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cloudshuffle · 11 months ago

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a new dawn. yan!childe

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You rise from a deep, dreamless slumber, tangled up in soft sheets and insistent hands. Ajax’s chest rises and falls gently, ginger lashes shut over his blue eyes, cradling you to him like his most precious treasure.

Asleep, he looks more like a boy in need of affection than a warrior.

The moon is still suspended in the sky, a silver balloon ready to burst. A glance at the clock tells you that you’ve only been asleep for about an hour. Enough time to sneak back into the cabin and pretend you've been there all night.

You begin to negotiate your way carefully out of his hold. With the alcohol no longer sparkling in your veins, you feel nothing but a vague sense of urgency to return to your cabin before anyone else sobers up and notices you’re gone.

It’s a declaration. It was exactly the sort of lovesick, foolish fairytale he’d fall for. And though you’d both enjoyed those once upon a time, one of you had to grow up. Had grown up.

A puff of air ruffles your hair, and you look up to meet his eyes, blinking slowly.

“Going somewhere?” he mutters sleepily, snuggling you closer.

You tense up so he doesn’t get too comfortable. “Yes, actually. I should be getting back before anyone notices I’m gone.”

His gaze roves around the room, as if he didn’t recognise where he was, followed by a lazy yawn. “I can sneak you off the ship. Stay here.”

You push against him and he releases you, more out of surprise than anything else. “Ajax. Be serious.”

“I am.” His puppy-dog eyes follow you as you get out of bed, collecting your discarded clothing and pulling it on. “Please?”

“No,” you reply, more sharply than you’d meant. Adjusting your outfit in the mirror, you just pray that no one can see the creases in the darkness. Or the torn stocking. Behind you, his expression is a little hurt, but it only fills you with a grim satisfaction. Good. Whatever it took to keep him at arm’s length. “Do you have a rag?”

He sighs, climbing out of bed to find one for you. You soak it with water, wiping down the parts he’d left more than just bruises on.

He accosts you on the way to the door, nuzzling a kiss right by your ear. “You’re so eager to get rid of me.” His sleep-warmed skin is littered with scars, you realise, slashes and stabs of all shapes and sizes, some pale with age and others fresher.

A pang of guilt. “Sorry,” you whisper, and then you’re gone.

────────────

Liyue Harbour dawns on the horizon, sprawling and golden in the morning sun. The roofs seem to glow, speaking of riches untold - but only if you knew where to look. Which was why the Tsaritsa was expanding her presence here, entrusting the task to her harbingers and soldiers.

High above, the Floating Palace looms like a sentry, guarding the city from celestial destruction. Your fellow soldiers gather at the side of the ship, watching in awe as Liyue draws closer in all its glory. Even your heart stirs at the sight.

Childe is nowhere to be seen, likely holed up in his cabin, doing last minute paperwork he hadn't had the chance to last night.

Probably for the better. After… that, now there's a strange, ambiguous feeling in your relationship, one that had been carefully kept nonexistent during your time back in Snezhnaya.

And like a wounded fox offered easy prey, you're not sure how he might strike out next.

There's a scramble of activity again as goods are unloaded, sailors prepare for docking, and you're all ushered off the ship like a flock of sheep rather than esteemed Fatui operatives. But finally you're on solid ground again, having arrived safely at the port of Liyue Harbour.

Nadia’s eyes are so wide you think they might roll out from her skull. You wonder what you all look like to the locals - foreign operatives here to butt into their business, dressed in heavy coats absolutely not suitable for the weather, looking around in awe like a group of schoolchildren. No wonder the Northland Bank was running into so many problems here.

Only once you’re sequestered safely within the walls of the Northland Bank do you begin to relax. Despite its golden walls and Liyue-esque decor, you’re relieved to see a Fatui mask at the front desk. She gives you all a tired once-over, then returns to her ledger.

You’ve been assigned to fieldwork - meaning tax collecting, outwardly, but also venturing out past the walls of Liyue Harbour and doing whatever Childe required of you. Knowing the Fatui, there was no such thing as simple tax collecting.

As you linger at the back of the group, following the Fatui senior on a brief tour of the bank, you think of what you’d seen in Childe’s cabin. Papers. Maps. Diagrams. Theories about… dragons in the water and adeptal magic? You couldn’t be very sure about what you’d seen.

You’re dismissed to your little offices to get settled in and start on some paperwork.

You shut the door, exhaling a sigh of relief. It’s a blessing to be alone with nothing but your thoughts.

You head over to your window first, peering carefully outside. Your view overlooks a regular street, lined with other businesses, their employees stationed outside to entice customers in. You watch as a gentleman, his long brown hair tied back, strides meaningfully past. He glances up.

You duck back, holding your breath until he passes.

Enough excitement for today. You shake yourself and take a seat at your desk, thumbing through the various files and folders for you to handle. Most of them are about clients of the bank you need to keep an eye on, but they’re all normal, low profile civilians. You don’t think you’ll have a problem dealing with them.

At the bottom of the stack, substantially thicker than the rest, a folder waits for you. It’s bound in red string, full to bursting. You untie it gingerly and flip it open.

Papers spill out across your desk. Adepti, rituals, ancient ink on gold paper.

Talismans.

You feel like you’re holding your breath as you sift through the information. It seems as if the Fatui in Liyue had been doing extensive research on talismans infused with adepti magic - Sigils of Permission, more commonly known. Created by Rex Lapis and infused with adeptal power, these sigils were once used by mortals to channel divine power.

On the last page is a breathtaking hydra, rising from the waters of Liyue Harbour - no, created from the waters of Liyue itself, jaws fixed in a ferocious roar.

Oh, Ajax. What are you up to now?

────────────

“What’s that?”

You wiggle aside to make room for Ajax. There’s not much room on the windowsill, but it’s just perfect for two little children about to waste the afternoon away reading fairy tales.

“Mama and Papa got me a book of Liyue legends.”

He hooks an arm through yours so neither of you slide off your seat as you flip through the stories, reading them out loud so he can keep up.

Something thuds against your window, startling both of you from a particularly riveting passage where Rex Lapis, unable to defeat his primal foe, pins Osial to the ocean floor.

“Ghost!” someone yells from outside. “Dead girl!”

A jarring chorus of laughs as the boys ready another round of snowballs.

“Go away!” Ajax yells back, making a rude gesture, to which he receives one in turn.

“Nikolai!” One of their mothers hurries past, gathering the children up in her skirts. “Come now. It’s time for dinner…”

Her fearful, fleeting glance isn’t lost on you, as have the looks from so many other adults. They say you’d been in the water for so long that even a grown man couldn’t have withstood it. That the cold had infected you, kept you alive to spread its clutches into your village. Some of the elders even make the symbol of warding off evil whenever you come by.

It doesn’t hurt quite as much as it should have.

— word count: 1368. thank you for reading!

#cloud writes #genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #genshin #childe #yandere childe #yan!childe #genshin childe #childe x reader #childe tartaglia ajax #tartaglia #yandere tartaglia #yan!tartaglia

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ravennaortiz · 7 months ago

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Ravenna!!! Can we get a HC about our Daddies being Daddy doms??

Alright, this got long, I could not help myself! I went with a mix of the guys who I thought would be most likely to dabble with daddy kink. As always my stuff is 18+! NSFW below the cut

Juice- Under that goofy grin and sweet smile is a man who would love you to call him Daddy while your stroking his praise kink. "Your so good Daddy", You're the best Daddy, You're so good at that" will guarantee you have the time of your life. Whispering these in his ear during a crowded club party will guarantee you being quickly escorted to a darkened corner for a lesson. He loves making you cock warm him too and he gets off on finally having some one to give orders to. "Bed", "Knees", "Open wide", "warm me up".

Chibs- The silver fox himself has to be eased into the idea. He was already worried about the age gap as it was and now you are calling him Daddy in public? The mischievous look in your eye and the way your breath hitches as he grabs you jaw telling you to hush in the crowded store though has his jeans getting uncomfortably tight. You were only teasing when you told him maybe you deserved a spanking. Five minutes later he had you over his lap in the dressing room your ass red and already starting to bruise as you apologized. "Sorry daddy for being naughty".

Happy- The Tacoma Killer is not one to play with. He is not amused with your teasing or being a brat. The skills he uses to get info and make people disappear for the club? Yeah he has no problem turning those around on you. He prefers to hear "Yes Sir" over "Yes Daddy". He also has you trained with that damn ever present toothpick. Is it on the left side or right side? Is he chewing it or just letting it sit still? All these have different meanings and tell you how far you have left to push his buttons. Happy pushes the limit and has you craving the danger so much that you just can't help but flirt a little with the prospects when your not getting his attention.

Angel- Pretty Boy Reyes is the king of over stimulation and making you beg for "daddy to stop". He loved the control. So much so that any toys you have go with him or under lock and key when he has to be gone for long times. Because he will be dammed if you cum on anything besides daddy's cock, mouth or fingers, or when he isn't present. You though aren't exactly the best at taking orders or listening so more often than not you end up restrained and with a vibrator on your clit for hours begging and crying for him to stop as he sits in another room watching tv and casually changing the pace on the vibrator. He will just tell you to that you have to learn your lesson.

Coco- He loves hearing you call him daddy. At first he was worried and wierded out by it when you guys were out and about. But the feeling of pride and confidence it built in him had him quickly forgetting how he first felt. The way you guys operate its less punishments and more equal than some of the other guys. When he's buried between your thighs which is his favorite place he loves how easily daddy falls from your lips. Your hands gripping his hair. He's not above bending you over his knee though if you let your mouth get a bit ahead of you though....which you sometimes do just to get him to take you to bed a bit faster.

Gilly- The giant teddy bear of the mayans has a Jekyll and Hyde personality with his daddy side. In public he is gentle with his demands/orders. In private? His military side comes out and it sends a thrill through you. "Present to me, present her, daddy's inspection time" are some of his favorite phrases. Your are more than happy to follow his orders because you know he will leave you with a "present" every time.

Return to Headcanon page

#ravennasmasterlist #ravennasrequest #sons of anarchy #mayans mc #soa fanfiction #mayans mc fanfiction #sons of anarchy headcanon #soa headcanons #headcanon #mayans headcanons #juice ortiz #happy lowman #filip chibs telford #gilly lopez #angel reyes #johnny coco cruz

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selfetishizing · 7 months ago

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the nearness of you

loid forger/yor briar | rated T | oneshot | 5.7k words

mild hurt/comfort, mutual pining, romantic tension, scars, tending to wounds, identity reveal (sort of)

A wife in tatters.

AO3

In the hour before Anya’s bedtime, Twilight had come to the startling realization that his daughter is growing up. The hem of her favorite onesie had hiked up to the bump of her ankle, bump of her wrist. Anya, heedless to many things, the intricate and crucial things—a father’s silent suffering, a mother’s concerning absence—hugged him good night, telling him that he’d be in “big, hugiant trouble” if she caught him staying past midnight waiting for Mama. Bond, whom he wished could speak and voice the wisdom that seemed to be held within his marble eyes, nudged his nose against his calf as if to show his sympathy for his companion’s indifference. Then, they had left him in a quiet apartment to fill the Yor-shaped spaces with his thoughts.

The first hour after the first snore, Twilight contemplated calling Yor, whom he presumed sat lonely at her desk, saving the country one file, one staple, one document at a time. It could be no one else. It had to be Yor to help carry this obfuscating weight that their precious girl was outgrowing her clothes—that they were becoming older themselves. That they were drifting apart.

Tomorrow, he'd tell her, they’ll go shopping together as a family for shiny new dresses, skirts, blouses, and pajamas. He will buy them in bulks—small, medium, large—so that he will never have to experience this silent heartbreak, this wearying awareness that he, shrewd and tenacious as he was, was powerless against the hands of Time. WISE would have to understand the incoming banknotes; this agony would last him for the entirety of Operation Strix.

Twilight dialed the phone and watched the numbers reel back and reset. He listened to each ring and hung up, assuming that Yor must have been on her way home.

He grieved the onesie in his lonesome. It would have been nice to hear Yor’s voice.

The second hour, he tidied up the apartment. Watered the plants. Wrapped leftovers in plastic. Played with his daughter’s toys. He created homes out of blocks, families out of plush—a fox, a bunny, a kitten.

Hearing footsteps outside, Twilight darted to the door, knocking the blocks over in his haste. His hand hovered over the knob. He listened a beat longer and knew by the slow drag of feet, by their unhurried stride that it was not Yor. Yes, he knew her by step, by breath. She would have silently stepped across the hall, keys jangling in her pocket. She would hum on particularly nice nights or mumble to herself when she was especially exhausted.

