#oh also something about ‘flick of the wrist’ but i couldn’t workshop it enough

[crossbackpoke-check]

a game of approximation

luka dončić/miro heiskanen :: 2k :: part of There’s Only One You

It's a trick shot, really. An illusion to create space. That’s what falling in love with Miro feels like: a fadeaway, graceful exit, a swan dive backwards into nothing but a swoosh, the sound of Luka’s text sending and then him turning and running back the other way.

[dzamie-oc]

05 - Space

Space prompt, eh? A good a time as ever for some hammer-space dragon! Featuring Sylvia, the loveliest little gold dragoness in the Dragonslayer Guild Hall.

Length: 2200 words Rating: M (noncon vore. Not sexual, but it’s still noncon and vore) Summary: Victoria, a dragonslayer in training, learns an unforgettable lesson about how hammerspace dragons work, and perhaps about assuming mundane explanations around fantastical creatures.

Minors DNI with this particular story. I am hella uncomfortable with the idea of y’all openly interacting with vore.

-----

“Hey, Sylvia, any chance I could borrow a gold coin? Need to test the magical affinity of this thing to some elements, and gold’ll do just fine,” the cheetah asked the little golden dragon perched on his shoulder. “Y’know, before I permanently affix the actual part.”

“Yeah, gimme a second. Hand, please.”

Behind them, Victoria watched the pair work - or, well, she watched Dzamie work, while Sylvia mostly just watched him from closer. She had initially stopped by to ask the katul about one of his swordwork lessons, but he seemed busy, so she was fine waiting... for ten minutes longer, maybe. A bit more if she thought she’d get to cuddle the adorable little dragoness. Yes, time and time again, Dzamie himself had repeated that every dragon can kill an incautious slayer, and it was almost always in reference to Sylvia, but the woman found it hard to take it seriously. Not that she’d ever say it aloud. Even if it turned out not to be true, Sylvia seemed to take pride in her rumored “danger,” and Victoria liked the little lady too much to rain on her parade.

A loud hiss filled the air, then Dzamie waved a gold coin in his hand back and forth, steam rising up from his paw and the coin. “What’s he doing that does that?” the human asked herself, aloud.

Dzamie, however, was the one to respond, without looking up. “Oh, fire spells come easy to me, so I use ‘em to quickly dry off stuff Sylvia gives me. Gives the workshop a certain smell, but it’s not really enough drool to bother humans.” His voice dropped to a mutter as he looked over his work, then nodded and spoke up again. “Yeah, that’ll work. But, yeah, if you ever catch me after a swim, I do the same thing to myself - just, with a silencing spell when there’s people around.”

Having been unofficially invited into the conversation, Victoria walked closer. The katul was working on what looked an awful lot like a gun from a video game. “Huh, forgot you did cosplay,” she remarked, “and, wait, why would what she gave you be wet?”

Two pairs of eyes swung to look at her, one tiny and yellow, one more her size and, well, also yellow, but with a purple aura around them that soon cleared. “I trust him to return items from my hoard,” Sylvia said, “and, naturally, anything I don’t bag up for protection gets wet.”

Victoria looked around, trying to find where the little dragoness might have put a hoard that she could somehow reach from Dzamie’s shoulder, to no avail. Luckily for her, Sylvia easily read the human’s face, smiled, swished her tail, and said, “Hmm, tell you what. You’re nice enough to me, good enough pets and all that.”

“Oh, is she the other one who’s been giving you strawberries?” Dzamie asked. He was looking back at the prop again, where a finger wreathed in green fire poked at a floating spell circle of the same color.

Sylvia huffed. “Anyway! Would you like to see my hoard, Victoria?” The golden dragoness sat up as tall as she could to deliver her next line, “just be aware that if you try to steal from me, your life is forfeit.”

Any tiny, intimidating effect she might have had was immediately discarded as her furry, feline perch moved his arm and sent her tumbling onto the table. In spite of herself, Victoria laughed. “Sorry, sorry!” she said, “it’s just, the timing. I would love to see your hoard, Sylvia. Assuming it’s not just that coin. Uh, no offense, you’re just, well, you-sized.”

Dzamie interrupted again, muttering “alright, let’s see if this doesn’t explode this time” as he picked up his project in one hand. “And Victoria, pop quiz! Zero percent of your grade. What species of dragon is this adorable golden derg?”

“Don’t call me a derg.”

“Adorable golden dragon,” the cheetah amended. The device in his hand whirred and glowed with his green magic, and successfully failed to explode, at which he gave a satisfied “heh.”

Victoria leaned against one of the other tables, trying to recall. “She’s a... hammer-something. Not hammerhead, hammer... hammerspace!” she said with a confident smile.

Dzamie nodded. “Fantacular. Just making sure you might know what you’re in for.” He turned to Sylvia. “I’m gonna go test this out proper. Back in a few.”

The dragoness on the table walked over to the edge and sat down, facing Victoria. “Okay, then, just set your sword... somewhere and give me your hands.” As she did so, unsheathing the weapon and laying it flat, Sylvia continued, “I never figured out whether it’s easier for you if I go slow or fast, but I like slow, so I’m gonna go slow.”

“Oh, and you’ll want to ditch the rest of your armor,” Dzamie added, gesturing to her with the toy gun, “trust me on this, it’s uncomfortable and then you just have to clean it unnecessarily.”

Victoria glared at him. “Sure, Teach, let me just strip down right in front of a male katul all alone in this room.”

Dzamie passed his prop to his other hand, then held up his fingers as he counted off, “okay, one, Sylvia’s here with us; two, just because I fit the stereotype doesn’t mean you should use it; and three-” he lifted his project, “- the only reason I’m coming back here in the next half hour is if this thing explodes on teleport. ...which you better not,” he muttered at the prop. Then, with a snap of his fingers, he was gone.

For a solid minute, Victoria stared at the spot he’d vanished, almost daring him to teleport back in. Sylvia coughed to get her attention. “He’s not wrong, though. I don’t know about armor maintenance, but usually people prefer to be in comfortable clothes.” The little dragoness turned her head away and flicked her tail back and forth. “If, uh, if they wear any, but people like that are few and far between. Look, it is pretty cramped on the way to my hoard, but I’d be an awful friend if I insisted you get rid of things that aren’t weapons.”

“Things that aren’t weapons?”

The golden dragon gave her a flat look. “Can you really blame me, a dragon, for not trusting dragonslayers with weapons?”

“Fair point.” Victoria sighed. After a moment more of internal debate, she started to remove her armor. She asked Sylvia for some help, and before long, she stood before the hammerspace dragon in a sports bra and athletic shorts, glad that her friend was a dragon and not a katul, or a human.

Sylvia looked her up and down; Victoria jokingly asked if she thought she was hiding knives or something. “I... already checked, actually. Just thought dragonslayers wore something more underneath. Laundry day?”

The human grimaced. “It’s done, just... I wasn’t thinking earlier. Er, so, hands?”

“Hands!”

Victoria tentatively held her hands out in front of Sylvia, who pressed them together with her little paws. She brought her muzzle right next to the woman’s fingers, then looked up and said, “just so you know, I’m not letting you back down from this.” Before Victoria could ask what she meant by that, the dragoness opened her jaws and lunged forward.

She could hardly believe her eyes. Her arms looked just fine all the way down to her wrists, but there... they simply weren’t. Sylvia’s snout started, and her arms stopped. Her hands were surrounded by something warm, squishy, and wet, and when she tried to move them or pull them apart, they were pressed back in on each other. Then, a wave of pressure rolled down the hidden hands, and Victoria watched as more of her forearms also shared her hands’ plight. She wiggled her hands more, but there was no change. It took a few seconds for her mind to finally piece it all together: Sylvia was eating her. Somehow.

Another swallow pulled her elbows in, locking her arms out straight. In the back of her head, Victoria knew that she really ought to be panicking, that being eaten by a dragon was something she should not be going calmly into. But still, even as she bent over to the table, leaning down towards the dragon’s tiny body, it was hard to really take it seriously. After all, if she turned her head, she could see that not one of Sylvia’s scales were out of place, so CLEARLY the tiny dragon couldn’t be swallowing her.

A moment later, and she no longer had that problem. Her head was buried deep in somewhere dark pink, surrounded by hot, wet flesh, and any time she moved her arms or twisted her head, all she heard was wet “shlrk”s and squishes as she was guided back into position. The dragoness’s next swallow came more quickly, as though anticipating the human’s reaction:

Now that her eyes were no longer trying to tell her she wasn’t being eaten, Victoria came to the obvious conclusion: her friend had betrayed her trust for a meal. However, she found that she wasn’t scared, or terrified. Be it her own natural inclinations, or her, admittedly incomplete, training as a dragonslayer, Victoria instead found rage. With a primal yell, she twisted and turned, thrashing her arms to try to choke or even gag Sylvia, and she kicked one knee up, trying to feel her way into slamming into the tiny trickster. Unfortunately, the next thing she felt was her knee pinned against her belly, joining the rest of her upper body in the tight, slimy tunnel. Dragon drool got in her mouth, so she spat and sputtered as her hips, shorts, and other thigh were engulfed by the irrationally long throat. Between the heat, the steady, almost soothing noises of wet throatflesh squishing against her skin, the humid, heavy air, and simple exertion, Victoria soon found the fight slip away from her. Ankle-deep in what she thought was a very small dragon, the human sighed and let Sylvia close her jaws after her foot without a struggle.

When her head pressed against the ring of muscle, Victoria had resigned herself to her fate as dragon food. After all, the only person who knew where she was was Dzamie, and that katul would probably demand something-

Her head ran into something solid, and a clattering sound entered her ears, rather than just the constant squelching of wet flesh. Victoria opened her eyes, then sat up and- well, sat up, brushed her hair and Sylvia’s drool from her eyes, and then really opened them to see...

A pile of assorted coins, gold, silver, bronze, and more, bars of precious metals, gems of many colors, piled up nearly as tall as Victoria, herself! A trio of abstract sculptures - possibly part of a set, Victoria reasoned, though one could never really tell with that much abstraction. And, for some reason-

“So, how is it? I’m glad you calmed down eventually,” came Sylvia’s voice from all around.

“There’s... a train engine...” was all Victoria could say.

The little dragoness laughed. “Haha, yeah! One of my earlier additions, actually. I bet every hammerspace dragon does one of those, ‘okay, but CAN I eat that?’ things; I just decided to keep mine for a while, as a trophy, and over time, well, it’s a bit sentimental now.”

“You ATE and KEPT an ENTIRE TRAIN OUT OF THE-?!” the human shouted, dumbfounded, then faltered. “Uh, what’s it called, train house?”

Another laugh. “No, no, I ate a MOVING train - well, just pulling out, not that fast - and kept the engine car. The passenger car and all the delicious treats within are years gone.” There was a pause, and then. “Don’t worry, though. I’m much nicer these days, keep myself in the green zone.”

Victoria sighed, crawled over to the vehicle, and climbed into a seat. “Well, as far as places to die go, this place at least looks nicer than I expected.”

“Die? Who said anything about that? I’m not letting you stay in my stomach, you’ve got stuff to learn and I’ve got strawberries to eat, given only to dragons who DON’T have anyone stewing away in their bellies. ...willing meals notwithstanding.”

Another sigh, though this time of exasperation. “Sylvia... stomachs digest organic material. I am an organic material. I just hope I pass out before the pain gets to me too much.”

This time, there was raucous laughter, followed by a shriek and a swear. “Uh, sorry, fell off the table. You should attend more dragon biology lessons. And/or ask Dzamie for some notes, though if you do, prepare to have an entire encyclopedia dumped on you. Unabridged.”

“I’m safe?”

“You’re the biggest danger to yourself in there. Don’t smash yourself in the head with a sculpture and you’ll be fine.”

Victoria’s mind was still reeling. Nearly half a dozen earthshaking revelations in only a few minutes was not an easy thing to deal with. “And... you’ll let me out when I ask?”

“Or in half an hour. I want strawberries and that’s when there are strawberries. Oh, but make sure you aren’t holding anything when you come back up, or you WILL be eaten again, and it WON’T be to see all my shinies.”

This time, Victoria decided to take her threat seriously. And she had more reason to not “rain on her parade” about being a deadly maneater.

[sofreddie]

Serendipitous Souls 11

Summary: The brothers find out what's been causing deaths.

Characters: Dean, Sam

Warnings: Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 1,280

A/N: More plot. Because this story decided to just do its own thing.

Dean cursed under his breath as he struggled against his bindings. He and Sam had come a few minutes before, realizing they were tied to chairs, arms tied behind them, ankles tied to the chair legs.

The woman - a witch they had assumed - was living in the hotel’s penthouse suite. They had figured out she was inducing lust - though they hadn’t pinned down how - and feeding off of the sexual energy produced during the lust-fueled marathons. But they also weren’t sure why, to what end.

Deciding that where and what she was was enough, they proceeded with the hunt. Unfortunately, she was expecting them and knocked them out quickly with a flick of her wrist.

“You’re awake,” the woman’s voice chirped happily. The brother’s heads snapped up simultaneously as they looked forward at the woman now standing before them. She was pretty, with a manically happy smile and demeanor and a well-fitted golden and gilded gown, “I was expecting you.”

“I noticed,” Dean huffed, tugging on his restraints for emphasis.

“I’m such a big fan of you Winchesters,” she grins, and her smile gets brighter when she sees that look cross their faces, “Oh yeah. I’ve been tracking you as long as God has. Since your souls were created.”

She sat in a comfy armchair facing them, crossing her legs and settling her gown. She interlocked her fingers and rested her hands atop her crossed knees, smiling between them once more. She looked somewhere between an adoring fan and proud mother. It made the brothers cringe.

“And…who are you exactly?” Sam asked.

“Oh, I’m The Caretaker,” she said, a hand upon her chest as she introduced herself, before resting her hands together once more, “Or at least I was,” her brow furrowed and she pouted. It was the first time she showed anything other than utter happiness. She shook her head and that bright smile was back on her face once more.

“See, once upon a time-”

“Ugghhh,” Dean groaned dramatically, letting his head roll back before meeting her eyes once more, “Why do they always monologue?” he groaned, looking over at Sam as if he was in genuine pain. Sam snorted and shook his head, before turning his attention back to her.

“I love when you do that,” she suddenly spoke and they looked at her curiously, “The silent communication thing,” she clarified, pointing between them, “I mean, I know you ‘covered’ it with whatever that was,” she sighed, “Just listen, okay?” she grinned again, as if nothing had transpired and they were just friends having tea and gossiping.

Minus the part where she’s apparently awesome at knot tying and managed to pick them clean of every possible hidden pick or knife they could have.

“Where was I?” she said, humming in thought with a finger on her chin, “Oh yes! Once upon a time, God was in the cosmos banging out souls at his workshop. As he made the many souls, he needed a place to store them until they could be born into being. So they were held in a sort of Soul Nursery until their time. It was my job to take care of the souls there.”

“The Caretaker,” Sam nodded, “Makes sense. What does this have to do with us?”

She sighed dreamily, “I saw every Sam and Dean he ever made come through there. I knew each and every one was important. To Him at least,” she said with a smile, “I talked to all the souls - nurturing, you know - and I had such high hopes for all the Sams and Deans,” she sighed once more, this time a little sad with a shake of her head.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Dean huffed a laugh.

“I got the broken souls too,” she continued, “If they broke while he made them he threw them out. I had to dispose of them. He didn’t like broken souls at all, you understand,” she pressed and the brothers nodded, “So, one time, I was checking on the souls as part of my duties,” she said, growing nervous and squirming as she started darting her eyes. Dean knew something bad was coming.

She let out a huff of breath, “So I came across you two and was just checking in, you know. And I’m not sure what happened, b-but both the souls fell,” she was lost in recalling it and the brothers started squirming at her tale too, “A chip broke off of each-”

“You broke our souls?” Sam gasped out, like suddenly everything made so much more sense, “Seriously?!” he growled, tugging at his restraints again.

“I tried to fix it!” she exclaimed, rising from her seat and shouting back, “But the pieces wouldn’t go back together. The souls were still viable and I didn’t want Him to throw them out. So I just put them back and I kept the pieces. I was hoping I could figure something out,” she defended desperately. Dean was pretty sure she’d had this argument before.

“Then what happened?” Dean asked, needing to know the rest of the story. Sam was huffing beside him, his anger getting the better of him.

“Then you were born,” she said to Dean, “Your soul took off like it’s meant to. But the shard, it was still with me but it was lit up,” she said with bright eyes and awe, “Then when Sam was born, his piece lit up,” she continued, “I was examining them when they suddenly shot together and fused and, a-and…it became a new soul,” she breathed out, reliving the moment, “So I ran, and I told Him.” she shook her head, slowly sitting back in her seat, right on the edge, “He wasn’t happy about it. He left your souls alone since you were born already. He was gonna destroy the new soul, but he decided it might be useful. So he tucked it away where no one would know where it is or what had happened. Then he cast me out.”

Dean was in shock, trying to take in what she’d said. Luckily, Sam’s anger seemed to keep him more on track.

“How does any of that have to do with what you’re doing here?” Sam growled at her accusingly.

“Because as The Caretaker, I was powered by the life force of the souls. Without their connection, I can’t feed off of life force directly. Sexual energy is the next best thing, and it produces enough to sustain me, usually,” she shook her head, “These last few didn’t have the energy or stamina to withstand my feeding and they died.”

“That’s why there was one survivor,” Sam mumbled to himself and she nodded.

“He was the only one who had the stamina to take it.”

Dean snorted, he couldn’t help himself.

“I’m glad you found her,” she said meekly and both brothers sobered at the comment, “What happened was an accident. And her existence was an accident. But it was the first case of soulmates,” she explained dreamily, “And I later learned that He started experimenting with breaking souls and creating soulmates after the accident. And then I guess he just decided sending angels to zap ‘em together was more efficient.”

“It really is a cosmic joke,” Dean mumbled to himself, but Sam heard clear enough. The defeat and sadness in his brother’s tone.

She let out a long sigh, “So I guess this is the part where you kill me, right?” she said, flicking her wrist and undoing their bindings, “I didn’t mean to kill them. But I understand what you do,” she relented with another sigh as the brothers stretched out their aching muscles and exchanged a long look.

Forevers:

@sis-tafics

@lyarr24

@calaofnoldor

@hobby27

@spnbaby-67

Dean Winchester:

@akshi8278

@jerkbitchidjitassbutt

Serendipitous Souls:

@brilovesdeanwinchester

@xhannahbananax03

@440mxs-wife

@crist1216

@deans-baby-momma

[the-melting-world]

The Empress | Side B: “The Fear”

Art by @markmefistov

~ In which a humble gardener opens Strength’s Door…

The Trio Appearances: Kipling | Khleo | Ozy

Arcana LI appearances: Asra | Nadia | Muriel 

Track Origins: “The Fear” by Ben Howard

Not sure if this is the right track? The full album can be found here: The Empress

cw: none

~ 2k words

After Kipling, Ozy, Nadia, and Asra return from the underwater library, Ozy leaves Kipling with the gauntlets, reminding her that he still has to show her how to permanently unlock her third eye.

“Trust me, Kip,” Ozy said with a reassuring smile, “once your third eye is open, you’ll have a much better time navigating the portals.”

With that Ozy let Nadia escort him back inside the Palace. Earlier in the library, he and Kip had agreed to save their lesson in grey magic for the next day. Kipling appreciated Ozy’s patience with her. She could tell he wanted her to be as comfortable as possible before they started unpacking everything from the past.

She was grateful to him for that.

***

(Nadia’s POV)

Nadia walked with Ozy back to his chambers. When they arrived, she waited by the door while he removed his gauntlets and set them aside on the dresser. Nadia wasn’t sure why she hadn’t yet left the grey mage to his business. Her agenda was packed with meetings with foreign dignitaries and not to mention she had a desk full of letters that needed responding to.

And yet, there were other things clouding Nadia’s mind. Like intricate spiraling details across a pearly, artificial surface that stretched so far in every direction. 

“That machine in your library,” Nadia said, starting quietly at first. “The one underwater. Is that where it’s meant to be kept?”

After Ozy took off his gauntlets, he rolled his wrists a few times and walked back towards the Countess.

“The Nautilus? Yes, that’s its primary function – traveling through water. Makes it easier for deep sea exploration.”

This piqued Nadia’s interest even further. “A vessel that never needs to surface?”

Ozy was standing before the Countess now, his expression friendly and eager to keep engaging with her on the topic.

“It does! But not often.”

Nadia hummed. “I see. Like a whale. Or a turtle.”

