars and the like--her father’s occupation and brothers’ fascination with the thing gave her unparalleled access to a number of cars being torn apart and rebuilt from the ground up. But Mack--Mack was always more excited about what flew above their heads than right next to them. A junior in high school, she had made the choice that she wanted to be an engineer--one who would eventually design an entire new fleet of Boeing Jets for commercial use. She had only ever flown on a jet once--to see her grandparents after her momma’s passing--but it had been the only thing to give her relief from her sadness that day. It’s where her love affair with aviation began. 

Mack graduated top of her class (nerd, her brothers would always joke) and soon found herself enrolled in the University of Oklahoma’s prized engineering program (boomer sooner!). Of course, she wanted to stay close to home--one, to keep the costs down but two, leaving her family felt wrong, even six years later. And for the most part, Mack loved it. She got involved in all sorts of things--engineering clubs, intramural sports, and even, yes, a sorority. It went against all the things she hated in relation to femininity, but her mother had spoken so highly of her experiences in the organization, and Mack felt a pull to join her. To her surprise, she didn’t hate it--and it was with those women she really started to learn about feminism. 

You see, when Mack would go home, all the women in town would ask her about if she was seeing a boy. Mack had never understood why it mattered so much if she had a boyfriend or not--she was getting her degree in mechanical engineering, wasn’t that a tad bit more impressive than whatever guy she might be seeing? But soon, it occurred to her that the women in town would never understand anything other than her finding her future husband at school. The fact shocked her, considering it had never occurred to her in the slightest that she’d ever go to school to get a husband in the first place. After the shock worn down, it enraged her and made her work harder. Because now, she was getting disparaging comments from the folks back home and the men in her internships and co-ops. Women can’t build things--they’ll break a nail. Why are you in pants? Your legs would look better in a skirt. Mack had never been one to bit her tongue, and on more than one occasion was able to test out what her brothers’ had taught her growing up. No one was going to tell Mack what she could or could not do. And certainly not because of her gender. 

Mack eventually graduated college--though deeply in debt thanks to all those added fees for science labs #thanksUofOklahoma--but realized that going back home would never be realistic for her. So, she packed up her truck, Betsy, and headed west. Originally, she had meant to go to Seattle or Portland--that’s where Boeing was, that’s where her dream landed. But something about Charming, CA caught her eye--and she found herself intrigued. Plus, it sure didn’t hurt that no one seemed to care when she applied to work as a mechanic in their autoshop. Now she’s been here about 8 years and she hasn’t grown sick of it yet. She still has dreams of working for Boeing, but as she grows more comfortable in Charming, they seem to be slipping to the wayside. 

Mack’s vibe is...well, she’s a loyal friend, a good listener and kind, though not sunshine and rainbows. Growing up without her mom really changed her--she still had a compassionate heart but it’s not as obvious as it once was. She’s still sassy, sarcastic and witty, but she is friendly as well. Smart too--and a bit of a nerd, loves herself some comics and documentaries. all around, she’s genuinely a good egg, just a little...rough around the edges at times. 

H E A D C A N O N S →

Mack never, ever goes by Mackenzie. In fact, you’ll never know its her full name unless she drops her ID. The only person you’ll ever hear call her that is her father--or brothers--when something is wrong. 

Her favorite food is chicken cordon bleu. She knows it sounds fancy but literally, her favorite is the one where you buy it frozen and pop it in the oven. She is a simple gal, truly. 

Her favorite shoes are her various pairs of converse, although for work she can be seen wearing docs so she doesn’t get oil all over her shoes. 

Betsy, her truck, is very special to her--she takes extra good care of it. She’s a 1967 Chevy C10 Pickup in a robin’s egg blue color--and her pride and joy.

Even though she loves her truck no matter what, the woman has worked on enough bikes for the various motorcycle clubs around town to know that if she had even gotten enough money--she’d get herself a nice bike. Flying down the road on open asphalt? Doesn’t get better than that. 

Mack loves classic rock. Like love loves it--but also the women of the 90′s like Alanis Morisette, Liz Phair, The Cranberries--she loves a good women rock group. 

P L O T S →

friends

exes

situationships/flirtationships

fwb

slowburn

coworkers

any connections to the motorcycle gang

literally i suck at listing plots out, just hit me up and i’ll be EXCITED TO PLOT!

[rileythefool]

The Button

You can change your appearance however you would like, at any time, as much as you want. However, if someone compliments your appearance you will be stuck that way forever.

I looked from the blue button to my friend’s eager expression with unveiled scepticism.

“I’m serious Jacob! It’s the real deal, I promise!” Brooklyn held the button out to me again, practically forcing it into my hands. 

It looked like the stupid “easy button” from the old 90’s ads, and old enough to be from then as well. 

“It says something different for everyone, you can twist the top to get a new choice but I don’t know how many times you are allowed to pass before it stops working." 

I could hardly understand her as she blathered on but I took the plastic button from her anyways, being careful not to press it as I turned it over.

"What does it say?” She practically held my own hands up to my face to get me to read it to her.

“Can’t you read it?” I looked over the plain white text, still half expecting some soul-less business slogan rather than something a genie might say.

She was practically bouncing in place as she seemed to expect me to mirror her enthusiasm.

“I can’t! It’s different for everyone! Tell me tell me tell me!”

I read it again, paraphrasing as I went. “It says if I press it I can shapeshift but if someone compliments me i’ll be stuck forever.”

“Thats awesome!" 

I grimaced, displeased that she could somehow be more hyper and over-enthusiastic. 

"Usually the downside is far worse– like, people die worse.”

I suddenly felt worried about what that implied about when she pressed it. “What was yours then?" 

Her smile faltered as she opened her mouth to reply. "If I tell you it goes away.” She seemed to realize how flakey her explanation was because she began to plead with me as I handed the button back.

“Come oooonnnn. You’ve got nothing to lose! It will be awesome, I promise.”

“If it will get you off my back…" 

I immediately felt guilty for being so curmudgeonly but she didn’t seem to care. She squealing in delight as I pressed the button. 

Nothing happened.

"Happy?”

Brooklyn nodded, still bouncing in excitement as she let me give her the button back, surprisingly it was blank now but that hardly seemed like an effect impressive enough to prove the button was real.

I shook my hands out and steadied my breathing to see if there was anything to notice.

But again, nothing happened. 

“Yeah, I don’t know.” I shrugged, surprised to find I hoped to feel something as well. 

“Try wishing something was different about your appearance. Out loud.”

I rolled my eyes. “I wish I had red hair.”

Brooklyn’s eyes went the size of saucers and I couldn’t help but doubt her theatrics as she scrambled to pull her phone out. In no time she had taken a picture and handed it to me. 

Red hair…

A spark of excitement grew in me but I pushed it down, hastily checking my reflection with my own phone just in case she had used a filter.

Red. Fucking. Hair.

“Holy shit." 

Brooklyn nodded. Her lips clamped tight and she slapped a hand over her mouth too as she looked at me in awe.

"Okay, okay, wow. Uh…” I started to feel a bit lightheaded as my mind raced with possibilities. I could look however I wanted.

“I wish I had perfect skin." 

Brooklyn looked ridiculous as she did a little happy dance in front of me.

"I wish I had dark brown hair again, curly brown hair”

I eyed my reflection, feeling increasingly vain as my hair poofed up a bit in dark curls.

“I wish I was five foot four.”

I felt dizzy for a moment as I shrunk, now looking up to Brooklyn as she raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“Fantastic." 

I paced as I thought further about what I could try. I felt a few changes begin to happen automatically, but as I expanded my possibilities I paused. I looked at Brooklyn, still watching me in awe as I experimented.

