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mayashesfly · 2 days ago

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THIS IS TRAFFICSHIPPING NOT GENERAL SHIPPING VOTE FOR TREEBARK

Treebark had changed the history of Traffic Life forever, being one of The Iconic Red-Green Duos in Third Life like Desert Duo and Flower Husbands. The Red King is the first time someone willing became Red for his allies. And Martyn is the one that brought the Evo Watcher lore into Traffic Life for the silly <33

I said I'll make a list of Treebark moments throughout the entire life series, so I shall deliver. (sprinkled with some of my symbolism, parallels, and whatnots thoughts. Do note that I have yet to finish Ren's DL and WL POV so this is probably mostly in Martyn's POV. I also have audhd so being organized is not my specialty)

THIRD LIFE

Their alliance is established through debt repayment just like Desert Duo's. They made the deal underneath Renchanting while hiding away from Phantoms.

The first thing Ren gave to Martyn is a stone axe :)

When Martyn told Ren that he was planning to go to the dangerous Nether, Ren wasn't that bothered by it and calmly told him to get blaze rods. ….as well as wither skeleton skulls. Which instantly made Martyn turn around and chuckle at the idea of more chaos. (Idk why but I'm so certain something like this happened to Desert Duo as well, one of them enabling the other's chaotic nature)

When the villagefolk started prodding Ren how they could just get enchantments without making a trade, Martyn tried his hardest to put on some pressure. Blocking the door with dirt, then obsidian, and then dunking Cleo underneath Renchanting. After that happened, Martyn noted that he heard Ren shed a tear during the situation and while Ren tried to repair relationships, Martyn went off and got Bad Omen so they have a card to use against the villagefolk.

After the Pizza fiasco and admitting to Martyn that he maybe shared too much information in order to keep friends, Ren laments in Renchanting how he might've just lost Martyn while he lays in bed by himself, cursing the fact he blabbed about that stupid llama!

Meanwhile Martyn made the Enderchest where he was supposed to put his base at until he got wrapped up with Ren, putting a preemptive sorry to Ren for lying….. but also still keeping the Enderchest at the same coords that all it would take is Ren digging around to find it if he was really that desperate.

When Ren got his crown, he and Martyn talked about how if they were the last two left, they would fight each other honorably. No armor, no weapons, kung fu fighting until the sun sets. And both of them agrees with a smile as they stand side by side.

Ren continues to expand and grow Renchanting into Dogwarts, upgrading the buildings and the villagers. Meanwhile Martyn runs around, securing resources for the both of them to bring it back to Dogwarts.

Ren being estatic to share to Martyn every time he makes a good deal.

Whenever there's an intruder, Ren handles communications, making sure to keep Martyn in mind and putting his foot down for his friends. While Martyn stays on the high ground, securing the perimeter and keeping an eye on Ren, dropping a gapple for him just in case.

When Ren became Yellow and Scar punched him off the cliff, Martyn quickly slashed Scar and dropped down to chase him the instant someone said it was Scar's fault. He saw Red, literally did not blink as he chased Scar. His eye only twitched when Scott commented how Martyn was going to kill Scar. But it was only when Ren said his name, reminding him that hey had to go back to Dogwarts, to go back home, that Martyn finally blinked and stopped chasing Scar. Quickly turning his back so he could escort his king back home.

Whenever Ren needed resources, Martyn always provides. Emeralds? I got you my king. The Heart of Renchanting? I have the enchanting table right here! You don't have to worry, I have everything you need.

Even when Martyn requested rest after Ren tells him his plans, the next scene, Martyn is at Dare to Flare in order to win his king some new feather falling diamond boots.

And now The Beheading at Black Heart Altar.

"Essentially, don't be too nervous my dude. It's just a casual test of loyalty"

Ren, despite being the kinder of the two, willing sacrificed his life so that he could finally protect his kingdom. He wore the heavy responsibility of being a Red name for Martyn.

After The Beheading, Ren punched Martyn in his unmentionables, allowing Martyn to kill Ren and take the kingdom for himself if he wanted to.

But he can't.

"No! I won't do it! You took me in, when I was nothing. I learned there was nothing in this world for me – nothing but walls, corners, edges. And you know what? You showed me life. As much as I’ve taken it from you, you gave it back to me in buckets’ fulls. This is us now. This is us."

The full moon shined upon them while Martyn slayed Phantoms to protect his King. ("I like the phantoms. They feel familiar, they feel like home" VH)

The Beheading is where their alliance truly solidified as Martyn takes Ren to the Enderchest, admitting what he did. And instead of being upset, Ren laughs. Understanding Martyn's reasoning during that time as they easily pushed that problem away and stuck together.