It was past midnight. Yor was not home.

Twilight wasn’t sure why he had decided to stay up that particular night. Yor had been late before. He knew that she could take care of herself. She had brought an umbrella to work that morning. She wouldn’t come home shivering. No colds would be carelessly caught.

As he cleared the rest of the dinner table—a silver candelabra, blown-out candles, unopened wine bottles—the answer he had swallowed whole made itself known. Somewhere, deep in the pit of his stomach, it was there anchored by reason. It would tremble at the raise of her lip, travel far enough to the heart where hundreds of buzzing bees would prick at his arterial lining for the chance of release.

Release had come close many times: mornings when she’d asked how he’d like his coffee; Saturday afternoons as she napped on the couch; nights he’d bandage the tip of her fingers after prepping dinner. It was a seed burgeoning into honeysuckles—honeysuckles that, as far as Twilight knew, had already grown in parts of his body and made his blood sweet as sap. They were honeysuckles that nearly sprouted from his mouth at the sound of his name or the touch of her palm.

Twilight could cut the vines and twine the flowers. He could dress up, slick his hair back, and have his shoes shined downtown. He could bow down like a gentleman, kiss each of his darlings’ dainty hands. A bouquet for Anya and a bouquet for Yor—their names written in his neatest penmanship on parchment. Anya would snap the honeysuckles from the vine and break their pistols off, supping them of their nectar. Yor would bring the flowers to her face and take in their scent, and Twilight, absently staring, would catch himself and clutch at his chest. Then, they would know everything. They would know all of the words he doesn't say.

It would be so simple to tie those feelings up with chiffon lace. Surely, it would save him the embarrassment of voicing those stubborn emotions that more often than not translate to knuckle biting, bedroom pacing, and worried, sleepless nights like tonight. But he knew by now that every day spent with them had watered the garden hardly contained within the bed of his skin. Giving each of them a bouquet would not capture even a fraction of how much he yearned to truly be on their side of the world.

──────────⊹⊱❀⊰⊹──────────

Yor returned home at three in the morning.

The rain had stopped two hours ago. She was drenched. Her umbrella, dry, dropped to the floor as she stumbled in her heels looking for her lost balance in the lightless apartment. Before Twilight could open his mouth to speak, she clutched at the breast of his shirt with the abject fear of falling, pleading with him through ragged breaths to hold her, to not let go.

He didn't. Twilight hugged her close, arms fastened around her back just beneath her coat. She winced. Her body burned hot from shivering, and her cheek, pale and wan, was cold on his collarbone.

Twilight called to her softly, called again to stir her. She could only sigh.

A hand slid from her back, up to her side, trailing to trace the curve of her face. Twilight hesitated. Yor pushed herself against him as if to feel for pressure, for validation that this warmth was his. The grip on his shirt loosened when she was sure that she had made it home. After a deep breath, Twilight stroked her jaw, coaxing her to spare him a look—just one—to know that all was right.

All was not right.

When she finally moved her head up to stare at him, Twilight nearly gasped. The color had wrung from her skin. Her eyes, usually so bright with curious wonder, had shrunk half a flame. The lip that would whisper his name could only quiver with dread. She shook in his embrace as she discerned his expression, anticipating a question and readying a stolid defense. Twilight would not have it. Yor, always so strong and resolute, felt so small in his arms. He absolutely would not have it.

He caressed her cheek and he swore his heart had stopped. Red smeared over her skin. But where? How? His hands cautiously slipped down the plane of her back. Yor mewled, and he knew.

All at once the corpuscles in his body rushed in surges to the tips of his fingers down to his toes, to the heart, the head. He must have been flushed red with how quickly the blood ran in his veins—how quickly rage consumed him. Twilight inhaled shakily, tempering those thoughts of twisted necks, mutilated legs, snapped elbows, and headless torsos; of bodies cold and ashen as Yor was now in his hold.

“Who?” he whispered sharply, using the last of his constraint as he eyed the front door. Ask, and she’ll answer.

“An accident.” Ask, and she’ll lie. But the eyes? No, they never lie. She smiled despite it all. This he knew was true. He slipped her coat off from her shoulders, letting it pool at her ankles. She held on tighter. “I’m so tired. I just wanted to come home.”

Twilight could have cried from the tenderness she seemed to have saved just for him. Gone was the wickedness in his body, relinquished to the dark, dark, night. He took her face in his palms, tucking the errant strands of her disheveled hair behind an ear. One of her earrings was missing. Twilight, shattered by this disquieting and crucial detail, waited for his tears to come. They never did.

“I’m sorry, Loid. You must've waited so long,” she murmured in his neck as he delicately lifted her up into his arms. “You even lit the candles for dinner.”

“How did you know?” Twilight asked, redirecting her guilt to the shadows where it could vanish alongside vice. He clung to softheartedness, to goodness, to kindness. Tonight, he'd give it all to her.

“I smell smoke on you.”

“You can?”

Yor cupped her hand over her mouth. “You haven't been doing anything naughty, have you?”

“Heavens, no.” Twilight forced a chuckle. “I guess I should have put on cologne before welcoming you home this evening. You're exhausted, and you come back to a reeking husband. How flippant of me.”

“Silly.” She rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes as he carried her to the couch. “It’ll stain,” she rasped, too exhausted to put up much of a protest. Yor sunk into the cushions.

Twilight kneeled down to remove the heels from her throbbing feet. His fingers glided down the bend of her calf, noting the runs in her black stocking that weren’t there this morning. The heels, he imagined, had worn down from frantic mad dashes down crowded hallways to deliver reports and proposals. Yor must have tripped somewhere along the way knowing how clumsy she could be. It would explain the scrape on her right knee.

Twilight didn’t allow himself to think anything else of it. He'd crumble the very second he did.

“May I go into your room, Yor?”

She seemed to have enough energy left to flinch at the otherwise innocent query. “I’m sorry?”

“Your clothes. Surely you weren’t thinking of changing without me tending to your…?” He could not bring himself to say it. To speak the very thing into existence would mean acknowledging the suppositions he had previously dismissed as soon as they were conceived.

Twilight, insisting that she give in to his request, kept his hands on her knees as looked up at her imploringly. The more she turned his words in her head, the more flustered she became. The implication made the hairs on the back of Twilight’s neck stand. Surely, she wasn’t thinking something so unseemly.

He counted the moles dotting along the sides of her face and neck—five—as she pondered the question, connecting them to constellations he’d read about as a boy.

Cassiopeia—Queen of Ethiopia. Boastful and vain, she had boasted that she and her daughter, Andromeda, were more beautiful than the Nereids. Angered by Cassopeia’s remarks, Poseidon, god of the sea, had unleashed a disgustingly powerful sea creature, Cetus, onto her kingdom. Ethiopia would sacrifice Andromeda to the beast by chaining her to a boulder by the sea to restore order to the kingdom.

Twilight pondered the tale—the bonds between a mother and her child, the consequence of vanity, the peace offering that is a daughter. He thinks of Cassiopeia and Andromeda, Yor and Anya. The hero Perseus, who had rode upon the Flying Horse to save the princess, would cease to exist. Had Yor been Cassopeia, Twilight knew, she alone could have protected Andromeda. There would be no need for epic knights in shining armor. A mother would have been enough.

Twilight imagined a woman with Yor’s features—a pale woman with a black cape for hair, pursed red lips, crows feet at her eyes. He thought about a mother, about death, and the selfishness in succumbing to it. Does Yor forgive her mother? Does he forgive his own?

And perhaps Yor had been Andromeda this entire time, chained against a rock as the sea rages and tears her hosiery, her skirt, her skin. Her kingdom—the house she once knew with the iron fences and rose bushes— was reduced to rubble by manmade terrors unbeknownst to myths and their slithery beasts. Only a cellar with a frightened boy cowered in its dark corners remained, waiting for his dear sister to come back.

Yor didn’t need a Perseus to fight this battle for her. But maybe, Twilight naively supposed, it wouldn’t be so bad to have one fight alongside her. A Perseus to patch her wounds. A Perseus to listen and to hold her when words succumbed to sobs.

"There’s a nightgown folded on my bed,” she instructed carefully, voice hoarse, as if it were some secret mission.

“Alright.”

“My pillows and blanket too, if you could.” She bit her bottom lip, thinking a request as simple as that could be a burden to him. “I think I’d like to sleep here tonight.”

“I can carry you to your bed, you know.”

“I’m so heavy, and—”

“Light as a feather.”

“But if you touch me again, Loid, who knows what I’ll do? I could kick you, or, or… I could slap you! You’d definitely bruise or bleed.” She was hysterical. From blood loss? Fatigue? “And if I melt?”

Twilight raised a brow, amused. “Melt?”

“Yes. If you touch me again, I fear my flesh might slide right off my bones. Might turn to goo.” Yor looked down at her lap, making sure that she was still all together. Then, she imagined herself liquified—a wash of taupe and pinks sluiced over the carpet—and gasped. “It would take forever to clean me up.”

Yor shifted on the couch, letting all of her weight fall to one side. Her eyes fluttered shut.

The entire room stilled. An austere foreboding, cold and misty, crept into the chasm that separated them. Moonlight caught in the dark curtain of her undone hair, sanctifying her with faint halation. Twilight clasped his hands together and called upon the angels—pulled them down by those golden threads stitched to billowing clouds— to do everything in their power to keep Yor awake.

“You mustn't fall asleep,” he said. “Not until I’ve dressed you.”

“Just a little tired.”

“Yes, darling, I know,” cooed Twilight, slipping her hand in his. He rubbed the smooth swath of skin above her knuckles with his thumb, absolving her of the unspoken remorse that was written all over her, that was slashed onto her back. He would take it from her. He would bear it all. “It will only take me a moment.”

The fondness that he never knew he could possess with Yor shocked him, terrified him. What would be more difficult, he wondered? To turn his shoulder and leave this sentimental mood? Or for a subliminal confession he so desperately wanted her to understand to plague her mind?

Every red flag was raised and yet here he was, groveling before his fallen Madonna. One word and it would be done. Yes—Twilight took that risk, a leap of faith. He chose the latter—the novelty of infatuation, of being completely and thoroughly consumed by the off-chance that Yor, too, harbored symptoms of a heart starved of the kind of feelings reserved for two.

Yor swallowed thick and squeezed his hand weakly. She nodded, and Twilight, the ever loyal husband, obeyed her command.

Quickly, he minced to his room, careful to not wake Anya. Underneath his bed was his personal first aid kit of gauze, sterilized needles, tourniquets, adhesive plaster, tweezers, wound washes, and antibiotic creams in a worn cardboard box so cleverly labeled “TOOLS'' in hasty print. Somehow one of Anya’s pink star-printed bandaids had made its way inside. The alarms went off in Twilight’s mind before he remembered that he had absently slipped an extra band aid that was in his pocket in there after he had patched up Anya’s knee. (Just the other weekend, she had somehow fallen off a bicycle with training wheels. It was an understated art how kids seemed to find the danger in otherwise safe devices.) He gathered an arm-full of these things and pushed past his bedroom door with his back.

Then, Twilight’s hand hovered over the doorknob of Yor’s bedroom, bracing himself for the metaphorical crossing between flatmates and something more. Her room, steeped in the indigo night, pulled him in before he could reconsider. The lace curtains billowed out toward him, swathed him in dove white. Before he knew it, he was caught in a whir of Yor.

This room was indisputably her. It was furnished simply: a bed, a dresser, a cabinet, and a vanity. A patched pilled quilt Twilight presumed had been from her childhood was tightly tucked down under the sides of her mattress. Her uniform—an impeccably ironed button down, a green vest and skirt—hung from a hanger on the corner of her cabinet. Anya seemed to imprint herself here too; another fox plush toy sat against her fluffed pillows, waiting to be cozied up against a warm, beating heart. Adorned on the walls were not posters or prints, but rather Anya originals in crayon, pastel, pencil, and acrylic.

Yor didn’t seem to hold on to a lot of things—or perhaps there wasn’t a lot of things to hold on to—before she lived here, but he knew by the multiplying photo frames—water-stained shots of Yuri, Forger and Briar family portraits, picture day at Eden Academy— that slowly, she was carving a permanent home here.