"Not a peep.” I tried to sound serious, scared of how she would react to my next idea. 

She mimed twisting a lock and throwing away the key and nodded, curiosity plain on her expression as she waited.

I didn’t have the heart to say it but I could tell I was thinking it loud enough as the most drastic change began. I felt a stretching sensation on the soles of my feet as they shrank in my shoes, followed by the rustling of my jeans as my legs turned smooth and redistributed fat. the feeling of my jeans changed the most, growing tighter around the pockets and thighs as the belt loosened the slightest bit again. Already loose from my height loss, they now fit horribly on me. My chest swelled slightly, noticeably filling out as my shoulders narrowed. The sleeves of my hoodie fell over my fingertips but beyond that I felt the soft lining on my skin rather than just brushing the hair on my arms like it had before. I looked at my hands as the bones shrunk slightly, looking subtly more delicate as the remaining hair vanished and my joints shrank. Finally I felt my hair fall in waves near my shoulder as my jaw ached momentarily. 

I ignored the muffled high pitched squeals of shock from Brooklyn as I looked at my reflection on my phone. I pushed down my confused feelings as I took it in. I liked it. A lot. Probably as much as I thought I would.

I felt like a red flashing light was going off in my head as I looked at myself. I wasn’t supposed to like this. Was I? Boys don’t wish they were girls but wouldn’t any straight guy be attracted to their own gender-bent appearance? This feeling wasn’t attraction but that difference hardly mattered. I had a superpower that other guys didn’t have so I dismissed the distinction as meaningless. 

I resisted the urge to ask Brooklyn what she thought, I could already tell she was repeating “What the fuck” over and over in her head.

“Cool right?”

Her eyes were still wide as she nodded.

I took a few more pictures before putting my phone away and focusing on changing back. I grew back a couple inches slowly which helped my jeans fit again but besides that, not much changed. I tried focusing on my hair. But even after a few tries the style was always pretty much the same butch femme look. I tried to make my boobs go away but they only shrank to be hideable. My hips and butt would only shrink so much as well. Brooklyn’s confusion mirrored mine as I continued to tweak my appearance, some things that I changed just flat out wouldn’t stick. I grew a thin beard but the moment I lost focus it disappeared to perfectly smooth skin. My breasts grew back to a small but modest size while I wasn’t paying attention and my height seemed to shrink back toward 5’ as I became increasingly flustered.

“What’s wrong, Jacob?” Brooklyn spoke slowly and carefully, graciously screening for anything that could be perceived as a compliment as I paced.

“I don’t know! the button said I could change however I wanted but I can’t seem to change back!”

My voice lifted as I spoke, becoming slightly shrill as it rose to a more feminine register. I growled in frustration, blushing as it came out stereotypically femme. 

“Do you want to go back to looking like a guy?” Her voice came out as a suspicious whisper.

“Of course I do!” My voice deepened for an instant before rising again, prompting another frustrated groan. 

I felt more scared than anything as I looked at how my appearance had progressed. Every proportion, every detail looked utterly agreeable, not like some photoshopped model but just like a real girl. A girl so completely different from my former appearance that I could never claim to be more than my own sister. I scarcely could pretend I was my own fraternal twin.

 "Are you sure?“ Brooklyn spoke even softer as tears blurred my vision.

"Of course I’m sure! I was just curious is all! I’m supposed to be able to look however I want! Why can’t I change back?”

“You only get to look how you want though…” Brooklyn’s calm demeanor was off-putting in contrast to her earlier hysterics.

I cowered a bit as she held my shoulders. Her eyes seemed to pierce me to my core. 

“I…” I stammered. A dark part of me wanted to lash out, to blame her for showing me this button and throwing me into this predicament, but the truth stunned me silent. “I might want to be a girl but I have to be a boy, I need to be a boy…”

She made gentle shushing noises as she brought me into a hug. “It’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out.”

“But what if there is nothing to figure out? What if I can’t bring myself to want anything but this?” I hid my face in her jacket, it felt weird to be so outwardly distraught, sure I’d had breakdowns before but they felt more like I was coiling up and packing things down. Falling apart like this felt like a dam breaking and I was wildly unprepared to cope with it.

“It will be okay…” Brooklyn trailed off and It occured to me that she was still screening her words to help me. I felt a warm appreciation but I found myself latching back on to my panic and shame automatically. 

I followed that fear to its source, behind the weak concerns about adjusting to a new body I found the real terror. I would be known. I had spent my whole life tailoring my presentation for other people and now in a few short minutes I had thrown that all away. People wouldn’t see what I wanted them to see. They would see me.

I felt the leather of Brooklyn’s jacket bunch up in my hands as I held her tighter and I nearly choked as she hugged me closer in response. I felt grounded by it. It was only one example but I still had a friend, my best friend, who still loved me. 

I felt a bit of the whimsical excitement from before return as I stepped back. There was a pinch on my ear as a piercing appeared and I felt a settling sensation as I returned to the presentation I wanted for me. 

I couldn’t help but smile as Brooklyn wiped away my tears. I could see sincere concern in her expression. The same deep and loving care I had always known. 

Butterflies tumbled in my stomach as I made up my mind. The finality of the decision brought me a perverse comfort as I arrived at something to be sure of.

“How do I look?” I managed a smile, amused at her silent face journey from panic to understanding and a sort of pride beaming down at me.

“You’re beautiful.”

[jewishbarbies]

THE NEW YEAR - a BLOOD ON HER LIPS sneak peek

IT WAS NEW YEAR’S. Every holiday was spent at the cottage, and New Year’s was no exception. There was a strict family only policy when it came to these kinds of vacations. Only Daddy’s inner circle of business partners fit the criteria. Of course, he’d fit in whomever he pleased when it suited him.

Outside, the rain poured. I knew because I sat it in on my bedroom balcony’s concrete railing. The thick slab offered a perfect perch to enjoy the all-too-common storming of Gotham City. My home. It was the darkest city you could ever travel to—I was sure of that. But it was still home.

Droplets of water pelted the exposed skin of my arms, erupting them in sharp bumps with the chill of the evening. It was electrifying, the sensation of becoming soaked to the bone from an unexpected rain storm. There was so much energy. Yet it was the most peaceful experience.

I sat up on the railing with my eyes closed, head tilted back to feel the water pouring down on my skin. My clothes were completely soaked. Water dripped off my arms. It rolled down my legs and leapt from my toes.

“Savannah? What are you doing out there? The ball’s about to drop!”

The voice I’d heard calling to me from behind was unmistakable. I righted myself on the railing and twisted in my seat to see the balcony door. My fingers had to rake across my eyes to clear the water from them in order to open them.

Standing just inside my bedroom was Dick Grayson, wearing a dress shirt and slacks—formal attire to put on a show for Daddy’s company partners. He was only allowed to come on this trip thanks to Bruce Wayne, one of the most important partners of my father’s company

He stood under cover, squinting to see me through the sheet of rain and shouting to be heard. I couldn’t help but smile. “Come sit with me!” I shouted, motioning with my hand.

“No way, Anna!”

“What’s wrong, Dick? Afraid of getting a little wet?”

My teeth pinched my lower lip before tugging it into my mouth. The split second sight of the expression it brought to his face was enough to brighten my eyes as I turned away from him.

It wasn’t something special. I did it to every male. Why was beyond me. But I’d had a habit of making everything an opportunity to flirt. It hadn’t gone wrong for me just yet, so I hadn’t been able to give it up. I supposed it was just who I was.

That wildflower everyone secretly wanted to be but outwardly despised. With outstretched arms, I tipped my head back and exhaled a deep breath. “You’re crazy, Savannah Syren!”