A soft glimmer flashed behind Ozy’s eyes, as if he were thinking of the same comparisons.

“Yes. Exactly.”

Nadia, who was content to invite Ozy to walk with her, said, “That’s fascinating, Oz. What an incredible find.”

Ozy fell into an easy stride beside the Countess, his hands tucked comfortably in the pockets of his crisp pants. “Hm. Thank you, but I didn’t stumble upon that vessel. You did.”

“What do you mean you…” Nadia slowed to a stop. Ozy mirrored her and turned so that he was facing her, his lip quirking in what she read as a hopeful challenge. That’s when Nadia quickly assembled the pieces of his implications.

“Oz… do you mean to suggest that you built such a thing?”

Ozy looked off to the side rather sheepishly as he shrugged his shoulders.

“Abaco helped.”

Once again, the grey mage had left the Countess at a loss for words. 

As if to put her at ease, Ozy added, “I built a lot of things over the years, Countess. Fixed a lot of things.” His hazel eyes drifted skyward. “Broke a lot of things too now that I think about it.” His hand wandered up to absently scratch at his five o’clock shadow. “Mostly because I ran out of stuff to fix. Not really any other option in that case but to break some things. Otherwise I wouldn’t have…” Ozy’s speech turned into uninterrupted mutterings.

Nadia realized he would have never stopped if she hadn’t said, “Oz, please.” 

That was enough to call back his attention.

“As long as you’re here,” Nadia reached for both of Ozy’s hands, “I want you to call me Nadia.”

Ozy looked down at where she held lightly onto his long fingers, and then back up again. 

“Oh. Like Asra and Kipling do?”

Nadia gave a deliberate nod. “Yes.”

Ozy blinked, the confusion written plainly across his face. “But they’ve known you longer.”

The Countess shook her head. “I know it might seem strange, but that does not matter to me.”

The grey mage was silent for only a moment before he grunted in gentle understanding. He pressed his rather nimble fingers more firmly against Nadia’s.

“You’re ambidextrous,” Ozy noted. “Like me.”

Nadia couldn’t help her face from heating slightly at his observation.

“You’re correct about that.... How did you know?”

Ozy continued to test and trace his fingers around the Countess’. 

“These hands have solved a lot of puzzles. To the point where it’s impossible for them to ignore the details in fact. So… Nadia,” he locked eyes with her, his gilded lip curling into a soft smile, “what’s the story with your hands?”

Nadia grinned, trying to gauge the line where Ozy’s friendliness blurred into flirtation. 

“I’m not sure if there’s a way I can express this without sound like I’m bragging, but my hands do know their way around a workshop.”

Once again, Ozy’s eyes lit up. “A workshop, really? Will you show me?”

Nadia gently guided her hands out of Ozy’s and up around his bicep, linking her arm through his.

“I can take you there, but I won’t be able to join you again until late this afternoon. I have a city to help govern as you might have gathered.”

“Right.” Ozy said with a respectful nod. “You don’t have to worry about me, Nadia. I can always find ways to keep myself busy until you return.”

“Oh, Oz.” 

Nadia thought back to that vessel, immense and pristine, resting at the bottom of a deep pool. 

“I have no doubt about that.”

***

Kipling noticed that Abaco didn’t follow Ozy and Nadia when they left the garden. The bird was content to stay behind and play with Taro and Faust. There was something Kipling found soothing in watching the three familiars interact. So she sat there right in the grass next to a hedge of snowball viburnums. 

Asra, who knew Kip’s behaviors very well by now, was happy to take a seat and curl up right beside her.

“Asra, there’s something I have to tell you.”

The magician breathed a sigh of relief, hoping that it wouldn’t show. He wrapped his arm around Kip’s shoulder and placed his other hand in her lap. “I’m listening.”

In the past, Kip had looked elsewhere, anywhere but directly at Asra, only occasionally flicking her gaze up to meet his. That wasn’t the case this time. Her syrupy brown eyes were fixed on him as she spoke. She seemed determined to give him her full attention.

“When you came by Muriel’s cottage, did he tell you about the reading he gave me?”

Asra swallowed. “Yes. But only a little. He said you drew the Empress.”

“Reversed,” Kip clarified. “I’ll be honest. I’ve been neglecting to tell you the whole truth about Ozy and Khleo… well, Khleo specifically.”

“You don’t talk about them much,” Asra noted. He also didn’t miss how Kip’s eyes would glaze over whenever Ozy mentioned the umbra’s name.

Kip sighed. “I’m ready to talk about them now. Asra, I knew Khleo for a long time before meeting Ozy. They kept my secrets, they were the one I confided in whenever I needed it. When Ozy came around and I didn’t want to have anything to do with him, it was Khleo who taught me about kindness and acceptance. I don’t think I can explain how close we were…”

“You loved them. You still love them.”

Kipling could tell by Asra’s tone that he must have known all this time.

Kip took a moment to work out the tremors in her upper body. Asra squeezed her hand in reassurance.

“We never confessed it aloud, but the day that Khleo was taken by the Door, I was so sure that they were going to say it first.” Kip caught a sob. “There just wasn’t enough time.”

Asra pulled Kip until her face rested against his collarbone. He removed his red scarf and wrapped it around her shoulders. By now the three familiars had gathered onto both of their laps. Taro was determined to soothe Kipling with her head nuzzles and soft chirps.

While Asra rubbed her spine, Kip managed to choke out, “When I portaled to Strength’s gate, I saw Khleo and those feelings were still there, Asra. I don’t know what to do. I know I’m supposed to go see the Empress, but I want… all I can think about is…”

“There was something else Muriel told me,” Asra said. “On the morning you left, the ground all around his cottage was covered in daisies. They could have only come from you. He said there were so many of them, magically conjured to stay in bloom for much longer than normal.”

“Daisies,” Kip sniffed. “They were in Strength’s realm too.”

“Well, they’re all around us right now.”

Kip opened her eyes and sat up. Asra was right. The magical daisies had appeared in the garden. There were thousands of them, packed so tightly it was almost impossible to see the grass.

It wasn’t unnatural for Kip’s green magic to behave in this way. Most of how she managed it was based on her emotions. But she had never seen anything like this.

“Kip,” Asra said, “what if you used the daisies to find your way back to Strength’s realm?”

She tore her eyes away from the flowers and looked at the magician with a mixture of uncertainty and surprise. “You think I should go to Strength’s realm? Without Ozy?”

Asra nodded, his lavender eyes serious. “I’ll go with you.”

“But what if–”

“It was you who said that you can’t bring yourself to meet the Empress right now. What if drawing that card means that you have to face your feelings about Khleo before moving forward?”

Kip’s drew a heavy breath. There were so many what ifs. What if Khleo didn’t remember her? What if Strength tried to bite her head off again? What if…

“Kip.” Asra placed his hands on either side of her face and steered her into a kiss. “I’ll be there with you. We fought the Devil, remember. We can pay Strength a visit. We’ll come to the front door this time instead of dropping out of nowhere. If she doesn’t want to let us in, then she won’t.”

When Asra put it like that, the stakes didn’t seem so high. 

Brrrrr.

Kip looked down to see Taro holding up her new pair of gauntlets. Faust bobbed her head in encouragement and Abaco fluffed his feathers once before using his beak to flick a switch on the gauntlet so that it hummed to life.

Once Kipling had donned them and stood up, she took a deep breath and did her best to rely on what she knew. To her amazement, the gauntlets made it so much easier to detect the control pad that opened the Doors.

Kipling activated the invisible motherboard and gasped when she saw more daisies growing spontaneously in the air. They shot off a few feet to Kip and Asra’s left, circled once and then again in a double ring – the outline of a Door.

“That must be the way to Strength’s gate,” Asra whispered. 

Kip’s gauntlets gave a sharp whine as she felt them tug her towards the highlighted portal. Asra followed behind Kip as she drifted in that direction. Abaco flew ahead, tweeting madly and whizzing to the path of the daisies. 

Kipling reached out until she connected with the lever handle to the Door. She found it easily, as if a magnetic force linked her gauntlet to the portal. 

Then Kip pushed until the lever rotated. The Door squeaked as it opened. That magnetic tug was back, but this time it wanted to get away from Kip. She tentatively released the lever and watched as the door snapped open. Wider, wider, wider – 

“You have to lock it, Kip!”

Kip gasped at the memory of a younger Ozy hollering at her while a storm grew over their heads. This sparked a second memory of a Door that grew too great for any of them to handle. She couldn’t let that happen again. 

Kip glanced over at Asra and remembered. She would never let another Door take off with someone she cared about.

Her gauntlet glowed brighter. Kip listened to the hum…

The gardener caught the lever before it could get away from her and spin completely out of control. She sensed a new type of pull and followed it, anchoring the lever into a small depression that wasn’t visible to the naked eye.

Glittery light sparked all along Kipling’s knuckles. Abaco was absolutely delirious with excitement. The daisies dissolved, but there was water on the other side of the Door, churning smoothly, without turbulence.

Through the tunnel of seawater and shimmering light, Kip felt the call of clear summer skies and rolling hills blanketed in wildflowers.

[sylvari-bouquet]

Shadows remain: Chapter 2 - Reflections

Previous chapter: [click here] Next chapter: [to be updated]

Nettle’s visit to Papaver’s does not go as planned, as ze witnesses a tense meeting with Papaver and another sylvari, Dinadan. However, Nettle is discovered, and abducted by Dinadan and his allies. Papaver reaches out to the allies they know they can trust, while Nettle wakes up in an unknown location...

"So, to recap the situation, you were forced to work for this sylvari, Nettle found out about it and followed you, and got kidnapped by them?"

Marjory paced across the workshop in a true detective fashion. The room felt smaller and smaller each round she walked, but she kept going. Kasmeer stood still, she had placed herself next to Papaver.

"Yes, that's the gist of it", Papaver replied, leaning to their workdesk and looking more miserable than either of the duo had seen them before, "I'm...not in control of myself or my actions around him. It's not like possession or freezing. I get taken off from the wheel of the ship and it's outside of my control, but I can still witness that I'm heading straight into the storm."

"Let me see", Kasmeer said and placed her hand gently upon Papaver, and looked into their eyes, like she was peering deep into them. "Breathe with me", she instructed, and Papaver followed her lead. After an exhale, inhale and an exhale, she took her hand away, and said: " I do sense a mesmer curse, an old, but still active one. That would explain the mind control."

"Can you get rid of it?" Papaver asked her.

Kasmeer shook her head and answered: "Sorry boss, I can't. Since it has been in you so long, the removal could have terrible after-effects. Plus, you'd need a mesmer as powerful as the queen..."

"Why didn't you come  to us earlier?" Marjory jumped in. Although she was few steps away from being furious, not all of that ire were towards the boss.

"I don't know, I thought it was something I could deal on my own. We've won against dragons and terrible creatures plenty of times now, one ex shouldn't have been this much", Papaver answered with a sigh.

"It changes things when the ex is also part of nightmare court", Marjory remarked, scoring a "not helping" look from Kasmeer, who continued to ask: "Did he tell you what he was planning?"

"I don't have the details, I only know what he asked me to do", Papaver told, motioning towards their worktable.

"And that was?" Kasmeer continued.

Papaver hesitated for a moment, and then told: "He wanted me to make a sword that could pierce the Dream."

** ** ** Nettle

The poison must have made me lose consciousness, since as I came to, I found myself alone in an unfamiliar room. I could feel the dull ache of the wound, and I had my hands tied in front of me with magical bindings, but otherwise I seemed unharmed. I surveyed my surroundings. For a prison cell, the room was nicer than whatever Tree-forsaken pits I imagined Nightmare cells were usually like, as the few furniture did fill up the small space. Quickly enough I also realized how the room controlled its prisoners - I couldn't access my magical abilities. No teleport, illusions, or even healing, evident by the throbbing of the stab wound. However, I did not have time to muse on about my surroundings, as the door parted its vines and the pink sylvari stepped in.

"Greetings, commander. I hope you find your room suitable for your needs. You are not here as a prisoner, but we cannot let you leave."

His voice was pleasant, but that was like how a snake's hiss was pleasant before a strike.

"You say that, yet I am kidnapped, bound and held against my will", I replied, "isn't that the definition of a prisoner?"

"Oh, believe me, your fate would be lot worse if you were one. But let's not dwell on the unpleasant manners, yes?"

With a flick of Dinadan's hand, the magical bindings around my wrists shimmered and vanished. It did ease my discomfort , but such a simply gesture didn't sway me. I decided to push for some answers, as I had little else I could do in my state.

"Who are you and what do you want with Papaver?" I began to investigate him.

"They never talked about me? And here I thought I'd left a lasting impression." Dinadan replied, and I tried to gauge his personality and intentions as he spoke. There was an undercurrent of danger about him, that he masked with shallow pleasantries and niceties, that much was clear to me. But he did not seem like the members of the court I had seen and fought before, either, many of them were devoted to causing pain and grief for the sake of it, yet he seemed to have a goal above that.

"We were lovers, dearhearts even. However, when they realized that the various ties I had to the court and the errands I run, they accused me of lying to them. This saddened me, as I had not been technically lying, just leaving unpleasant things out, and so, I sought comfort deeper in the nightmare. Invited them too, but they did not stay. But I must say, that worked well enough for me, at least until the court became...fragmented due to Mordemoth and the unsightly defeat of our dear Grand Duchess", Dinadan told, "but that's water under the Pale Tree's roots, as you dreamers tend to say, hmm?"

"So, is this all about revenge?" I asked, "since I was the one who finished her in her corrupted form."

Dinadan shook his head, and replied: "Far more than something simple as that. In fact, it was indeed a catalyst that you removed the Queen from the chessboard. You see, my plan is a revolution, and monarchs, they don't tend to take those well."

Seeing my apparent confusion, he continued: "I plan to show every fool in the Grove that there is no hierarchy between us, the Dreamers and Nightmares. We are the one and the same, and our Mother won't be able to cover this truth any longer."

"And what exactly you plan to do with me?" A note of frustation slipped in my question, as I was getting tired of his games.

"Ooh, you're intriqued! I like that!" Dinadan clapped his hands together as if he was excited, but continued: "I can't reveal it all just yet, my apologies. Rest assured, I do mean no harm. As long as I have your cooperation, that is, when it's time."

I was about to ask again what he meant with his cryptid speech, but before I could begin, he stepped outside of room, and the vines closed in front of him. Last thing I could see was the smile on his face, a smile that hold no

With that, I was left alone in my cell-room with even more questions than I had had before, and very few answers.

** ** **

"Pierce the Dream? Is that even possible?" Marjory asked.

Papaver gave a small shrug, saying: "I honestly don't know. To him, it will be."

"I don't know how familiar you two are with the Dream, but.. to us sylvari, it's the place where we begin and end.  Most of us have a connection to it that lasts our lifetime. The experiences and memories we have, they are recorded in to the Dream as well. It's like a huge library of experiences. Both the ones that are joyous, and the ones that are terrible. They all exist in the Dream in some form, and that's how sylvari who have not yet woken learn about our world, drawing information from the experiences who awoke before them.  It also gives us our ability to use magic, and grants us what you humans might call a sixth sense, but only towards others connected to the Dream. It's like, reading others emotions? I don't know a lot about it myself, truth to be told."

"Do you have that connection too?" Kasmeer asked.

Papaver shook their head, saying: "No, I...I awoke without that connection, and I couldn't recall my Dream, even though I did know things. The menders said it must have been some sort of accident, a strange and rare mutation or something. As you know, I don't use magic - simply because I cannot use it, at all."

"If this Dinadan gets his hands on this sword and does succeed piercing the Dream, what would happen?" Marjory continued asking.

"The dream will collapse." A new voice joined in by the door, and the three were greeted by a strange pair: Caithe, who had just spoken, and next to her, a sylvari warden the humans we unfamiliar with, but whom Papaver had seen before.

"Found her trying to get a peek inside. She says she has information about this Dinadan", Caithe replied.

"That doesn't answer the question of what you are doing here, Caithe", Marjory had her hand on the grip of her sword, eyes fixed on Caithe. She had not yet forgiven or forgotten the events of the jungle.

"I'm here to protect the Dream. And to help Nettle, I owe hir that", while Caithe kept her arms crossed, Marjory knew that she could pull out those daggers faster than she could blink.

"Stop it, both of you. We have enough to deal with without turning in to each other", Papaver halted the bubbling tension. They turn to address the warden: "I remember you. You're the one that was working for Dinadan, right?"

"Yes, but no more. I thought that if I did what he told me to, he'd eventually leave me alone. But at what happened last night, I simply cannot ignore him anymore. I want to make things right", the emerald-green warden with pale skin spoke up, "I'm Sylvia, and I want to do anything I can to help."

[gaiyofanfiction]

Twisted Karnival - Chapter 6

Stray Kids x Reader

Horror/Thriller/Drama

Twisted Circus!AU

A/N: Ya’ll love this series so much, it means the world to us. Sorry it took so long to post, depression hit the both of us like a truck. But we good now. Happy New year everyone! ~Liz

Warnings: Yandere-ish themes. Mentions of seduction, blood, cuts, soul stealing and kidnapping. Possibly more in the future. We also write for 0t9, so Woojin is going to be in this series.

Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and in no way represents the idols of Stray kids or JYP.

~~~

[Before Reading, check out the Masterlist and profile boards for each member HERE.]

~~~

"Got you."

Your eyes dart to the side to see Hyunjin's face right next to yours. With his hand around your throat and his other arm around your waist, he lets out a loud cackle. You struggle against the boy's grip, but it's no use.

"Ah ah ah, my little doll. You're not going anywhere."

Seungmin's smirk turns into a scowl. "Damnit, I was hoping to keep her for myself as my greatest experiment." He glares at Hyunjin and Jisung, mumbling. "Why do you have to ruin our alone time together?"

Jisung steps towards Seungmin and flicks him in the forehead. "You know why she's here and what we need her for. You can't keep her all to yourself, that's not fair." His gaze lands on you, taking his lip in between his teeth. "Because if that were the case, I'd have done that myself." His eyes linger on you for an uncomfortable amount of time before snapping back to Seungmin. "Besides, Chan would kill you if you did anything without his permission."

"Can we hurry this up, guys? Our little doll is getting more and more impatient." Hyunjin growls at them, holding onto you as you attempt to squirm out of his hold.

Jisung rolls his eyes and looks around Seungmin's workshop until he sees something. A chuckle leaves his lips as he grabs a long piece of rope and brings it over to a struggling you. "Grab her hands and bring them together."

Hyunjin lets go of your throat and grabs one of your wrists, his other arm leaving your waist and catching the other one in his hand before you have the chance to swing at him.

"Let me GO you psychos!"

Hyunjin chuckles lowly and grips your wrists hard enough for you to whimper. "Ah, sticks and stones, my doll."

Jisung takes the rope and double knots it around your wrists, so you couldn't move them. Him and Hyunjin each take a part of the rope and tug on it, jerking you backward. You yell out in surprise and in pain.

"I'd advise you to willingly walk with us back to Chan," Jisung growls, his head tilted. "Or we will drag you instead. Either way, you're coming back with us." 

You stared blankly into Jisung’s glowing eyes, swallowing the tightened knot in your throat. Your eyes leered around the small area, praying there was some way of escape. Hyunjin smirked heavily noticing your wandering gaze.

"Whatcha looking at, doll? Don't even think about trying to run again. It won't end well for you." Hyunjin tugged against the tight rope binds over your wrists causing you to yell out in pain. Jisung cringed slightly, taking in a giant exhale.

"Oh god I love it when you scream. Do it again." Jisung pulled on his half of the rope, tightening the knot further as you threw your head forward, screaming louder. 

"That's more like it." Jisung rolled his tongue over his lips as he looked back to Hyunjin. “Let’s get going, I’m sure the boss is waiting for us.”  Jisung tugged against the extra rope. Hyunjin and Seungmin nodded their heads in response. 

You struggled left and right, praying there was some way the ropes would loosen. You screamed out, voice echoing through the empty halls as Seungmin happily bounced forward. 

“There’s no point in screaming girlie, you’re all alone.” Seungmin cackled lightly as his head tilted towards the side. You hummed lowly, swiftly sliding your leg beneath him, causing Seungmin’s body to hit the ground. Hyunjin growled darkly, quickly snatching you up by your neck. You panted heavily and gasp for any small amount of air you could. Jisung clicked his tongue as he dropped the small lead of rope.