Martyn always runs in to help Ren, using a bucket of water to put out the flames. Trying to pour a bucket of lava on Cleo as she tried to kill Ren.

Ren calling out Martyn's name as he saw him fall into the lava moat.

Martyn needlessly chases Scar around to get the stolen Dogwarts flag back, devoted to regain his king's honor. So much so that Martyn would've died once if Ren didn't step up and shielded him.

But then Martyn gets seperated by himself and he dies on the way home as he calls out Ren's name.

Ren protects Martyn, killing off their enemies while Martyn was still Yellow, still unable to kill by himself.

When the blood became too much for Ren to handle, he calls to Martyn for comfort. Begging him to hug him, and Martyn did, as they lament together their loss of innocence and a simple peaceful dream.

When Ren died, Martyn turned back around, shedding a tear as he couldn't move away from his place in his grief. And so he dies in his own home with Ren.

This was the moment that broke Martyn. His soul fragmenting underneath his eye where he shed a tear over losing Ren. A permanent mark that even carries over prominently to another version of Martyn.

The ghosts of Martyn and Ren not accepting Grian and Scar's double victory. Urging them to kill each other so one could be crowned the winner just like what Ren and Martyn wanted for their last fight that the Desert Duo stole from them.

No armor, no weapons.

Only a fist fight to the death.

The words of Ren and Martyn being the final ones in chat as Grian falls to his death.

LAST LIFE

Martyn gives Ren netherwarts in secret even though Martyn already has another alliance, allowing Ren to secure a life and his own alliance in the Fairy Fort.

When Ren failed to set up a business, he set fire around him. But the only two people that was around that time backed away from him.

But when Ren set fire around him again around Martyn, Martyn quickly sprung into action and doused the flames, confused and concerned at what Ren was doing.

When Martyn sees Ren in his wooden tower, he imitates Ren's outro just like how he imitates Mumbo's. (They do say imitation is the best form of flattery)

And the moment Ren spots Martyn? Ren sets fire to his tower in the middle of the server making Martyn runs towards him regardless of how far away to save him.

After the fire was out, Ren and Martyn talked to one another like no time passed at all. Ren talking about how he got an alliance, and having a laugh when he discovered he got the netherwarts from Martyn.

Ren is the only person Martyn told about how many lives he has. Not even the Southlands knew.

Ren plays the part of a loyal knight in the Fairy Fort. Being vigilant, staying on the highground when there's an intruder, providing nether resources… He has everything his Queen needs.

Just like how Martyn had all he needed back in Third Life.

Ren even makes the Shadow base in a natural moatage and added stone walls just like how Dogwarts was in a natural moatage with stone walls. This time around though, he had learned. And so the Shadow base had a smaller wall, the edges lined with berry bushes and cactus instead of wheat and carrots, the basement more hidden than apparent.

Martyn made a fart joke with Ren while they were discussing the Shadows underneath the full moon. So now Ren made Martyn's Shadow name ShadowFart <3

Ren's Shadow name is ShadowHound. (And The Watchers also call him The Hound)

When Ren was talking to Lizzie about a secret ally they had in the South, Lizzie instantly clocked in that it must Martyn.

When Jimmy tried to steal Martyn's extra life. The secret code in the lore bit makes "FOR REN", revealing that Martyn was saving his extra life for Ren only.

And Martyn gave his extra life to Ren indeed, making them equals.

When Martyn lost Jimmy and Mumbo and his mind because Grian killed them, he ran towards Ren for comfort. Returning to a home Ren made as they became true allies again.

When Ren saw Martyn at the Shadow base, he instantly perked up and went towards him. Telling Etho they can trust him without a second thought.

When Ren became Red, Cleo said to Martyn that she knows he and Ren are probably going to team up and betray them because Ren.

At the final three, Ren instantly turned around when he heard Martyn's voice call out to him. Running towards him instantly despite this being a free for all.

When Martyn died, he laments the fact they could've worked together to take down Scott. Ren trying to kill Scott with a bucket of lava for a few times.

DOUBLE LIFE

Despite Martyn being alone, he still goes to Box to talk with Ren and BigB frequently.

Ren giving Martyn the carrots he asked for without a question.

When the Warden was awoken, Ren called out Martyn's name as they tried to escape. Martyn responding and guiding him towards the exit.

Ren happily helps Martyn when Martyn asked him to distract Cleo.

Martyn easily goes along with Ren's antics while he waxed poetry that Pearl might be a demonness even though the two of them are in the Ancient City (and it's just been revealed that talking while not crouching will trigger the sculk sensors now)

The two of them then go off to do the "Croak the frog, burn the log, pet the dog" ritual for multiple minutes to summon Pearl and invite her into the Broken Hearts Club.