I would take crazy if it meant feeling alive any day. The words brought a small giggle up my throat. I could just picture the look of indecisiveness on his face. I’d always teased him about being a no-fun fuddy duddy at the ripe age of sixteen.

To which I was always accused of being too much. But I didn’t mind. Getting a rise out of him was worth it. In a matter of heartbeats after he’d spoken, a pair of arms wrapped around my middle from behind and gave me a hard pulled.

I’d squealed from surprise, the squeak of a sound being followed by a string of laughs as Dick carried me toward the bedroom door. “Wait, wait!” I shouted a little to be heard over the thunderous rain. “Just one more minute!”

“You’ve been out here for an hour!”

Putting my feet down caused him to stop walking, allowing me to pull out of his hold and stand on my own. I turned to face him as I pushed my soaked hair out of my view. “You’ve got to start living a little, Grayson! Before you die an old man who never did anything interesting!” I told him.

It was hard to gauge his expression in the thick water running across his face, but it was easy to pick out the hint of playful annoyance. “This is the most interesting thing you can think of?” he questioned, rhetorically.

“No! This is just the most interesting thing at the moment!”

He shook his head slowly at me, “Your dad’s gonna kill you when he finds out you did this in your new dress!”

“Good!” I shouted, before leaning toward him with a barked laugh. I threw my arms out at my sides and spun on my bare feet. Flinging my head back to get the full effect of twirling in the rain.

The sound of his laugh echoed off the side of the cottage, warm enough in my ears to eradicate the notion of being too cold from my mind. It mixed with the distant voices of the television from the sitting room, blasting a broadcast of the ball drop in Times Square.

It was just like Gotham to rain on New Year’s eve. Sighing in contentment, I stopped my spinning to face Dick, a bright smile on both our faces. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, just loud enough for me to hear.

I didn’t know how to take that compliment. Usually they rolled right off my back, not unlike the rain that poured atop my head in that moment. But it was the way his eyes lit up when he looked at me. How his lips remained parted after he said the words.

It was a sight I’d wanted to take a picture of and keep safely tucked away forever in the back of my mind. Though, I did no such thing. I marched forward without warning and pushed myself up to the full height of my toes, grabbing his face as I pressed my lips against his.

The kiss was rain soaked and unplanned. But it was magic. I felt the walls of my chest cavity grow warm as he kissed me back. His arms encircled me, tucking me tightly against his chest. The taste of the rain mixed with the taste of his tongue.

I’d never been so assertive. Not in this context. I was eternally grateful for that little spark of courage, though. Because it was one of the best nights of my life. That is, until we got caught.

“What do you two think you’re doing out there?”

Our mouths had broken their connection but Dick’s arms refused to move as we’d both startled from the voice shouted at us. Turning my head a fraction of an inch, I could see the voice belonged to none other than Bruce Wayne.

I couldn’t help the heat in my cheeks, but I was quick to suppress it as I peeled myself away from Dick. The two of us shuffled quickly back inside the cottage, out of the rain, equally embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Bruce, she wouldn’t come inside,” Dick apologized, once we’d gotten inside

“I’m sorry you both missed the ball drop—but something tells me you improvised,” Bruce commented, the very ghost of a smile playing at the left corner of his mouth.

Dick and I shared a quick glance, and I fought a smile, folding my top lip over the bottom one in order to clamp it down. “Why don’t the two of you get dried off and then join us downstairs?” Bruce suggested. Then, specifically to Dick, he added, “There are more towels in the guest room.”

It was a subtle hint that we weren’t going to be getting dry alone in the same room together. I assumed it would’ve been obvious. But, from a parent’s perspective, it made sense to enforce it. Even though Bruce wasn’t truly Dick’s father, I admired him for those moments he truly acted like he was.

Dick nodded, getting the hint, and pattered out of the bedroom into the hallway. Bruce was soon to follow, departing to give me privacy to do whatever I needed in my attempt to get dried off.

[imagine-darksiders]

Been feeling a little low lately, so I just wanted to do something self-indulgent with the angel who’s rapidly growing in popularity. 

---

“Something troubles you...”

Raising your head from your knees, you glance up to see Nathaniel - an angel you'd recently come to call 'friend' - land with a heavy clang in the courtyard of the Crystal Spire.

You're sat on the steps, looking out over the White City and feeling generally miserable. Still, you have no desire to burden the good-hearted angel with your despondency. “Hey Nathaniel,” you smile, at least trying to sound more chipper than you feel, “You're back early.”

He studies you closely, narrowing his silver eyes suspiciously, aware of just how blatantly you'd ignored his first statement. Finally shrugging his armoured shoulders, the warrior begins walking over to join you on the marble stairs.

“Alas,” he nods, “scouting Lost Light is a woefully simple task.” Humming, Nathaniel glances you up and down before turning and crashing to the ground at your side with a clanking of metal. He heaves out a comfortable sigh and stretches his wings, letting out an undignified grunt. One of the appendages curls around you, the curve of the wing-bone drooping over your head and shading you from the setting suns.

In a way, you almost start to feel as though you're sitting in an exceptionally shallow cave made of pristine, white feathers.

“You did not respond to my observation,” the angel murmurs, following your gaze out towards the sunset, “your mind is clearly plagued by something. Is it that you miss the horseman? I am certain that he will return soon enou-”

“No, it's not that,” you sigh and fiddle with the hem of your sleeves, “I'm just....” Trailing off uncertainly, your mouth goldfishes for a moment whilst you try to decide what is wrong. Meanwhile, Nathaniel's attention is solely on you, but in an effort to relax the tense atmosphere surrounding you both, he absently pulls out an old cloth and proceeds to clean his armour of collected grime.

You watch his long, soothing strokes down his breastplate and swallow thickly, gathering yourself together. 

“I'm just sad,” is all you can whisper, in the end.

 The sweeping sound of cloth on armour stops and you feel Nathaniel's steely gaze on the side of your head. 

Quickly, you continue. “I mean, I'm not sure why I'm s-sad!” Without warning, your voice catches and an embarrassingly obvious sob leaps up your throat. “Maybe - maybe nothing's wrong,” you say regardless, “Or maybe there's just so much wrong, I can't n-narrow it down to one thing and - and-!”

Too much. It just proves to be too much. 

Nathaniel's feathers bristle when you suddenly release a haunting wail and cover your face with both hands in shame.

Perhaps it has something to do with his new-found position as defender of the Crystal Spire. Perhaps his nature to protect is forcing it’s way to the surface or perhaps it’s simply been too long since he’s seen someone look as vulnerable as you, but whatever the reason, the angel feels a sudden, long-forgotten instinct swell up inside him like a roiling tide.

He wanted - no - He needed to keep you safe. 

“Hey, hey now,” he murmurs gently, “it's alright my friend...” His wing hooks around your side and he effortlessly drags you under one of his thick arms. “It's alright.”

In the light of heaven's fading suns, the angelic warrior holds you as tightly as he dare with one arm wrapped around your shoulders, his wings effectively cocooning you from the outside world and his head bent low until it's mere inches from your face, which you're still covering up.

“This isn't because somebody has hurt you, is it?” he growls into you ear.

Hot, fat tears ooze from the gaps between your fingers as you shake your head with a humourless laugh. “I wish it was as simple as that. This kind of pain isn't quite so.....” You take a deep breath. “....obvious. It going to take a little longer to heal, I think.”

“But, it will heal?” The angel's question sounds painfully worried and you can't help but feel a twinge of guilt. Nathaniel always had a tendency to worry a little too much about his friends. 

Wiping your eyes with the heel of your palms, you lean into him and sigh again. “I don't know.”