“Tsk tsk. To think you couldn’t behave for a few minutes. Guess we don’t have any other choice." Jisung looked to Seungmin who’s eyes were glowing brightly. Seungmin bared his teeth, quickly snatching a lead of chain from a table behind him. Hyunjin pinned you to the ground by your neck as Seungmin quickly wrapped the chains around your ankles. 

You screamed out in pain as Seungmin pulled against the chains just before snapping a lock to the middle. You shook your head away from Hyunjin’s clutches as the searing pain throbbed in your ankles. You rolled slightly, wincing against the ground.

Jisung folded his arms over shaking his head. “If you would have just listened princess, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Seungmin’s eyes slowly fell to a dim shade of purple as he spit a trickle of blood to the side. You took a few heavy breaths, slowly trying to move your leg. The chains grind against the bone beneath your skin, causing you to break. The men watched you squirm, finding much amusement to your pain. 

“Come on, she shouldn’t be much more trouble now.” Hyunjin snapped, tossing Jisung the rope. Jisung glared slightly, turning back to see tears welling up in your eyes. He smirked evilly, pulling against the rope as your limp body drug along the sand. Seungmin proceeded to rub his jaw, eyes locked on you. 

As you fell limp under the immense pain, you found yourself staring into the darkened skies of the night. It seemed so peaceful for a moment before Hyunjin jerked on the rope, reminding you that your current situation is everything but. The men continued to drag you along the circus grounds, sliding you past the last few remaining attractions just before reaching their destination. As Jisung finally came to a stop, you tried to slowly twist your body once more.

“What took you so long?” Chan snapped as soon as you were pulled through the big top.

Jisung pulled against the rope attached to your wrists as he clicked his tongue.  “Well, we would have been here sooner, but someone decided to try and fight back.” Seungmin growled lowly rubbing his jaw once more. Chan’s brow raised. 

“What? Did she clock you in the jaw or something?” Chan scoffed at Seungmin's obvious pain and noticing your bound up body. “No, she side swiped me off my feet.” Seungmin growled, balling up his fists. Chan snickered lightly as he slowly approached you. He knelt in front of you, the back of his hand gently grazing the side of your face. “Would her act of bravery be the reason she’s currently bruising beneath those chains?” The men grew silent as Jisung quickly released the rope from his hand. Chan shoots an icy glare at the three men. “You were NOT to harm her. Your orders were to capture her, and bring her back here. You could have broken her ankle with this ridiculous stunt.” Hyunjin and Seungmin gulped lightly as they stood quietly. Chan brushed his hand against your cheek once more. You jerked your head away trying to stand what ground you had left.

Chan snickered once more, standing to his feet. “Jisung, put her in the center of the circle." He kicked the lock that held the chains binding your legs together. "And take these ridiculous things off. We need her free of these binds."

Jisung spared no time, quickly grabbing you up from the ground and tossing you to the middle of a forming circle. He released you from your binds and sent you a glare. "Don't try to run away. You wouldn't be able to escape all 9 of us." He recedes back into the circle next to Hyunjun and Seungmin.

Minho slowly stepped forward alongside Felix, Jeongin, Changbin, and Woojin. You watched as they all stepped closer, forming a large circle around you. Chan turns to Jeongin.“Jeongin, you’re the last to attach to her.”

Jeongin nodded his head as he stepped forward. You jerked quickly, wincing from the unbearable pain. Jeongin smirked lightly, his eyes glowing blue while dragging the back side of his hand along the side of your arm, sending one last giant shiver rolling down your spine.

“W-what was that…? Why has that happened every time each of you touch me?” You pleaded for answered, watching all the men standing staring heavily at you. 

Changbin chuckles, flames bursting out of his hands as he cracks his knuckles. "That, my dear, is us attaching ourselves to you."

Your brows furrow. "A-at...attaching?"

Jeongin licks his lips. "When we attach ourselves to you, we suddenly have the ability to control you in some way."

You suddenly feel your arms raise on either side of you, lifting you off the floor. You scream, wide eyed. "What's going on?! What are you doing to me?!"

Chan clicks his tongue and suddenly, the lights grow dim. A blue glow illuminates around you and that's when you notice the strands of light are sticking to you. Two attached to each arm, two attached to each leg and one attached to your neck. You look around wildly to see each strand of light has attached themselves to each individual carnival boy's hands. Your brain starts to move quickly, putting two and two together.

"That's what you meant. You attached...puppet strings to me!" Your body trembles. "That's what the shivers where whenever you touched me. Y-you were making me your puppet."

Chan cackles loudly, his string being the one attached to your neck. He saunters out of the circle and over to you. "That's right, my little puppet. These strings allow us to not only control you…" Chan's eyes flash a deep shade of red, the whites of his eyes turning black "...but turn you into one of us."

A stutter leaves your lips, trying to pull at the puppet strings. "Y-You're demons!"

You hear a laugh resonate from your left as you turn your head to see a sly grin on Felix's face. "Well, that took you long enough to figure out."

Woojin rolls his eyes, his tongue swiping over his lips. "Enough talking, let's finish this before it's too late."

Chan nods in agreement. He suddenly raises a hand, his fingernails having turned dangerously sharp. He takes a nail and drags it up your arm, causing the skin to open and blood to protrude. You scream in agony as he continues this procedure on the other arm, both legs and lastly, across your neck. Blood starts to flow into the puppet strings, causing them to turn red.

As your blood is being transferred to each boy, your body seizes for a moment until it stops suddenly. The puppet strings fade from blood red to a light, crystal blue. The air is quiet for a moment when Chan approaches you once more. He tucks a finger under your chin and lifts up your face, caressing you gently. His voice is soft.

"My little puppet, are you okay?"

You hear the faint voice of Chan grow louder until it fills your ears like a beautiful melody. A twisted grin appears on your face, psychotic laughter leaving your lips.

"Yes, Master Chan. I am perfectly fine."

[stillness-in-green]

The Way You Survive Is...  (3/4)

Young minds learn what they're shown.

The Claustro's ready for a test-drive, and for better or for worse, Rikiya isn't alone.

Chapter Warnings: Self-triggering, PTSD flashbacks, heavy dissociation, vomiting, and Rikiya just generally being an unhealthy role-model for people who look up to him.  The Claustro is a high-tech iron maiden and that's just canon, folks.

———      ———      ———      ———

Chapter Three: Perfection, Not Progression

Unlike many modern lifestyle designers, Detnerat’s production facilities were in-house, the better to holistically design products tailored to each individual customer’s needs.  Those producing the goods were not just undertrained employees in workshops recreating en masse a single talented someone’s design, no.  Templates were made to be broken; that was the Detnerat way!

It was, of course, also the case that Detnerat created enough other, below-the-table goods that it was far more secure to keep production in-house.  Which was why, when one swiped their employee badge and held down the elevator button to the sub-basement for twenty full seconds, it would take one to the sub-sub-basement, which had been carefully removed from the official blueprints after the completion of the building.

The main thing that had been going on in the underground production facility for the past year was Rikiya’s personal project. The Claustro, well over three meters of hulking black steel, stood slumped under its own weight on a workstation platform at the center of the proving grounds area.  Metal pegs which could be mistaken, from the outside, for the back ends of pistons protruded from its back and its shoulders, four each bolted through the gauntlets covering its massive wrists.  Another pair jutted out from the chest, lined up directly over the place where, in due course, Rikiya’s sternum would lie beneath that enormous breastplate.

Just looking at the thing set his skin tingling, a flutter of anxiety in his stomach.  It’s all right, he told himself.  It will give us better results.

The Claustro’s chest cavity gaped wide, visible from the top via an enormous hole, the diameter of which had Rikiya bringing one hand to his neck with a vague sense of self-consciousness.  He was bigger in his liberated form, but that big?

“No, your people didn’t forget about the helmet,” Skeptic said beside him, skimming over a tablet.  “But we’re not testing the HUD today; we’re making sure this thing can stand up to your new grip strength.”

“I appreciate the solidarity, then, Skeptic,” Rikiya managed, because if his newest advisor wasn’t here about the electronic guidance protocols, then he did not have a reason to be here that didn’t amount to a personal interest.

The young man—Chikazoku Tomoyasu, graduated from a major tech university in only two years and, three years after that, already a third of the way up the chain of command at Feel Good Inc.—sniffed dismissively.  “Someone here needs to be able to figure out the AED on the fly.”

Rikiya didn’t fight the smile that curled over his face in response.  Whether it was habit or Skeptic’s bracing sarcasm, he couldn’t say, not with a countdown to the Claustro’s first full-body test run ticking down in his mind, but it was a brief respite he was willing to take.

“One of your many talents?”

“Yes, reading instructions written to be simple enough for middle schoolers is well within my capacity,” Skeptic snorted.  He looked across the proving ground floor at Detnerat’s head engineer.  “Got everything set?”

“We do,” the man—Kanazoku Mihatsu, code name Ardent, who’d been one of Rikiya’s first hires to help manage production when Rikiya was occupied with the business of, well, running a business—answered.  “We’ve calibrated the dynamometers based on your previous numbers, sir.  Today’s about seeing how much farther the Claustro’s pushing your limits.”

“Then I suppose I’ll get us started,” Rikiya replied, and shrugged off his jacket.  Skeptic looked less than impressed with his attempts at exuberance, though, and Ardent only nodded solemnly, notes of worry still clear through a gaze full of reverence, so Rikiya said nothing further, only draped his jacket over Ardent’s offered arm and stepped up to the platform as the other two men retreated behind the safety of the observation wall.

With a sudden thrum from its servo motors, the Claustro folded open, sheets of metal sliding back into casing chambers or rotating into open positions.  It looked, Rikiya thought vaguely, trying not to let his gaze linger on the spikes of metal jutting out of the machine’s inner back, something like a chrysanthemum with the heart removed, all thin petals of steel nestled around an empty central cavity.  Though, with the way it would soon be closing back up, perhaps a Venus flytrap would be more accurate.

Breathe, he told himself.  It’s a test run in lab conditions.  It’s perfectly safe.  They even left the helmet off.

It was a small kindness, and (seeing as it was also a massive workplace safety violation enabled only by Rikiya’s resilience in his transformed state) a mark of faith.  He held that thought and fixed a smile on his face before he turned back toward Skeptic and Ardent and took a last step back into the waiting machine, letting his body swell up to fit.

The ribboning metal wrapped around him instantly; equally instant came the jump-start slam of his heartbeat as the walls closed in.  Cold swept over his face, the ink wash stain of Stress taking hold, the flux in temperature so sharp it left the room wheeling with vertigo.  His throat went tight as a pulled seam.

His hands and arms enlarged, fitting themselves into the Claustro’s gauntlets as naturally as gloves; his shoulders broadened, taking the suit’s weight like a yoke bar as he straightened, still growing to match the exoskeleton’s space even as he registered the way it began to press back against him.  Hydraulic plates constricted around his chest and arms, lighting up his nerves with old terror.

Movement from the interior shafts.  He knew what was coming, and still he couldn’t stop the way his breath seized when they pressed into his skin, sharp-tipped and inexorable.  His peripheral vision flickered darkly, a black-to-blue strobe, and Quarter’s voice, unforgotten in twenty years and still laced with venom, stirred the air at his temple.

“It would shame Destro to see you this way.” The man’s eyes were there—bottomless, pitiless—when Rikiya looked up across the gym.  “Turn that fear of yours to the good of the cause.  Stand up.”

Yes.  Rikiya’s lips framed the word as he blinked, unable to differentiate the prickling pain of his spiraling panic attack from the very real workings of the Claustro.  The vibrato of the servos drowned out the sound of his breathing.  Each thin whine of the machine’s motors accompanied another compression of the internal plates and spikes; each in turn drew out another spasm of stress, reinforcing his skin to stone-like hardness.

Stone cracks cartoonishly easily under pressure. You must be much stronger than that.

“Re-Destro, sir; does everything feel—like it should?”  Ardent’s voice crackled over the intercom, faint through the tapestry of throbbing sound in Rikiya’s ears.  He felt himself nod.  It does.  Excellent work.  Now, how are we testing the grip strength?  Please tell me quickly, so I can get out of this goddamned deathtrap.

He shaped the words to teeth and tongue, leaving out the unnecessary commentary, and tried to focus back in on his engineer. The man and Skeptic—wonderfully reliable Skeptic, who would definitely not let this thing kill him, and who was so confident in his ability to use an automated external defibrillator on the off-chance that Rikiya actually did have a heart attack here, though an electric shock probably wouldn’t help with an aneurysm, if that was the particular medical crisis that struck instead, just like his dear departed grandfather, Destro’s son, who escaped all this the only way their line could—no—the man and Skeptic—

“Focus on the target,” Quarter’s memory admonished him, and Skeptic interrupted with, “Can you walk around?”

Rikiya focused on Skeptic’s face, the sharp black line of his bangs, and nodded.  I can’t feel my face.  I wonder if I’m still smiling?  I hope not; it would probably look ghastly.  He walked towards the testing apparatus—well, his body did.  He felt very little in control of it right at that moment.

The dynamometers were simple enough things, not so different from the normal medical version for people in physical therapy. The main difference was that they were some three times the normal size, as well as being wall-mounted, such that all Rikiya had to do was walk up, wrap a careful grip around the handles, and squeeze.

The world was rapidly going foggy and white-rimmed. A bad sign.  I want this to be over.

There was an electric pop Rikiya registered only when it was followed by a loud crack and a subsequent hissing of pressurized air.  Releasing his hold on the dynamometers, he took a step back and tried to focus on them. He had—broken them, it seemed, the metal rods burst through the backs of their casings, discolored with grease.

And then Ardent and Skeptic were at his side again, Ardent flashing Rikiya an awed glance even as he bent closer to examine the damaged equipment.  Skeptic looked at his tablet, looked at the dynamometers, and shook his head.  His hand flicked twice across the screen, two sharp gestures; Rikiya tried to swallow back envy at how quick and clean the movements were, but it seemed his body was still not taking orders from him.

The Claustro folded open and Rikiya stepped-slash-fell out.  An unfamiliar body caught him and he hazily looked down into vacant black eyes.  Oh, yes, that was Skeptic’s preferred puppet design, wasn’t it?

So wonderfully reliable.  I should send Chitose a gift basket for recommending him.

“That’s got us enough to work with tonight,” Skeptic said with total confidence.  “You should go home.  I’ve already got a cab waiting.”

“The results—” Re-Destro heard himself say.

“Inconclusive, but since you broke the testing device, there’s no point in you hanging around just to babysit the number-crunching.”

“But the results,” he tried again, and Skeptic sighed in exasperation.

“The dynamometers could take up to a twenty-five percent increase on your previous output,” he said, voice brisk, refreshingly brusque despite the difference in their age and rank.  “You squeezed them so hard you pushed the rods out the back ends. Congratulations, you cost your production department a few hundred thousand yen, but also, congratulations, that’s probably a forty percent increase on your last record.  You definitely won the sports festival.  Now go home.  I’ll e-mail you the rest.”

Rikiya—did not remember the next few minutes.  He found himself in the back of a car, running his fingers over the suit jacket folded over his arm and feeling vaguely distressed that he couldn’t feel the exceptionally fine weave of the cloth.  And after his tailor had worked so hard to incorporate the prolongate tech into the wool, too.  The lights of the city at night played across the backs of his hands in bands of darkness and neon color as the driver’s radio played a sweet, smooth song at the edges of his hearing.  It wasn’t unbeautiful.

He disembarked at his high-rise, rode the elevator up to his suite, and keyed in his door code all without his mind reengaging for a moment.  It only finally nudged him, in the darkness of the entryway, to point out that his mouth had watered, he had swallowed the saliva down, and now his mouth was full of fluid again, and that sequence of events only ever meant one thing.

He made it to the bathroom right on time, though if throwing up everything he’d eaten today was what he was returning to his body for, it would have nice of his brain to hold off a bit longer.

Look on the bright side, he told himself through the heaving misery, the Claustro is even more effective than you’d hoped.  Thinking about it drove his gorge up again—ah, that would be the norimaki from lunch—and he curled tighter over the toilet bowl, shivering with exertion.

“Re-Destro?”

He jerked at the address, banging his elbow against the porcelain, and raised his head to see the boy standing at the door to the bathroom, his glowing eyes round and distraught.

“Geten?” he managed, and the reflexive attempt to swallow down acid brought it back up again.  By the time he was through the next round of gut-clenching retching, Geten was at his shoulder.  Cold hands pressed fitfully across his back, then rose to comb through his hair, peeling it away from his face.  It hadn’t really been in the line of fire—Rikiya wore it too short for that—but Rikiya had once held Geten’s hair back the same way, so he was doubtless trying to return the gesture.

“Tell me what to do,” the boy said, a frightened underscore to the words, and guilt pricked at Rikiya’s chest, still sore from the press of those twin metal shafts.  You can’t let him see you like this.

It was a stabilizing thought, at least, one that had a near-nostalgic sense of normalcy.  He spat into the bowl and took a shaky breath.

“A glass of water,” he said, and waved vaguely up at the sink.  As Geten moved to obey, Rikiya wrinkled his nose at the rank stew in the bowl and patted at the side of the toilet until he found the manual flush button.  The last thing he needed was to get sprayed in the face by the bidet.

He spat into the bowl again as the water whirled away, then sighed, resting his forehead against the back of his hand, elbow on the seat.  What a mess. He took the glass from Geten, murmuring thanks despite the foul taste in his mouth, and sipped at it gingerly. Rinse and repeat, until finally he had a meager mouthful he didn’t mind swallowing.  Geten stayed crouched next to him the entire time, petting at his hair.

“You,” Rikiya said at last, “were not supposed to be here until tomorrow.”

“I got permission to come early,” Geten answered with not a whisper of guilt.  “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”  Rikiya sat back enough to roll the stiffness out of his neck and looked up into Geten’s unconvinced expression.  “Really. Get me a refill?”

Rikiya forced himself to his feet and flushed the toilet once more as Geten took the glass without complaint.  His usual winter coat was missing, leaving him in his day clothes, a long-sleeved shirt and heavy pants, both plainly wrinkled in the clean white light of the bathroom.  He had, at some point during however long he’d been waiting, remembered to take his boots off, definitely not always a given, but a promising sign for the state of Rikiya’s upholstery.

“Were you training too hard?” the boy asked him, expression solemn as he handed back the glass.

“It’s only ‘too hard’ if it incapacitates you, so no. I was just working on something new.” Rikiya ushered them both out and towards the guestroom where, sure enough, Geten’s things were strewn across the furniture, his boots tossed in a corner and his coat wadded up amidst a nest of bedding pulled onto the floor.  His little suitcase, purchased back when he’d first made one of these weekend visits and somewhat battered from a child’s casual treatment in the years since, lay tipped over just inside the door.  One of Rikiya’s dinner plates sat on the floor; in it, a small but carefully sculpted ice dragon was gradually transmogrifying into a puddle.

“A new technique?”  Geten perked up and sat down on the bed, looking up at Rikiya in rapt interest as he moved the plate up to the bedside table.

Rikiya smiled, taking another sip of water, and shook his head.  “A new piece of equipment.”

“What is it?  Did you bring it home?”

“No, it’s back at work.  It’s not finished yet.”  Rikiya gathered up the sheet and blanket and dropped them, still balled up, onto the bed.  He then sat down next to the boy and did not relax his weight against the headboard, tempting as it was.  “It’s a powered exoskeleton—like a robot suit,” he amended when Geten only stared at him blankly at the first description.

Geten tilted his head, brow furrowing.  “How does that support your meta-ability?”

“You don’t think it would?” Rikiya asked, nursing the water.  Geten had long proven completely impossible at school, refusing any but the most basic of tutoring, so it never hurt to encourage his critical thinking skills when the opportunity presented itself.

“Robot suits are for people who need armor.  Or who want to be able to punch harder than they can on their own.”  The boy paused, thinking, then added, “And for people who stay one size.  But your power armors you, and it makes you stronger, and it makes you bigger.  So what do you need a robot suit for?”

“That’s very well thought-out.”  Geten grinned at the compliment and Rikiya resisted the urge to ruffle his pale hair; he was getting old enough to protest such gestures.  “The size isn’t a problem.  The Claustro’s designed for me at near my maximum size anyway, and it can accommodate a bit bigger or smaller.  And it will make me stronger, not by augmenting my physical strength, but by augmenting my stress.”  The words came easily; he’d explained to enough others by this point—his inner circle, his engineers, and a few key financiers at that.

“It—stresses you?  And you turn stress into power, so…”  Geten nodded understanding.  “But how does it stress you?”