Capless tubes of lipstick—reds, pinks, nudes— were strewn across her vanity along with ticket stubs to matinees they’d seen together after work. Lacquered dishes with tableaus of rolling fields and carnivals held her precious pearls, her golds, her handmade beaded bracelets. A green perfume bottle with a tasseled pump spray shimmered under starlight. Like a gem, its glean enchanted him into a sandalwood-induced stupor.

Twilight stared into the looking glass as a mirage of Yor nimbly braided her hair into a neat side-plait. She patted her face with loose powder and slid pink lipstick over puckered lips. Yor then dabbed the pad of her finger on rouge, dotting along the curves of her cheekbones and tapping the excess at the corners of her eyes. So mundane was the act, so effortless and easy, that Twilight felt apologetic for having peered into such a private ritual.

Clearly, he had overstayed his welcome. Twilight nearly tripped over his feet as he moved to gather her beige nightgown and pillows, refusing to let curiosity get the better of him. Beneath her pillows, however, was a familiar trinket.

His engagement ring to her—that grenade pin! Twilight was unsure why she had decided to keep it after all of this time: he had wedded her properly thereafter with golden bands and bridal bouquets. He blushed immediately at the prospect that Yor wanted him to see it. Though slim, there was still the statistical probability that her request for her pillows was a subtle declaration of love—that the ring signified everything she had locked away in her heart and in his own. Could she have planned this? Left the ring under her pillow that morning for him to find? Did she anticipate working off hours so late into the evening? Orchestrate this entire scenario down to the last cut?

It was no accident, this much he knew. But how else would one rationalize those injuries? Why was she soaked when it had stopped raining hours ago? If someone had attacked her tonight, did she not have enough trust to confide in him? If she did not care enough to tell him, then what was that grenade pin doing under her pillow?

Twilight all but stumbled out of her room. He was WISE’s most cunning agent—its most calm and calculated—yet his mind could not quite wrap itself around the idea of Yor potentially reciprocating the feeling he knew he had concealed in some taped-up cardboard box tucked away in his house of bones. There, compartmentalized, were all of the trinkets he thought he'd forgotten: wooden guns, jazz records, a bloodied eyepatch, and burned polaroids. Underneath the old items lay a letter with his heart, scrawled and signed with a name long discarded:

Yor,

I love you most ardently.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Rowan

──────────⊹⊱❀⊰⊹──────────

Wound wash in popcorn bowls. Heart-printed face towels for rags. Gauze cut by pink blunt-tip kiddie scissors. A wife in tatters and a husband desperately attempting to stitch the remnants back together.

“I have to—”

“You can't.”

And for five minutes, they exchanged various iterations of these very words. Yor had managed to unbutton the first three buttons of her blouse before stubbornly crossing her arms over her chest, refusing any treatment from Twilight.

Twilight scooted to the edge of the wooden table he sat on, close enough for their knees to nudge. Their eyes met briefly.

Yor much preferred the Moon’s gaze. Moonglow, Twilight figured, could not touch Yor in those damning ways she'd come to know about during the war or in cautionary tales. It could not bruise, breach, break skin. It could not promise her love but at least it gave her assurance of forever. And who was Twilight to contend?

“Yor,” he started futilely, voice softer than he would have liked, “you can trust me.”

The words, like steam, evaporated from her tongue. She clutched the bust of her blouse shut.

“I do.” She was red in the face. He could feel her jittering. “It's just—oh!—I don't know! You weren't supposed to… No, not like this.”

“I’ll close my eyes, touch you only where I should. I’ll be gentle, quick, so please,” plead Twilight, weary and desperate, “let me care for you.”

“You've cared for me the entire night—every day I’ve lived with you. You've welcomed me so into your home, your family, and yet here I am,” she rasped, voice caught on a chord, “proving time and time again that I—”

Twilight's heart dropped to his belly; he felt as though he ought to apologize. For what, he was unsure. There must have been some kind of shortcoming from within him if Yor was unable to articulate her troubles.

Her vagueness, though, seemed purposeful: she would trail off before giving him any indication as to where the root of her problems lay. Twilight secretly thanked her for it. They could, even for a while longer, keep up this charade. He could still love her with her back turned—love her in sight.

“You’ll hate me,” whispered Yor. “You'll despise me. I know it.”

“There’s nothing in this world that could ever make me hate you.” The statement unknowingly gave way to the garden tucked away underneath the surface of his skin. Could she smell the roses on him? The freesias? Yor could not be so dense to not understand his heart with the way he leapt at her assumption, fitting himself to the gentle carve of her profile. Twilight is close, so close that he catches the moon’s glimmer on her eyelashes. He resists the temptation to eclipse it with a kiss.

“You wouldn't understand.”

“Then help me to.” Twilight just could not stop at words, no. When did his hand connect with her knee? When did his fingers move to guide her face back to him?

Yor forced herself to look once more at his gaze, agonizingly adamantine. Resolute. She began the process of unbuttoning her shirt once more, keeping her eyes trained on him.

“Anya grew out of her pajamas, you know,” he droned—a distraction—as he anxiously watched the tips of her fingers. “Wrists and ankles and all. They’re poking out the sleeves. I was thinking,” Twilight swallows thickly, “we should all go out this weekend. Buy some new clothes for her.”

Yor stilled, staring at him with unblinking eyes. She bit her lip and, almost as if to present herself to him, laid her hands beside her thighs. The dark sweep of her hair fell over the hunch of her shoulders. Twilight followed its movement.

Anger was a lit match that burned through the sprawling cord that maps over the expanse of her skin. He stared at the curve of the chest, her heart. Twilight traced the long jagged line of white raised skin down to her right side. Pink stars exploded and dwindled down her hip, dying dust disappearing underneath the waistband of her skirt.

Twilight could stitch a disjointed timeline from the color of her scars alone: faded cat-scratches from her childhood, raised cuts from debris, bullet wounds red and unforgiving, and knife lacerations that had just begun to scab over washes of blue and purple.

Perhaps she could see it on his face, his steely countenance. He had become all hard edges and wrinkles as he scrutinized the marred canvas of her skin. The irony was cruel. Yor, always so gracious, so kind, was seamed with silvery stitches, stained with colors that belonged on sprigs. He was in pieces.

“They grow up so fast,” said Yor wistfully, almost as if to lament the skin she had no choice in claiming. “They come and they go, don’t they?”

Twilight knew all too well that her words meant much more. Yes, he wanted to say, we did. And he’d hold her the way his mother had when days were brighter—the way he holds his daughter now. He’d hold the girl as long as she needed to be held: late into the morning, late for work; in the afternoon when the sun laid over them thickly; into dusk with the stars shut off, dark and still.

There were things Twilight could never understand about Yor, things that she would never divulge to him. But there was nothing as certain and true as the kindness of skin, of a hand over hers, of a brush on the curve of her cheek.

“I’m going to take your…” Bra felt too vulgar of a word. He improvised. “This off.”

Resigned from her initial embarrassment, Yor simply nodded, moving to rest her chin on Twilight’s shoulder. She held onto the sides of his shirt, a half-hug.

Faceless women. Powdery perfume. Wine-stained lips agape, mouthing different names on the nape of his neck. Bodies full in contour, stuffed with down in all the places meant for squeezing. It was muscle memory at this point—the snap of a clasp, the inevitable plunge into passion, and the hangover in the morning. But when it came to Yor, he couldn’t help but feel as though it was an act most sacred. There was no other urge than to press her wholly against him, to feel the pressure of her entire being on him as he wraps his arms around her, merging into one. Deeper than lust, than desire. This much, he longed for Yor Briar.

The straps slid off her shoulders, leaving pink indents in her flesh. His mind blanked. He stopped breathing.

Hands moved on their own, wetting towels in washes, laving it over her back. She’d wince. He’d whisper something sweet. Rinse and repeat. He created a cage out of action, keeping all thoughts and emotion locked away.

“Is it bad?” she asked.

“Not so bad,” Twilight assured. “Nothing that needs stitches, at least.”

“Oh.” It was empty exchanges like this as more and more questions hung over them. Together they cowered under their weight.

“I know that this is… uncomfortable.” It was awkward, to say the least. He tended to her back, arms rigid so as to not touch her more than he needed to. She leaned forward, chest to chest, so that he could somewhat peer over her shoulder to see what he was doing. Skinship didn’t seem to bother her—rather, she was too exhausted to care or give it any deeper thought. The turmoil within Twilight, though, waged. “Just a while longer. I need to dress your wound. You’ve been a very good patient up to now.”

“I’ve been good?” It warranted a chuckle from Yor.

Twilight flushed, conscious of his entire existence. Too embarrassed by his words, he froze, hands dropping down to the small of her back. “Are you…making fun of me?”

“No. Not at all.” She laughed halfheartedly once more, pulling back slightly to look at him. “So this is what you’re like with your patients. You’re kind and your hands are warm. It’s hard to not like you.”

“Oh, please.” Briefly, he met her gaze, tore from her immediately once he remembered the precarious position they found themselves in. He looked past her. He would be a gentleman.

“That’s who you are. You’re warm wherever you go. You’re warm when you’re here, warm when you’re away.” He looked past her even as she moved to touch his face. “You’re warm even now, when I’ve been so cold. Yes, I’ve been cold to you, haven’t I?”

He said her name, so he thought. She closed her eyes. All it took was this for Twilight see her for who she was. Goodness, through and through.

“Sometimes I think… I think I was born like this. Cold-blooded. ” A beat of silence. “That I might be the way I am forever.”

“I know you, Yor.” He blazed a trail to the side of her face, flames lapping her skin. She shuddered as he whispered low against her ear, lips brushing with every word. “I know you. And if... If you're cold now,” Twilight said, “I'll wrap your blanket around you.” It sounded like a promise—one Yor was sure she would not be able to keep.

“That's the thing.” She shook her head. “I’m not so sure you do.”

This he could not refute. Her past was a mystery to him. Dead parents and a younger brother. She had only herself. Twilight often chose not to speculate about her life; he knew he’d go down a downward spiral coming up with many iterations of her girlhood—rather, lack thereof. What kind of jobs did she take to support her younger brother? Who did she meet? How did she remain soft despite it all—the war that had unknowingly brought them together?

How did she get hurt tonight?

Who had hurt her?

Her eyes, glassy, stared at him in resignation. “I’m scared, Loid. Terrified that one day, you'll come to realize who I truly am."

Yes, he did not know the crucial makings of Yor. Didn’t know the smell of her childhood bedroom. The names of lovesick suitors that, over the years, tried to win her hand. He didn’t know the stations she’d tune in to as a girl on lazy Sunday afternoons under the syrup sun when all the initial excitement of the weekend had worn off. But what Twilight did know was the scent of her shampoo as they drove down cobblestone paths, top down, hair tickling his face as she watched the scrolling scenery in awe. He knew the way her face would glow as she smiled, how everything about her flowered. The feelings Anya, he harbored were certain. Wasn’t this enough?

Twilight gently wrapped around her. It was the best he could do despite the uncertainties that continued to gnaw at him. She melded into him, and, perhaps swept by the moment, did exactly what he had been thinking of doing the entire night.

They kindled, and the fire spread.

──────────⊹⊱❀⊰⊹──────────

It was relatively quiet as he cared for Yor. The small cuts she visibly had on her arms were covered in Anya’s pastel bandaids. He tied the wedding white gauze around her bust as if it were a ribbon to a gown. She was pink in the night, hot with pining much like Twilight.

Sucking on a breath, Yor raised her worn arms as Twilight slipped her nightgown over her head.

“You’re staying home tomorrow. No ifs or buts,” he directed as he slipped her skirt off from underneath.

Yor hummed in compliance, refusing to look him in the eye, refusing to acknowledge the audacity of that act of utmost affinity—the chaste press of lips.

Twilight was no better. He’d gone too soft, sappy. Too stupid. To make up for the many missteps of the night, he would be calm, collected. The anger and contentment conflicting within him would have to wait until he’s in the confines of his room where he could turn in his bed over thoughts of Yor.

He tossed the blood-soaked rags in the bowl and stood up, moving to position her pillow near the arm of the sofa so that she could finally lay. Twilight pulled the pilled quilt from her room over her body. She looked so small, so snug.

“You were out in the rain too. You most definitely caught a cold.”

“Definitely?”

“Yes.” Twilight swept his palm over her forehead. “Definitely. I’ll be here with you, though. I need you there with me this time. I need you strong when you see how fast Anya has grown.”

“It must have been hard on your own, seeing Anya grow.” Yor smiled with mirth and his heart swelled. He looked away, lifted his chin, and cleared his throat. “I’ve always been strong, though, so you don't have to worry—"

“No,” he interjected, a little too strongly. He kneeled down next to her, and he said, in the most tender voice he could muster, “Did you forget that you’re married? Married to me?”