Quiet, neither comfortable or uncomfortable, descends upon you. In the silence, the sun at last disappears behind the curve of the world, plunging you into a soft darkness that's more comforting than foreboding. As a myriad of stars slowly shine into existence, Nathaniel turns his head and gazes down at you, his armour gleaming white and gold and silver under the light of the three moons.

“I wish I could battle these demons you're fighting, friend,” he admits, “I would fight to the death if it meant I could dry your tears...” 

Without much warning, Nathaniel starts to twist his torso around and half-stands, forcing you out of his side. When you right yourself and look up, you find that he’s knelt on one knee before you on the steps, still towering a good head or so over you. 

He has a sincere and honest expression on his face as he takes your hand up before you can react. Pressing it between his own palms, the angel's snowy brow furrows. “I understand that your demons are the kind that cannot be killed by blade or by magic, but if I can help you in any way, you will let me know.”

It isn't a request, if the look in his eyes is any indication. Unbeknownst to you, after the Archon's betrayal, Abaddon's fall to shadow and the Hellguard's envisioned defeat, Nathaniel's sense of loyalty was laid bare before him to be reexamined. He obsessed over the things he could have changed, if he might have been able to save his friend or even Lucien. When he asked Death to leave him to sort his thoughts, you'd found the courage to place a small, sympathetic hand on the angel's massive, armoured forearm and said two words. Just two words, but at the time, he hadn't realised how much comfort they would later provide.

“I'm sorry,” you'd whispered sincerely.  

Nathaniel smiled fondly at the memory of your sad little face peering up at him with nervous, but kind eyes. Since then, you started to return to the spire a lot, often making the trip alone, much to Death's chagrin. You claimed that you wanted to check up on him, to make sure that he's alright. At first, it was baffling. Nathaniel had no idea what to think the first time you'd skipped across the courtyard by yourself and told him that you'd ditched your horseman friend to come and see him. Bewildered, you and he had simply talked about nonsensical things, trivial battles he'd fought that seemed to fascinate you and eventually, you asked if he might be willing to show you some 'super-secret Hellguard fighting techniques.' Of course, he'd complied, until the horseman showed up like a roaring storm of rage and agitation, practically spitting venom with how harshly he admonished you for crossing the portal alone one night without telling him where you were going.

Nathaniel had stood, awestruck whilst you stood before Death, looked him straight in the eye and told him, “I was worried about Nathaniel.”

That seemed to be the end of it, as Death groaned loudly and covered his mask with a palm.

“Of course you were,” he sighed before throwing the angel a quick glare and lifting you up into Despair's saddle.

After that particular incident, Nathaniel had begun to think more and more of you and your well-being. He found himself worrying when you stayed away from Lost Light for too long. The lonely nights where he still stood guard over the spire were filled with thoughts of your own suffering and how no human ought to have so much dropped on their shoulders, especially someone with your aching heart. He knows you'd most likely be offended by the notion, but you are fragile. He knows it, the horseman knows it, even Lucien knew it, for he sought to break your spirit during the fight with Death. But you remained steadfast and as outwardly brave as you could possibly manage. However, your resolve had to break sometime.

Suddenly, the angel becomes aware that you've placed your free hand on top of his and you're shaking, although it isn't cold at all, even at night. Able to think of nothing else to do, Nathaniel releases your hand, pretending not to notice the look of disappointment on your face, but he quickly rectifies that by sliding his thumb and forefinger beneath your chin, lifting your head so that you're forced to look into his eyes.

“Nath...Nathaniel?” you stammer wetly, “What're you-”

He cuts you off by easily closing the distance between your faces. For a frightening moment, you imagine that he's going to kiss you, but instead he presses his forehead against yours and exhales softly.

“Please, Y/n,” he murmurs, “Allow me to worry about you. You're....quite possibly the only friend I have left in all of heaven – in all the realms, in fact. The Hellguard are soon to be no more. Abaddon, my oldest friend is the Destroyer. The one I served dutifully, whom I thought the purest of all, Lucien....He had me so fooled.”

The angel's scarred eye twitches slightly as he knits his brow together and his eyelids droop. “I find myself in dire need of a friend. For centuries, nobody has thought to ask me how I am, how I fare in times of darkness. I am a warrior. For too long, I didn't think I needed to feel as thought I matter to anyone. But then you came along.” He draws back and away from you, gazing down and frowning tenderly. “You've changed me, Y/n,” he whispers, “Time and again you openly worry for the lives of others. You're driven to make everyone happy but in doing so, you've forgotten yourself. Now, you are sad and I want to help you for a change.”  

Turning your head so that his fingers slip from your chin, you stare down, watery eyed at the marble below your feet.

“You don't have to worry about me Nathaniel, I'm alright.”

“I do wish you wouldn't lie to me,” he growls, disappointed.

“I’m.....not.”

Humming, the angel studies you curiously for a minute or two, taking in the way you're eyes still stream with tears despite the stubborn pout on your face. Then, an idea springs to mind. 

The second time you'd snuck away from your guardian to return to Nathaniel, you'd thrown yourself at him in a wild gesture that took him completely off guard. Your arms wrapped around his thick waist and you pressed your face into the gleaming armour, grinning happily. He'd asked you what you were doing. You called it a 'hug.'

The notion wasn't completely foreign to him, but no angel he knew had ever embraced someone quite so fiercely if they weren't engaged in some sort of romantic affair. To put his mind (and his awful blush) at ease, you told him that in your culture, friends regularly hug one another if they're sad, happy, in greeting or even in parting. He learned there was 'usually no wrong time for a hug.'

Thinking about it now, for all the words that he could say, none of them appear as powerful as this one gesture. He so desperately wants to comfort you, unused to seeing your usually smiling face this laden with woe. Determined, the angel spreads his arms to either side of you and circles them easily behind your back.

“Huh?” You're startled to feel a pair of strong, metal arms loop around you and lift you off your feet. Squawking, your legs dangle and kick when Nathaniel stands to his full height, caging you against his chest with both arms.

“Ack! Nate! Can't breathe!?” you wheeze, wriggling around in the tight embrace.

Immediately, he loosens his grip, but doesn't set you back on solid ground. Instead, the angel manoeuvres you until you're sat comfortably in one, larger-than-average palm. His other hand lifts to push the back of your head over his shoulder.

Haltingly, you call his name, but all he responds with is to turn his head slightly and huff through his nose into your hair. With another uncertain pause, you lift your own arms and begin sliding them over the golden armour and around his neck. Instantly, the angel practically sags with relief, causing you to smile shyly and bury your face into the dark skin of his neck.

“Fine, have it your way,” you grunt.

The feeling of fingers stroking through your hair has you sighing contentedly, for a moment forgetting the pit of despair in your stomach. All around you, you can feel Nathaniel hum softly. 

“Whatever it is that's making you sad, Y/n, know that you don't have to face it alone. Remember that you now have a friend in Heaven. And if you need me....” He trails off, letting the unspoken promise linger in the air over your heads. He knows that you're smart enough to understand.

“Yeah,” you mumble with a small sniff, “Thanks Nathaniel.”

A long, silent moment passes.

“Um, Nathaniel?” you call, “You can put me down now. I'm feeling better.”

It's a lie. The hug helped, but only a little. In truth, you're just talking to fill the quiet.

“I'll let you go when you've stopped crying,” he rumbles, and you're suddenly aware that there are still tears flowing down your cheeks and soaking the bare skin of his neck. 'He must be able to feel them dripping on him. How humiliating.’

“What if I keep crying till morning?” you challenge.