“Mostly internal pressure plates,” Rikiya answered dryly, and threw back the last of the water lest bile start to creep up his throat again.  In the face of Geten’s wide-eyed expression, he soothed, “Destro’s cause demands much of all of us.  It’s nothing I can’t handle, Geten.  It’s an honor to carry such burdens for the sake of Liberation.”

Geten nodded slowly, his features settling into understanding and a familiar look of resolve.  “I want to fight you in it one day,” he declared, “when I’m strong enough.”

For a moment, Rikiya was lost for a response. The Claustro was most certainly not meant for sparring, and it would—hopefully, presumably—be well out of the testing phases by the time Geten was anywhere near that level, if he ever was.  There was only ever so much ice in a given range, after all.  Still, the thought of thick layers of ice freezing over the already constricting layers of the Claustro unit, sealing him in beneath the surface, unable to even move…

That was the winning secret to Stress, of course. In a combat scenario, there was no practical ceiling.  Just thinking about it made his stress marks throb, but this was not really the time or place for such rhetorical exercises, especially when he had no lunch left to lose.

He forced a smile.  “We’ll see.”

[ask-ethari-anything]

Have you ever done the chapstick challenge (or Xadian equivalent) with Runaan?

you asked for it

Runaan slipped through the workshop door with his ready excuse of the week–a loose handle wrapping on his favorite dagger, conveniently snagged and torn free of its metal binding. His heart thrummed at the sight of Ethari pottering over his worktable, humming lightly to himself as he worked quietly on something small.

The assassin paused in soft admiration. Ethari was sweetly handsome, but he was also tall and strong, with long, lithe limbs and a sturdy back. His sparkly horn tips winked in the light as he leaned forward, and his shaggy hair fell lightly around his ears. Runaan smiled to himself, very much enjoying the view from where he stood.

“Runaan, hi.”

Runaan had forgotten about Ethari’s little mirror. He straightened smartly and hid his soft smile, stepping forward to ask for Ethari’s expertise with his dagger. 

But the craftsman wasn’t done talking. “I’m glad you’re here. I need your help.” He held out a couple of small stoneware jars, smaller than his palms.

“Y-You do? With what?” Runaan approached curiously, feeling invited to examine Ethari’s little jars. 

“I’m trying my hand at making my own balms. My hands get pretty abused some days, depending on my tasks, and I need to take better care of them. It’s also good for any skin in need of softness.” With no further ado, Ethari switched one little jar to his other hand and plopped the empty one right into Runaan’s for examination.

Runaan’s eyes widened as he found himself suddenly holding Ethari’s hand. He dutifully cast his eyes over Ethari’s palm, appreciating the calluses of hard labor, the strength in its lines, those long dexterous fingers. Ethari’s hand was very warm against his, and Runaan felt his ears heat up. He opened his mouth, but then he wasn’t sure what to say. Agreeing with Ethari on a need for balm might sound like Runaan found his hands rough and unpleasant, when that wasn’t true at all. 

But one did not simply toss out hand compliments this early in a courtship.

Ethari lifted his hand away as if unaware of Runaan’s internal panic and chose one jar, setting the other back on his table. He removed the lid and showed Runaan the light creamy contents. “The problem I’m having,” he began lightly, “is that I’ve added a scent to it, but I’m not sure if it’s really strong enough. I know it’s there, so perhaps I’m just imagining that I’m smelling it. Would you test it for me?”

Runaan’s eyes fixed on the jar. “I… Very well.” He reached for the jar, but Ethari smoothly pulled it away and swiped his finger across it. Then he spread it across his lips, working them softly to get an even coat.

Runaan was physically incapable of looking away as Ethari slid his lips together. His cheeks heated, but Ethari didn’t seem to notice.

“Mmm. That’s better. Come on, then. What do you think?” Ethari invited. His lips curled at the edges. “Don’t worry. I won’t bite. Come closer and use that sensitive assassin nose of yours to tell me what scent the balm has. If you can. I might need to start all over with a new batch–”

Ethari broke off as Runaan stepped very close indeed. His breath puffed hot on Ethari’s cheek, shaking a little. Ethari’s smile widened, and he turned his face toward Runaan. Though his eyes lingered on Runaan’s, the assassin’s gaze was locked on Ethari’s lips.

Only a couple of inches separated them, yet Runaan seemed frozen, trembling. Ethari ran a knuckle along Runaan’s arm. “You okay?”

The light touch seemed to snap Runaan from his daze. He leaned closer, closed his eyes, and let the tip of his nose brush against Ethari’s cheek, inhaling softly.

Ethari’s heart flipped at the gentle touch. I’m playing games, but somehow I’m the one who’s losing! This elf really is too hot to be allowed. His own voice shook a bit as he prompted, “So, w-what’s the verdict?”

“Cinnamon. You should add more if you…” Runaan bit his lip and took a step back, adopting a more formal pose. “If you want the scent to be noticeable from a more casual distance.”

If. Ethari felt tingles shoot up his spine. “I’ll take that under advisement. Any other pointers?”

“Body heat.” Runaan’s eyes were on his lips again.

The craftsman’s eyes widened sharply. “What?”

Runaan lifted his chin. “Perhaps I was too hasty. Now that your body heat has warmed the balm, I can smell it even from here.”

“You were just eager to help a friend,” Ethari said, offering him an out despite the cute flush in Runaan’s cheeks. 

“Yes, I–”

But Ethari was inspired. “Here, wait a moment. Let me try it with the other balm. Will you indulge me one more time?” He picked up the other jar and began to reach a finger inside.

Runaan’s hand swiftly grasped his wrist, and Ethari gasped at the intensity of his grip. “It won’t do any good to apply the new scent over the cinnamon balm you’re already wearing, Ethari.”

A slow grin spread across Ethari’s lips. “You know what, you’re right. You should wear it.”

“I…?”

Ethari swiftly swiped his finger across the top of the balm and stepped forward, humming his request for permission.

Runaan was too flustered to say no. Mostly because he didn’t want to say no.

So Ethari pressed a soft fingertip to Runaan’s bottom lip and spread the balm across its delicate softness. Runaan held breathlessly still, trembling at his touch, cheeks as bright as moonberries. 

“Hold still, not finished yet,” Ethari murmured lightly. But he was trying to keep his own hand from trembling, too. “There we go. Alright, now we wait.”

“F-for what?”

Ethari tsked teasingly. “For your body heat to warm it up, silly. This was your idea, not mine!”

“Oh.. of course.”

“Oop. I got careless and made a mess, just hold still, I’ll get it…” Ethari brushed the edge of his last finger just beneath the curve of Runaan’s bottom lip, smoothing away an escaped smudge of balm.

Runaan sucked in a quiet breath at the sudden touch.

Ethari gritted his teeth, desperate not to smile at Runaan’s flustered state. It was truly adorable and he didn’t want to ruin it. “How about now?” he breathed.

Runaan’s eyes fluttered from Ethari’s to his lips and back up. “Hmwhat?”

Ethari blinked slowly and grinned. “Can you smell it yet? Or should I try?”

Runaan gasped quietly again. Ethari waited for him to pronounce judgment on the balm’s scent. Surely he could smell it by now. But he didn’t say a word.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, he can play, once he knows the game.

Ethari wordlessly stepped close, dipped his head, and let the tip of his nose brush Runaan’s cheek, just next to his lips. But he didn’t inhale. He didn’t need to–he’d made the balm. He could say the name of its scent at any moment.

He just didn’t want to. Not yet. He was having far too much fun.

And Runaan was letting him.

“I nearly forgot,” Ethari murmured, almost right against Runaan’s skin.

“What’s that?” Runaan murmured back. He didn’t dare to turn his head any further toward Ethari or their lips would meet simply by speaking.

“These balms are edible.”

A sharp exhalation burst from Runaan’s lips, and that soft mouth stayed open. Ethari grinned, holding himself to the game, and leaned in just a bit more. “You taste it first.”

Runaan made a soft noise deep in his throat, and then his tongue slipped out and traced the silken arch of his upper lip. Ethari brushed his nose against Runaan’s cheek again, encouragingly. “Hmm? And?”

“S-Second opinion…” Runaan whispered.

Ethari’s chest fluttered. “Happy to.” One hand cupped Runaan’s shoulder to hold him still, and ever so slowly, to savor this precious moment, Ethari turned his face toward Runaan’s. His own lips parted, and his tongue flicked out, dancing softly along one side of Runaan’s bottom lip, up to the corner of his mouth.

Runaan’s eyes slid closed as Ethari tasted him, and another soft sound resonated from deep in his chest. Under Ethari’s stabilizing hand, the assassin was trembling hard.

Ethari dared not push his suitor too much further or Runaan might bolt. But he couldn’t resist one last tease. “Hmmmm,” he murmured, pressing his lips together thoughtfully–right against the corner of Runaan’s mouth. “Final opinion?”

“Delicious.” Runaan’s voice took on a low rumble, and now it was Ethari’s turn to gasp as his tummy fluttered high into his chest. He pulled back and sought Runaan’s eyes and found them cool and balanced once more. “I enjoy mint very much,” Runaan added.

Ethari chuckled and stepped back, letting Runaan have his small victory. He might not know many courtship games, but the assassin was nothing if not a swift learner. “Of course you do,” Ethari said. “Cool and sharp is exactly your style, isn’t it?”

Runaan tucked his hands behind his back. “It is indeed.”

“Thanks for your help. Maybe I’ll keep the mint one as it is, then. And here, you keep the jar.” Ethari pulled one of Runaan’s hands back into view and pressed it into Runaan’s palm. “Just in case you need it later.”

Runaan looked from the jar to Ethari’s face, and that cute moonberry flush rose in his cheeks again.

[youllallriseintheink]

Infinity, Chapter 1: Indestructible

This is for an AU in which the 13 characters are immortal.

At first, I wanted to do a simple story about where everyone would end up after a century. Then, I realized that those guys being unkillable would totally change the course of the loops Henry would go through, and how Henry would go through them. So, you’ll get an exploration of the characters and the philosophical aspects of immortality, but first, have some good ol’ fashioned violence and OCs.

Sorry that this chapter’s a little short for the ammount of time it took. I ended up having to split things up differently than I thought I would. The second chapter’s already halfway done, and will prominently feature Sammy going through the sketch dimension on a special mission. Expect it by Friday.

---

It had all started when Joey had sent that god forsaken letter.

Dear Henry,

It feels like a lifetime since we made cartoons together. 30 years really slips by, doesn’t it? If you’re back in town, come visit the old workshop. There’s something I need to show you.

Your best pal, Joey Drew.

And P. S., this is what I look like now. Haven’t changed a bit, have I?

Attached was a photo of Joey shaking hands with a celebrity who’d only risen to fame a couple years ago. The girl couldn’t have been older than 18 in the current year, so the photo had to be recent.

In the coming days, Henry wrote to Sammy asking for a recent picture of himself. Sammy, too, hadn’t aged.

Henry would have gone to the studio, anyhow. Why not take Linda for a little New York vacation? It was a nice place, he hadn’t been in years, and catching up with Joey could be nice. However, he was also curious about whether Joey’s... doings had anything to do with Henry’s own freakish youthfulness. Henry knew that Joey had been up to some strange, highly suspicious stuff- it was a large part of why he’d left the studio twenty years ago. That, and wanting to jump off a sinking ship. Back then, he and Joey had merely been young-looking for their age. Now, Henry was 58 and looked and felt less than half that. People sometimes mistook him for Linda’s son. Linda took that it good humour- sometimes she’d even call Henry “son” as an affectionate little nickname. And, now that Linda was beginning to slow down with age, sometimes Henry felt like he was her child- someone she couldn’t really keep up with anymore. Henry had had pets get old on him, and, well, he hoped it wouldn’t be like that with Linda. Aside from that, though, Henry loved it like anyone would have even though it was getting a little strange. He had always been in excellent health as well- he could bounce back from anything.

When Henry arrived at Joey’s apartment, Joey immediately started talking. “Henry. You look like you haven’t aged a day. That’s good. You’re going to need that. But anyhow, who are we, Henry? I thought I knew who I was, but look where that got me. I let our work become my life. In the end we both chose paths of our own making- you, a lovely family. Me, a crooked empire. And my road burned. And now I have to face eternity with all that failure and sin behind me.” Joey hunched over the counter, looking remorseful. “I don’t know what to do.” Joey looked back to Henry with mournful eyes. “Henry, go visit the old studio. There’s something I need to show you.”

With those words, Henry started walking towards Joey’s broom closet. He didn’t know why, or what could have been in there. He urged his body to stop- he had questions to ask Joey. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even turn his eyes from the door. It was as though he was being piloted by an outside force until the door clicked shut behind him and he was staring into the studio’s sepia-toned halls.

A few hours later, Henry woke up in a pentagram surrounded by coffins, trying to remember where he was and what he’d been doing.

That’s right… I turned on the ink machine… and then that horrible monster chased me. And then I fell.

“Hello!” a cute, girlish little voice came from in front of him, making Henry jolt up. Before him was what looked like Alice Angel- from her halo to her pie-cut eyes to her four-foot stature.

“Uh, hi,” Henry said. “My name is Henry. And yours?” He offered her his hand to shake. She made an endearingly weak attempt at helping him up. Henry got to his feet.

“Alice Angel. You don’t look like you’re from around here. Are you here to save us?”

“Sorry to disappoint, but no. I’m completely lost and I need all the help I can get to escape from here. Could you help me?”

"Of course, sir! Come with me!" with that, the little angel turned to lead him down a dark hallway. At one point, they had to find three switches to open up a door. When the door opened, it was so dark within that it was impossible to see inside. "Oh, it's so scary in there!” she whined, a pitiful look befalling her face. “Can you lead the way, please?"

"Sure," Henry giving the little doll a fatherly look as he headed in. "You just follow right behind me."

No sooner had he stepped into the darkness had he noticed something sticky wrap around his face and wrists. Henry struggled to get out, but couldn't.

"Um... Alice? Know anything about what's in this room?"

Alice flicked on the lights, and Henry found himself eye to eye with a perversion of Edgar, suspended from the ceiling by a black, stringy spider's web. Henry realized that his hands and face were stuck in more of the same.

"Mmmm... thank you, Julie," the spider purred. The white of his face had dripped into where his mouth- if you could call that series of oval-shaped holes a mouth- should have been, and so Henry could see the creature's teeth moving as he spoke. There were tentacles behind those human teeth. "I guess you can stay here, after all."

"Thanks, mister!" the Alice said, making her way to the little fort made of plywood and bacon soup can that she had at the side of the room. The spider's teeth separated, and the tentacles, each with a tiny mouth at the end, went for Henry's face. Tore flesh from his cheeks. Sunk their fangs into his eyeballs. Henry screamed and felt one of them pull out his tongue. Straining and struggling to escape, Henry eventually broke free from the bonds and ran like hell for the exit, closing the door behind him and sitting against it. Thankfully, neither the spider nor Julie were strong enough to force open the door.

His escape had come at a price, though- in addition to being in awful pain, Henry was helpless. Blind. Deaf. Noseless and tongueless. After trying to come up with a plan, Henry came to the conclusion that he was solidly in a place of "wait for death, because there's nothing else to do." And so, for the following half-hour, Henry reflected on his life. It had been good, he decided, all things considered. He'd had a wonderful family, a great career, and met some amazing people. At the end of half an hour, Henry thought he could see the light. But it wasn't "the light." As more time passed, his vision improved, and the studio came into focus. Henry reached up and touched his face- a nose, ears, it was all growing back.

And that's when Henry knew: he wasn't just incredibly healthy and youthful. He was immortal. And in the coming hundreds of loops, he'd make good use of that.

[xehanortsreport]

99 for that xigsem parenting riku and vanitas au......

as soon as this came into my askbox i was transfixed, SO HERE WE GO....i got a little carried away, whoops

“How could you forget your son’s birthday?”(owie)

Birthday morning. Vanitas struggled to keep his excitement down as he clambered out of his bed; Riku had already left the room, it seemed, and he couldn’t help but be glad that he had. This was Vanitas’s day, after all, and he didn’t need his too talented younger brother hogging up the moment from sunrise to sundown this time too. Ten...finally ten. Double digits. A whole decade. He hastily pulled on his oversized hoodie and jeans, ruffled his hair in place of a comb, and sped into the kitchen, wanting to look cool, calm, collected, just like a preteen should in his head.

He peeked around. Riku had probably already been dropped off to his special before school program, but the sight of Ansem, who usually joined for breakfast, was nowhere to be seen. His other father, Xigbar, was already up and ripping open a new package of sugar, squinting at a measuring cup on the counter with his good eye. The moment he caught sight of Vanitas edging around the corner, he gave a cheerful finger gun and clicked his tongue in greeting.

“Morning, little man. And more of a little man today than ever, right?”

Vanitas rubbed his nose to conceal his grin and slid over to the table, where a small plate of scrambled eggs was waiting for him.

“Morning, Appa. Where’s Dad? Did he already leave?”

“It’s his day off, remember? You already know he’s in the workshop.”

“Oh yeah...I kinda forgot it fell on my birthday this year.” Vanitas looked off to the side, and pouted. “But he’s still not here, so I guess it doesn’t make a difference. Wonder if he’d show up for Riku.”

“Please, the man’s a workaholic no matter what day it is. Anniversaries, birthdays, I dunno...lung transplant surgeries on his grandma? No matter the occasion, he’ll find a way to be busy.”

Xigbar’s rich black hair swayed back and forth as he busied himself whipping up pancake batter: Vanitas’s favorite breakfast, especially when loaded with chocolate chips. The hair and golden eyes: Vanitas had inherited both. Though the eyes also ran on Ansem’s side of the family, deep brown skin and broad nose were the more obvious signifiers of what he had inherited from his other father. Still, he felt closest to Xigbar, whose chaotic sense of humor and wickedly chill attitude (and cool stories about being the governor’s most trusted bodyguard) appealed more to a young boy than the stern, sometimes condescending cool of the respected scientist.

“Dad always looks like he likes Riku more, though. He’s always helping him with his homework and talking with his teacher and stuff.”

Smoke started rising from the pan, and Xigbar cursed under his breath, clearly trying, and failing, to censor himself around the kid.

“Your brother is talented in all the same ways your Pops was. He’s probably just trying to guide him around the same pitfalls he made as a kid,” he said, trying to scrape up the burnt pancake. “People like you and me, we gotta work a little harder, but the pain of being a ‘gifted’ kid is that it hurts more when you fall. I think he’s tryna protect that from happening to your brother.”

He let out a low, disappointed whistle at the burnt mess in his pan, snatched it up, and flung it into the nearby trash bin.

“You’re a genius too, though. The teachers are always talking about how I shouldn’t have any trouble with the material, ‘cuz my dads are some of the smartest people in the city.”

Xigbar let loose a throaty laugh, edging the new pancake side to side to make sure it wasn’t burning.

“Nah. Your Pops? Definitely a genius. No doubting that man’s mind works in ways the average human can’t comprehend. But me? No, I just learn fast.”

With a flick of the wrist, the new pancake sailed through the air and landed expertly into the pan on the other side, as if Xigbar had merely been playing at incompetence earlier. The burnt smell of the earlier pancake slowly gave way to a gentler, breadier scent, and Vanitas found himself melting in his chair, impatient to start shoving stack after stack into his mouth.

“At practice, teacher said Riku was a natural,” he muttered, nudging around eggs with his fork. “I wonder if I can learn so fast that he won’t be able to catch up…Hey!”

His father had bumped the plate out of Vanitas’s path with another plate, sending the first one dangerously close to the edge and catching him completely off guard. The stack of pancakes had been completed faster than he had thought, and each of them was a golden brown that made the first pancake’s failure look even more and more like a freak accident.

“Persistence’ll get you places natural talent couldn’t dream, kid. Think of that as your free Birthday Wisdom.”

“‘Birthday Wisdom’? That’s a thing?”

“It is now. And it’s free! Happy Birthday, isn’t life just great?”

“That better not be my gift.”

“As if,” Xigbar said, and began to slice open a melon, peeling and cutting it into floral shapes with ease. “I’m the cool dad, remember? Check by the TV before you catch the bus, I left you something there.”

Vanitas didn’t answer, but shoved the pancakes into his mouth to avoid showing the growing smile on his face. Xigbar snorted knowingly, and set down the fruit in front of him. Golden eye catching golden eye as Vanitas suddenly piped up.