“I didn’t,” she mumbled timidly. “But there's no one here to watch us. Nothing to prove to anyone.”

With a knowing smile, Twilight responded, “Precisely.” Yor blushed, turning to the other side to face away from him. He reached out one last time before retracting his hand out of contemplated bashfulness. “Get some rest. I’ll be in my room reading. Don’t hesitate to call out to me if there’s anything you need, alright?”

He waited ten heartbeats, waited for a last minute request. Waited to hear the inflection of her voice just before she’s taken by slumber—the voice that would lull him to rose-scented dreams.

As he got up, he imagined that she had said his name. Then, again, “Loid?”

“Yes?”

Her back was still turned away from him, face toward the back cushions.

“I’ve got so much to tell you, but I don't know where to begin."

“We’ve got the morning,” he told her, himself. “We’ve got the rest of our lives for me to learn all of you.”

Yor turned to him. Twilight bowed before her, laced their hands together. She squeezed.

"For now," Yor said, closing her eyes, "thank you."

He leaned down and tucked a flower behind her ear. A wind overtakes them. Pink petals flitted.

#my writing #fic #loidyor #twiyor #sxf #sxf fic #spy x family #loid forger #yor briar #this is an old fic #but i'll post it here anyway!#yknow. for The Archives #header is “a continent bridged” by franklin booth #listened to a lot of laufey for this one #fic named after laufey's cover of the song

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captain-price-unofficially · 10 days ago

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"The shelters have to be made of stone because wood is impossible to obtain. The Germans have built themselves very cozy shelters. Litsa 1942.07.27" Finns and Germans on the Arctic Front stalemate after the failed Operation Silver Fox, Murmansk Oblast, Soviet Union.

#wwii #continuation war #eastern front

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writingforstraykids · 9 months ago

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Whispers of the Moon - Birthday Special

Pairing: Minchan (short mention of Felix / very short mention of the other boys)

Word Count: 6325

Summary: In the heart of Seoul, beneath the gleaming skyscrapers and ancient palaces, lies a hidden world of magic and mystery. Chan, a gifted healer, and Minho, a shapeshifter hiding as a sleek black cat, find their destinies intertwined in this enchanting underworld...

Warnings/Tags: magical!au, shapeshifter!minho, healer!chan, angst, fluff, strangers to lovers

A/N: The happiest birthday to my dear unnie @zehina. I actually went all nerdy and wrote loads about the world as well since I know you love it (and included the rest of the boys that way hehe). I hope you like it, love🖤

Seoul, South Korea's bustling capital, is known for its towering skyscrapers, historic palaces, and vibrant street markets. It is a city where ancient traditions and cutting-edge technology coexist in harmony. However, beneath its well-lit streets and modern facades lies a hidden realm—a magical underworld known only to a selected few. This subterranean world, rich with history and mystery, operates parallel to the everyday life of Seoul's residents, governed by its own rules and inhabited by beings from myth and legend.

The gateway to Seoul's magical underworld is not a grand archway or a secret door; it is a modest, unassuming teahouse in the bustling district of Insadong. The teahouse, known as "Moonlit Haven," has been in operation for centuries and has been passed down through generations of the same family. Its wooden exterior and traditional hanok architecture blend seamlessly with the area's historic atmosphere.

To the ungifted human, Moonlit Haven appears to be an ordinary teahouse serving fragrant teas and traditional Korean sweets. However, those who know the secret can access the portal to the underworld by ordering a special tea called "Moon's Whisper." Upon drinking this tea, a shimmering door appears at the back of the teahouse, leading to a stone staircase that descends deep into the earth.

The staircase spirals downward, lit by glowing blue lanterns that float in mid-air. The walls are adorned with intricate carvings depicting scenes with magical creatures: the nine-tailed fox, the dragon king, and the heavenly warriors. As one descends, the air grows cooler and tinged with a faint scent of jasmine and pine.

At the bottom of the staircase, a grand archway looms, its surface covered in glowing runes. This is the true entrance to Seoul's magical underworld, a threshold between the mundane and the extraordinary. Stepping through the archway, one is immediately enveloped in a world unlike any other.

The magical underworld of Seoul, known as Secret City, is a sprawling subterranean metropolis that mirrors the city above but with its own unique twist. The sky here is an eternal twilight, illuminated by floating orbs that mimic the phases of the moon. Streets are paved with luminescent stones, and buildings are constructed from materials that shimmer with an inner light.

Secret City is divided into several districts, each with its own distinct character. There is the Enchanted Market, where vendors sell potions, enchanted artifacts, and rare ingredients. The Celestial District is home to beings of great power, including dragons and celestial foxes. The Whispering Woods, a dense forest of silver trees, is said to be haunted by spirits and home to elusive forest guardians.

The residents of Secret City are as diverse as the city itself. Humans with magical abilities live alongside mythical creatures. Among them are the Gumiho, nine-tailed foxes who can shapeshift and possess immense magical power. There are also Dokkaebi, goblins, mischievous but generally benign beings who love to play tricks on humans. Dragons, both Eastern and Western varieties, make their homes in the Celestial District, guarding ancient secrets and treasures.

The city's governance is overseen by a council of elders, composed of representatives from each major group. The council ensures harmony between the various inhabitants and that the secrets of Secret City are kept from the surface world, which is why any sort of magic is forbidden in the mundane world.

The Enchanted Market is the heart of Secret City, a bustling bazaar where the air is filled with the scent of exotic spices and the sound of lively discussions. Stalls line the streets, their wares illuminated by lanterns that float overhead. Vendors shout out their goods, from enchanted scrolls and rare herbs to mystical artifacts and talismans.

One of the most renowned vendors in the market is Master Hyun, a potions master whose shop, "Elixirs of Eternity," is a treasure trove of magical concoctions. Shelves upon shelves are filled with bottles of all shapes and sizes, each containing liquids that shimmer with otherworldly light. Master Hyun is a man of twinkling eyes and ethereal beauty, always ready with a story about the origins of his potions.

One of his most sought-after potions is the "Dream Weaver," which allows the drinker to enter the dreams of others. Another popular item is the "Phoenix Tear," a potion that can heal any wound or ailment. Master Hyun's potions are known for their potency and reliability, making his shop a favorite among both the magical and non-magical residents of Secret City.

Another notable figure in the Enchanted Market is Ji-Sung, an artifact dealer whose collection is the envy of many. His shop, "Treasures of Time," is filled with rare and powerful artifacts from across the ages. Among his prized possessions are a mirror that shows the true nature of any being, a fan that can summon the wind and a sword that can cut through any material.

Ji-Sung is a mysterious figure, always dressed in elaborate silk robes and adorned with jewelry that seems to pulse with magic. He is known for his keen eye and sharp wit, and it is said that he never forgets a face. His shop is a place of wonder and danger, for while many seek his artifacts for their power, they often come with a price that is not measured in gold.

The Celestial District is home to some of the most powerful beings in Secret City. Dragons, with their majestic forms and ancient wisdom, reside here in grand palaces that float above the ground. These palaces, constructed from crystal and gold, radiate a light that can be seen from anywhere in the city.

Each dragon in the Celestial District guards a specific aspect of magic or nature. There is Aran, the dragon of water, whose palace is surrounded by a moat of liquid silver. There is Seraphine, the dragon of fire, whose abode is perpetually surrounded by a ring of flames. These dragons are both protectors and advisors, and their counsel is sought by the council of elders and other residents of Secret City.

Sharing the Celestial District with the dragons are the Gumiho, or nine-tailed foxes. These beings are both feared and respected for their immense magical power and their ability to shape-shift into beautiful women or men. The Gumiho live in harmony with the dragons, their abilities complementing the dragons' strength and wisdom.

The leader of the Gumiho is Jeongin, a fox spirit with silver fur and piercing dark eyes. Jeongin is known for his grace and intelligence, often acting as a mediator in disputes and a strategist in times of conflict. His palace, the Silver Moon Pavilion, is a place of beauty and tranquility, where the moonlight dances on the surface of a crystal-clear lake.

The Whispering Woods is a dense forest of silver trees, their leaves shimmering like moonlight. The woods are said to be haunted, with whispers echoing through the trees that speak of forgotten secrets and ancient magic. The path through the forest is winding and treacherous, known only to a few who dare to venture into its depths.

The Whispering Woods are guarded by forest spirits, ethereal beings who protect the ancient magic within the trees. These spirits, known as the Guardians, are invisible to most and reveal themselves only to those they deem worthy. They are led by Elder Bin, a spirit of great wisdom and power who has watched over the woods for centuries.

The Guardians are both protectors and guides, aiding those who seek knowledge or refuge in the woods. They are also the keepers of the Sacred Grove, a hidden sanctuary where the most potent magical energies converge. The Sacred Grove is a place of healing and renewal, its waters said to grant visions and its flowers capable of curing any illness.

Among the trees dwell the Spirits of the Lost, souls who have wandered into the woods and never found their way out. These spirits are not dangerous but rather sorrowful, seeking closure or redemption. They often appear as faint, glowing figures, their presence marked by a sudden chill in the air.

The Spirits of the Lost are guided by Lix, a gentle and compassionate spirit who helps them find peace. Lix is a beacon of light in the darkness of the woods, his soothing voice and kind heart offering comfort to those who have lost their way. Under his guidance, many spirits have found the closure they seek and moved on to the afterlife.

Scattered throughout Secret City are hidden temples dedicated to various deities and elemental forces. These temples are places of worship and power where the faithful come to seek blessings and guidance. Each temple is unique, reflecting the nature of the deity or force it honors.

One of the most revered temples in Secret City is the Temple of the Moon, a place of serene beauty and quiet reflection. The temple is built from white marble, its domed roof adorned with silver filigree that glows softly in the moonlight. Inside, a large pool of water reflects the light of the floating orbs above, creating an ethereal ambiance.

The Temple of the Moon is dedicated to the moon goddess, Haneul, who is believed to watch over Secret City from the skies. The temple is tended by a group of priests known as the Moon Brothers, who perform rituals and offer prayers on behalf of the city's residents. The head priest, Brother Seungmin, is a wise and gentle leader, his presence bringing a sense of peace and tranquility to all who visit the temple.

Another secret society is the Shadow Blades, a group of elite warriors and assassins who protect Secret City. They are skilled in martial arts and magic, and their training is rigorous and demanding. The Shadow Blades operate from the Shadowsong Keep, a hidden fortress deep within the Whispering Woods.

Commander Ji-Won is the leader of the Shadow Blades, a formidable warrior known for being both ruthless and just. Under his command, the Shadow Blades carry out missions to protect Secret City from external threats and internal strife. They are the unseen guardians of the city, their presence felt but rarely seen. Minho is one of them, slowly working his way up the ranks but facing struggles with his colleagues. He’s not as powerful with magic as most of them but has the ability to shapeshift into a cat, making him perfect for secret missions. Which pissed a lot of people off.

Throughout its history, Secret City has been protected by heroes who have risen to defend the city against threats, both internal and external. These heroes, known as the Chosen Ones, are individuals of great courage and power, often possessing unique abilities that set them apart from others.

No hero is complete without a healer, and in Secret City, that role is filled by Chan, a gifted healer whose touch can mend even the gravest of wounds. Chan is a member of the Temple of the Moon, his gentle nature and healing magic bringing comfort and hope to those in need. He carries a staff, the Moon's Grace, which enhances his healing abilities and allows him to channel the power of the moon goddess.

Seoul's magical underworld, Secret City, is a place of wonder, danger, and beauty. It is a city where the mundane and the extraordinary coexist, where ancient myths come to life, and where the balance between light and dark is constantly maintained. The residents of Secret City, both human and mythical, live in harmony, their lives intertwined by the magic that permeates their world.

As the gateway between the two realms, Moonlit Haven reminds visitors that there is more to Seoul than meets the eye. For those who dare to seek it, a world of magic and mystery awaits, hidden beneath the bustling streets and modern skyscrapers of South Korea's capital. In Secret City, the impossible becomes possible, and the ordinary becomes extraordinary—a true testament to the enduring power of magic.

Minho had always been different. As a member of the Shadow Blades, the elite warriors and protectors of Secret City, his abilities made him a target of both admiration and envy. Unlike many of his comrades, he lacked powerful magic but possessed a unique talent: the ability to shapeshift into a sleek, agile cat. This ability made him invaluable for espionage, slipping unnoticed through shadows and tight spaces. However, his success and the recognition it brought only fueled the resentment of his peers.