The angel smirks and harrumphs, jostling you slightly in his arms. “I am a warrior, I can keep this up for as long as it takes. I'll hold you for days if I have to.”

He would, he absolutely would drop everything to keep you safe and secure if you needed it.

He just hopes the horseman doesn't choose to show up anytime soon and end up getting the wrong idea. 

[crushingonrazz]

Merry Christmas Ollie

Ollie, you are one of the best friends I have ever had. My whole life has improved since I’ve met you, you just light up all of my sad moments and I can’t believe someone can even be as absolutely kind and dependable as you. So Merry Christmas, and I hope that this year gives you all the joy you so utterly deserve. 

Here’s a present! It’s under the cut, and I hope you like it! It is, surprisingly, not rottenberry. I wanted to give you something unique, something for you instead of what’s just easier for me. I wish I could give you more!

~~~

"The person you think of as yourself exists only for you and even you don't know who that is. Everyone else creates a version of 'you' in their head. You're not the same person to anyone. There are thousands of versions of you out there"

Slim is damaged.

He stands on back porches with a cigarette between two shaking fingers, staring up at the sky like it holds answers he’s been searching for his entire life. He grins at Sans’ puns out of the corner of his mouth, like he’s trying not to think they’re funny.

There have been so many times when he’s come out of an unoccupied room, and he just stiffens as soon as he sees the other people in this one. Sometimes he walks out. Sometimes he doesn’t. Either way, his eyelights go dim.

Looking down at Sans, he always seems to have a smile on his face. He’s not sure it’s ever been real, not sure he’d even know the difference if it was.

He’s a very good actor. At least, Sans would like to think so.

Slim is a force to be reckoned with.

For the most part, he tries to hide his power. But Fell has seen him angry, he’s seen him fighting. He’s never seen him fight for his life, but he thinks he might know how it looks. Fell has an image in his head, of fire and fury and magic. He’s pretty sure not even a different reality would change that perception.

When Slim takes a breath, his ribcage moves out. This is not unusual by any means, but it moves out like it’s a chore, as though taking in a breath is the most irritating thing he’s had to do this week. Fell wonders if he wishes he didn’t have to.

How many times has he seen power under Slim’s bones? Even sprawled across the couch, his magic is pulsing. Even lifting his brows in faux amusement sparks his eyelights, broadcasting his every expression for all to see. If it were Fell, he would have long ago brought the display of emotions under wraps. He’s certain, however, that what Slim broadcasts is not what he actually feels.

Slim is a disruption.

His constant joking is influencing Blue’s brother for the worse. His pranks are messing up the house and his habits are irritating. Slim is everything Blue doesn’t want, but he can’t help but pity him.

His relationship with his own brother has suffered. That much is obvious. Not even Blue dislikes him enough to blame him for that. Razz was never very good at being his brother.

He’s quiet. He’s far too quiet when he doesn’t have that shit-eating grin across his face. Blue knows he should prefer the happiness, the giant smiles and joking laughter. He doesn’t think he’ll ever admit that he prefers the quiet, not matter how damaged that silence may be. If he did admit it, he thinks Slim might laugh. Maybe to spite him, but more likely for the sake of the laughter. He doesn’t seem to care much what Blue thinks. That suits Blue fine.

Slim is always tired.

His eyelights seem to droop, despite the scientific impossibility. He’s always looking at the ground, but Red doesn’t mind bringing it up. It makes Slim laugh when he jokes that he’s looking for the nearest Sans. Once, he responded yes, he was looking for the nearest Sans. Where else was he going to find a good soccer ball?

Red laughed. Slim didn’t. But when Red looked up, his grin was crooked across his face, staring at a wall to his left with those tired eyelights. Slim didn’t make eye contact very often.

“I’ll bet you’d get a kick out of picking on a shorter guy.”

There was the laugh.

He never seems to sleep. Red could find him at midnight, hanging upside down in a tree by his knees, just to see if he could. It could be three in the morning, and Slim could be found watching movies on the couch, raiding the pantry, doing sit-ups on the floor in the hall. Once, Red thought he saw the other staring into the cutlery drawer, no lights in his sockets. He had been half-asleep at the time. Slim claimed to have been sleep-walking. Red informed him that you can’t sleep-walk without sleeping, and the look of shock on Slim’s face had looked genuine.

Red was really beginning to realize how often Slim lied.

Slim is hilarious.

He always has a joke on the tip of his tongue, is constantly getting caught in the middle of a prank. Stretch loves to listen to him run his mouth for two minutes for the sake of a one-word punchline. That happens fairly often, probably more than should be comedically acceptable, but when’s the last time either of them cared about acceptable comedy?

One of the best things in the world is the look on anyone’s face who’s just been pranked by Slim. Stretch’s pranks are genius, of course, but Slim’s are pure art. There’s no simple bucket on top of a door with him.

Of course, Stretch pretty commonly has to talk him down from physically harming or mentally abusing someone in the same of pranking, but that’s not his fault. He’s from a Fell world, after all.

Stretch sees himself in Slim. It terrifies him, most of the time. He doesn’t like himself, but in Slim it almost seems outwardly acceptable. The tendency to draw into himself, or to joke about things that are decidedly not funny, is one they share, but it fits Slim better. He’s smaller, he’s more broken. It makes sense.

Sometimes, Stretch isn’t sure if it’s envy or pity he feels when he looks at his friend.

Slim is a good person.

He is. And it frustrates Papyrus to no end that he refuses to believe it. He’s seen him do amazing things, be kind in ways he never would have imagined. But any time Papyrus tries to tell him that, Slim tells him to fuck off. He knows it’s meant to be friendly, that that’s just how Slim is, and he truly doesn’t mind the language. He just wishes Slim would believe it.

That’s not to say that he doesn’t scare Papyrus sometimes. It’s not to say that there haven’t been times he’s wanted to pick up the nearest book and swat him on the back of the head with it. Slim is kind, but he is also unbelievably frustrating.

But no one is perfect. No one ever has been and no one ever will be, and most of the people Papyrus knows didn’t have to go through what Slim has had to go through. It’s not that Slim has done his best, because he really hasn’t, but he’s survived. Coming out of a world like that unscathed or perfectly stable would be impossible. But Slim has come out of his world supportive and strong. He’s the best friend someone like Papyrus could have ever asked for.

And if Papyrus sometimes has to watch where he steps? Choose his words carefully and check the other’s reaction to what he does say? It’s worth it. Being there for someone like Slim will always be worth it, and he wouldn’t give it up for the world.

Even that time when Slim had tried to stab him. It’d been awkward the next day, with Slim refusing to make eye contact. It hadn’t taken long for Papyrus to figure out that he didn’t really feel bad. He didn’t seem to regret the act of trying to stab someone. He just wished he hadn’t tried to hurt Papyrus. He seemed to think that Papyrus was going to stop being his friend. Sometimes Slim could be really stupid.

Slim is broken.

Razz has known that his brother isn’t quite right inside for most of their lives. Some of it is his fault, he has no doubts about that, but even when they were very small, Slim’d had something in his eyes that had always thrown Razz off. He couldn’t put a name to it at the time, but as they’d grown, he’d thought maybe it had been mischief. Nowadays, though, it was something altogether more dangerous.