“I want to switch to somethin’ else. Boxing, or...taekwondo or...maybe Dad could actually teach me some of his science or his bookmaking or something…”

“I know what you’re tryin’ to do here, Van,”

“I mean, at school, all the class already thinks I’m too girly, and that’s without the ballet...because havin’ two dads, and one of them is,”

“Continue with that line of thought and I’ll kick your butt along with the kids who said that crap in the first place,” Xigbar sighed, and plopped into a chair beside him, rubbing his temple.

“But you know what I mean! ...I’ll just...leave it to Riku. He’s prettier, too, so I guess I can’t even compete with him on that...hah.”

“Prettier?” With a frown Xigbar chewed on a piece of melon before continuing. “He’s not, number one, number two, this isn’t a competition. By all means, whoop the other kids’ behinds, but not your baby bro’s. You two should be teaming up to take the other losers down, not turning on each other.”

“You don’t think Dad isn’t constantly comparing us in his lab notes or whatever? Y’know…’subject V has a really big head and a small brain compared to the smaller and more compact subject R’.”

“Alright alright, you got his nerd talk down, I won’t deny that, but trust me, that’s not how he sees you kids.”

“You sure?”

“‘Course I’m sure, every mad scientist needs an assistant, and that’s me.” Xigbar winked as best he could with only one eye, and laughed. “The man is an absolute idiot when it comes to emotional intellect, but he does know well enough to keep the lab in the lab. Kinda.”

“Huh...well...I mean, you shouldn’t say that in front of your kid! Aren’t you supposed to be all, ‘Son, you can’t be mean to your father’ and stuff?”

“I told you, I’m the cool dad,” Xigbar said with a smirk, and sipped at his orange juice. “Anyway...if you’re sure about the switch, and you’re not just doing it because you think you can’t do ballet, I guess I can make it happen. Taekwondo sounds good. The only condition is that you use your newfound powers to try and see if you can take me on in combat later.”

“No problem. You’ll go down easy, old man.”

“We’ll see about that,” Xigbar mused, and slid a slice of cake, hidden somewhere Vanitas hadn’t noticed, in front of him while the kid let out a huff of surprise. “I’m pretty tricky.”

That night, as the brothers sat across from each other in separate beds, Vanitas’s hands curled angrily above his knees, balling his sheets into wrinkled messes. Riku was already nose deep in some beginner’s chapter book, devouring stories of pirates and treasures, risky adventures and fantastic worlds...ideas Vanitas found sickening as he grew older. At some point, he couldn’t even see himself playing hero, couldn’t trick himself into believing the magic fairy dust sprinkled on the page anymore. Riku’s dreams soared higher and higher.

Vanitas believed Riku was the only one who could reach them.

“Hey,” Vanitas said, voice a cacophony against the now shattered silence. “What if Dad’s evil?”

Riku paused, eyes flickering from his page to Vanitas and back again. Then, slowly, he folded the book shut, thumb still marking the page, and laughed. Vanitas’s lips pulled into a disappointed sneer.

“What’s so funny? You don’t think he is?”

“Of course he isn’t,” said Riku, brimming with confidence. “I mean, he can be cranky and stuff, but that isn’t the same thing as being evil.”

“But what about that workshop, huh?” Vanitas pressed forward, physically and verbally, voice dropping dangerously. “He locks himself in there all day, and always with the lights off. He’s using candles! Who still uses candles?”

“That’s evil?”

“‘Course it is.” Vanitas huffed, and his golden eyes burned with challenge. Cry, idiot, he thought to himself. Be weak already. Be scared. “Maybe the reason he spends all his time with you is because he wants to size you up and feed you to the dog and make a clone. I bet he doesn’t really love you at all!”

The last word was a shout. Riku’s breath hitched, body locked tight, and Vanitas thought, at last, all those barbs and jabs had landed a significant blow.

But when he locked eyes with Riku, he felt his stomach clench. Riku shone with preternatural wisdom, beautiful, ocean blue, almond shaped eyes narrowing knowingly, thin smile shaky but self assured, a feeling of challenge reverberating with nothing more than a cocky “heh”. Silver locks...Ansem’s hair...shook around his shoulders.

“Yeah, well...maybe Dad’s gonna replace you, then, too.”

Vanitas’s jaw immediately clamped shut, wired by the jolted, struck nerves. Riku, though intelligent, was still seven, and remained ignorant of the bleeding gash he had struck deep into Vanitas’s heart.

“It’s almost midnight...hey, did he give you a present, yet?”

Whatever Riku was saying was immediately lost in the trample of Vanitas’s feet as he threw himself off the bed and ran down the hallway, hoping desperately that the tears spilling down his face had been lost in the dark. They slowed eventually, after what felt like hours, and his legs began to feel like they were pulling him through mud. Almost midnight...almost midnight, and that man was still cooped up in his workshop. Tears turned caustic as they streamed, teeth grinding in a way that he was sure would earn some sort of lecture. Good. Let him be lectured. That would be enough to show Dad still cared about some part of him.

He paused in front of the open door leading into the workshop, feet stopping just short of the threshold. Contained candlelight was all that lit the room, deep oranges and browns driving back the encroaching darkness. Hunched over beyond the frame, leaning over an ancient looking wooden desk, was that man. Silver hair fell elegantly about broad shoulders in shimmering sheets...almost Elven, magical...a stark contrast to the furious flurry of his arms and hands and fingers working mechanically, this way and that, grabbing oddly shaped knives and tools that Vanitas couldn’t have made up even in a particularly vivid daydreaming session. His stomach swam, and for a moment, he was prepared to believe his own lies...what if his father really was just some mad scientist, who would carve him up to the bone and throw the scraps to the dog?

“Dad?” His voice was weak, faltered the moment it left his throat. All it did was push out more tears, mourning how pathetic he sounded.

He thought he saw Ansem’s movements pause, but they quickly resumed his work. Anger boiled over in his stomach as he threw out his voice more wildly, it cracking in his emotion.

“Dad!” Vanitas stomped his foot simultaneously, and snot dribbled down his face. “Arentcha forgetting something!? ‘Happy Birthday, Van’! ‘Happy Birthday’! How could you forget your own son’s birthday?! I bet you wouldn’t forget Riku’s! Riku...Riku’s your…”

His voice fell out completely, head hanging, unable to look up as the wooden chair creaked and the solid footsteps of his father quietly approached. Hiccups tumbled out of his mouth, and he couldn’t help how his shoulders trembled even as a strong hand cupped around them.

“Vanitas.”

How strong and confident and unwavering that voice seemed; how kittenish Vanitas’s own sobbing seemed compared to that deep, lionlike roar.

The tears barely left enough room in his eyes for him to notice the gilded corner of a leather notebook, pushed gently under his nose, offered.

“I’d never forget my proud, eldest child.”

Vanitas’s breath seemed to vanish. His head swam with confusion as he hurriedly swiped away the tears clouding his vision, growing cold on his cheeks, and shakily grasped the book. A few second for his eyes to refocus, and it soon became clear what he was holding: a hand bound journal. Elegant carvings decorated its cover, its face stamped with some sort of symbol Vanitas had never seen before.

“This is what is called a ‘sigil’. This one was made with your name,” said Ansem with a sigh that suggested he too had been holding back some worry. Worry? “It is imbued with your will, your spirit...and my guidance.”

Vanitas thumbed through the journal; mostly blank pages greeted him, though there was a hand written appendix in the back detailing simple charms and spells for luck. The occult and science seemed to be at odds to each other, but his father had a vested interest in both, one that he had apparently noticed Vanitas picking up. And now...he had made this, a journal..a grimoire? Welcoming Vanitas further into that world, by his side.

Was that why it had taken so long? Was he waiting until he had finished the gift?

“Happy Birthday, Vanitas.” Ansem’s eyes tilted downwards, and it seemed he was hiding some emotion from his son. “For ever letting you think I did not care...I am sorry.”

“Dad…,” Vanitas’s lips couldn’t seem to focus on becoming a smile or a frown, and wobbly flopped between both. He threw his arms around Ansem, pressing his face into his torso, and let out an ugly, primal shout. “Say it sooner, next time, jerk…!”

“Noted,” Ansem replied primly. “I heard from your Appa that you wanted to give up ballet. Is this also because of how you see Riku? How you think I see him?”

Vanitas flushed, heart pounding, and he was grateful his face was hidden.

“Mm….mmhm…”

“I went ahead and booked you a private tutor earlier, after I heard. You’re skilled, Vanitas, and I don’t want to see your passion fall away. You’re both valuable to me, equally. Perhaps it’s best to let you boys start being separate more often…” Ansem mused as Vanitas backed away, face and tears brimming with surprise.

“Really?”

“Unless you still wanted to do taekwondo. I heard your Appa is quite excited about the possibility of you flipping the children in your classroom around,” he said, chuckling. “I’ll admit, if they’re saying the things I think they are, I’m inclined to agree.”

“Sweet! Uh...wait,” He paused, clutching the journal to his chest and awkwardly scratching his hair. “Can I do both?”

“My, a multidisciplinary. You truly are my son.”

“...Van?”

A voice lilt up from the doorway. Vanitas, eyes barely losing their redness, turned, and immediately he shrank back towards Ansem, who caught him in a ready arm. Riku, eyes wide, hand lifted up nervously to his chin, stood in the threshold.

“I uh...I followed you here…um.” The smaller boy cleared his throat and closed his eyes, and when he spoke up, it was with a courage that steadied the tinniness of his small voice. “I’m sorry, for hurting your feelings. I didn’t know what I said was bad, I just wanted to tease you back. And, um…”

Riku inched forward, traded a glance with Ansem, who nodded down at Vanitas, and wrapped his arms around his older brother, melting into the embrace. Vanitas stood stock still, surprised but unwilling to move, as if afraid to dismiss the warmth of the moment altogether.

“You’re smart, and talented, and a really cool brother,” Riku said, muffled by Vanitas’s chest. “Love you.”

Vanitas finally managed to break his hesitation and placed a hand on Riku’s hair, gently ruffling it.

“I guess you’re not bad yourself.”

“Van.”

“...Love you too.”

[kitcat992]

It’s Easier to Build Strong Children (Than to Repair Broken Men) Irondad/Spiderson Fluff

So I was in the store the other day and walked across the perfume/cologne aisle. Mindlessly I was looking for my fragrance when I — randomly — remembered the scene from Homecoming.

You know, this one.

And then it hit me, a fact that I’m sure others have already come to realize. It’s very likely that the cologne Peter used belonged to Uncle Ben. (That and there was apparently dialogue hinting towards the suit also being Ben’s, but my heart can’t go there right now)

So long story short  — I ended up with this.

It’s Easier to Build Strong Children (Than to Repair Broken Men)

There were very few dates that Tony came to memorize. In fact, he was pretty sure he could count them all on his one hand.

December 16th, 1991. The night his parents died.

May 29th, 1970. His own birthday.

May 5th, 1973. Pepper’s birthday — that one took some time to remember.

May 16th, 2012. The attack on New York.

The month of May was proving to be a troublesome time for him.

He seemed to have an unshakable survivors guilt that never failed to act up around both his birthday and the anniversary of the attack on New York. Every year he tried to make Pepper’s birthday the perfect distraction and every year he managed to fail, miserably. Usually with sparks and flames, because fireworks were his go-to and even those somehow turned out awful.

So when October 3rd, 2017 rolled around, he knew he’d remember the day for one reason. Not because of the date, no, it was the person involved.

May Parker.

“I’m going to have you arrested,” she said, finger wagging in his direction. “That’s what I’m going to do. I’m calling the cops, I’m reporting you, I’m — I’m — I’m—”

Tony rubbed at his forehead. “You’re not having me arrested, Ms. Parker.”

“Shh!” she hissed. “You don’t get to talk. You — you...be quiet, mister!”

Tony sniffed, hard. It was a move he did when he needed to restrain himself from showing too much emotion, followed by a flick of his thumb over his nose. He sat quietly on the couch in the Parker’s living room, one leg crossed over the other, his elbow resting on the armrest of the sofa.

May paced in front of him, back and forth repeatedly until he was sure she’d create a hole in the floor. He stayed relatively quiet throughout her rant, deciding it was best to let her get everything out before he said anything.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “This is a nightmare. I can’t believe this, I can’t believe you, I can’t — this isn’t happening!”

October 3rd, 2017. The day was nothing short of a nightmare. As if the weekend leading up to it wasn’t bad enough — his plane carrying the most essential Avengers belongings crashed and burned on Coney Island and the clean up was a headache he still hadn’t shaken off. Then he found out the kid helped save his ass when someone tried stealing those items, and then the same kid turned down a spot on the team that he was really hoping he’d join.

It took less than twenty-four hours after all that for things to really go to hell in a hand-basket.

“Ms. Parker, hear me out,” he said.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Ms. Parker —”

“No, no, no, you —!”

“May!”

“I’m not letting you—!”

“May!”

They were shouting over each other now, May’s shrill voice easily overtaking Tony’s calm but firm tone.

It had taken twelve phone calls and voicemails before he got wind of the situation. Eleven were from her and only one was from Peter himself. That was the voicemail telling him this wasn’t a situation he could ignore.

“May, it’s fine — May, calm down, it’s fine! It’s fine — oh crap, it beeped. Hi, Mr-Mr. Stark, it’s Peter. Parker. Uhm, so, uh, my aunt sorta...kinda...found out about the whole Spider-man thing. Uh, yeah, I’m-I’m uh...I’m screwed. Uhm, I could use — May, I told you I’m calling him now. No, I don’t know why Happy isn’t picking up, I’m — call me back...when you get this, Mr. Stark. And sorry. For everything.”

Tony shot up from the couch, grabbing her shoulders as gently as he could, forcing her to stay in one place and look him in the eye.

He wouldn’t tell a single soul, but the anger that radiated off her scared him to his core. It could easily give Pepper Potts a run for her money, and that said something.

“May,” he started. “You have to accept that this was his choice.”

“He’s going to get hurt,” she fired back. “You’re — you’re going to let him get hurt, you’re enabling that, you’re—”

“No. No, I’m not. I promise you,” Tony assured her. “I gave him the suit so he could be safe. You saw what he was running around in before — that was not safe.”

May paused, the crease on her forehead relaxing as recognition fell over her features.

“Oh my god. That hoodie. I knew I saw that hoodie somewhere before...I bought that hoodie!” She sat down on the sofa, her head falling into her hands. “This can’t be happening.”

Tony was ninety percent sure she was about to cry, and tears were far, far out of his element. He cleared his throat, intentionally loud to gain her attention before sitting down next to her.

“I know this wasn’t the most...ideal way for you to find out.”

May shot him a glare.

Tony held his hands in the air.

“He wanted to keep it secret. I respected that.” Tony defended. “But I need you to hear me out, May. If you tell anyone...if word gets out that I, Tony Stark, am assisting a superhero vigilante...they’re going make him sign the Sokovia Accords.”

“Oh god,” May mumbled.

“Between you and me, I’d rather keep him far away from that disaster of a government legislation. At least until he’s out of high school. That’s only fair — to him, to you. This doesn’t have to get out of our control.”

Tony wasn’t lying. It was probably the most earnest he had been since entering the apartment. The Accords may have ruined his life, but they didn’t need to ruin Peter’s. Not when the most the kid wanted to do was save a few old ladies from muggings and cats from trees.

And take down a hijacked plane with all the Avenger’s belongings in it. Tony wouldn’t live that one down.

“So,” Tony clapped his hands together. “Where would you like me to begin?”

May sighed, shaking her head. “He’s just a kid.”

Tony paused, a look washing over his face as if he were trying to decide on something. He let a beat pass before speaking up.

“Would it help if I told you he hacked a multi-million dollar suit and went against implicit orders I gave him?”

There were  a of couple lessons he took away from that experience.

The first and foremost was that the Parker kid couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. Apparently, his aunt wasn’t the only one to discover his vigilante outings, already having a friend who deemed the role of ‘guy in the chair’, whatever the hell that meant. Tony had a gut feeling there’d be more to come, especially if he kept putting on his suit, in broad daylight, in openly exposed alleyways.

The second was that he never, ever let May Parker go to voicemail.

He was in his workshop underneath his Bugatti Veyron when FRIDAY patched her call through.

“Ah, Ms. Parker.” He laid a tool-wrench down on the ground. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Tony,” she greeted. “How many times do I have to tell you — it’s May.”

“Of course. And a lovely name at that.” Tony rolled out from underneath the car, wiping his hands on a dirty shop rag. “What can I do for you? It’s not the Spiderling, is it? Still keeping his grades up, not skipping classes, being a good boy and all that nonsense?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that. Peter’s doing fine.”

Tony was slightly relieved at the answer. It had been months since the ‘cat out of the bag’ incident and for the most part, May never had to contact him with any serious concerns. Peter knew that school was a priority, he knew and — mostly — obeyed his curfew. There really wasn’t any cause for concern. Honestly, he felt like they had a great handle on the situation.

Still, there was always a first time for everything.

Tony stood from the floor, tossing the shop rag onto the nearest table.

“It’s the devil’s lettuce, isn’t it?” He feigned a gasp. “Those damn kids with their experimenting and hoopla.”

May chuckled on the other line. “As much as I would love for that to be the extent of trouble Peter gets into, no. It’s about his birthday. You know it’s next week, right?”

Tony winced. He actually didn’t know, but in his defense, he wasn’t great with dates.

“Of course. What’s the young buck turning? Twelve? Thirteen?”

He could practically see May roll her eyes. “Sixteen.”

That, Tony did know. The kid loved to bring it up anytime he mocked him about his age — (“I’m almost sixteen, Mr. Stark.”) which tend to be a lot, something Tony couldn’t help. (“Yeah? Talk to me when you have to shave more than once a week.”) Teasing him had become his favorite pastime.

He didn't know, however, that it was right around the corner. Jeeze, it felt like a couple months ago the kid was fourteen and getting his passport for Germany.

“They grow up so fast,” Tony said, pouring himself a disgustingly green smoothie. “You want my help celebrating? I have a great reputation for throwing parties.”

“No, no, it’s just going to be a small get together. A few of his friends, birthday cake, he mentioned a Star Wars marathon — nothing big.”

Tony took a sip of his smoothie as May spoke overhead, carefully eyeing the fancy sports car he had been working on.

An idea popped into his head.

“How can it be a small get together? Where is he going to show off the car I’m buying him?”

“Ah!” May immediately responded. “See. That’s why I called.”

Tony had already pulled up a holographic screen from one of his computers, scrolling through dealerships and different types of cars with a flick of his wrist.

“About what? May, it’s his sweet sixteen. Everyone gets a car for this sixteenth, kid needs a car.”

“No.” she argued. “Peter does not need a car.”

“Mhmm...agree to disagree.” Tony stopped the scroll of images to eye one vehicle in particular. His fingers zoomed in on it, spinning it around. “He likes red, right? Obviously he likes red. Smart kid, my favorite color, his favorite color, we get along so well.”

“Tony. no.”

He frowned, coking his head to the side. “Tony no? I’m not too sure what that means.”

“We live in Queens. In New York. Where is he going to drive a car?”

“In Queens, New York,” Tony insisted. “I don’t understand, what’s the problem?”

He could hear May sigh over the phone. “Listen, I am eternally grateful that you helped him get his permit. You went above and beyond with his driving lessons and lending him your car and — thank you again, for all of that. But...he doesn’t need his own car. Not yet.”

Tony pursed his lips in thought. Ultimately he waved the pages of internet research aside, clearing them away and settling into a chair at his desk.

“Already, I’ll bite.” He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Aside from smothering my taste in gifts, what’s on your mind?”

“I wanted to offer a suggestion.”

Tony nodded. “I’m listening.”

“Peter’s been...” she paused to cluck her tongue. “Listen, you can’t tell him what I’m about to tell you.”

Tony shook his head and muttered, “Full of demands today, aren’t we aunt hottie.”

“I heard that,” she snapped.

May didn’t immediately resume talking and Tony almost considered apologizing, uncomfortable with how long of a break she took. He sipped from his smoothie, already half done by the time she audibly cleared her throat and spoke up again.

“Peter’s been seeing this girl. Michelle or Chelle or MJ...I don’t know, but he’s been seeing her a lot lately. They’ve been going out on a few dates and he really doesn’t want anyone to know but he doesn’t know that I know and he can’t know that you now know.”

Tony blinked. “Wow. That was a mouthful. And if I may say — is this kid doomed not to keep a secret?”

May hummed. “That’s a little harsh. I only know because of the smell.”

Tony choked on his drink. “I’m-I’m sorry, the smell? Next you gonna tell me that you found crusty socks in his hamper?”

“Oh that’s gross,” May scolded. “That is so gross. Tony.”