The tension reached its peak after a particularly challenging mission. Minho had been instrumental in retrieving a stolen artifact from a rogue mage, but his success was met with scorn rather than praise. Whispers of jealousy and accusations of favoritism swirled among his colleagues, resulting in an unjust decision by his superior officers. They accused him of withholding information and acting independently, charges that were untrue but impossible for Minho to refute without pushing himself even further away.

"You think you're special because of your abilities," spat one of his fellow warriors. "But you're just a liability. We don't need someone who can't follow orders."

The decision was swift and brutal. Minho was stripped of his rank and cast out from the Shadowsong Keep. The sense of betrayal cut deeper than any blade. He was alone, exiled from the only family he had known, forced to fend for himself in the vast, mystical underworld of Secret City.

With nowhere else to turn, Minho fled through the Whispering Woods, a dense forest known for its haunting beauty and perilous magic. The silver leaves of the trees shimmered in the eternal twilight, casting an eerie glow on the winding paths. Here, the whispers of ancient secrets and lost souls filled the air, a symphony of sorrow and mystery.

Exhausted and wounded from his escape, Minho made a desperate decision. He transformed into his cat form, hoping the change would allow him to navigate the forest more easily and evade any pursuers. The transformation was both a relief and a curse, offering him agility and stealth but stripping him of his human voice and hands.

As a cat, Minho's senses were heightened. He could hear the rustle of leaves, the distant calls of nocturnal creatures, and the soft murmurs of the forest spirits. His fur provided some protection against the chill, but the pain of his injuries persisted. Despite his resilience, the journey through the Whispering Woods was grueling, each step a struggle against fatigue and despair.

Lix found him curled up beneath a tree and noticing his injuries he knew there was only one way to save him. He scooped him up from the ground and soothingly caressed his head, able to tell there was more to him than just an innocent, hurt cat.

After days of wandering, they finally reached the Temple of the Moon, a place of serene beauty and powerful magic. The temple, constructed from white marble and adorned with silver filigree, stood as a beacon of hope amidst the dark woods. Its domed roof glowed softly, reflecting the light of the floating orbs above. Lix set him down on the ground and gently shoved him forward. “I’m not allowed to enter, but you are, little friend. Go and accept the refuge they have to provide.”

Minho hesitated at the entrance, his feline instincts wary of the unknown. He had heard of the temple's head healer, Chan, a gifted young man whose touch could mend even the gravest of wounds. Desperation outweighed caution, and Minho limped into the courtyard, collapsing near the temple steps.

Moments later, a figure emerged from the temple. Chan, carrying a staff that radiated a gentle light, approached the injured cat. His eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the wounded animal, but his expression quickly softened into one of compassion.

"Poor thing," Chan murmured, kneeling beside Minho. "Let's get you inside."

Chan carefully lifted Minho and carried him into the temple. The interior was as serene as the exterior, with moonlight streaming through stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the marble floor. Chan placed Minho on a soft cushion and gently examined his injuries.

"You're in bad shape, but we'll get you fixed up," Chan said soothingly. He placed his hands over Minho's wounds, and a warm, healing light emanated from his palms. The pain began to fade, replaced by a soothing sensation that spread through Minho's body.

As the healing progressed, Minho watched Chan with a mixture of gratitude and curiosity. Chan's touch was gentle, his expression focused yet kind. There was something inherently calming about him, a presence that put Minho at ease despite his recent ordeal.

When Chan finished, he sat back and smiled. "There you go, little one. You should feel better soon."

Minho meowed softly in response, his eyes conveying the gratitude he couldn't express in words. Chan chuckled and scratched behind Minho's ears. "You can stay here as long as you need to. I'll take care of you."

Days turned into weeks as Minho recovered under Chan's care. He adapted to his new life at the Temple of the Moon, observing the daily routines and rituals from the shadows. In his cat form, Minho found a strange sense of peace. He was safe from his past and had a chance to start anew.

Chan grew fond of the cat he had rescued, naming him "Moonshadow" for his sleek, dark fur and the way he seemed to blend into the twilight. Minho, in turn, became Chan's silent guardian, following him around the temple and offering companionship.

Whenever Chan was away, Minho would revert to his human form, cleaning the temple and performing small tasks to help ease his guilt for deceiving him. He hoped that his actions would repay some of the kindness Chan had shown him, even if Chan never knew the truth.

Chan, however, began to notice the small changes around the temple. Rooms were tidier, supplies were replenished, and the garden seemed to flourish under an unseen hand. He attributed these miracles to the blessings of the moon goddess, unaware of the true source.

Five months later

In the eternal twilight of Secret City, the Temple of the Moon was a sanctuary of tranquility and magic. Within its serene confines, Chan sat cross-legged on a plush cushion, his gentle eyes scanning the pages of an ancient tome. The moonlight streaming through the stained glass windows cast a colorful, ethereal glow around him, creating an atmosphere of peace and contemplation.

Beside him, Minho, in his cat form, stretched lazily, his sleek black fur shimmering in the soft light. As he yawned and settled into a more comfortable position, his eyes never left Chan. There was a bond between them that went beyond mere companionship—a connection forged through trials and a deep mutual understanding.

Chan noticed Minho’s gaze and smiled warmly. “Hey there, Moonshadow,” he said softly. “Come here.”

Minho’s ears perked up at the sound of Chan’s voice. With a graceful leap, he landed beside Chan and began to nuzzle his head against Chan’s outstretched hand. Chan’s fingers moved instinctively to scratch behind Minho’s ears, a spot that always made the cat purr contentedly.

“There we go,” Chan murmured, his voice soothing and gentle. He could feel the vibrations of Minho’s purrs under his fingertips, a rhythmic reminder of the trust and affection between them.

Minho closed his eyes, leaning into Chan’s touch. The sensation of Chan’s fingers running through his fur was blissful, and his purring grew louder, filling the quiet room with its soothing sound. It was moments like these that made all the hardships and uncertainties of their lives seem distant and unimportant.

Chan chuckled softly. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

In response, Minho rubbed his head against Chan’s cheek, a gesture of affection that made Chan’s heart swell with warmth. The simple act of being close to Chan brought Minho a sense of security and happiness he had never thought possible before meeting him.

“You’re such a sweet kitty,” Chan whispered, continuing to scratch Minho’s head and under his chin. Minho’s purrs grew even louder, and he started to knead Chan’s chest with his paws, his claws retracting just enough to avoid scratching the fabric of Chan’s robe.

Chan shifted slightly, leaning back against the cushions and creating a more comfortable space for both of them. Minho took this as an invitation and climbed onto Chan’s chest, circling a few times before curling up in a tight ball. His tail wrapped around his body, and he rested his head on his paws, looking up at Chan with half-closed eyes.

“You look so peaceful,” Chan said, his voice barely above a whisper. He rested one hand gently on Minho’s back, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Minho’s eyes closed fully, and he let out a contented sigh. The warmth of Chan’s body, combined with the rhythmic motion of his hand on his back, lulled him into a state of deep relaxation. His purring continued, a soft, steady sound that seemed to resonate with the very essence of the temple.

For Chan, having Minho close was a source of immense comfort. The bond they shared went beyond that of a healer and his pet; it was a connection of souls, a partnership forged over time. Chan found solace in Minho’s presence, a sense of completeness that he had never experienced before.

As the minutes passed, the tranquility of the moment deepened. Chan’s thoughts drifted, the worries of the day fading into the background. All that mattered was the gentle weight of Minho on his chest, the soothing sound of his purrs, and the warmth of their shared affection.

Minho, on the verge of sleep, shifted slightly and nuzzled his head against Chan’s chest. He felt safe, cherished, and loved—a stark contrast to the loneliness and betrayal he had once known. In this sacred space, with Chan’s heartbeat as his lullaby, Minho found a peace that transcended the physical realm.

Chan continued to stroke Minho’s fur, his touch light and tender. He could feel the trust dripping from the small creature in his arms, a trust that was both humbling and empowering. Chan knew that, no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, their bond unbreakable.

“I promise to always take care of you,” Chan whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

Minho’s purring intensified for a moment, as if acknowledging Chan’s words. Then, gradually, it began to fade as sleep overtook him. His body relaxed completely, his breathing slow and steady. Chan watched him with a soft smile, his own heart filled with a profound sense of gratitude and love.

The Temple of the Moon, with its timeless beauty and serene atmosphere, bore witness to the deep connection between Chan and Minho. In this sacred place, under the watchful gaze of the moon goddess, they found a moment of perfect harmony—a testament to the enduring power of love and trust in a world filled with magic and mystery.

As Chan closed his eyes, his hand resting gently on Minho’s sleeping form, he knew that their journey together was far from over. But in this moment, they had everything they needed: each other. And that was enough.

One evening, as Chan prepared for his nightly prayers, he looked at Moonshadow, who was curled up on a cushion nearby. "You know, sometimes I feel like there's more to you than meets the eye," Chan mused aloud. "You're special, aren't you?"

Minho's ears perked up, and he watched Chan with wide, curious eyes. Chan smiled and continued, "I think the goddess sent you to me for a reason. Maybe you're my familiar, a guardian spirit to protect and guide me."

The words struck a chord in Minho's heart. He had always felt a deep connection to Chan, a sense of duty and protectiveness that went beyond mere gratitude. Perhaps there was truth in Chan's words, a destiny that had brought them together.

That night, Chan performed a ritual to bind Moonshadow as his familiar. He drew intricate symbols on the ground, lit candles, and recited ancient incantations. As the ritual reached its climax, a surge of magical energy enveloped Minho, strengthening the bond between them.

Minho felt a profound shift within him, a merging of their spirits that filled him with newfound purpose. He was now bound to Chan, his protector and companion, their fates intertwined by the magic of the moon.

As Chan's familiar, Minho took his duties seriously. He remained vigilant, always on the lookout for potential threats. His heightened senses allowed him to detect dangers before they could reach Chan, and his presence provided comfort and reassurance.

One day, trouble arrived in the form of dark mages seeking to disrupt the balance of magic in Secret City. These mages, practitioners of forbidden magic, targeted the Temple of the Moon, believing its powerful magic could be harnessed for their nefarious purposes.

Chan was in the garden when the attack began. Dark figures emerged from the shadows, casting spells that warped the air and sent tremors through the ground. Chan's staff glowed as he raised a protective barrier, but the dark mages' assault was relentless.

Minho, sensing the danger, leapt into action. He transformed into his human form, his body a blur of motion as he intercepted the attackers. With a combination of agility and ferocity, Minho fought off the dark mages, his cat-like reflexes and strength giving him an edge.

Chan, focused on maintaining the barrier, was unaware of the true identity of his savior. He glanced over in shock as he saw a young man fighting with the grace and power of a guardian beast.

Despite his best efforts to hide his true nature, Minho's ears were visible, a telltale sign of his shapeshifter abilities. As the last of the dark mages fled, Chan lowered the barrier and approached Minho cautiously.

"Who are you?" Chan asked, his voice a mix of awe and confusion. Their eyes met and Chan’s eyes widened recognizing those soft brown orbs he’d come to love so much. His eyes wandered up where Minho’s dark cat ears peaked from his messy brown hair. "Are you... Moonshadow?"

Minho hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Yes, I am. My name is Minho. I'm a shapeshifter, exiled from the Shadowsong Keep. I've been living here in my cat form, afraid you would kick me out if you knew the truth. I know we aren’t very welcomed around here.”

Chan's expression softened, and he reached out to touch Minho's shoulder. "You protected me, Minho. You've been by my side all this time, helping and watching over me. I don't care about your past or your abilities. You are my familiar, and I am grateful for everything you've done."

Tears welled up in Minho's eyes, a mix of relief and gratitude flooding his heart. "Thank you, Chan. I promise to always protect you, no matter what."

Minho’s revelation had lifted a weight off his chest, but it also left him feeling vulnerable. Living as a shapeshifter meant hiding his true self, something he’d grown accustomed to. Yet, in front of Chan, he was completely exposed. For Chan, the revelation was a mix of shock and intrigue. The gentle healer had always felt a special bond with Moonshadow, but knowing that the affectionate cat was also a brave young man named Minho deepened that connection.

Their daily routines continued, but with a newfound understanding. Minho still shifted into his cat form, now more out of comfort than necessity. He still enjoyed curling up on Chan’s chest, feeling his rhythmic breathing and the warmth of his body. Chan, on his part, welcomed Minho’s human presence when he transformed, appreciating the help around the temple and the companionship Minho offered.