He had never been… good. He had never been kind. Their world was unkind, all on its own, but Slim never made much of an effort to be different. Razz supposed he had himself to blame for that. He had set the worst kind of example. Who could expect someone who couldn’t even be motivated to pick up his laundry to take his world into his own hands?

Maybe he should have expected it.

Now that they were safe, though… Razz wasn’t sure. He still didn’t think that Slim was, in the sense he was used to, good. He didn’t think he was unselfish. But he could see him trying. More than anything in their lives, it seemed that Slim craved peace. Peace like this world was dangling in front of his nose, like was offered to him in every corner of this place, if only he could leave his memories behind.

Apparently, that was the difficult part. Leaving it behind. No matter how much he seemed to want it, he was fellverse through and through.

It made Razz feel better, though. It had been Razz that led them down their path, that had inspired his brother to be anything but good. It only made sense that Razz should get the opportunity to pave the way towards peace.

Let Slim follow again in his footsteps.

Slim is…

Looking at himself in the mirror.

His fingers are trembling, but he can’t remember when he last had a cigarette. The shaking doesn’t concern him at the moment. His gloves are ripped, just a little bit up near the top. That does kind of concern him. These were fuckin’ expensive, what the fuck.

He shrugs at his reflection. Shoots it some finger guns. Stuffs his hands in his pockets, then pulls them back out.

Wow, he thinks. This is a shitty mirror. It’s making that guy look like a dumbass. His mind is telling him it’s not the mirror’s fault. His heart kindly tells his mind to fuck off. His mind is more than a little confused about what’s talking to it, seeing as he doesn’t actually have a heart.

He snickers to himself, grinning at the reflection staring back at him. Then he turns around, grabs his coat off the bed, and leaves the room.

The room doesn’t know if it feels lighter or not.

[sweetnestor]

Story of Another Us | Week 13

university au, platonic af, now on ao3!

previous chapter | masterlist | playlist

A long term plan with short term fixes

Having anxiety disorder means that sometimes you’re not able to do what you want. Sometimes you have to sacrifice things for your mental health. Sometimes it’s the other way around, but it’s not always for something you want. There are times where you have to sacrifice your mental health for necessary everyday things like answering the phone, going to the store, and even driving to places that make you deeply uncomfortable.

I wasn’t exactly sad that I was missing PAX East this year. While I did enjoy video games from time to time, and while I did support my boyfriend and what he did, conventions weren’t my scene. Okay, that’s somewhat of a lie. I really wanted to go, I just hated the method of transportation: flying.

Yeah… no. Being stuck in a small space in the air for an extended amount of time is absolutely terrifying. That single fear has made me turn down several opportunities. I couldn’t go to Playlist Live, I couldn’t collab with several major makeup brands, and I most definitely couldn’t go to any PAX.

Just driving the boys to the airport gave me heart palpitations and sweaty palms. I wasn’t even going on the plane, why did I have to be such a baby about it? I wasn’t even brave enough to go inside the damn building to see the boys off. I parked the car in one of the loading zones in front of the entrance and got out to say goodbye.

“You sure you’ll be fine?” asked Mark, who went to get the luggage out of the trunk.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” I replied, ignoring the disbelieving looks from Matt and Ryan. At least they saw me for what I was: a mess.

“Just call me if you need anything,” Mark told me. Things I’ve heard before. Things I probably wouldn’t do unless I was actually dying.

“Okay.” Empty promises.

The tension had gone down slightly over the last couple of weeks. Mark was okay with letting Jack live at my place, but Jack was still weirdly silent and tiptoeing around everything. I wondered how they would survive the weekend together. I wondered if any fans would notice the bad energy. I wondered if they would know it was my fault.

After getting out their luggage, Mark closed the trunk. “Okay, well. Our flight takes off soon, so we’d better get going.”

I went to hug my boyfriend, who was surprised at the gesture. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders, giving me a little squeeze.

“I’ll miss you,” I told him sincerely.

“I’ll miss you too, babe.”

I let him go and then I hugged Jack goodbye. Again, he was strangely quiet, but I didn’t know what to say to him either. I couldn’t really say anything without fearing that Mark was going to give him shit about it. I didn’t want to send him off onto another fight with Mark. I was already worrying before they even left.

~

Almost as soon as I got back to Mark’s empty house, I got a phone call. At first, I thought that one of the boys had forgotten something, but then I looked at the caller ID. It was Sophie, which was a little shocking. I rarely spoke to her outside of YTU, and I did not have the energy or courage to answer, so I left my phone face down on the counter and went to tend to Chica.

The afternoon was spent playing with my boyfriend’s dog and then editing my latest video in my boyfriend’s room. Chica sat at my feet, chewing on a bone. That was the only noise throughout the house, aside from the voices of myself and Jack on the computer.

Watching back the footage of me and Jack was rather entertaining. You wouldn’t think that there was something else going on behind the scenes. You couldn’t tell that we were feeling guilty or sad. In fact, this was a side of me that my audience rarely saw.

The Bella Santiago in this bleaching/hair dyeing tutorial was smiling. She was enjoying herself, she was laughing with her friend. She wasn’t ranting about politics or equality, or sweating from getting so fired up. I couldn’t remember the last time I was so upbeat in a video. It was strange.

“Now, I haven’t bleached or styled hair in a while. So if you end up bald, then forgive me.”

“Should I be worried, then? You’re actually Googling how to do this!”

“Shhh, no te preocupes, I just have to refresh my memory.”

The whole video was just banter. Two friends laughing together and having fun. Of course, the Internet was going to take it differently, but we had that coming regardless. There was always going to be someone who hated me for being around Jack and someone who wanted me to replace his current girlfriend. That’s just how this life was. There wasn’t much that could be done about it.

I kept editing until I had to take Chica outside. It was nearly dark by then, and I had a sudden spike of energy. I was scrolling through my phone, rapidly going through my Twitter feed. I was singing to myself too, something I was listening to in the car on the way back from the airport. Then I saw a promoted tweet for Demi Lovato’s latest single, Stone Cold. I was humming that to myself for a good while. Then, I figured, I had the house to myself, and Mark had a guitar and keyboard here somewhere.

I brought Chica back inside and then got right to work. I dashed through the house, grabbing lights and a camera. I set them up in front of the couch in the living room, all while warming up my voice. Finally, I grabbed the guitar from Mark's room and practically ran downstairs to my recording area.

Ironically, I didn't start with Stone Cold. I was playing a different song, Airplanes, on the guitar, and next thing I knew I was singing it.

“Most of my life, I sat on my hands I don't make a sound Getting it right, I made all my plans Lost, never found”

Somehow I always found a song that I could relate to. It was the only way I could express my feelings without outwardly talking about them. I didn't know how to name my emotions either, according to Helena, so singing songs was a healthy outlet.

“Airplanes cut through the clouds Like angels can fly, we'll never die Sirens cut through the night Like screams set on fire, rising up high I've got something to prove, nothing to lose In this city, in this city, oh”