He laughed. “May, he’s a teenager. Do you expect any less?”

“That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

Tony set his drink aside. “I’m sure the kid can handle buying his own rubbers.”

“Why do you always make me regret reaching out?”

Tony chuckled. He honestly found humor in the situation but kept his real response to himself. He didn’t want to admit that anytime he spoke with May, it painfully reminded him of how young Peter was. It was like a reality check he never asked for, finding it easier to see the kid through his mask and Baby Monitor feed than what he actually was — a kid.

It wasn’t a fact he could run from forever. Especially if he was going to let the Parker’s get so close to him.

Who was he kidding, he failed at stopping that from happening a long time ago. Most days Peter had him wrapped around his lanky little fingers, which made it harder to say no to any request May had for him.

“I apologize,” Tony said. “You were saying?”

“The smell — it’s his cologne. Which isn’t actually his, it’s  — it was...my late husband’s. And as much as I loved Ben, he had an awful taste. He insisted on using this fragrance that smelt like wet wood and beeswax,” May explained. “I had Peter try a little bit for his Homecoming dance, you know...make him feel a little more mature and all, but he hated the smell more on himself than when it was on Ben.”

“But he’s using it?” Tony asked.

“Yeah, he’s using it. And I’m about ready to throw the bottle out to stop him. I’m not sure how this poor girl is putting up with it. I guess anything is better than teenage B.O, but still. It’s so bad.”

This was the first time Tony was hearing about the problem. It had been a couple weeks since he last had Peter over at the compound, so clearly he and this girl couldn’t have been going out for too long. Not that high-school relationships ever lasted more than a month to begin with.

Still, if he had smelt something as awful as wet wood and beeswax, he would have stepped in sooner.

“Alright, I think I see where this is going,” Tony said. “But I have to ask — why are you coming to me with this? Are you that hard up on cash that you can’t afford a bottle of cologne?”

Tony was shocked May didn’t have a smart-ass comeback for that. He knew she had problems with his need to buy his way out of everything while she stayed in the working class. It wasn’t his best phrasing and he actually winced in anticipation of her response, surprised when her next words came through soft over the speakers.

“I considered buying something. I don’t...I just don’t feel like it should come from me.”

Tony frowned. Then who else would it —

Oh.

Ohhh.

“You don’t want…me to...?”

Things had just immediately jumped out of his element. Tony swallowed the discomfort that settled heavily in his throat, fighting off the urge to end the phone call before things got too real.

“You don’t have to,” May insisted. “I wanted to put the idea out there, that’s all. Peter has had it rough with...father figures in his life. He’s lost the only two he’s ever had. First Richard, then Ben...I’m doing everything I can, but I’m still only his aunt. The cool aunt, mind you —”

“But the aunt,” Tony finished. “I get it.”

May sighed, and he could hear her pacing against the tile floor of her home. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one out of his element with this subject. Her nerves were clear in her voice.

“I don’t know if you realize this, I don’t even know how okay you are with this..” she started, “Whether I like it or not, Peter respects you. He looks up to you. I’m not thrilled it’s you, but he needs someone to play that role in his life. And you’ve been...you’ve actually been doing a good job at that. I haven’t seen Peter so much like, well...Peter, since Ben passed. It’s nice.”

Her voice got small, quiet even over the loudspeakers in the workshop. Tony heard her, though. He heard the emotion laced in her words and the strain that came from speaking her late husband’s name. He heard what she was saying.

And yet he couldn’t help but find the irony in it all. He never wanted kids, he never asked for kids, he and Pepper were good without kids.

How the hell did he still end up with a kid?

A good one, mind you. Smart, very smart, heroic, wise and mature beyond his years — Tony scrubbed at his face and held back a groan. He supposed there really was a first time for everything.

May broke him out of his thoughts. “Listen, if I’ve made you uncomfortable —”

“I’ll do it,” Tony interrupted. “Someone has to teach the kid how to be fashionable, right?”

He masked the truth behind his humor, and while May chuckled, he had a good feeling she saw right through it. The kid had great instincts, that went without saying. He chose to be a superhero, no one forced him into it. That was a lecture he had to tell May.

But great instincts would only get him so far. He still needed a support team and somehow Tony Stark ended up in that mix.

May’s heels finally stopped walking across the floor. “Thank you, Tony.”

Tony sniffed and swiped at his nose.

Peter opened the door to his apartment, immediately stopping when a plastic light-saber swung recklessly in front of him.

“Young Anakin Skywalker.” Ned poked the light-saber to his chest. “You were the chosen one!”

Jaw unhinged, Peter tossed his keys to the side and dropped his book-bag to the floor. “Dude, awesome! Where’s mine!?”

Ned pointed behind him with the light-saber. “In the kitchen. We got you a red one.”

From across the living room, a dry, humorless voice stated, “You’re not supposed to tell him, dweeb.”

Peter looked in the direction, walking further into the apartment as MJ swung over the couch. She sat on her knees, chin resting against the backrest of the sofa.

She gave one wave in Peter’s direction. “Whadaup, dork?”

“Hey.” Peter gestured to the sofa where she sat, awkwardly smiling. “You-you came. Cool.”

MJ shrugged. “Yeah, well, I had nothing better to do tonight, so...” her voice trailed off and her eyes wandered to the floor, deciding instead to play with her short fingernails instead of finishing the conversation.

Ned jabbed an elbow in Peter’s side, who proceeded to furrow his brows and snap his head over, mouthing a very obvious ‘dude!’

“Peter!” May called from the kitchen. “In here!”

There was no hesitation when Peter took the chance to escape. He practically jogged into the kitchen, stopping short of the table where May stood with her apron on, decorating a birthday cake. There was a bit of chocolate frosting on her cheek that made him laugh.

“Hey, May,” he greeted, chuckling.

May looked up and smiled, dropping the bag of frosting and stepping forward for a hug. Peter held his arms open in return.

“Hey, kiddo.” She squeezed him hard, rubbing his back in her grip. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” Peter muffled into her shirt.

May held him tighter. “Ben would be so proud to see you right now. The man you’re growing up to be...”

Her voice began to break in a way Peter couldn’t stand to hear. He nodded his head, though it went unseen in her embrace.

“I know. I miss him.” Peter felt the knot in his throat growing and his body swayed side to side as she rocked him. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” May pulled away, smiling while she ruffled his hair. “Go to your room real quick. There’s a present on your bed that I think you’ll want to open in private.”

Peter wasn’t sure if she heard her right. He pointed behind him and over his shoulder where his bedroom was, as if needed affirmation to where she asked him to go.

May nodded, shooing him off, physically pushing him away with a “Go, go!”

He managed to make it there without gaining MJ or Ned’s attention, the two preoccupied with Decathlon practice questions to notice. His door was already open albeit cracked, making him wonder what exactly was going on.

His steps faltered as he saw what was inside. He closed his door quietly, never once turning away from the small, gift-wrapped package sitting on his bottom bunk. The last time he had a surprise in his room, it was a brown paper bag that managed to get him into a world of trouble. This, at least, looked slightly less suspicious.

The springs of his bed squeaked as he sat down. The box was small and covered in red and gold wrapping paper with the added touch of a blue bow. He hesitantly opened it, peeling the gift wrap away slowly.

Inside was a bottle of cologne. A very, very, very expensive looking bottle of cologne. Peter couldn’t help but gawk at it for the longest time.

A note sat on top, the edges embroidered and the paper feeling slightly heavy in his hands, fancy card-stock that he didn’t typically see on a day to day basis.

And yet the message on it was handwritten.

Peter read it.

Mr. Parker,

As Tom Ford once said, “Good manners and good cologne is what transforms the man into a gentleman.”

You’ve excelled at the former but need some guidance on the latter.

Happy birthday, kid.

T.S

He jolted in surprise as hard banging on his bedroom door caught his attention.

“Dude, hurry up!” Ned yelled from outside, his fist pounding relentlessly. “I want you to open my present, it’s a one thousand two hundred piece BB8 lego set!”

“Dork!” MJ shouted. “You’re not supposed to tell him what you got him!”

Peter laughed, setting the note and glass jar of cologne aside on his nightstand. Of his entire sixteen year existence, the past year had definitely been the weirdest. And while he never expected Tony Stark to play such a large role in that...well, he was kinda glad he that did.

The next time he and Mr. Stark were together, the man playfully punched him on the shoulder, casually complimenting that he smelt nice and had an “extraordinary taste in fragrance.” Peter then decided to let him know about MJ, asking for a few dating tips in the process.

[fearofaherobrine]

Roleplay Server Log #377

“Karla’s Anxiety, Hg's Dress, Trender Steps in, Time for Pirates and Suspicious Words”

[Splender] Teleports into Lie's backyard, having been shouted at by Trender for not checking on Pinwheel- Pinwheel!

[Pinwheel] Lifts her head with a slight irritated flick of her tail, she's grown again and is laying in the shade of Karla's house-

[Karla] Looks up from the book she's reading on the porch. - Someone is calling for you.

[Pinwheel] - It's Splendy

{Splender] - PIIIIIIINWHEEEEEEEL!

[Karla] Puts the book away - Are you hiding from him?

[Pinwheel] - He's gonna get huggy

[Karla] Well he did raise you. And he is more then a little fond of you. Despite the biting.

[Pinwheel] Huffs-

[Splender] Spots her and teleports right over, squealing over the fact that she's grown- YOU GOT BIGGER!

[Karla] She's a fine dragon. You should be proud.

[Splender] Goes for the hug-

[Pinwheel] Bites-

[Splender] Oh you're getting so big and pretty!

[Karla] I presume that's much less painful then it looks?

[Splender] - Oh!  I'm sorry, I'm being rude, I didn't even see you there.  No, it's not painful at all for me

[Karla] I'm Dr. Emmerich. Karla is fine though. And I presume from your rather impressive stature; you're one of the Slenders?

[Splender] - Yes!  I'm Splender!  The youngest!

[Karla] And I'm guessing the happiest? I met your brother Offender briefly as well. How's your mother adjusting? I heard she'd joined you.

[Splender] - Well!  Trender is currently watching her

[Pinwheel] - Splendy!  Let go!

[Splender] - Awwww, but you're so soft and fluffy

[Karla] Stands a bit closer - She might need a little air there?

[Splender] Finally lets go and Pinwheel scrambles up onto the roof-

[Karla] Chuckles - She can move quickly when the mood strikes her. I find her most pleasant company.

[Splender] - I'm glad, she needs more friends

[Karla] I think Ever is trying as well, but with less success.

[Splender] - I'm sorry, I don't believe I've met him

[Karla] Blonde fluffy hair? Cat ears and a tail currently?

[Splender] - I'm sorry, I've been busy trying to keep my mother happy so I don't think I've seen him, but I do appreciate you looking after Pinwheel

[Karla] Ah, you'll run into him eventually. He said he was going to the village a little while ago. And I've just been providing a bit of shelter in between her playing with Crim. They've become quite close.

[Splender] - I do need to head over there to feed soon, have you been?

[Karla] Shifts uncomfortably- no... I have not... I have had rather bad luck with small towns in the past. I don't want to upset anyone...

[Splender] - Then come with me!

[Karla] Waffling-

[Splender] Grabs Karla's wrist- Be good Pinwheel!- He then teleports them into the village

-There's a bit of commotion as they pop in but the people quickly relax and wave before going about their business.

[Karla] That was... unusual...

[Splender] - They're used to it- Children are now spotting him and gathering excitedly, wondering what sort of treats he has for them this time

[Karla] Is edging away from the kids uncomfortably-

[Pinapple] Are you new here? You don't look like a brine or an Alex?

[Karla] I'm not...

[Splender] - She's a doctor!  And she's been keeping an eye on Pinwheel for me- He's passing out some candy

[Pinapple] Another one? Are you going to work out of Doc's office?

[Coffi] What's your specialty?

[Karla] I wasn't planning on it.... And I'm a field medic...

[CN] Comes in through the gate, making the vanilla delivery for Lie-

[Creme] Spots him- Oh! It's the teeny NOTCH. Hello Cn.

[Karla] Is very unsettled and it's showing-

[Pinapple] Are you okay miss?

[Karla] Too fast nod-

[CN] - Hi!  Lie wanted me to bring in the vanilla since she can't leave the house according to the Big Meanie

[Splender] - Calm yourself Karla, you're in no danger, they're just curious

[Karla] Shoots him a look that's very slightly panicked.

[Coffi] Is a bit too close and she scoots away from him-

[Splender] Glances at the testificates sending a bit of happy energy to them to distract them a little-

[Creme] Breaks out in a blissful expression-

[Pinapple] Gets distracted by the playing children and smiles-

[Karla] -jimmies definetly rustled-

[CN] - Crème?  Where does Lie usually put the vanilla?

[Splender] Creates some small toys- Would you like a tour Karla?

[Creme] She usually gives it to Eggg since him and Basquet run the kids cafe. He portions it out so the other places with food get some too.

[CN] - Where are they?

[Creme] Stands on tiptoes and looks past the crowd of kids- Go through the gate and it's the building on the right.

[CN] - Okay- He starts making his way through the crowd

[Karla] Has backed up against a wall and is nervously watching everyone.

[Splender] Notices this and sends happy energy directly to Karla, hoping it will relax her a little-

[HG] -runs into the dessert kicking up sand as he goes-

[Mix] -Is out in a skirt, no shirt. She's just working on some building with a bit of shade.-

[HG] -sees mix and stops- hello mix

[Mix] Hey.. HG? Why you coming through the desert?

[Mix] -Wipes sweat-

[HG] Just wanted to see if I could water some cacti while I think

[Mix] Oh sure! There's a whole bunch over there! -Gestures at a collection of Cacti off to the side-

[HG] -waters them- so what are you doing?

[Mix] Been thinking of building some more so I figured I'd start!  -Gestures at the barebones design-  And I couldn't be bothered to actually get dressed so! Skirt

[HG] what are those full body flowy outfits gem wears one all the time but I don't know what it is called

[Mix] A dress?

[HG] is that right I don't know but I wanted to get one a soft pretty one with flowers

[Mix] I could make you one if you want? I have some left over fabric at home...

[HG] you can? Oh thank you mix - is clearly excited to get their own dress-

[Mix] I'll go get my stuff and come back, that way you can see it while I make it. I need a bit of a break anyway. -Starts off toward her house-

[HG] - is bouncing in place because he is super excited-

[Mix] -Is gone for a bit before returning with a handful of cloth and some tools.-

[HG] - watched mix work-

[Mix] -Soon has a rough dress made, it's got some flowers along the hem and is a soft green shade.- How's this look so far?

[HG] it's so pretty so far

[Mix] Any changes you want?

[HG] uh can you please make it have a very easy sleeve in the top part?

[Mix] Of course! Anything else?

[HG] could it also have a belt?

[Mix] Uhhh.. Sure! -Making the changes-

[HG] Your very good at this mix

[HG] I can't wait to wear It - HG is getting suepr excited again-

[Mix] I've had a lot of practice! -Is adding finishing touches before giving it to HG-

[HG] -holds the dress- it's so perfect thank you -back away from mix and kicks up a mini cloud of dust enough to switch into the dress with-

[Mix] -Puts things away- How's it feel?

[HG] I love it feels so soft and it fits perfectly thank you mix for helping

[Mix] No problem! Enjoy it! -Big smile-

[HG] -offers Mix one of the ice cream saplings because they would help keep her cool in the hot sun-

[Karla] Feels Splender's energy and tries to shake it off, she's not comfortable being influenced.

-As Karla becomes more uncomfortable she feels something else grab her and teleport her to a different part of the village, a quiet corner of the villages park-

[Trender] - Discomfort does not suit you

[Karla] Shudders- Who are you?

[Trender] - I am Trender, one of Splender's older brothers.

[Karla] Brushes herself off a bit- Thank you then. Too long avoiding people makes one immediately unhappy in a crowd.

[Trender] - So I could feel, but I assure you, my brother meant no harm in bringing you here.  He likes to make people happy, that is all

[Karla] I've noticed. He's much my opposite. I prefer making people delightfully uncomfortable.

[Trender] - You'd get along with Offender then, and possibly our eldest brother too

[Karla] Offender I've met. He seems rather charming in a dangerous way. I believe I've met your eldest brother too, though I was rather... we'll say in an excited and rather blood splattered mood.

[Trender] - It wouldn't have been with Herobrine, would it?

[Karla] Smiles in a rather predatory way - Yes indeed. He and I seem to be getting along decently well too. If only because he likes me being around to help care for his wife.

[Trender] - Is his wife ill?

[Karla] Quite the contrary, she's great with his child.

[Trender] Is silent for a moment- ...  I need a door

[Karla] Why?

[Trender] - To get to my workshop

[Karla] Ah, wanting to add to the pile of baby things? Their friends threw them quite a lavish shower with all the pastel trimmings.

[Trender] - Making outfits is most certainly a hobby of mine, but I suspect they only have baby clothing, they will need clothes for as it grows- He settles on one of the doors to the post office and focuses a bit of power on it.  It opens to reveal his workshop on the other side, the massive room stretching into the distance and a more recent work resting on a mannequin nearby

[Karla] Peers in, obviously interested. - Ah a fellow of the cloth. I like sewing as well. Though it's usually not so wholesome in form.

[Trender] - Nor is mine always, ah, Scarfy, did you need something?- There's a bit of movement in a shadow as Trender's proxy steps out and shakes his head.  He wears a mask which looks like a mime's face and a bright red scarf is wrapped around his neck

[Karla] How interesting.... I see your assistant is equally unusual.

[Trender] - He is my proxy, just as Ringleader is for Splender- He begins searching the shelves for just the right fabrics

[Karla] Follows him, she's obviously marvelling at his horde. - Any love for... leather? [She slips slightly as she speaks] It's one of mein favorites.

[Trender] - The section that is kept in is a few aisles that way- He motions with a tendril towards his right- I have at least a sample of everything I can possibly get, including some things from the game we are currently in

[Karla] Examines her hands - Not quite real, but closer in here. How strange. My... assistant is rather enamored with the enchanted cloths. Heh. My work is often done with real hide, feathers and sometimes bones.

[Trender] - Those I have by practically the mountain load if you ever need some

[Karla] I used to take commissions, but it seems pointless in a world where massive diamonds and pure gold is there for anyone willing to spend a few hours digging them up.

[Trender] - But that shouldn't stop you from doing it simply out of enjoyment, plus it would allow you to have money for out there

[Karla] Oh, I am doing it just for fun. Perhaps when I venture out again I'll put those works up for sale. If I tire of viewing them myself. It's nice to have so much free time. But I don't have easy access to travel back and forth. I'm not a creepypasta that can make portals.

[Trender] - You could always just have Herobrine scare them by dropping it off on their door step- He's sewing now and cutting fabric at the same time

[Karla] That's a delightful thought, but again, I don't want to put him out. It's difficult for anyone to entice him to leave Lie's side for even a moment. Even with her fluctuating mood.

[Trender] - Yes, that is one of the things about pasta's and their mates, the bond shared is nigh unbreakable, although it is possible

[Karla] It's fortunate. I suspect that their progeny will have a mix of their powers. I think it may take both of them and several helpful friends merely to babysit the child.

[Trender] - It should be entertaining- He folds several now finished articles of clothing up and puts them into a bag- We should be getting back to my brother, before he gets into a worried frenzy

[Karla] Gracefully gestures - Lead the way my good Slender.

[Trender] As he leads her out they pass the mannequin and a whimper escapes it as pleading eyes follow Karla's retreating form-

[Karla] Glances and wonders, but doesn't say anything.

[Trender] Holds the door for her- It was a pleasure spending some time with you

[Karla] Thank you. You as well.

[Yaunfen] Is running egarly with a book in one hand and Waffles trailing behind them-

[Lj] Sees them pass and follows curiously-

[Yaunfen] Spots Cn coming back from the village- Hey Cn!

[CN] - Oh, hey!

[Yaunfen] Are you busy? Would Lie care if we played for a while?

[Lj] Perks a little at the word play-

[CN] - I don't think she'd mind, I just finished delivering some vanilla for her...

[Yaunfen] Okay! I'll tell her so she doesn't get mad again- chats to Lie- can Cn play for a while?

[Waffles] Sniffs out LJ- mrrrrr [Lj] hi... - he's a bit uncomfortable

[Lie] - Sure, just be back before dark

[CN] - So what do you want to play?- He glances at LJ briefly

[Yaunfen] This! I've been reading a really cool book- he holds it out for Cn to look at the inside, there's an illustration of a pirate with a smoldering twists in his beard and a sword held high on the front of an old sailing ship-

[CN] - What is it?