Martyn and Ren taking damage at the same time while Ren says the words "tying the bond" as if they were soulbound.

Even though Ren was Red, Martyn wasn't afraid when Ren emerged from the pool. The two of them talking to one another as usual as they both sit beside the pool, using f4 so they could see each other as they talked.

And when Ren told Martyn he should stay away from the pool later on, Martyn happily helps Ren out by going around the server and inviting people to the pool party.

Ren said outloud how tempted he was to shoot Martyn off the dirt bridge as if he was warning Martyn of the danger in case he couldn't stop himself.

He didn't shoot Martyn off regardless.

Ren's last words "We had honor to defend, we were loyal to the end" being very Dogwarts-like.

(The Red Army ended when they all decided to march into Dogwarts with Ren despite knowing it was a losing battle. Martyn defended Ren's honor as much as he can, holding up the shield of the Red Army as he dies inside of Dogwarts with Ren)

For the entire season, Martyn didn't have a true home. Only an art installation, because he hoped Cleo would've taken him in. (Just like Grian's wooden egg in Wild Life)

Their last conversation was Martyn talking to Ren about getting the lease on Box when he dies.

And he got the lease on Box indeed. Inheriting the empty home Ren helped build.

The so-called wanderer always finding himself going home in Ren's base at the end. Just like Third Life, just like Last Life.

And Martyn says inside the Bleeding Heart Bastion that he misses being dramatic with Ren now that he's gone before setting up a trap to blow it up. ("I have friends now" Grian says as he gleefully burns the egg. But Martyn doesn't have any left)

LIMITED LIFE

Martyn turns Red during his birthday and ties the Dogwarts flag around his waist even though Ren was gone this season.

An Unguided Hand, a fleeting gill.

^^^THIS WHOLE FUCKING THING^^^

The way he stopped himself from the saying the Ren's name too.

"No armor, no shield, we're gonna fist fight like our forefathers, Scar and Grian" Scott says.

But that fistfight wasn't Scar and Grian's idea. It was Ren and Martyn's.

It was Ren and Martyn who was supposed to be there and Scar stole it from them. Just like how he stole their banner and enchanting table before burning it right in front of their ghosts' eyes and starting the fist fight.

Ren gave Martyn buckets' fulls of life, and now he's gone.

And so, he spills the bucket of lava on Scott, killing and betraying him in one fell swoop.

He's not going to do it in their way, this is a deathmatch for a reason.

The Dogwarts flag fly in the air at the end of the game as Martyn won.

The last scene Martyn sees as his life flashes before his eyes as his time counted down being Ren at Black Heart Altar.

His fragment this season being on the Hand. Though it was protected.

SECRET LIFE

He's literally a Big Dog this season.

And when he lost Jimmy and Mumbo to Grian again after just getting Mumbo to join the Big Dogs like they were back in the Southlands, Martyn seethes silently.

Calling himself The Hound of Hell.

Ren isn't here anymore after all. He can't run to Ren after losing his Southlanders again.

There's not another home he can return to so that he doesn't have to stay in an empty house with the reminders of Jimmy and Mumbo's ghosts.

He can't.

And then Scar, all alone this season just like Martyn after losing Jimmy and Mumbo says, "Don't you just love Greens and Reds just having a fun time together?"

Two people from The Iconic Red-Green Duos. All alone.

Scar, who used to be Red in Third Life, still Green but might as well be Red due to his tasks. And Martyn, who used to be Green in Third Life, now Red but his tasks pale in comparison to Gem's despite his thirst for blood.

Ironic, isn't it?

And now, the fragment Martyn gains is around his neck.

Just like the scar that crowned the Red King.

WILD LIFE

God where the fuck do I start?

Martyn rows into the sunrise with Ren without a single thought. Sticking to one person from day one.

Ren calling their home in the flower field Renwood Mound, keeping Martyn in the name unlike in Third Life because he wants to try. (And yet he still slips and calls it Ren Mound...)

Ren saying that he's here to cleanse the evil in Martyn's heart.

Ren laughing and saying lightheartedly how Martyn made it hard to improve their reputation.

Ren asking Martyn what role he has in this session.

The two of them gleeful that eating flowers grants wonderful effects as the spring has come.

Martyn joking with Ren on his plans for their base this session, because somehow it ends up not working out in their favor for that week's Wild Card.

Ren looking at Martyn lovingly as the sun sets behind him.

Martyn and Ren having a domestic fight due to both of them building their highly flammable watchtowers in the wrong direction. Facing each other instead of facing away.

But they don't take it down regardless.

After all, wasn't Renchanting made of wood too?

Ren and Martyn working together like clockwork without a single exchanged word to kill Gem so Ren can gain a life.