When I finished that song, I was in a different mood. I set the guitar aside and went to stop recording. Thinking, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and looked through my music. I had to find something. Anything for me to attach whatever I was feeling to. I started tapping my foot anxiously, and nearly jumped when I found the song I needed. If I could sprint while carrying expensive camera equipment, I would have. I was careful but quick going back up the stairs to where the keyboard was in Mark’s room.

“Okay, okay, okay,” I whispered, my mind buzzing so hard I couldn’t properly focus. “Okay, okay, new shirt, new shirt, okay, okay…”

I yanked off my grey tee shirt and put on a black crop top. Then I went over to make sure the camera was recording and that the lights were on. Everything was set, so I took my place at the keyboard and played the song.

I sang. I made it through a Little Mix cover before I started shaking. Then I made it through my Demi Lovato cover and everything was fine until it wasn’t. We all know that was bound to happen.

~

“Bella Santiago, age twenty three, admitted to psych after having a two hour long panic attack and a psychotic episode,” reported a nurse to a doctor.

Surely I had to be sedated. There were two people talking about me right in front of my face and I didn’t feel the dull ache in my chest or the flipping of my stomach. I just lied there in bed and listened, keeping my eyes fixed on my feet. I was itching at my arms incessantly but I was generally complacent and well behaved.

“How are you feeling, Ms. Santiago?” asked the woman in the white lab coat, Dr. Starr.

Hmm, tough question. Too much pressure. My eyes widened as if she had asked me to murder someone.

“Well, let’s check your pulse,” she said, probably reading my ugly, unstable body language.

Hesitantly, I gave her my arm and she placed two fingers on my wrist. Fast. Panicky. Why couldn’t I be dead?

Once Dr. Starr saw my arm and the redness, she ordered for the nurse to prep me for some tests. Then she asked me if I was allergic to anything, or anything that could have caused this “rash.” I played dumb and said no. They were already prepping the medical stuff, so it was too late to mention that it was an anxiety thing. When situations got really drastic, I just scratched at my arms as if they were very itchy. It was rare, and for some reason, this was a drastic situation.

“Now, is there anyone you want us to call in the meantime?” Dr. Starr asked me once her medical talk with the nurses was over.

Mark. But he’s been in Boston for twenty four hours. He hasn’t had much time with his fans or his friends. I couldn’t take him away from that or have him worry. He was probably still mad at me too.

“No,” I replied shortly.

Dr. Starr tilted her head. “No family? Close friends?”

“I have no friends, and my family want nothing to do with me,” I mumbled, now pickin at my nails.

“Well, your family must be wondering where you are…”

“They haven’t wondered for five years.”

Uncomfortable silence.

“I see,” the doctor concluded. “Well, Ms. Santiago, can you tell me what were you doing before this happened?”

Here we go.

“Singing,” I replied. “Then I started panicking. I thought I was dying, or that I completely lost it.”

“Have you been hospitalized for panic attacks before?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Well, we’re going to be monitoring you for the next couple of days.”

I could only hope I would be out of here by Monday. I wasn’t even sure how bad I was anymore. Surely they wouldn’t make me tell them who to call. I wasn’t suicidal, I didn’t intentionally harm myself. This had happened before, and I was alone, then too. This wasn’t anything to worry about, right?

The nurse didn’t let me go on my phone. If it wasn’t for the TV, then I really would have lost it. I couldn’t be without some kind of distraction. I couldn’t even figure out what exactly made me go here. According to the people here at the hospital, I had a psychotic episode. Or maybe I told them that. I couldn’t really remember.

Blood was drawn from me a little bit later. Me, being me, I cried. Test results stated that I had no type of skin rash. It wasn’t until Dr. Starr got me out of bed and to a psychiatrist’s office within the hospital did I actually reveal that it was due to anxiety.

“How often does this happen?” the psychiatrist, Dr. Francis asked. “Have you ever gotten these itches treated before?”

“No, it almost never happens,” I replied. It was getting easier to talk to people around here. Maybe it was the sedation. Or the fact that he was qualified to handle me made it more comforting. “Last time I was in the hospital, I was itchy too, and it was because of anxiety.”

“Okay, well I can prescribe something for that. Maybe a low dosage since it happens rarely,” he said, writing on a clipboard.

Oh no, medication talk. I never wanted to take medication… says Bella, who has never had a mentally stable day of her life and wonders why.

“May I ask, why you didn’t have anyone call someone for you?” Dr. Francis had questions I did not want to answer. Why couldn’t he asked me about my maladaptive behaviors or something?

I hesitated. “I don’t have anyone.”

“No parents or siblings? A boyfriend, perhaps?”

I shook my head, avoiding eye contact.

Dr. Francis sighed. “Forgive me for being forward, Ms. Santiago. But I have a daughter who watches Markiplier.”

God fucking shit of a fuck.

“I’m not in danger of killing myself or harming myself or anything,” I said. “I don’t think there’s any reason to notify him. He’s on the other side of the country right now, anyway.”

“Do you feel like you would be bothering him if you told him?”

“He’s just so busy, and we just got over a fight we had. I want everything to stay perfect.”

“What exactly is he busy with right now, Bella?”

“He’s at a convention in Boston. He’s doing YouTube stuff, and I don’t like to interrupt him. Like, it’s just me and my anxiety again. It’s just repetitive and kind of unnecessary.”

Dr. Francis asked me more questions, and the more I talked, the more I realized how crazy I was sounding. Turns out, I wasn’t buying makeup because I loved makeup. I bought things to fill the sense of emptiness and dissatisfaction in my life. I sang excessively because I couldn’t bear the thought of facing my actual feelings head on. I wasn’t constantly tired from walking around campus, I was just severely depressed. I didn’t want to tell Mark I was in the hospital because he was busy, it was because I was depressed I felt like I wasn’t worth his time.

It’s not like I wasn’t aware of all of this, it was just a tough pill to swallow. And now because of it, I really did have to take pills. I had to make friends with a little lady called xanax.

When I went back to my room, the nurse let me go on my phone. I was cooperative and unproblematic, so I got a small privilege. I sent out a tweet talking about how productive I was the last couple of days, which wasn’t really a lie. After that, I checked my text messages. All of them were from Mark.

“We landed! How are you?” Sent at 3:04PM.

“Had a meeting, then went to dinner with the gang!” Attached was a picture of Mark, Jack, Matt, and Ryan. They were sat at a table in a restaurant with Bob, Mandy, Wade and Molly. Sent at 10:11PM.

“You’re awfully silent. Everything okay?” Sent at midnight.

Now it was time to lie. Well, sort of.

“Hi! Sorry for not replying!! I spent literally all day filming! I made three whole videos! I went to sleep right after haha hope you’re having fun at pax!!” Accompanied by several emojis so nothing seemed fishy.

I wasn’t lying. I did spend a majority of the day filming. I didn’t feel as nervous as I normally would have, thanks to the xanax. I had next to no problem giving my phone back to the nurse, not even waiting for a response from Mark. He was probably too busy to answer me anyway.

_______

next chapter

[dovekun]

—MINE—

"Yuuri!"

"Geh! Wolfram?! You surprised me! What're you, all of a sudden?!"

"Yuuri. Since that I'm here now, let's sleep together."

"Haa?! What d'you—nngh, uuh, Wo-Wooolf! It's too tight, you're hugging me too tight!"

"But Yuuri used to like how tightly I hugged before, no? . . . Ah. But, of course. My apologies. Heika. I have not yet taken the punishment for what I have done to Heika since coming back from Seisakoku. Please excuse my carelessness for overstepping the boundary. Heika."