The first night after Minho’s revelation, Chan found it hard to sleep. He kept glancing at Minho, now in his human form, tidying up the temple’s main hall. The moonlight filtered through the stained glass windows, casting a soft glow on Minho’s face. He moved gracefully, his actions efficient and almost mesmerizing to watch. Chan felt a strange flutter in his chest, a mix of admiration and affection.

“Minho,” Chan called softly, his voice breaking the comfortable silence.

Minho turned, his eyes reflecting the moonlight. “Yes, Chan?”

Chan hesitated, then smiled. “You don’t have to push yourself so hard. Come sit with me.”

Minho’s expression softened, and he abandoned the broom he was holding, walking over to where Chan sat. He settled down beside him, their shoulders almost touching. There was a quiet intimacy in the moment, a shared silence that spoke volumes.

“I never thought I’d find someone like you,” Chan admitted quietly. “Someone who understands and accepts me for who I am.”

Minho looked at him, his eyes sincere. “I feel the same way. You’ve given me a place to belong, Chan. For that, I’m grateful.”

They sat in silence for a while, the bond between them growing stronger with each passing moment. Chan’s hand moved almost instinctively, reaching out to hold Minho’s. Minho’s fingers intertwined with his, the simple touch sending a warm feeling through both of them.

As days turned into weeks, the relationship between Chan and Minho deepened. They developed a rhythm, a balance of shared tasks and quiet moments of companionship. Minho’s presence brought a sense of stability to Chan’s life, while Chan’s gentle nature provided Minho with a sense of peace he had never known before.

Chan’s duties as a healer often took him to various parts of Secret City. Minho, always in his cat form, accompanied him, providing silent support. He became Chan’s shadow, always alert and ready to protect him if necessary. Their bond as familiar and master was strong, but it was the bond of friendship and growing affection that truly defined their relationship.

One afternoon, while Chan was tending to a patient in the Celestial District, Minho, in his cat form, explored the area. The dragons and celestial foxes were impressive, their majestic forms and ancient wisdom evident in every interaction. Minho’s keen senses picked up the subtle undercurrents of power and respect that flowed through the district.

As Chan finished his work, he called out for Minho. The sleek black cat appeared almost instantly, weaving through the crowd with ease. Chan smiled as he picked Minho up, cradling him gently.

“You always know where to find me,” Chan said, scratching behind Minho’s ears. Minho purred in response, nuzzling against Chan’s cheek.

Their return to the temple was peaceful, the twilight sky casting a serene glow over Secret City. Minho transformed back into his human form once they were inside, stretching his limbs as he did so.

“Another successful day,” Chan remarked, setting down his staff.

Minho nodded. “You’re an amazing healer, Chan. The way you help people… it’s inspiring.”

Chan’s cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. “Thank you, Minho. But I couldn’t do it without your support.”

Minho’s heart swelled at the words. He was finding it harder to keep his feelings for Chan hidden. The healer’s kindness, dedication, and the way he made Minho feel valued and appreciated—it was all becoming too much to ignore.

Their bond grew stronger with each passing day, but so did Minho’s feelings for Chan. He found himself drawn to the healer in ways he hadn’t expected. Chan’s smile, his laughter, the way he cared for others—it all made Minho’s heart race.

One evening, as they sat together under the soft glow of the moonlight, Chan turned to Minho with a thoughtful expression. “Minho, can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Minho replied, curious.

“Why do you stay in your cat form most of the time?” Chan asked gently. “I mean, I understand it became your natural state by now, but you can be human whenever you want. Why do you choose to be a cat?”

Minho looked down, his ears twitching slightly. “It’s… complicated. When I’m in my cat form, I feel safe. I can protect you without drawing too much attention. And it’s easier to hide my true feelings.”

“Your true feelings?” Chan echoed, his curiosity piqued.

Minho hesitated, then took a deep breath. “Chan, there’s something I need to tell you. Ever since you took me in, I’ve felt this… connection. It’s more than just being your familiar. I care about you deeply, more than I’ve ever cared about anyone. But I’ve been afraid to show it, afraid that you might not feel the same way.”

Chan’s eyes softened, and he reached out to take Minho’s hand. “Minho, I care about you too. You’ve become an important part of my life, and I can’t imagine it without you. I think… I think I’ve been feeling the same way.”

Minho’s heart skipped a beat. “Really?”

Chan nodded. “Yes. I’ve been trying to understand these feelings, and now I realize that I’ve fallen for you, Minho. Not just as my familiar, but as someone I want to be with.”

Minho’s eyes filled with tears of relief and happiness. “Chan, I’ve loved you for so long. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

Chan pulled Minho into a gentle embrace. “You don’t have to hide your feelings anymore. We’ll face this together.”

Minho clung to Chan, the warmth of his embrace filling him with a sense of belonging. They stayed like that for a while, holding each other under the moonlight, their hearts beating in sync.

With their feelings out in the open, Minho and Chan’s relationship took on a new dimension. They were no longer just healer and familiar; they were partners, united by love and a deep sense of understanding. Their bond grew stronger, their affection for each other evident in every touch, every glance, every shared moment.

Chan continued his work as a healer, and Minho remained by his side, providing support and protection. They faced challenges together, their love giving them strength and resilience. Secret City, with its magic and mystery, became a backdrop for their blossoming relationship.

One day, as they walked through the Enchanted Market, Minho in his human form, Chan took his hand. “I have a surprise for you.”

Minho looked at him curiously. “What is it?”

Chan led him to a small shop filled with beautiful artifacts and magical items. The shopkeeper, a kind young man, greeted them with a warm smile.

“Welcome, Chan. I see you’ve brought a special friend today,” he said.

Chan smiled and nodded. “Yes, Minho is very special to me. And I want to give him something to show how much he means to me.”

Jisung’s eyes twinkled. “Ah, I have just the thing.”

He led them to a display case and pulled out a delicate silver pendant shaped like a crescent moon. “This pendant is filled with protective magic. It will keep the wearer safe and strengthen the bond between two hearts.”

Chan took the pendant and turned to Minho. “I want you to have this. It’s a symbol of our bond and my promise to always be there for you.”

Minho’s lip quivered slightly as he took the pendant. “Thank you, Chan. I’ll cherish it always.”

Chan fastened the pendant around Minho’s neck, and they shared a tender kiss, sealing their love with a magical promise.

Their love continued to grow, but so did the challenges they faced. Dark forces still threatened Secret City, and Minho and Chan found themselves in the midst of several battles. Their bond was tested, but their love gave them the strength to overcome every obstacle.

One evening, as they returned to the temple after a particularly difficult mission, Chan collapsed from exhaustion. Minho caught him, his heart pounding with fear. “Channie, are you okay?”

Chan smiled weakly. “I’m just tired, Minho. I’ll be fine.”

Minho carried Chan inside and laid him down on a soft cushion. He tended to Chan’s wounds, his hands trembling with worry. “You’ve pushed yourself too hard, Chan. You need to rest.”

Chan reached up to touch Minho’s face. “I’ll be okay, Minho. I have you by my side.”

Minho’s eyes filled with tears as he leaned down to kiss Chan’s forehead. “I love you, Chan. Please take care of yourself like you do with everyone else.”

“I love you too, Minho,” Chan whispered, closing his eyes. “Thank you for being here with me.”

Minho stayed by Chan’s side, holding his hand and watching over him as he slept. The trials they faced only strengthened their bond, their love a beacon of hope and resilience in the face of darkness.

As time passed, Minho and Chan’s love continued to flourish. They built a life together, their bond unbreakable and their hearts intertwined. Secret City, with its magic and mystery, became their home, a place where their love could grow and thrive.

One evening, as they sat together under the moonlight, Chan turned to Minho with a smile. “Do you remember the day we first met?”

Minho nodded, his eyes filled with affection. “How could I forget? You saved me, Chan. You gave me a place to belong.”

Chan took Minho’s hand, their fingers intertwining. “And you gave me a reason to believe in love. You’ve made my life complete, Minho.”

Minho leaned in to kiss Chan, their lips meeting in a tender, loving embrace. “I promise to always be by your side, Chan. Forever.”

Chan smiled, his heart filled with joy. “Forever.”

As they held each other under the soft glow of the moonlight, Minho and Chan knew that their love was eternal. In the magical underworld of Secret City, their hearts had found a home in each other, a love that would endure through any challenge, a bond that would never be broken.

Together, they faced the world, their love a guiding light in the darkness. And in each other’s arms, they found a love that was truly magical, a love that would last forever.

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @michelle4eve @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves

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idle-soliloquy · 6 months ago

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last lines tag!

@onyxsboxes and @irregularcollapse thank you of the tag, and oh my, am I excited about the last lines I've written...

I officially started the Atonement AU after a month of planning and research. I still have shit loads to do, but I was going doolally keeping it all inside my head, so here we are:

A giddy laugh pushed against the insides of her cheeks, but she clamped her lips to conceal it. Operation 'dramatic reading' was to remain clandestine. The Cottage by the Beach—that’s how she decided to title the story there and then—could lure a distant memory of a better time into the present. The uniqueness of Gale and John’s voices fit the roles she had sketched out on the cream paper and now clutched to her chest: Bucky as the desolate lover, enclosed by the itching skin of a common mutt, whining and wagging his tale at his sweetheart. Gale as the heroine, his voice turning soft and crooning when the plot called for it, transforming into a white dove at dawn, the span of its wings veiling the sunrise. At last, she saw the truth in what Gale had told her; how in subtle ways fiction could affect reality. Her story had the means to heal the festering wound at the heart of the manor, and get Gale and Bucky larking about in front of mama Egan again, who in recent months had taken to pinching her mouth whenever Gale was around. When it had become apparent that the rift was there, and Marge was none the wiser as to why, she tried to ask Martha why she didn’t like Gale anymore. Her stepmother scolded for being too nosy for her own good. That same night, John told her to knock it off and quit asking silly questions. “She likes him well enough,” he said while glowering at his mother across the nursery. “She’s just old and bitter.” “She is not that old,” Marge said resolutely, but Bucky was no longer listening; his eyes were glued to Gale’s slumped figure leaving the room through the back door, and heading for the scullery, where his mother was polishing silver before dinner. The dramatic readings ceased not long after, and trapped between Martha Egan’s withering stare, and Bucky’s casual dismissal, Marge no longer asked Gale to join them in the nursery to celebrate another finished project.

When I tell ya I'm buzzing for this. It's gonna be oh so painful. Tagging @angelfruittree and @london-cowboy - they have to listen to me yap about this story at least once a day.

Also tagging @euph0riacc @solmussa (thanks for the help, you're the best), @middlingmay @swifty-fox @c-goldthorn @polifandom and anyone else who's not done the tag game yet!

#mota #clegan #masters of the air #atonement AU #John egan #gale cleven #marge spencer #AS BRIONY EVERYONE SLOW CLAP SHE'S GONNA ABSOLUTELY ROCK IN THIS ROLE

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sketchfanda · 7 months ago

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Chestnut Stud Across the Multiverse Party 2

Hot Fox Fuzz

It wasn't often Satan City found itself the recipient of an honour such as hosting when a rare jewel is set to be displayed but of course such was the case which why high security was required for something so important. One such figure involved being renowned Interpol agent, Carmelita Fox finding herself being set with the task to lewd the security detail for the event and partnered with none other than Krillin as a joint operation with the local police department. It was quite a ritzy little soirée of course, the rest of the crop of society in their finest tuxedos and dresses rubbing elbows and making small talk. And how the vulpine woman found it so damn boring but hey least her partner for this gig was used to this sort of assignment so it wasn’t too bad.

While Krillin and her talked, naturally topic of her grudge slash obsession with Sly Cooper, the infamous international thief, and naturally it took quite some prodding snd teasing from the compact officer to get the literally and figuratively foxy lady to reluctantly admit her attraction to him. Though she did have to give Krillin some credit in his research pointing out the Cooper gang’s preference for robbing and exposing criminals, much to her chagrin. She had to say, small wonder such a charmer like the vertically challenged cop was married, what lady could resist such an affable guy? And their conversation was helping the time fly by better than getting wasted on the complimentary drinks being offered around by the catering staff, that was for sure.