And it worked.

Ren asking Martyn if they ever got married in Third Life and Martyn responding "I mean, I did cut your head off, if that counts?" as if The Beheading was a marriage ceremony for them both. ("Well, the fandom thinks you did" Cleo says)

Martyn and Ren looking at each other at the distance and imitating each other.

When Renwood Mound burned down, Ren calls their base InTheLittleLake. Their base's namesake being only Martyn now, an inverse of Renchanting and Dogwarts.

While Ren was talking about how there's smooching going on all over the place and how inappropriate it is, Martyn jumped closer to him and asked "Why aren't we smooching?" Before catching himself and looking away from Ren in embarrassment.

Remember how Ren said he was here to cleanse the evil in Martyn's soul? Yeah, scratch that.

Ren egged Martyn on to windcharge Skizz off the stone bridge.

"It was Ren's fault, that's my grovel"

But after Martyn tossed a tnt minecart towards Grian's direction, Scar locked the fuck in and didn't stop until he killed Martyn.

Martyn, who has the listening powers, deaf to danger as the Secret Life Winner finally pushes him into death.

(Tread carefully sound... For if we met, our gaze would bring untimely deaf)

Ren witnesses Martyn's death to Scar.

Shedding a tear and taking on Martyn's form as he ran, before Grian stabs him in the back and realizing it was Ren.

And when Ren sees Martyn again? Martyn didn't remember him or himself. He was just a number.

(It's quite funny how the person who is the namesake of their base is the one who dies to Scar and causes the other to break doesn't it? They can't have a base named after both of them…)

The next session, he became Martren.

Instead of thinking of Martren as the abomination he is, Ren happily talks about how they got Martyn into the finale and how Martren is the Power of Friendship as he takes every bit of Martyn he can, including his gear.

Zombie Martyn saying that one side of Martren looks cute. And even offering to kill him if he wanted as if there was still a part of Martyn deep inside that wanted to end Ren's misery.

Yet Ren holds onto Martyn even when it hurts.

"You can take the King away from the Hand but you can't take the Hand away from the King" Martyn thought in Limited Life.

But he was wrong.

Because even the King cannot live without the Hand.

And so, Martren loses and dies.

Because Ren cannot live without Martyn.

ROUND 3 | MATCH 1

#traffic series #traffic life #treebark #renchanting #trafficshipping #VOTE TREEBARK #TREEBARK FOR 2025 TRAFFICSHIPPING

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bunji-enthusiast · 1 day ago

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(𝐃𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲) 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐈𝐭

Characters [Kissy Missy, Huggy Wuggy, Doey The Doughman]

Note || request: idk if you're taking requests but can you possibly do small fic of kissy, huggy, and doey getting affection for the first time by y/n / the player? Platonic head kisses, hugs, that sort of thing.

Why, yes my good fellow fan. I actually loved this, omfg.

— Doey The Doughman

As an ex-employee of Playtime Co., you couldn’t shake the weight of your past. The haunting memories of the factory lingered in the back of your mind, yet there was something much deeper pressing at your heart. You had seen so much suffering over the years, and now, among the few survivors in this grim new world, you couldn't help but notice the vulnerable ones. Doey, especially.

The plump dough creature had been a beacon of hope for so many, but behind that friendly, playful demeanor, you recognized a burden. He held his group together, sacrificed his time, energy, and emotional well-being for those under his care in The Safe Haven. Even when it wasn’t necessary, he put on a brave face, especially with the overwhelming responsibility of leadership. You could see it in his eyes, that exhaustion. You suspected that he had once been a child under that appearance, his innocence hidden beneath layers of experience far beyond what a creature like him should bear.

For someone like Doey, affection was something foreign, something he rarely got, especially in such a harsh environment. Leadership had made him strong, but at the cost of his own peace. That was something only an empathetic soul like you could truly understand. You knew, deep down, that he needed care and compassion as much as anyone else. And though it was strictly platonic, affection might be the very thing that could allow him to heal — to feel like something more than the leader of a group of survivors.

One evening, after a long day of coordinating plans, you approached Doey in the quiet of the Safe Haven. He was sitting on a makeshift bench near the fire, his long, colorful arms resting at his sides, and his eyes fixed on the dim glow. His yellow, orange, and red dough belly pattern of three bendy arms seemed to ripple with the firelight.

You could see that he was tired, maybe even a little lonely, his mouth set in a soft frown. Without thinking, you moved closer, and a gentle but firm hand rested on his shoulder. He blinked, startled at first, before his eyes softened.

"Doey," you began softly, your voice uncharacteristically tender. "You’ve done so much for everyone. But you’ve been carrying this weight alone for too long."