[Yaunfen] Pirates! They were really interesting. And they had the first dem-o-cracy! But they used to sail in big ships and steal stuff from navy ships-

[Lj] ...

[CN] - There's some big ships in the water!

[Yaunfen] Yeah! And I have a boat so we can get there.

[Waffles] Looks annoyed at the prospect of water.

[Lj] Is trying to restrain himself from asking because of how small Cn looks -

[Yaunfen] Lj? Do you want to play too?

[Lj] Maybe...

[Yaunfen] It's okay! Cn isn't a little kid. He's just a really short NOTCH!

[Lj] Looks skeptical-

[CN] - Yeah! I've been around for awhile!

[Yaunfen] He's a midget.

[Lj] Still skeptical but willing to suspend disbelief. His words are barely a whisper- Issac used to like to play pirates... When he was so young....

[CN] - You know how to play pirates?

[Lj] Absolutely!

[Yster] Is lounging and exhausted. - you're true to your words... That was amazing...

[Locklear] - Well, I have had plenty of time to practice the craft

[Yster] Curls against him, tangling her fingers in his hair - Happy we came?

[Locklear] - I don't know, perhaps a bit more convincing needs to happen- He teases her gently

-Slowly the two of them become aware of the sound of children playing on the deck above, and an adult voice with a slight accent singing -

"Farewell and adieu to ye young maids of Valen

Oderin and Presque, Fox Hole and Bruley

I'm bound for the westward to the wall with the hole in

I can't marry all or it's yokey I'll be

We'll rant and we'll roar like true Newfoundlanders

We'll rant and we'll roar on deck and below

Until we strikes bottom inside the two sunkers

When straight through the channel to Toslow we'll go!"

[Locklear] Groans- I know that voice...

[Yster] Whoever he is, he's got a pretty good singing voice-

-There's the sound of two younger voices belting out the chrous with most of the words correct and giggling-

[Locklear] - That would be Laughing Jack and some children

[Yster] Then I guess I should put my gown back on, for the sake of modesty.

[Locklear] - Yes we wouldn't want to ruin the children's innocence

[Yster] That sounds slightly sarcastic. Would we be inturrupting something that should be inturupted?

[Locklear] - Laughing is a child murderer

[Yster] Dresses quickly- Then we should- we should- Just to be safe, check on them!

[Locklear] - Precisely- He pulls his own clothing on as well.  As he pulls on his coat he heads up the stairs

[Lj] Is wearing a small paper hat and waving a stick around in lieu of a sword, he freezes at the sight of Locklear.

[Yster] Yaunfen? Does Doc know you're here?

[Yaunfen] Pulls up a bandana that was covering one eye - Yster? Um... Mama knows where I am. She kinda knows where everyone is.

[Locklear] - Laughing, what are you doing?

[CN] - Lie knows that I'm here!

[Yster] [Didn't see Cn right away] And she said it was okay?

[Lj] Deflates a little- Just playing...

[CN] - So long as we came home before dark

[Locklear] - With children Laughing?

[Yaunfen] Yeah, I don't want to get him in trouble again.

[Lj] Small voice - They're not exactly children....

[Locklear] - They most certainly look like children to me, plus they still seem young enough to enjoy partaking in make believe

[Yaunfen] Mada says you're never too old to imagine stuff. It helps you be more creative. And Cn is a NOTCH. He's super important in guarding our friend Lie.

[Lj] And this one's a dragon...

[Locklear] - Yes, but I also know your penchant for adding to your circus

[Lj] The circus is empty now...

[Yaunfen] Oh, you mean his house?

[Locklear] - Is that so?

[Lj] Some of them are in town, most of them are gone forever.

[CN] - Yeah, there's lots of kids in the town!

[Yaunfen] Very proud- Mada fixed them.

[Lj] Ashamed and guilty- It's true.

[Locklear] - I doubt that

[Yaunfen] But it's true!

[Yster] Actually this sounds familar. I wasn't there for it obviously. But something about a bunch of zombie children being healed.

[Lj] Shrinks in shame.

[Yaunfen] I wasn't hatched yet, but mama said that mada made everyone who was there help. You can fix zombies here.

[CN] - I hadn't been let onto the server yet...

[Locklear] - Yet I doubt that's made you stop using your...  Special, candies

[Lj] But I haven't! And I especially wouldn't hurt these two. I mean, I knocked out Steffan once because he was panicking, but I didn't hurt him!

[Yaunfen] Mada said that Lj had a withdraw and he's okay now. Besides. Mama would catch me.

[Locklear] - I still don't trust this

[Lj] It's okay Locklear, she doesn't talk to me anymore. Issac... he's gone too.

[Locklear] - Well yes, Isaac has been dead for a very long time now

[Yaunfen] Hushed whisper- I heard he went to a bad place...

[CN] - Like the Nether?

[Yaunfen] Maybe!

[Lj] He's just gone. I watched Death himself banish him.

This message has been removed.

[Lj] No.

[CN] - But deaths not permanent here?  Or did you go somewhere else?

[Lj] We went outside Cn, irl. And Death has a face, and wings, and a daughter.

[Yaunfen] Oooooh! You met Dawn's dad?

[Yster] I was there. He's quite impressive.

[Locklear] - You were there?

[Yster] It was uh.... when Doc grabbed me... they took me along because I was already here and well... how often does one get the opportunity to rub elbows with the Death angel?

[Locklear] Just sighs and rubs his face a little before turning back towards the children- We should be getting these two back to land

[Yaunfen] Awww....

[Waffles] Scratching on the side of the wheelhouse-

[CN] - Why?

[Locklear] - Because I don't trust the clown being out here with the two of you alone

[Lj] I deserve that.

[Yaunfen] But he's okay. He doesn't have the crazy anymore.

[Yster] Suddenly gets in between them- crazy....! Shit! Don't touch him Locklear!

[Yaunfen] Wide eyes and backs away from Locklear a bit- Is he still infected?

[Locklear] - Touching him?

[Yster] He's one of Doc's carriers!

[Lj] Yes...  Not only is my Insanity gone, I can drive her out of others as well. It's why I stayed away from the manor.

[Locklear] - How interesting, and I assume that might be why your colors have returned?

[Lj] Nods-

[Yaunfen] Stands close to Lj- Are you okay Yster? You can't trust him if he still has Insanity, she's a mean lady and she hates mada!

[Locklear] - I would never harm my mate

[Lj] I thought she was scared of you anyway? I heard she ran away from you, what, twice?

[Yster] Well.... he's kinda grown on me....

[Locklear] Scowls and his hands tighten into fists-

[Lj] Smiles faintly- better not touch me Locklear. I see that look in your eyes.

[Yaunfen] Please don't fight.

[Locklear] - You absolute prat!  Perhaps you should have been burned in that box of yours!  At least I focus on saving children, can you say the same?

[Lj] I'm getting better. I haven't killed anyone since I came here.

[Yaunfen] He can't be all bad. Waffles likes him!

[Locklear] - Judging by how they look I'n going to guess that's because of diet

[Yaunfen] It's the same stuff I eat too.

[Locklear] - Still, you shouldn't trust the clown

[Lj] I fully expect to that I'll have to earn what trust I'm given. But Yaunfen knows at least second-hand how far I've come. And as aggravating as Doc can be occasionally... they have helped me.

[Locklear] - That doesn't erase what I know you're capable of

[Lj] It was fun because Issac thought it was fun, with him gone I feel... differently. It's nice to be around people.

[Yster] I'm glad the going gave you some closure.

[Locklear] - And just how certain can you be that a taste of blood won't return you to how you were?  I've seen it happen before

[Lj] I can't be certain of anything. I've been... oddly empty. But lighter to be sure.

[Locklear] - Then maybe you should go and find something other than children to fill that empty space

[Lj] Actually I've been doing some gardening.

[Yaunfen] He's pretty good at it!

[Yster] Let me guess, is it stuff from your seed?

[Yaunfen] Yep!

[CN] - His seed is fun!

[Locklear] - That is not what I'm concerned about

[Yaunfen] You worry like Cp.

[Yster] Little snort- Considering how he's been all over Lie worrying, that's kind of a compliment.

[Locklear] - Well she is his mate and pregnant

[Lj] Yeah, I know, he warned me away in no uncertain terms and I have abided by that. I don't care to be set on fire. Even if I know it won't kill me.

[Locklear] - He does enjoy his fire

[Yaunfen] Looks up - Awww... it's getting late. We should head back.

[Locklear] - Yes, you should

[CN] - Lie probably needs help with her animals too...

[Yaunfen] Oh! Cn! I know what would be fun! - they turn to Lj quickly- Can you take Waffles so they don't get wet?

[Lj] Nods with a small smile. - I'll get your kitty to shore.

[Yaunfen] Thanks- They climb up on the railing and reach back for Cn-

[CN] - What is it?- Takes their hand

[Yaunfen] Big smile and they just fall off the rail with Cn-

[Yster] Runs to the rail in a panic-  Yaunfen!

[Yaunfen] Twists artfully and shifts as they hit the water, Cn plopping down between their horns as they paddle for the shore. - Bye Locklear, Yster!

[Locklear] Sighs- Children

[Lj] They learned that one from Doc.

[Locklear] - We should be heading back towards shore ourselves- He watches the retreating forms as they go through the water

[CN] Shrieks in delight-

[Lj] Heads for the sabertooth which is rolling contentedly on the deck- Come on Waffles-

[Locklear] - Stay away from the children Laughing

[Lj] Just gives him a cold look- You're not in charge of me Locklear. Not you or Issac or Insanity. I'm my own person now.

[Locklear] - We'll see, after all, you and I have always been at odds

[Lj] Yes, we shall. I've been welcomed here, and I don't intend to make anyone sorry for doing so intentionally. - Picks up the cat with his arms wrapped around them twice.

[Waffles] ???????

[Locklear] Scoffs and turns away-

[Lj] And we'll see how long it takes you to emotionally scar your 'mate' with Insanity still inside you.

[Yster] Her mouth is a hard line, but she can't deny his words. She was scared to see him murder up close.

[Locklear] Draws Yster closer to himself as he watches LJ leave-

[Yster] Do you... do you really have it under control Locklear?

[Locklear] - I believe I do

[Yster] I hope you're right

[perpetually-jungshook]

Without You: Bloodstone (Part 16)

Genre: AU, bts!werewolf, fantasy, angst

Warnings: language, violence, suggestive content

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: Werewolves, contrary to popular belief, are usually gentle creatures. Except for a very specific set of circumstances, they would never hurt a human (on purpose). The few unfortunate times when mistakes were made put a permanent dark mark on the beasts and people began labeling them as monsters. What the human population failed to recognize was the fact that they were protecting us from something much more sinister. Luckily, a few survived and the gene was passed down hereditarily until one day finding its way to me… in the form of my best friend.

Link to: Storyboard (reference pictures) | General lore post Prologue | Previous | Masterlist | Next

Loyalty is often as blind as justice should be, as unstable as a lightning storm ought to be, and as misplaced as an opinion in the truth.

Chapter 16:

The doors to the mysterious hallway are locked again. It was one of the first things I checked after Munhee left to help train Jungkook about two hours ago. But naturally, it wouldn’t be that easy. So I’m left to wobble back to Jungkook’s room on unsteady legs, hugging the walls for support. Despite probably not having the physical strength for it, I feel disgusting enough that my mental willpower alone allows me to take a shower, wash away last night and this morning.

Hair dripping, I crawl over to the bed, deciding a nap is the best option. Sleep doesn’t come- well, not easily.

The thought stays firmly in my head. I cannot trust Munhee. Why lock the hallway doors unless she doesn’t want me snooping around? What could she be hiding back there? The demon? I force myself to take a breath, trying to remain skeptical. What if the spirit had just been trying to get under my skin? Munhee hasn’t harmed or wronged me yet. Maybe she locked the doors to protect me because she knew I might snoop around and do something I’ll regret. Maybe whatever she stores back there is dangerous. Magic is, after all, inherently hazardous to people who don’t know how to use it.

Behind my eyelids, I see the Hepatica field, the full moon, and the massive raven black wolf.

I should ask her about it. Woman to woman. Maybe should would just… tell me. I haven’t tried being upfront yet and everyone here seems to answer most of my questions to the best of their ability. Yes, when Munhee gets back from training, I’ll try to casually bring it up. But until then, I need to sleep.

My mind slips into a restless oblivion.

I wake up to the sound of Jungkook’s door opening. The thought of Munhee also being back shoots a burst of adrenaline through my system, shocking me into alertness, but my eyelids crack open to find Taehyung.

“Oh hey,” I smile at him, sitting up so I can greet the bronze haired boy properly. “What are you doing in here? I thought you were training with Jungkook.”

He pauses to audibly sniff the air, then flops down on the bed next to me, yawning, “Yoongi hyung sent me back to the bunker… and Jimin asked me to check up on you.”

“He did? Why couldn’t he do it?”

Again, there’s a small pinch of pain in my chest. I try my best to include him, to make him feel appreciated and validated, but he keeps avoiding me, pushing me aside. I’m not sure if it’s his nature and that’s why everyone dislikes him, or if he’s hesitant to let anyone in because he’s been socially ostracized. At this point, does it even matter?

Taehyung snuggles up next to me, resting his head on my shoulder and his arm over my stomach, “I dunno. He said something about you maybe needing someone to comfort you and that I’m the man for the job.”

He laughs lightly, nuzzling against my shoulder playfully. Jimin probably didn’t say anything like that, but I’ll believe he sent Taehyung.

“Thanks,” I reply, amused. “Does all this affection mean I’m out of menstrual quarantine?”

The bronze haired boy sniffs again, “Yeah. Tomorrow you’ll be completely fine- not that there’s anything wrong with you. Just that you won’t be leaking blood everywhere.”

“What a nice way to put it,” I elbow him gently.

“Sorry,” he shoots me a boxy smile. “Wolves just have a thing about… human blood.”

“What are you? Vampires?”

Taehyung snorts to hide a laugh, “Definitely not. It’s more of a bonding thing.”

“Bonding? Like imprinting?”

“Yes and no. It’s a little bit different. There are actually two types of bonding but-”

The sound of the door opening interrupts his explanation, something I’ll admit I’m a little bit curious about. A second type of bonding? What could that mean? We both look up to find Jungkook, a bit rigid, standing in the doorway. Taehyung easily rolls off the bed, landing on his feet and walking to stand in front of the maknae.

He puts his hands up in mock surrender, “She’s all yours, Kook.”

The raven haired boy’s gaze flicks between the two of us before settling on me. After taking a deep breath, a small smile suddenly pulls at the corners of his lips, voice quiet, “Eun’s not ‘mine.’ I just like making sure she’s safe.”

Pride surges through my veins. He hadn’t even growled. Jungkook is growing.

Taehyung gives him a gentle, but encouraging pat on the shoulder as he slips past, back into the hallway.

I turn my full attention to Jungkook, “So does this mean you guys are done for today?”

He shrugs, running his fingers through his hair, “For now. Munhee sunbae says I need to rest because I might have pulled a few muscles, but we’re training again in the morning.”

I gesture for him to join me on the bed, “Will those heal fast? I don’t want you hurting yourself more.”

He nods, gingerly walking over to sit beside me. We continue talking idly, him checking up on me, me inquiring about his training. I refrain from mentioning the hallway, not wanting to cause him any more stress. Only when Jungkook decides to take a shower do I tell him I’ll be right back. Why? I need to talk to Munhee. He lets me go, albeit reluctantly.

I find her in the kitchen with a beer in her hand. She’s standing alone, staring at her feet. It’s a strange visual, simply because it’s a very human one. Munhee, the kick-ass, mysterious, magic wielding mentor, who also needs alcohol to settle her nerves sometimes.

“Is everything okay?” I probe hesitantly, not sure how else to start off the conversation.

Munhee nods, “Yeah. Everyone’s just kind of resting. That demon was a bit tough. Sometimes, I wish I had fast healing powers too but at the same time, no thanks.”

We both laugh lightly, politely. To give myself something to do, I rummage through the cabinets to get a glass for water. The shower had helped, but I can’t seem to get the slimy taste out of my mouth from the… exorcism? Munhee hadn’t called it that. She said a “spiritual cleansing,” but what does that mean?

Filling the cup halfway, I take a sip before asking, “Sun- erm, Munhee? Can I ask you something?”

She hums in acknowledgement, gaze having slid back to the floor.

“Besides your workshop, is there anything in that hallway at the back of the bunker?”

I watch her expression carefully, probably even to the point of outwardly appearing suspicious, but she answers simply with another question, “Why?”

I decide to play toward her sense of practicality, “I’d like to know if Jungkook is or if I am in danger. I think I have that right, don’t I? And instead of me snooping around in the middle of the night and poking around places that might not be safe, I think the better option is to just get a straight answer.”

She looks mildly impressed.

“That’s very true. So, yes. There are other things in that hallway. Come with me.”

I follow her with the smallest bit of apprehension resting in my chest like a cold stone, or rather, pebble. She’s being transparent. Shouldn’t I be grateful? Still, as we pass Jungkook’s room, I can’t help but naturally contemplate telling him where we’re going… just in case. Just in case what? I’m not sure. And that’s what I’m afraid of.

Munhee pops the lock and I naturally take a step back, afraid of the silence and stillness that might come pouring out from behind the doors. And this is when I recall a train of thought from last night, an abandoned theory: that first night of wandering around… the strange beckoning, time skipping forward… that had been a demon. Not Halsahm, but it had to have been something like it. Which either means the pack or Munhee had been keeping one alive, or a demon had infiltrated the bunker. My bet is on the former, for the same reason Jungkook thought they brought Halsahm back. To train him.

I startle a bit as a green flame abruptly blossoms on Munhee’s palm. She smiles, as if my reaction amuses her, “Someday soon, you’ll be able to do it too.”

“What exactly is ‘it?’”

“A type of magic you’ll need to learn quickly. It allows you to ‘see things that are hidden’ according to the book. I think that’s the grossest, most cliched way to put it, but yknow, I’m not bothered enough to figure out a different description,” Munhee waves me over. “Here, let me show you something.”

I don’t hesitate to step a little bit closer, but my breath hitches in my throat when she grabs my wrist and flips my hand to pour the green fire in it. I am almost naive enough to expect burning. But this is magic, so of course it wouldn’t.

“You won’t have much energy after what happened this morning, but focus on the flame. Keep it going. All you have to do is concentrate.”

The green fire licks at my palm, dripping into it like liquid. It feels heavy like honey, but with none of the stickiness. The moment Munhee withdraws her hand, it ripples into a puddle the size of a match head. My attention instinctively zeros in on it, trying to keep the flame from dissipating.

“Just focus, Eun,” she encourages. “You can do it.”

I manage to keep the tiny fire going, but can’t make it any bigger, definitely not to the same palm-consuming size as Munhee’s. But that’s okay. I’m just happy it didn’t go out.

“Good job for your first time. Let’s go, kid,” her voice is soft with pride.

As I follow her into the hallway, I notice the flickering on the walls again. With the small green flame desperately gasping for breath in my hand, I approach the smooth concrete surface, which no longer appears smooth and concrete. A metal door lies before me, not at the end of the hall where I know the workshop is, but less than five steps away from the mistletoe doors. It has some sort of sigil carved into the front that dimly seems to flicker into and out of existence with every dimming and brightening of the flame.

Munhee walks down the hall with familiar surety, stopping about half way down. She extends her arm until the green fire reveals a similar door. Her voice is now quiet, “This is where we’re keeping the demon. Don’t open this door. It won’t be able to speak or influence you as long as you keep it sealed in there, behind this sigil. Understand?”

“Kind of,” I keep my voice at a level of volume that equals hers. Hushed, as if not wanting to disturb something. “But why keep it? Why not exorcise it?”

“That’s not how it works, Eun,” Munhee sighs. “They aren’t literally demons. It’s why Namjoon’s so hesitant to call them that. Think of it less like the stereotypical ‘filling a shell’ possession and more like a tumor wrapping around a soul, keeping it hostage. We can’t just force it out of the host body. It has to leave willingly.”

What kind of bullshit is that? It enters someone’s body by force and then leaves whenever it darn well pleases? How is that fair? My hands almost ball into fists, body trembling with anger, but then I remember the small pinpoint of green fire in my palm. I look down to find it has vanished. I now allow myself to clench my fists, trying to relieve some of the frustration that had just built up on my conscience.

“How long does that usually take?”