In the end, it was only a matter of time when someone made a move and did try to steal it, but was stopped by the duo before things coild escalate out of hand. A swift arrest, a rest off on their rights, some questioning and reports to make, a couple of questions from the press and it was time for them to finally call it a night. The jewel was safe, sound and secure and they’d done their job so frankly, Carmelita was all too happy to finally leave thst party of stuffed shirts, silver spoons and trust fund chumps to their business. After this job well done of course, Carmelita decided to take Krillin back to her hotel room, where the two could continue to talk and have a good time compared to where they had to play it cool, calm and professional at he museum gala.

Besides which, being off the clock also meant a good excuse to pop open that bottle of wine the host had given them as a reward and wasn’t often the foxy agent got to enjoy some quality booze like this, let alone such a posh hotel. But hey it wasn't on hers or the little man's time or dime so why not, right? A little small talk exchanged between the two officers of the law in between sips and refills as they got know one another little more than they already did back at the party as the vixen couldn't help but squee over how adorable Krillin's daughter looked in the pictures he showed her. All the while wondering if the vertically challenged gentleman was hiding something from her but he seemed likely more concerned about how much of that wine she was knocking back.

Carmelita:*Giggling as the buzz and tipsiness of her consumption was starting to take its affect on her, she couldn't help but tilt her head as she leaned in closer towards him. Puzzling and confusing him as she gave a quizzical hum.*"Mmm, you know, it might be just the wine talking....but you're looking so...ravishing right now..." inhibition loosened and lowered by her rose coloured liquid courage, she kissed Krillin which naturally shocked and surprised him all the same. Okay so the guy was married but surely his wife wouldn't mind and besides it'd been way too damn long for her!!!*

Little did the vixen Interpol agent know was that 18 indeed wouldn't mind in the slightest, if anything she'd rather have wanted to be there to see this encounter play out as it happened. Far as Carmelita knew, wine or no wine, she wasn't too fucked to drink and she sure as hell wasn't too drunk to fuck!! Her sudden liplock ambush catching Krillin off guard enough that she pushed him down onto his back on the bed, her toned, curvy furry form atop his as she deepened the kiss. Her tongue exploring her mouth before a deep moan escaped her muzzle as she felt his hands suddenly grabbing and squeezing her bubbly, well toned furry ass. Seems the little man wasn't so against this sudden round of passion, much to her delight of course as she was suddenly feeling they were both a little overdressed right now.

It was small wonder their clothes soon went flying, both naked as the day they were burn as orange/golden fur rubbed against smooth, hairless sculpted muscle. Carmelita moaning at the touch of his skilled hands now directly feeling her natural self directly as her wine addled brain fell further into the base need and desire to mate and breed with this compact Adonis. How long had it been for her since she rally knew or felt the touch of a man? Too damn long if you were to ask her and she'd admit it so, especially long sleepless nights fantasising about hatefucking that damn noble thieving racoon.

So here she was acting on wine fuelled impulses of lust as she rolled around on the silky bedsheets with the quite dashing and charming hairless monkey, playing breath-taking, spit-swapping tonsil hockey. The spark of passion and arousal growing between them as their naked bodies rubbed up against one another, busy hands groping and massaging each other as she moaned from Krillin feeling up her exquisite tits or squeezing her bubbly ass, hell even the simple stroking of her tail sent up a thrilling tingle along her spine. All the while she became awed and enamoured with those muscles of his but talk about that dick, no that COCK!! Bulls and horses would be envious and feeling inadequate if they saw this thing, how'd he even manage to fit into his pants was a mystery not even Holmes could solve!!

Carmelita:”Oooh FUCK!! OH GOD!! Don’t stop just don’t stop you goddamn animal! You fucking wreck me!!”*The vixen cop howled and moaned as she held onto the headboard for dear life. The bed shaking and creaking as Krillin rocked her world plowing her ina combined form of missionary and the mating press. Her fluffy tail swaying and wagging as her ass jiggled and clapped from the impact of thst length and girth pumping into her snatch’s lewd embrace. Those big balls smacking that furry booty as pussy juices w splashed and went flying.*

Now she wasn’t sure when or how they started to fuck but she quite frankly didn’t give a damn, she was feeling fan-fucking-tastic as the short king went through a variety of positions with her. From the primal thrill of being taken doggy style like a bitch in heat to being pinned up against the wall by the compact Adonis, their tongues dancing together in a sloppy dance of a kiss, expressing their thirst and desire for another. Inches of pussy plowing, womb hammering meat pounding away into her wet snatch’s embrace, not wanting to let go of the mind numbing pleasure. The fact they were going at it without a condom was the furthest thing from her mind besides the fact she was going at it with a married man she barely knew, if anything going raw and bareback was hot!! Just the idea of being put on maternity leave carrying this sex god among mere mortals' baby made her arousal skyrocket, idly wondering what a hybrid between a fox woman like herself and this oh so charming hairless hunk of a monkey would look like.....

Of course their room wasn't soundproofed so the neighbouring rooms beside, above and below them were getting a good earful, the ones beneath especially and particularly due to the ceiling forming cracks and raining debris on them. To say nothing of the fact the cop duo had been going nonstop for hours at this point and seeming like they could go all night which lead to some of them either making calls to file complaints to the management. Or for the more daring voyeurs among them to get off to it, finding just the audio alone more fantasy fuelling than any porn movie. So mileage varied as to how some were handling being neighbours to the rowdy pair.

But there was one voyeur in particular who had herself the best view around, hovering outside the window a few feet away enough to be concealed in the dark shadows of the night. Shamelessly groping away at her tits under her shirt and plunging a hand down the front of her jeans and panties to see and hear Carmelita howling with primal lust. Especially as the vixen was currently held in a full-nelson position, the short king on his feet as he hoisted and held her up in the air as he bounced her on his cock. Those big, heavy juice soaked ball slapping her clit with every heavy impact, her foxy face rocking an expression of thoroughly fucked bliss overwhelmed at the thought of being knocked up.

For those wondering of course, yes the identity of this hovering peeping tomboy was none other than 18, Krillin's oh so lovely kinky wife. She had been concerned why she hadn't gotten any calls or answers on her husband's cellphone, worried that whole gala security job was a bad luck clusterfuck. So imagine her delight to find him not only in good health but balls deep in a newfound conquest, once again ensuring their sweet little Marron would have a future brother or sister to look forward to loving and spoiling. Well she hoped that'd be the case because otherwise there was clearly a conspiracy from the universe trying to prevent an army of Krillin kids, well she'd show them, the bastards.......

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Waifu Connoisseur: Battle of the Cosmic Blondes!!

Sketch:*The resident floating flaming skullheaded enigma appears on camera before an applauding audience as the screen displays the familiar set up a certain talk show studio!!*"Yes indeed it is ladies and gentleman, those of you watching or rather, reading at home, from the chapters of this author's Moxxie fic to here, it's time for the first Krillin edition of Waifu Connoisseur!! That pseudo talk show ideal for when it's too much of a hassle to think of a proper scenario for these stud muses to meet and fuck many fine women across the wider pop culture universal spheres!!"*Hollered the familiar floating flaming skullheaded author avatar himself as he gestured to the couch beside the desk where he sat, the camera showing none other than Krillin and his smoking hot blonde wife. The latter seeming pretty bemused beneath her cool facade and the former looking equal parts nervous and suspicious at the eccentric host. Who he had to say was making his former teacher Roshi seem tame in terms of his libido as he spoke up.*

Krillin:*The guest of honour this round couldn't help but notice that the audience in the studio just so happened to be all women, of which a good many he had slept with and was very intimately sexually acquainted with. This was definite red flags for sure.*"Okay hold up, just so I got this right, you're basically having me do a live amateur porno or something? You can't expect me to go along with this, can you?"*The former monk enquired, trying to make sense of whatever passed for logic in the host's cranium. And maybe figure out how to get out of here with his clothes in tact before he found himself to satisfy an orgy.*

Sketch:"What a guy huh folks? Straight to the point, you got to love it so in respect to that, let's cut to the chase and bring out our guests of honour!!!"*Beating at his desktop surface like making a drum roll, music played as the aforementioned guests made their entrance. The crowd going wild and Krillin dropping his jaw at the sight of them and well within good reason to do so mind you. Gracing the stage with their presence was a pair of similar but different women who were much like his wife. A couple of blonde haired, blue eyed bombshells with thicc, toned curvy bombshell bodies with a bodacious set of tits and ass though one of them clearly had a slightly bigger rack while the other had a more bubbly botty with a healthy set of hips and thighs to match. Adding to the differences to ensure you couldn't mistake them for twins was the outfits they were wearing.

The first blonde had a white leotard which left her own generous hips and thighs bare, joined by an ensemble of blue boots and gloves and a stylish short red cape and of course a notable chest window which demanded attention be drawn to her spectacular tits!! The second one meanwhile her a more longer mane of blonde hair unlike her associate's more pageboy/tomboy style cut while her outfit was a one piece swimsuit type black leotard sporting a lightning bolt symbol with a red sash around her waist as a belt. The ensemble completed of course with a simple domino mask adorning her model class face and a nice set of thigh high boots and bicep length gloves all of which really showed off and highlighted amazing figure. Make no mistake, these two stunners were out of this world knockouts!!

Sketch:"Ladies and gentleman who is soon to be finding himself busy, allow me to introduce you to Kara and Carol Danvers. no relation. AKA Power Girl and Ms.Marvel and for a while now these two have been having a little on and off rivalry debate going on. Mainly which of them can sexually arouse and satisfy a man better so Krillin here is going to be the judge and decide it once for all by using his amazing wife satisfying slab of meat known as his dick!! With that said, in the immortal words of Judge Mills Lane, let's get it on!!"*Krillin now looked at the skullheaded host like he was an absolute lunatic and seemed about ready to throttle him, only for 18 to pull him into her lap. A devious grin on her face as the short king felt like a deer in the headlights when Kara and Carol turned to look his way, determination burning in their sapphire eyes as the former pulled the cleavage window on her outfit to set her glorious tits free. While the latter unzipped the front of her custom, her own splendid boobs bouncing out into the open air as the fly reached low enough to risk exposing her pussy.

Krillin of course would've liked to give Mr.Sketch a piece of his mid but the flame-headed bastard host had seemingly made his exit to give them some privacy. Besides which, complaints were the furthest thing from his mind as he found 18 unzipping his jeans fly, a cry of shock as she fished out and stroked his cock. The cyborg stunner licking her lips sensually at the honest display of arousal from her man as Kara and Carol made their way over them, the unofficial twin galactic heroine twins kneeling down on the floor which made their fat white booties jiggle as they began to take Krillin to Heaven. Starting things off with a duelling titfuck as they smooshed and sandwiched his oh so gifted length and girth between the sensual warmth of their bosoms.

It was all so very surreal for Krillin as he groaned at finding his cock in a tandem marshmallow heaven/hell, pulsing and twitching between those flesh buns. Hips bucking and thrusting in response as 18 reminded him of her presence since he was sitting in her lap, feeling her hands caress his abs as she made out with him. Her icey cool blue eyes twinkling with mischief at witnessing her unofficial blonde twins drown in growing lust and arousal for her man, casting aside their dignity yet driven to compete for his affection and attention so he could determine which of them was the best. Lips and tongues planting licks and kisses on his oak tree of a dick as it continued to plow away in the valley of their spectacular tits.

But of course soon as they their luscious lips sucking and blowing on that length and girth in turns and tandem, it wasn't long before their lusts overwhelmed their horny brains as they forgot abut their competition. Instead more intent on having this compact stud of a short king fuck them like he was going to put a baby in them, sexual bliss and ecstasy fuelling these deviant fantasies further as he would idly finger and probe their sticky, gushing slits with his quite gifted little hands and give their big, bubbly well toned booties some swift slaps like he was beating on some meaty drums. 18 enjoying such displays of asserting dominance like the voyeur she was, arused as ever by her personal kink to see bitches go into heat for her man, having long since shed her top as she had Krillin's head planted and resting between the valley of her tits. Massaging his shoulders as she tingled with anticipation for the moment when the 2 mightiest intergalactic blondes around would proceed to have the best fuck of their goddamn lives....