He didn’t respond immediately, his hollow eyes looking at you through the holes in his doughy face. But there was a subtle shift, a small recognition that the burden he carried wasn’t unnoticed. You could feel the tension in him as if he was silently giving himself permission to let down his guard, just for a moment.

You kneeled beside him, reaching up to gently pat his head, careful not to be too forceful. The blue clay of his doughy scalp was soft, cool to the touch. He blinked again, this time with a hint of surprise, but you continued, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head, a silent promise of care. The warmth you felt in the moment was something you hadn’t realized you needed, and perhaps, neither had he.

As you leaned back, Doey’s long orange arm slowly lifted, hesitating before it rested on your shoulder in return. You could tell he was processing the moment, unsure of how to respond, but you knew it wasn’t the kind of affection he was used to. He was a leader, after all — strong, unyielding, and often alone in his role.

But here, in the dimly lit corner of The Safe Haven, there was a quiet kind of peace. You could see the tension in his body gradually melt away. He needed this. He deserved this. After all, even the strongest of leaders were human, even if their form was a strange, colorful dough creature.

"Thank you," you murmured. "You don't have to carry it all on your own, Doey. We're all in this together."

For a moment, Doey said nothing, but the subtle shift in his expression spoke volumes. His holes, the makeshift eyes, softened as if a weight had lifted. And then, in a rare and tender gesture, he leaned toward you, wrapping his long yellow arm around your shoulder in a gentle embrace.

The warmth of his body, though made of dough, felt oddly reassuring. The hug wasn't tight or demanding, but it was everything he needed — a small, quiet moment of affection and support. It wasn’t about leadership, or strength, or the mission. It was simply about being there for each other.

You could feel his breath — or perhaps it was the absence of it — as he pulled away just slightly, his eyes meeting yours. "You're right," he finally said in his soft, humble voice. "I... I haven't been good at asking for help."

You smiled, giving him a reassuring pat on the back. “You don’t have to ask. Sometimes, it’s okay to just let others help you."

As the fire crackled in the background, you stayed close by Doey’s side, offering him the rarest of gifts — a moment of respite, of care. Just for tonight, he didn’t need to be a leader, a beacon of hope, or the one who carried the weight of so many. He could simply be Doey — the dough creature who deserved love, affection, and the safety of knowing someone had his back.

And for you, it was a reminder that even in the darkest of places, sometimes the best thing we can offer one another is warmth, care, and affection — the simple things that make us human, or in Doey’s case, something more than just an animated being. Something deserving of a gentle hug and a soft kiss on the head.

— Huggy Wuggy

It had been a long time since you had last seen Huggy Wuggy. The factory, now eerie and abandoned, had its haunting air, but there was something... different about it now. The silence that permeated the air had always felt oppressive, but as you ventured deeper, a strange sense of sadness washed over you.

The towering blue creature loomed before you in the dimly lit corridor. Huggy Wuggy stood there, as if waiting. His large black eyes stared at you, reflecting the remnants of something broken, something lost. His tall, slender frame seemed so out of place in the sterile halls of the factory, but it wasn’t his presence that made you pause—it was the unmistakable loneliness that seemed to emanate from him.

The thought had crossed your mind many times, especially after the encounters you had witnessed between him and others in this factory. Huggy Wuggy had been part of a long-lost project, a toy designed to spread love and affection, but something had gone horribly wrong. The violence he once displayed, the frenzy he brought upon anyone unlucky enough to cross his path, wasn’t his doing. It was the Prototype, manipulating him, turning his purpose of affection into something much darker.

You had made a decision—one that surprised even yourself.

The truce, strange as it was, had to mean something. The creature before you had been twisted by forces far beyond his control, but there was still a trace of the original Huggy inside. You didn’t want him to be just another victim of whatever twisted fate had led him down this path.

“Hey, Huggy,” you spoke softly, your voice breaking the quiet tension of the room. Huggy’s head tilted slightly, as if trying to understand what you were doing here.

You took a cautious step forward, your heart racing slightly. You had no idea how he would react. He had been hostile before—ferocious, even. But this time felt different. There was a hesitation in his movements, a kind of vulnerability that hadn’t been there before. Perhaps, after everything that had transpired, Huggy had found the small, flickering ember of his former self.

You slowly raised your hand, offering him an open gesture—an invitation. Huggy’s large yellow hands twitched, the velcro straps on his palms shifting as he examined your hand cautiously. His face, though monstrous and alien, held a certain curiosity now, as if unsure whether to accept or reject the kindness you were offering.

Gently, you stepped closer, placing your hand on his outstretched arm. It felt surprisingly warm, almost organic. Huggy froze, and you could feel his body tense as if ready to pull away. But you didn’t back down.