"Waitwaitwait! Seriously, TIME OUT! Wolf! Don't use keigo all of a sudden! Quit calling me Heika! You're not Conrad! Nor even Gwen! What the heck, is this?! You scared me—NO! Don't go! It's okay, I always love how tightly you hug me—that's not it! No, what I mean—un, everything is fine! No punishment required! I forgave you long ago! Just don't do that again! Let's sleep toge—gah! I bit my tongue . . ."

"—Humh."

"Oi! What was that? You . . . are you laughing at me?!"

"N-not really—"

"Wooolf! I can see you grining just now!"

"Heh . . . My bad. I'm not really laughing at you. It's that—Yuuri, when rambling, looks so cute. I can't help."

"Am not! Who's rambling?! No one's rambling here! And you're the cute one, Wolf!"

"Hn . . . So. it's alright I'm hugging Yuuri like this?"

"Ye-yeah. You don't even have to ask . . . But, say, what's up with you? Wolf. All of a sudden, imperiously walking into this room, without warning holding me and—and outwardly declaring to sleep, uh . . . with me . . ."

"Well, Yuuri. I heard you missed me."

"—! M-missed? Who said . . . Conrad?! Akh, no, it must be—Murata?! Did Murata said anything—"

"And you must have known how I missed you, too."

". . . Must have known, he says . . . Ah. B-but you missed me, too. Is that so, huh."

". . . Yuuri."

"Y-yes?"

"In this opportunity, I also want to tell you how very guilty I am."

"Opportunity? Wait—guilty . . . ?

"Regarding those previous days—when I couldn't let myself sharing a bed with you after . . . after what I did in Seisakoku; after what ShinOu had done to me; and after what happened with the Boxes . . . Even when we all finally came back home, I still couldn't forgive myself. I didn't find any courage to approach. I didn't want to overstep. I was also certain, Yuuri wouldn't let me . . . because I knew I had no right anymore . . . to stay closely with Heika . . . whose trust I had almost betrayed . . ."

"No—Wolfram—"

"Then, I have waited for the day Heika would finally give an order—for me to go to the dungeon, so I could take the punishment I absolutely deserved, but . . ."

"Du-dungeon?! No way! I couldn't! I wouldn't! Wolf, why would I?! You were not in the wrong at all!"

"Yes. I realize. I should have known better. That Yuuri—the Rookie I know the most—has a pure and forgiving soul. Yet, despite being a wimp—not that much nowadays, at least—Yuuri will always think the best in anyone. Yuuri won't go and summon spider-like eaten-fish-bones . . . nor giant-like made-in-maou soil-zombies . . . to punish anyone he believes not in the wrong. Well, but I do think it's also a bit too naïve for my liking, an unexpected quality for a MaOu of ShinMAkoku, after all."

"Spider-like eaten-fish-bones, huh . . . ? I wonder when was I—nope. Unimportant. But, the way you're saying it . . . Wolf, seriously? Are you complimenting me . . . or not? I can't tell, though."

"Of course, you should take it as my compliment as it is, Yuuri. And more importantly—Yuuri is Yuuri, is he not? . . . And I'm the stupid one who didn't realized it sooner . . ."

"What was that? What're you whisperin'? Oi, don't hide your face on my neck! But still, I honestly can't tell what's point do you want to make, Wolf."

". . . Yuuri. You are now the reason my heart is able to beat strongly and steadily. I'm so grateful. To think I still have this chance to stay together. Again. With you."

"—! Wolfram! That's—"

"To be able watching Greta. To be able seeing Mother and Elder Brother. To be able feeling this nervous hope, waiting for the day my baby sister born into this World. And to be able being alive. Once more. In ShinMAkoku. If it's not for Yuuri, my heart . . . this heart, inside my chest . . . would just—stop."

". . . It's definitely still beating, Wolf. I can feel it against my back."

"Yes, it is. Don't you see? It's all for you. I'm all for you. So, here I am. Now and forever. For you, Yuuri."

". . . Ye-yeah. I see . . ."

"That's way, Yuuri. Thank you. For saving me."

"Err, that is . . . a-ahaha . . . N-no, really, Wolf. Do—DON'T MENTION IT . . ."

"Hn? Yuuri. Was that—what you called—INGURI•SHUU?"

"Eh? An old band and attack . . . ? Ah, no! You mean ENGLISH, huh? Yes, eigo. My bad. My tongue slipped. What I mean to say is, Wolf, you don't have to—"

"I LOVE YOU."

"—! W-wha?"

"AND I ALWAYS WILL."

"—!!"

". . ."

". . ."

"Yu-Yuuri? You—did I say correctly . . . ?"

". . ."

"—Huh? Hold on! Yuuri?! You're face—looks all red! Are you okay? What is it—no way, could it be—Baby Fever? Are you catching Baby Fever, now?! Mother are still in three months due, but—"

"I'm—it's not—Baby Fever, you say? Then, the baby needs KOOLFEVER—that's not it! No, just what the heck is Baby Fever, anyway?!"

". . . Or rather—do you feel so embarassed with my DECLARATION OF LOVE? Hmph. Why, Yuuri. You should feel beyond excited, you know."

". . ."

"No . . . hold on—did I say it incorrectly?! I really said it incorrectly, huh?! Gah!! Dammit! That Conrart-guy! His letter said that's precisely the right words to say in INGURI•SHUU! But it's actually incorrect?! Damn him! How dare the like of him to deceive me?!"

"Haah?! Con-Conrad . . . ? Conrad let you said that strong expression to this plain, Japanese boy?!"

"You're, absolutely, way more, than just, plain, Yuuri! Aaargh! But that guy said it's the right words to convey my feeling, jyari! But he actually deceived me, jyari?! Guargh! I should've known! Not to believe anything my Little Elder Brother taught me, jyari!"

"Uwaaa . . . Wolf, you go back with jyari-jyari right there."

"Did not, jyari! No! Hold on—just listen well! Yuuri. In plain and simple New MA Language, what I wanted to say is: 'The Moon is so blue tonight—'"

"Whaaat?! That's—! From Souseki-sensei's! Not the so-called New MA Language!"

"'—And the Eyes of the Darkest Black I have seen and drawn in, And the Hair of the Glossy Black I have adored and tied in—'"

"Oi! Just wait a sec! it's the newest volume of Gyun-Gyun's Juicy Journal, tosa?!"

"'—With My Soul and Body, let be Entwined in Lust. With Your Soul and Body, let be lost in Se—'"

"WAAA—STOP—STOP!! No quoting one of re-published edition of Cheri-sama's lovebook! Wolf, please cut it out, I beg you!! Look; I understand completely what you wanted to say earlier in eigo!"

"Huh? Really? So, Conrart taught me the correct words?"

"I—ungh, yes. That's correct."

"That's great, then! I'm happy, Yuuri understands, after all."

"Ye-yeah. Me too . . . I feel so happy . . ."

"—!! Hu-hmph! S-so. Will Yuuri share the bed and let us sleep together again? You should know how lonely I felt, Yuuri. Missing you on my solitary bed. Just holding the borrowed Pink Pillow instead of Yuuri's warmness—was not the same, you see."

"I—of course, it wouldn't be the same! You should've just kept sleeping on our bed, holding my body and doing—aa-aaah, forget it! Well, hey, look at my G-Shock! It's near Greta's bed time! Let's go pick her up from Anissina-san's Lab and—aaangh . . . Wo-Wolf, why are you sniffing—heheh, that tickles—n-nooo! W-what are you lickin'—aaangh—don't bite—nnngh—nonono! NO HICKEY! Not visible HICKEY!! For the love of Greta's innocent eyes, Wolf! Cu-cut it out!"

"Ah, that's right. Greta's innocent eyes. Sorry. I stop, now. . . . But still, I can't help, though . . . Yuuri, what's with all this exposed skin so availably close to my lips . . ."

"—Nnngh! Vo-von Bielefeld-kyo, focus . . . !"

"Geh! Oww, oww, my ear, my ear . . . ! Ri-right. Right. I apologize. I'll stop, for real. . . . But, say, Yuuri?"

"W-what is it, now?"

"The way you're rambling when you feel embarassed and nervous? I love it, too. It's really cute, you know. As expected from a henachoko."

"—! What'd you say?! Who feels—I'm not—aargh, enough! Honestly! Whose fault is that, anyway?!"

". . . Mine. Yuuri, always mine."

(—A [headcanon-y] WolfYuu scene, Post Prison Arc of MaruMA Series.)

※side note: so . . . basically, wolf had demanded in his letter — "Conrart, how to declare my love in INGURI-SHUU?!" — or something like that . . . aaand konniichan's inner romantic-earthling-voice came out and written back the whole Elvis Presley's "Love Me Tender" lyric with translation in mazoku-ese~♪ this is also a headcanon.