Carol:"Oooooh fucking hell, where you been all my life you sweet beautiful bald bastard?"*The warbird of a woman hollered with deep lusty abandon as she bounced on Krillin cowgirl style, while Kara sat across from her sitting on his face with her fat, juicy booty as she moaned from his skilled and equally talented tongue eating her out. The pair had at this point stripped naked, save for only their boots and gloves as their thicc, curvy toned frames glistened with a rich sheen of perpiration, Carol's stomach swelling from how deep and filling the short king's cock was inside of her as it hammered away into her womb. Her snatch embracing that length and girth with lusty rapture, kissing the shaft with its silky muscle walls while Kara's snatch flooded his mouth with her Kryptonian flavour dazzling his tastebuds. 18 all the while watched go at it on the floor, now naked herself as she sat on the couch shamelessly playing with herself to her favourite show, her husband being God's sexual gift to women.*

Kara:"Ooooooh fuck me if Kryptonite could have a better substitute, it'd be you for sure...."*The Kryptonian powerhouse moaned with ecstasy before pressing her mouth to Carol's pussy lips, tongue licking and probing away as her fellow blonde squatted before her writhing in orgasmic bliss. All the while Krillin was fucking her doggy style, his Herculean muscles flexing with power and asserting effort as he went deep, fast and hard like a jackhammer. heavy balls smacking her clit as her bubbly asscheeks clapped and jiggled like jelly from the swift heavy impact. 18 at this point was now riding a Warrior Monk dildo, shamelessly bouncing on the toy at the continued dominance of the blonde duo being dominated by her man. It was no surprise of course thst she soon threw herself into the fray to turn the three way into a 3 blonde assault on the shortstack alpha male.*

Of course the female studio audience was also enjoying this live porn show, some shamelessly playing with themselves or making out with another as the stands became a lesbian orgy. All the while in his private office, the mad host of this show was transmitting hidden camera footage via a private stream, the donations and views skyrocketing. As the flaming skullheaded shot turned to where the 4th wall would be if there was a camera, a deadpan look in his eyes. His tone no-nonsense and direct.

Sketch:”Hey a guy has to make a living, right? Besides Ziggy promised me a generous cut for filming this…”*The enigmatic avatar taking out a huge stack of zeni bills as he counted them. Snapping his fingers a little imp butler appeared attentive and ready before he proceeded to playfully slap the little fellow with the cash wad.*”Bulma also tipped generously for a copy…I swear that woman has been a Krillin junkie since the trip to namek…”*Which reminded him, she did owe him the footage to that. Not to mention all those times the little dude was pounding Chichi’s tuna…..*

As Krillin continued making himself the winner in Kara and Carol’s sexual duel of course, he remained unaware of the deviant machinations of the host. Though he’d find find quite a generous bonus in his pay check from Double Z studios, due especially to how well their sales and views of the threesome on a Waifu connoisseur was going. Speaking of which, the Siberian tiger skunk bombshell was already making plans with the mad man for who else hey coild put on the show with the short king. To say it was a long, long list of esger contenders to say the least….

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Inter-agency Cooperation

Somedays Laura had to wonder that if there was a God, were They making it a hobby to fuck with her? Because right about now everything about where she found herself currently felt like a bad punchline or the slow, long build up to one and why you might ask did she feel this way? Well it could've had to do had to do with her current situation and what it involved as well who, particularly and especially the one woman on God's green Earth she couldn't absolutely stand in Veronica Herron, nevermind the fact she also had a partner to look out for involved in this. Now why exactly and what does this all mean you might ask?

It had occurred while working alone on her solo observation and investigation of the infamous Herron family since they had moved from their namesake county out to a local suburban neighbourhood in Satan City, when she noticed a series of suspicious people who seemed to be doing the exact same thing. However, as she had attempted to confront them and question for information, she found herself being attacked only to be fortunate when an officer from the local law enforcement intervened. After a brief investigation, they learned that they were connected to the supposedly done Red Ribbon Army. For their safety, it was decided to have the family transferred to Satan City in protective custody, joined by Krillin as a field partner for the duration of this assignment.

The Herron girls, most of whom imagined a big buff super cop with a matching donkey dick were shocked to see , and left quite unimpressed, little knowing that in the future and aftermath of this investigation, they would soon be members of what the short king cop's wife unofficially deemed the Oak tree club. Laura, suffice to say, was upset that she's protecting her enemies, particularly and especially that damned she-devil Veronica, and thinks Krillin is out of his league, not in terms of being able to take action and handle himself in combat of course, she'd witnessed first hand that he was no slouch in that department. No sir, in her mind you see, Krillin being a man and not knowing of the Herron's reputations, meant that his natural hormonal and biological urges were weaknesses that could be exploited by that tribe of bimbo size queen sluts especially if he was at minimum packing 10 inches between those legs. So she decided to take it upon herself educate him with her body, much to his chagrin and confusion of course.

Now Krillin knew from experience that his life could be thrown curveballs sometimes but Laura sending one that was hitting him in the face as hard as a punch from Goku (he still winced at that memory). Sure she was an intense woman but in the time he was coming to know her, she at least came off as a very determined and focused enforcer of the law but to say she was being unorthodox was more than an understatement. But she insisted that this was for the sake of the mission, otherwise that baker's dozen worth of hotties might doom them all with their nympho lusts so here he was in their assigned hotel room together. Sitting on the edge of a king sized bed clad in just his pants, trying his best not to look nervous as steam came out from the adjacent bathroom due to the dusky skinned woman having a shower.

Any doubts or hesitations he had that he wished to express or voice to Laura and run by her died a quick death like a train going off the rails as his assigned partner for this long term witness protection investigation graced him with her presence. Naked as the day she was goddamn born, her milk chocolate skin glistening as she towelled off her hair before tossing the rag aside, her serious, focused face's stern expression contrasting with what quite frankly a pornographic body on par with that of the Herron girls. Hands on her hips as if not so much ignorant but rather well aware of the effect she was having on the compact cop as her gaze made it clear she wanted his eyes on her. Unable to do much but stare at that stunning body as she soon began to speak up, her tone no nonsense and direct.

Laura:"Listen up Sanchez and listen well, this may seem unorthodox but it's as much for your own good as it is for the sake of this mission. As a man, even married, you have urges and needs and those bitches know it. Especially Veronica Herron...."*The mention of that busty Southern Belle sounding redhead made the dusky skinned lady cop narrow her eyes, as if just remembering she existed walking around scot free vexed her. Walking on over closer to him with every step making her glorious tits bounce and jiggle, those twin orbs firm and supple.* "Once they know how to get you you wrapped around their fingers, they will use you like a walking sex toy before they proceed to wreck your home and drain your wallet harder than they'll drain your balls. So for the sake of the mission, we are going to fuck and we will FUCK!! When I'm done with you, you' re going to be the one having those bitches in heat kept in line, that cock will be their drug and you're their pusher who'll give them their fix. With that said, let's get right to it!!"*Soon as she had had finished speaking, the unorthodox lady of the law grabbed the waistband of his boxers and pulled them off. Eyes widening at the sight of his erect length and girth bouncing free to stand to attention, a look of awe as she grasped it in her hand, feeling the meathammer's pulse.*"W-well.....with a baton like this...you're already off to a good start...."

Now Laura hadn't been kidding about her intentions here, as the way she saw it, Krillin needed to experience first hand what it'd be like to deal with the seductive wiles and the succubus-like thirst of a Herron woman. But to think that this sweet looking runt of a man was packing a cock that could be not simply be called a Herron WMD but God's dildo? Well it's small wonder her own brain was hitting a sudden primal state of mind on their libidos' level as she found herself kneeling down on the floor, stroking his shaft as she began to assault it with licks and kisses. Her body burning with a thirsty desire as it remembered how it'd been far to long since she had really gotten any and here was this sex god before her ready to answer her prayers.

Now of course Laura tried, keyword being here tried, to focus and remind herself that any personal enjoyment from this was a minor thing, after all she was just looking out for her partner to ensure he didn't become those size queens' personal plaything. But just the scent and the feel of that slab of meat as she stroked and jerked it, the taste as she took it into her mouth with her tongue trying to wrap around it as it damn near made her feel like it was unhinging her jaw. Lips leaving a trail of lipstick kiss rings marking her distance towards deepthroating this beast of a cock as her dusky skinned bombshell of a body burned with desire to want this womb hammer to facefuck her. Before she knew it, she had found herself just doing that as her brain had seemingly abandoned all logic and reason in place of animalistic primal urge to mate and breed, torn between wanting this shaft to flood her stomach and dazzle her tastebuds with his hot seed or to take this slab of meat and proceed to fuck her like he was going to put some sweet little caramel baby buns inside her oven.

Laura:"OOOOHHHH FuckfuckfuckFUCK me you glorious golden god!! Fuck me like you own me!! This ass is all your all yours!! Fuck your milk chocolate bitch daddy!!!"*Just a few of the key words and phrases that flooded the hotel room, mixed with the echoes of skin slapping pussy pounding sex that is whenever the lawwoman was coherent enough to actually form sentences. The bed creaking and shaking as she bounced and rode on Krillin cowgirl style, her body having opted towards option B as she had the short king plow her like she was a breeding mare, making her moan as she found him smacking and squeezing her dusky booty in between it jiggling and bouncing on his shaft. Her earlier stoic professionalism and focus forgotten and cast aside by raw slutty arousal, though part of her brain did excuse this as just prepping him with an example of the kind of passion and intensity he had to bring in order to tame and keep those Herron bitches in line. A spine tingling orgasm running along her spine, making her toes curl as she came at the very mental image of that busty redheaded vixen slutwhore Veronica becoming daddy baldy's precious little sex junkie, begging him for her next fix of his manmeat's hot beef injection. It was only bettered by the absolute sexual thrill of him finally blowing his load, a rush of white hot cream pumping away to flood and paint the inside of walls, pink hearts glowing in her eyes as she found his cock not going limp or soft whatsoever, the man was a stamina beast!!*

Laura:"Yes!! Harder!! More you fanfuckingtastic sex machine!! Right there, that's it don't go easy on me!! I mean it when I say this ass belongs to you!! Make sure I never so much as ever think of another man!!"*Minutes passed into hours as the passionate police babe found herself having too many orgasms to keep count, compared of course to Krillin who had busted his heavy nuts enough to still somehow have enough fingers on one hand for her to count. Biting and grasping the sweat and juice soaked bedsheets for dear life as he took her from behind like the alpha male he was, his compact Adonis frame mounted atop her well toned bombshell form as he fucked her prone bone style. They had started with doggy style after she'd been folder like an accordion in a mating press but the sheer pace and intensity was too much for her arms and legs to keep up their strength, gasping with deep moans as her ass bore red palm prints from his smacking that chocolate booty. If she didn't finish this case without some possibility of being knocked up with a baby from this guy then fate had a weird sense of humour, that was for damn sure!!*

Now while Laura continued her little hands on approach at helping Krillin develop proper willpower and resistance, her bitch in heat brain had forgotten one very small but important detail. Mainly that hers and Krillin's room wasn't soundproof which meant each Herron babe in the neighbouring rooms, next to either side, above, below and across from them was getting quite the audio show. About a half a baker's dozen of them had even taken to eavesdropping, pressing their ears to the door and try to see if they could peep through the keyhole. The bimbo slacker barbie doll known as Jen currently in a bit of a catfight shoving match with her unofficial mini-me Jenna over the best spot as well as who'd get dibs on what sounded like an amazing cock to lay. The rest were more content where they parked, their pussies quivering and gushing, soaking their thighs and panties, those who wore them anyways, at the idea of that admittedly cute, handsome little dude in uniform giving to them as good as Laura was getting.

Getting it good was an understatement in all honesty, as Laura wasn't so much as having her world shaking, it was being fuckdamn shattered into sexual oblivion. Any and all spiteful thoughts about the Herrons, particularly and especially Veronica blocked off in the back of her, as well as the potential mysteries to look into like who was after her and her slutty kin and the how and why. All that mattered right now was having her sexy black ass getting beat like an erotic drum by this short king as they continued to fuck like cavemen, the intensity and passion of the milk chocolate bombshell overwhelming Krillin's sense of reason to let his libido take the helm and go full steam ahead. From facefucking her to feel like she was drowning and suffocating in please, to having to tap that sexy asshole and make those dusky meatbuns clap and jiggle, the compact fighter and lover still couldn't get enough that tight, pretty pink pussy.

As they continued on with their spontaneous marathon, orgasms coming faster than could be counted and currently conducting a mating press in the trashed, shattered remains of their bed, somewhere around the vast plains and roads that lead to the likes of South City and Satan City, sinister deeds were afoot. The enigmatic parties targeting the Herron ladies annoyed but having to be patient as they planned and plotted on how to get their revenge. No super cops were going to stop them, not no way, not no how because those bitches would pay!! Especially that damned Veronica Herron.......

(To be continued in Size Queen Sluts:The saga of the chestnut and the Herrons...)

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