In a move that could have been considered a gesture of trust, you leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on the top of his head. It was a simple act—one that might have seemed odd to anyone else, but it was something that felt right in that moment. Huggy, the once terrifying creature, stood still, unsure of how to process the affection.

After a long pause, something shifted within him. He let out a low hum, almost as if responding to the touch. His large black eyes blinked slowly, as if digesting the sensation, and for a brief second, it felt as if time had stopped. The hostility that had once radiated from him seemed to fade, replaced by something almost... grateful.

You pulled back slightly, watching as Huggy lowered his head, almost as if in acknowledgment. It wasn’t much—just a small sign that the creature, so often feared and misunderstood, had been longing for the kind of kindness he had been created to offer.

Huggy’s response wasn’t immediate, but it wasn’t hostile either. Instead, he took a step closer, his large frame towering over you. He didn’t try to grab you or threaten you. He simply knelt down, lowering himself to your level. And then, with a gentle motion that seemed so foreign to his nature, he wrapped his long arms around you in a hug. It was awkward, almost clumsy, as if he wasn’t entirely sure how to hold you without causing harm. But it was there—a gentle, almost tender embrace.

You held on for a moment, a quiet smile creeping onto your face. This—this was what Huggy had been meant for. Not to be a monster, but to offer comfort, to be the source of warmth and affection he had been designed to be before everything had gone wrong.

It felt like a small victory. The kind of victory that didn’t come from defeating an enemy, but from giving someone, or something, the chance to be seen as more than what they had become.

Huggy’s large head nuzzled gently against your shoulder. Despite everything that had happened in this twisted factory, in this place of nightmares, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace.

“Thank you, Huggy,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him. “You didn’t deserve any of this.”

For a brief moment, the factory seemed less ominous, less dangerous. Huggy, the creature who had once been a source of terror, now simply wanted to be understood. And for once, in this forsaken place, you understood him.

You stepped back from the hug, your hands resting on his shoulders as you gave him a reassuring smile. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Maybe, just maybe, Huggy Wuggy could find his way back to the love he was once meant to give.

As you turned to leave, you glanced back one last time at the towering blue creature, now seemingly at peace, standing alone in the quiet, broken factory. The path ahead of you was uncertain, but for the first time in what felt like forever, you knew there was a chance for redemption—even for Huggy Wuggy.

And in the end, that was all that mattered.

— Kissy Missy

The factory loomed around you like an old, haunted memory, every creak and groan a whisper of its long, forgotten past. The shadows seemed to stretch for miles, the dim flicker of lights casting eerie silhouettes against the walls. But amidst this endless labyrinth, there was something — or rather, someone — you couldn’t shake from your mind.

Kissy Missy.

When you first encountered her, she had been a tragic figure, caught in the aftermath of violence and destruction. She had once been part of something grand, a cheerful toy meant to bring joy. Yet, years of abandonment, trauma, and violence had altered her. Despite her kindness, there was a depth of sadness within her. She had seen horrors that no one should have to bear, and now, she wandered the empty halls, looking for solace in the rubble.

You had grown fond of her over time, not just as a comrade in this strange and dangerous world but as a friend. And you knew, perhaps more than anyone, that even the toughest souls needed affection sometimes.

That night, as you walked through the cold, empty corridors of the factory, your thoughts turned back to her. Kissy Missy was injured. You could see the physical toll the factory had taken on her, the scars on her body from an unknown attacker, and the burns marking her face. But there was something else, something you could sense. Her spirit, too, had been wounded, battered by years of loneliness and violence.

You stopped in front of her quarters, the heavy door creaking as you pushed it open. She was there, slumped against the far wall, her large, dark eyes tired but still holding a glimmer of something — something hopeful, something good.

She didn’t notice you at first, her gaze distant. But you didn’t need to say anything. She’d always understood. Slowly, you moved toward her, kneeling down to her level. For a moment, you simply gazed at her, taking in her delicate features and the softness that still remained beneath the layers of pain and exhaustion.

“Kissy…” you said gently, your voice carrying the weight of unsaid things. She turned toward you slowly, her gaze meeting yours with a quiet recognition. She didn’t smile, but there was a flicker of relief in her eyes — she had been waiting, perhaps without even knowing it, for this moment.

Without thinking, you reached out, your hand softly resting on her shoulder. The warmth of your touch was met with a long, almost imperceptible sigh from her. It was as though she had been holding her breath for too long, and finally, someone had come to release her from the tension of it all.

You didn’t speak, not just yet. Instead, you simply gave her a gentle squeeze, a comforting touch that she had long since forgotten. Her eyelids fluttered, and she leaned into it, just slightly, her head dipping to rest against your hand.