Munhee shrugs, her eyes suddenly looking tired in the green glow of the flame in her palm, “Days. Weeks. Months. Years. Sometimes not ever and death of the host body is the only thing that releases- or expels- the souls inside. It depends on the demon.”

A heavy, sickly feeling settles in the pit of my stomach.

“And what will you do with it in the meantime?”

Munhee continues staring at the door, her expression melting into something vaguely forlorn, “Usually, I’d have the wolves train with it, but this time, I’m not sure. After what happened to you, I don’t think anyone should go near it. This one is… like Hoseok said, different. I’ve never seen one be able to attack you like it did from that far away.”

“So it’s just going to rot in there?” my voice cracks.

She nods slowly, “The demon will be fine. It’ll keep the host body alive, but the girl…”

Munhee trails off, yet I don’t press her for further explanation. I don’t think it’s necessary.

I clear my throat to try and keep a steady voice, “Thank you for showing me.”

Munhee gestures toward the doors and we leave the hallway and demon behind. She goes back to using a normal volume as soon as the combination lock clicks into place, “Of course, Eun. Oh, also, I need you to be honest. Has Jimin checked up on you today? At all?”

For a moment, I’m tempted to say no. Since our brief argument earlier, I haven't seen the boy with the coffee colored hair. However, I also don't want to get him in trouble and technically, if Taehyung was telling the truth, Jimin had made sure I was okay, even if he hadn't done it directly.

I try to smile genuinely as I lie by omission, "He's not the best babysitter, but he made an effort.”

Munhee seems shocked for a moment, "He did? Wait. We're talking about the same Jimin right?”

We both laugh, again, politely.

"I kind of feel bad for him," I admit as we walk back to the kitchen. "He doesn't seem like an awful person, but-”

"I'm assuming he told you about the Blood Wolf thing," she interrupts, not sounding irritated so much as tired. "He's right in the fact that they do forget him, but it's always by accident. They instinctively don't recognize him as part of the pack, especially when feral. I hate to say this, Eun, but when we first found him, I tried.

"Like you, I wanted to be nice, to help him see that he needs someone, anyone," she continues, "But Jimin just kept... pushing me away. Pushing all of us away. So now we tend to leave him alone, which is what he seems to want anyway.”

It hurts me to think that he refused help. Does that mean I should stop trying too? Maybe Jimin had started out as cold and brooding. Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he'd simply been hurt. By what? I'm not quite sure yet, but now isn't the time and this is definitely not the person I should ask.

"Thank you for looking out for me," I bow politely. "I'm a bit tired so…"

Munhee picks up her beer bottle, which she had left on the counter, "Go rest. I'd like to start your training in a couple days.”

I give her another polite bow before walking to Jungkook's room. I find him sitting on the bed, apparently worried sick about where I had gone, but he'd been determined to try to let me come back on my own. I tell him I'm grateful and reward my friend by letting him protectively snake around me as I drift off for my second nap of the day.

By dinnertime, the awful taste in my mouth has gone away and I feel achy instead of actively sore. I figure any progress is good progress. The atmosphere around the table as we eat is a little more solemn than normal and it seems to affect everyone save Hoseok and Taehyung, who are chatting idly. Everybody else is either staring at their food or into space. I have a feeling they have a lot on their minds. I don’t blame them. I have a lot to think about too.

Munhee had been more than generous with her information. She hadn’t even gotten angry at me for asking. The only thing I seem to be missing is solid proof. Sure, she showed me the door, but how am I supposed to know what’s inside it?

I’m not naive enough to hope that Munhee would show me. She thinks it’s dangerous to even be in close proximity to Halsahm. She would never open that door. I’m also not dumb enough to sneak a look. Munhee’s warning is probably for a good reason.

So with all that in mind, I’d devised a plan that puts no one in danger. Kind of. I’m going back to the Hepatica field with the bloodstone.

After dinner, it’s easy enough to persuade Munhee to take me to her workshop to learn where things are. “It’s not too strenuous and it’s something I need to do anyway” is the argument that ultimately convinces her. I don’t really absorb much information. There are some herb and stone names that sound familiar and I’m pretty sure I can read titles of books to figure out what’s inside them, but I’m so tired that most of the information slips right past my conscious mind. Of course, I also have to focus on slipping the bloodstone inside my pocket without her noticing and then there’s the matter of inspecting the pit in the middle of the floor out of the corners of my eyes.

It still makes me uneasy, like a presence looming in the room with an acrid smell that stings my nose. What could it be for? I can’t connect the dots and I’m a little afraid to ask, not because Munhee might not tell me, but because I don’t know if I want to know the answer.

It takes me fifteen minutes total to get the bloodstone from her workshop desk and fifteen more for me to find an excuse to leave. It seems tiredness is a valid reason when one was almost not-exactly-possessed by a demon earlier that morning.

I return to Jungkook’s room to find the bruised, raven haired boy fast asleep. Originally, I was going to ask him to go with me. At least that way he wouldn’t worry and I’d have a protector. And I’ll admit, I definitely do not know where the Hepatica field is. So I need someone who can sniff it out too.

Still, I don’t want to wake him up. He has training again in the morning. Thus the question once again becomes: who can I trust to come with me? It’s not that I’m breaking rules by leaving the bunker… I think. I just don’t want to upset anyone or go through the steps of explaining my logic. Namely, it’ll probably sound bad if I say, “The main reason I’m leaving is to see if I can actually trust Munhee.” Will Halsahm be behind that door? Is Munhee telling me the truth?

I can only hope that divination will answer these questions. Now all I need is a travel companion.

“What do you want?” Jimin opens his door to glare at me.

I try to smile, “You’re still responsible for watching me right?”

His lip twitches in what looks like distaste, “The maknae’s back. So no, I’m not.”

Well there goes my opening. I decide to pitch my idea anyway, “Sunbae, I need to ask for a favor.”

“No,” he closes the door.

I knock again, “Sunbae, I need you to take me somewhere.”

Jimin’s muffled voice reads easily as irritated, “What part of ‘no’ didn’t you understand?”

“Please? I can’t… I can’t ask anyone else.”

“That sounds like a ‘you’ problem.”

“Jimin,” I drop the honorific in desperation. “I just want to know the truth about what’s in that hallway.”

“Ask Munhee.”

“You want me to trust what she says when I have no proof? Look, I need to make sure Jungkook is safe,” I start rambling, not even sure if he’s still listening. “I don’t know anything about you or where you came from but I can tell whoever you imprinted on didn’t do their job. They were supposed to protect you as much as you were supposed to protect them. Please help me do what they couldn’t-”

The door opens and Jimin looks angry.

“Wouldn’t protect me.”

“What?”

“Wouldn’t. Not ‘couldn’t.’ He left me. He made me a monster and left.”

My response is caught in my throat for a moment, but I somehow manage to say, “I- I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

I take a deep breath, “He didn’t take care of you. But please, help me make sure Jungkook is safe.”

Jimin arches an eyebrow, his lip twitches, and he closes the door again with a cold, “No.”

✩✩✩♔✩✩✩

EOPQ 20: Was this a good balance between magic and wolves? Should I include more or less of one aspect?

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[garden-ghoul]

Aubrey is married to every single member of the Six, and also Samot. Let’s boogie.

Notes: This is some kind of used-the-right-fucking-knife AU I guess? Doesn’t matter, the point is Samothes is still alive but Aubrey also lives with Samot.

“Aubrey!” Samot’s voice comes floating in from somewhere in the main house. “You should come inside, we have to get ready.”

Aubrey is halfway up the side of her enormous printing press, which is presently gutted, trying to reach a bolt she’s tightening while maintaining her footing. “Just a second!” she calls. “I’ve got to—augh!” She catches herself on one of the bars that’s almost too far to reach and stands there, leaning precariously sideways. She tries to prevent her tail from switching in frustration, because it’s going to unbalance her, but it’s difficult to concentrate on how to get out of this while she’s working so hard to keep still.

She hears footsteps coming into the workshop, and sags in relief. Unfortunately, this means she falls. She hits her elbow on a jutting corner and braces for impact, but it’s Samot’s arms she lands in. When she cracks an eye open he’s straightening up—she can tell because the floor is much further away than normal—saying, “You really should be more careful. And honestly, what is that thing? I know you’re no mechanic…”

“It’s a surprise,” says Aubrey. “You’ll like it.” She hopes he’ll like it, the amount of time she’s spent nursing bruises and scrubbing machine oil off her scales.

“I like almost everything you make. I just think that maybe you could use a stepladder.” He still hasn’t put her down, and is instead carrying her into the house. Held against his chest, she can’t help but think of Sige.

 --

 (She never had to worry about getting Sige greasy, or what it meant when he held her. Well, maybe that last one wasn’t quite true. She used to think all he felt for her was protectiveness. She remembers the day when she figured it out. She was curled into his chest around the notes they’d stolen, securely held by a hand as big as her torso. She could feel it when Sige turned suddenly and swung; she could feel through his bones the wet crunch when his fist connected; she could smell blood.

On top of singed flesh. Sige had already taken a few nasty wounds from the Fontmen’s canes, and she could tell he was slowing down. She peeked just in time to see all the hair burned off the arm that was holding her. Sige growled in pain and fell back. Aubrey was beginning to think they were going to lose, which was honestly unacceptable. She spent a tense thirty seconds fumbling with her vials, trying to find the right one, and wasn’t quick enough to stop the Fontman from putting a hole in Sige’s side. But she was quick enough to save him from death, that was something.

They ran while the Fontman lay choking on the ground, because Sige didn’t want to risk kicking him. Ten minutes later found Sige slumped against the wall in one of the safehouses no-one knew about, panting. His breath hitched every so often in pain, and he still hadn’t let go of her. At the time she thought he had forgotten, and carefully extricated herself, trying not to step on any of his wounds. His hand seemed to cling to her until it fell back onto his chest. “The notes didn’t get damaged,” she said, quavering. She cleared her throat as she checked the labels of her vials, and tried for a steadier voice. “You’re hurt.”

“But you’re not,” he muttered. His eyes were still closed, and she could tell he was keeping his breathing even only through force of will.

“You’re right, I’m not, so stop worrying about me! That’s what almost got you killed in the first place. Oh, look at this, this is awful.” She started applying ointment to the wound in his side, a burn that was already blistering.

He was silent for a while except for small noises of pain, and then suddenly he said, “I’ll never be sorry I protected you.”

Aubrey’s face flushed, and she glanced up at him from under her brows. He looked kind of sleepy, and his face was still tight with pain, but he was smiling softly at her. He lifted a hand to cradle her head, folding her ears forward a little. One of them flicked automatically as he disturbed the hairs inside, and her face burned even hotter. That was when she realized.)

 --

 “What are you working on?” she asks Samot, thinking that maybe being carried will be a little less awkward if she makes conversation. “I’ve hardly seen you these past few weeks.”

He lets out a little breath of a laugh. “That’s as much your fault as mine. Whenever I go looking for you you’re inside that thing’s guts, or in the stillery.”

“It’ll be ready soon,” she says. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“Deep magic,” he says. “I hardly have time for anything else these days. I’m worried…” he sighs, and she knows that it’s the Heat and the Dark on his mind again.

To distract him, she says, “I can walk on my own, you know.” It’s a peculiar mixture of pleasant and humiliating to be carried. She knew where she stood with Sige, at least. On his shoulders, normally. Well, Samot stops and sets her down with probably unnecessary gentleness, and she has to walk a little too fast to keep up with him. “Remind me why I need to go to this party with you?”

“You don’t need to. I gave you the opportunity to say no. But it would be rude to change your mind now, since you’re already on the guest list.” He glances down at her, and there’s something particular in his smile. “It won’t be so terrible, will it?”

His smile reminds her of someone, too.

 --

 (It’s the smile Ethan used to give her sometimes. That’s one of the ways she could tell him from his brother: Ethan gave her that smile, but when she smiled at Edmund he just blushed. He never seemed to figure out that he was so easy to read, but nobody else seemed to notice either. Then again, the rest of the Six probably thought Captain Hitchcock was just kind of an inconsistent person.

Today Aubrey was copying her notes (though it pained her to write neatly, literally, her wrist was killing her), leaning against Frank’s warm side. In the next room Sige was probably having tea, and the atmosphere was so nice it was easy to forget they were three stories underground. Hitchcock came in, sheened with sweat, and she computed the probabilities: tonight was a dueling class, so it was Ethan, unless Edmund had been running away from something. To test her theory she gave him a wide-eyed smile, and he grinned back. “What are you up to, Aubrey?” he said, and came to peer over her shoulder. “Nice to see a friendly face after class. Today’s youth are hell.” Frank gave a soft snort and looked toward the other room, disinterested, and three data points made a convincing argument.

“It’s nice to see you too, Ethan,” she said, though she couldn’t at the moment. He was kneeling behind her too look at her notebook, so she held it up for him. “It’s probably not very interesting to you, though.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” said Ethan. She could hear he was still smiling. “But I’m glad you do.” He leaned closer to look at her notes, so his shoulder brushed hers, and pretended to try to decipher the formulas she’d written out for far longer than he needed to.

Compare to his brother:

The day before, Aubrey had found him practicing dueling forms in the studio as she went out, and nearly called him Ethan. But when she waved at him as she passed he stumbled over his feet trying to bow. She put a hand over her mouth to conceal the fact that she was almost laughing, and said, “Your form is so good I thought you were Ethan.”

Edmund turned faintly pink and smiled back. “Well, well, thank you, I suppose that’s quite a compliment. We did both serve in the military, though.”

“I sort of assumed you had an arrangement where Ethan did all the swordwork,” said Aubrey, climbing up onto a stool.

Edmund began to look more affronted than flustered, which had been the goal. “We did not. I’ll have you know I’m the one who defeated Thackeray. Almost certainly.”

“Almost certainly?”

“You know how it is,” Edmund mumbled. “Sometimes when you hear a story enough times you start to think you were there.”

“Well, do you mind if I watch you practice?” Aubrey asked. “I’ll be quiet.”

Edmund brought his blade up in front of his face and bowed to her, and then started practicing again. He didn’t do so well this time, since he kept glancing over at her.)

 --

 “I’ve left your clothes on your bed. We’re supposed to be leaving in half an hour, but it shouldn’t take you that long.” He raises a hand and walks toward his own room, leaving Aubrey to go inside and look at what he left. It’s at least simple, although only after she puts it on does she identify the moss-green item as a tailcoat. It actually, she thinks, looking in the mirror, makes her look almost dashing. She twirls a little, and the tails fan out behind her. Now she just needs to figure out whether to wear the pale yellow skirt with it, or the dark trousers. She does the skirt first, on the grounds that it’s the easiest to take off, and twirls a little more. She does like to twirl, and she certainly likes the look of skirts. But when she tries on the trousers she can’t bring herself to take them off. She looks a bit like some intimidating secret agent, she thinks, like a Fontman.

When she emerges Samot is sitting in the hall, pinning his hair back with the aid of a system of mirrors she rigged up for him a while ago. He looks up and gives her that smile again, says, “You look good.” He leans forward as she comes closer to fix her collar. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but he likes things to be just so. That would be why he looks so good, sharp and soft and perfect, as beautiful as only a god can be. She stands still under his hands, looking embarrassedly in the mirrors at the gold ornaments on back of his head. It feels familiar.

 --

 (Castille did just the same thing once. That day Aubrey was sitting in her apartment, watching her try on clothes for the new season. Castille was so stylish, and really just, very very pretty, and Aubrey loved to look at her. Castille spun around, making her blue dress flare out around her. She looked toward Aubrey, laughing, and it was all Aubrey good do to keep her voice steady—to say nothing of keeping the starstruck expression off her face. “It’s really good,” she said faintly.

“You say that about all of them!”

“You look good in everything! When you, you know, when you put on something that doesn’t look good I promise I’ll let you know.”

“You’re too sweet.” Castille smiled warmly at her, and her heart thudded twice. “For now I think I’ll go with winter colors. Maybe a dark hat this season…”

Aubrey watched her swish around the room for the hats she’d left lying everywhere, listened to her bare feet clacking on the tiles. She was almost too glamorous to be a criminal, but then, probably no-one wanted a pala-din at their society balls.

Castille bent down in front of Aubrey to peer at her face. “I can see you don’t have an opinion on the hat either. That’s all right. Buuut… I think you should dress up too!”

“I, I doubt you have anything in my size,” Aubrey stammered.

“As it happens, I do.” Castille whooshed over to open her wardrobe and emerged with a pile of folded clothing, which Aubrey saw on closer inspection was cobbin-sized. “I stole all of these from the Office of Lost Materials. Try them on! I promise, I only picked cute ones.”

Obligingly Castille turned around and started looking at some small detail of a patterned jacket, so Aubrey retreated behind a screen and put on the easiest thing she could find, a yellow sundress of some light, floaty material. Thinking of Castille, she put on the broad-brimmed hat with ear holes, and came out. She’d never worn a skirt before that day, and her ears were pushed back in embarrassment, but Castille took one look at her and clapped her hands in delight.

“Oh, you look just as cute as I thought you would! Twirl for me?” Feeling  a little silly, Aubrey did, but her reward was Castille’s beaming smile, so it was all right. “What do you think of the skirt?”

“Um… it’s a little… breezy?”

“Oh, right, not really your style. I also got a really smart waistcoat. Oh! And I think I got a cravat too. You should do those! I probably put in a pair of black slacks. Don’t know why a cobbin had those made, to be honest. Go on, go on!”

Aubrey felt a lot better wearing trousers again, and when she came back out she felt practically confident. Castille’s face lit up. “Oh, I think that’s even more you. One of your lapels is stuck though, let me fix it.” She gently tugged some part of the shirt out of some part of the vest, and smoothed it down. Smiled at Aubrey for a moment, and then continued fussing with it. Her fingers lingered on Aubrey’s shoulders; the knuckle of her thumb skimmed Aubrey’s cheek, brushed her whiskers.

The clothes had made Aubrey feel rather dashing, and bold indeed. She put her hand on Castille’s, keeping it on her face. Something seemed to light up in Castille’s blank white eyes, and she smiled, leaning forward. Neither of them really knew the mechanics of kissing, but they had a go at it anyway. Castille’s lips were hard but not cold, with the sun streaming into her apartment, and she went so gently that they almost seemed soft. Dazed, Aubrey sat down hard on the floor.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” she said.

Castille, backlit, was radiant. “We can try again, if you want. We might get better at it.”)

 --

 “Aubrey, are you all right?”

Aubrey’s eyes briefly land on his face before she looks hurriedly away again. She’s not sure, really, how to ask if he’s flirting. It seems awfully presumptuous to think a god has any interest in her, and although she’s never seen him like this with anyone else maybe that’s just what it looks like when he’s friends with someone!

“Fine,” she says, after way too long. She’s blushing, and irritated with herself for it. “I just maybe… sort of wondered… why you’d want to take me to a party like this.” He doesn’t answer for a moment, so she panics and tries to fill the silence. “Since, you know, you could get absolutely anyone to go with you! Everyone likes you! Not to say that no-one likes me, but, you know, I’m not exactly the god of knowledge and wine and being beautiful.”

When she glances at his face again it’s a strange mixture of confused, bemused, and reassuring. “As if none of those is your domain?” he asks, totally failing to address any of what she said. Irresponsible. “Do you think I asked you because I pity you?” She shakes her head, hesitant. “Do you think I wouldn’t want to show off the most brilliant friend I have? Looking dashing in tails?” He grins for a moment, and then gets his face under control again. “At a party where my husband will be, almost certainly taking his aunt as a date?”

A little incredulous laugh escapes Aubrey, and she claps her hands over her mouth. She gaps her fingers slightly to mumble, “Are you saying you wanted me to make Samothes jealous?”

For the first time he looks away. He’s frowning slightly. “It was terribly rude of me not to ask,” he says at last. “I’m sorry. Perhaps I should have… perhaps galas aren’t what you would choose.”

“If we’re going on a date I’d much prefer something simple,” says Aubrey. A moment later she realizes what she said and tightens her fingers again over her mouth, trying to get around Samot to burrow into the wall.

“Next time we will do something simple,” he says, catching her gently by the shoulders. “You can choose.”

She can’t look at him, but she manages to headbutt him in the chest, which is her compromise. “Me and my big mouth,” she says into his coat.

“Don’t be too hard on your mouth,” he says. “It got you a second date with the god of wine and books and being beautiful. And the first one hasn’t even started.”

 --

 (In the end it isn’t clear if Samothes is jealous or not, but Aubrey is so nervous she drinks three glasses of wine and kisses Samot, which, no matter how mortifying, makes the evening not a total loss.)