The gesture was so simple, yet in it was everything. It was the kindness she hadn’t known in years, the warmth she had been starved of, the affection she so desperately needed but never dared to ask for.

Without a word, you stood up and moved behind her, pressing your palm against the back of her head, urging her forward into a soft embrace. You could feel the tension in her body, the slight tremble as she tried to stay strong, but she gave in. She allowed herself to be held for a moment, to be taken out of the nightmare of the factory, even if just for a brief while.

It was quiet — just the two of you in that forgotten place. You could hear the faint hum of the factory’s systems, the distant echoes of machinery, but none of that mattered. What mattered was that, for once, Kissy Missy wasn’t alone.

As you stood there, holding her, your mind wandered to all the things she had gone through. The years of isolation. The horror of the massacre. The unrelenting loneliness. It was no wonder she had become the way she was — strong, silent, fierce in her resolve. But beneath all of that, there was a heart that longed for connection, for love, for someone to show her that she still mattered.

You kissed the top of her head gently, a small gesture of affection, your lips brushing the soft, pink fur of her hair. It wasn’t romantic; it was something deeper, something more human. It was a promise — a promise that she wasn’t forgotten, that she wasn’t some abandoned, discarded thing left to rot in the depths of the factory.

The slight weight of her head against your chest was a silent confirmation that she understood. You weren’t going to leave her alone in this place. You wouldn’t let her carry the burden of her past by herself.

For a long while, you stayed like that. The world outside seemed distant, and all that mattered in that moment was the fragile creature in your arms. You could feel the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she took a deep, steadying breath, and you knew, for just a fleeting moment, she felt safe.

When you finally pulled back, you didn’t leave her side. Instead, you sat beside her, your shoulder against hers, offering your presence as a reminder that she wasn’t forgotten. She looked at you, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, there was something resembling peace in her eyes.

In the quiet of that factory, you promised yourself that no matter what horrors lay ahead, Kissy Missy would never face them alone. And that, for all the trauma she had endured, she could still find a little bit of warmth, a little bit of comfort in this broken world.

You didn’t have to say it aloud. She knew. And for now, that was enough.

#submission #kissy missy x reader #poppy playtime kissy missy #kissy missy poppy playtime #kissy missy #huggy wuggy x reader #poppy playtime huggy #huggy wuggy #doey ppt #doey x reader #poppy playtime doey #doey the doughman

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mmmilkweed · 21 hours ago

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Do you believe in a shadow milk redemption arc 🤔

The keyhole/key symbolism of them oh my god I'm going feral.

The way SM could've crumbled PV any second he wished, but didn't, to test him? To torture him?

Even despite the dark truth that SM could not accept and fell to corruption for, PV awakens and chooses a path of light

Pure vanilla becoming the key for SM, making it known that he can in fact, y'know... Not be evil

PV awakened despite the corruption (the origin of cookies, how they are made to be eaten, his whole life being a lie, etc...) due to his immense strength and sheer will to stay with his virtues, HE LITERALLY DID NOT FALTER (I am not normal about them lmao)

Keys symbolise new openings, new beginnings

With PV quite literally becoming a key to let It be known to SM that even under the heavy weight of such cruel truths, it doesn't have to mean becoming evil

What would happen if PV were to truly open am to that new possibility? For SM to truly try to redeem himself? Is he too far gone to go back?

(but anyway I like the idea of awakened PV just... Guiding SM to be kind. I still can imagine him being a bit wild and unpredictable, but PV would aim to guide him to make the right choices.. and maybe give him a "reward" that night if he behaved well?)

hey op! I think we should get married (just don't tell my current wife)

I personally love the idea of the beasts getting redeemed! Mostly bc i feel like them getting resealed is dumb and lazy. And I cannot live without Shadow Milk cookie. but on the same coin - Idk if i want that! I love Smilks personality as is currently, and having him become kinder feels like it'll strip it all away (but its soooooooo much better than crumbling him or resealing)

but omg the shenanigans awakened pv guiding smilk would prompt.... reminds me of this fic. My favorite fic. everyone should read it: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54490117/chapters/138047134 i need to put both the anon and the author of this fic in my basement

#milkweed rants

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midnight-mourning · 10 hours ago

Text

Jelly Hearts

💘💘Midnight's DCA Valentine's Day 7💘💘

I FORGOT TO POST THIS AHHHHHHH, my bad all, please enjoy some self-indulgent jealousy hehe

Prompt: also I think that I'd put in a request for some really jealous dca time. maybe they see reader getting some other valentines or hears that they have plans the day of after they're off work and assume that they've got a date (rightfully or incorrectly idk) and they just can't let this happen. y/n is Theirs™️

Word Count: 1750

Read here if you prefer ao3!

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

The flowers on the desk were a surprise, about a week before the middle of February, roughly. You weren't sure where they'd come from or what they were doing there, and found yourself very surprised to find it was in fact, a gift for you. The card stuck inside the bouquet had neat script, and was to the point.

'Happy Valentine's day! From, Your Secret Admirer'

You'd asked the security guard if they knew anything about who had gifted it, but they had no clue either. It had been a common theme over the past few days, the kids had been gifting you early cards and treats, but this seemed to be a bit more than that.

"What've you got there, Sunshine?"

You turn, confused smile on your face. "Looks like a gift! From a uh, secret admirer? You know anything about that?" You tease.

Sun tilts his head sharply, rays and faceplate spinning from the force.

"Hm, no. Don't think so!"

Your smile falls a bit, mainly because you'd been hoping it was him, and based on his tone he wasn't lying about it to mess with you either. "Oh, gotcha."

"But! I'll keep my eyes and ears peeled just for you, Starlight." He bends down quickly, coming eye to eye with you and booping your nose. "And if I do find out, I'll be sure to let you know."

He stands straight and walks off then, and it takes you a moment to process what just happened. You probably just imagined the edge to his tone. You shake your head, and glance back down to the vase.

Huh. The card's missing. It must have dropped somewhere.

But after a quick search you never did end up finding it.

Not that it mattered much, as a day or so later you were sent another gift, this time jelly candy hearts and heart-shaped chocolates. Same message as last time, 'Happy Valentine's! Love, Your Secret Admirer'. You sat and enjoyed the sweets during nap time, just to keep from any little hands or pleading eyes from trying to snatch one for themselves.

As you were snacking, Moon suddenly sat down beside you, hands folding into his lap and head almost snapping to look at you.

You raise a hand to greet him. "Hey, Moon-man."

"Star."

You cock your head to the side, popping another candy in your mouth. "Need something? Or just come over to hang out?"

"Where did you get that?" He points to the half-opened box in your lap.

You shrug, lifting the little slip of paper for him to read. "Secret admirer strikes again I guess."

"Seems so." He snarls out.

It surprises you, brows raised as you look at him again. "You alright?"

"Fine." He turns away from you and the card, facing forward to observe the Daycare.

You don't speak again for the rest of the time.

Similarly 'issues' arise throughout the rest of the week. Little gifts from that same person being sent your way, not to mention the growing number of cards and the likes from the Daycare kids.

During all of this, the attendant pulled back from you, you weren't entirely sure why. They were shorter, blunter, not nearly as talkative or teasing with you. You wonder if it was because of all the attention you were getting compared to them, which made you feel awful. They deserved some appreciation too.

It's not until the day of Valentine's that you realize who your 'Secret Admirer' is after all. Specifically, it was your best friend, who you'd been helping out with getting set up on a date the past couple of weeks. You'd laughed about it once you'd found out, getting on to them for 'leading you on' even though regardless of who your admirer was, your heart belonged to someone else.

Specifically the two someone's who'd been avoiding you all week long.

You planned to talk to them about it tomorrow, tonight you had to focus on holding to your promises and make sure your friend's date actually went well. You were going to shadow with another friend of yours to see to it the date proceeded smoothly.

You sling your jacket over your shoulders, taking one last glance around the Daycare before you head to leave. Just as you turn to head to the door, your face knocks gently against something metal. You jump, stepping back to find that Sun is standing before you.

"Going so soon, Sunshine?" He tilts his head, eyes uplifted crescents.

You nod, smiling. "Yup! I have a date tonight—"

"A. Date?"

You bite your tongue. You hadn't meant to say that at all. "Oh no, I just meant that—"

"You know, I think there's some cleaning up still left to do, friend." Sun takes you by the shoulders, and leads you back into the Daycare, you lose your jacket at some point in the process.

You try to protest. "I, Sun I really should go—"

"Stay." He states, speech a bit garbled for a moment before uplifting into his usual cheer. "I really must insist! We can't have this place looking less than perfect when the kiddos come in tomorrow now, can we?"

You scan the play area, nothing seems out of place to you, so you say as much. "No offense, Sunny, but everything seems just fine—"

There's a crash to your left, over by the arts and crafts tables. Turning you're bewildered to see Sun lying amongst a disaster of spilled craft supplies, some of which leaks quickly onto the padded floor. You don't even know how he got over there, he was just right next to you moment's before.

You're not able to question it much before Sun's speaking up. "Whoops! I don't know what got into me! Could you lend me a hand with this, pretty please, Sunshine?"

"Of course but are you okay?" You ask, slightly hurrying as you walk over to him. "Don't need to go to Parts and Services or anything?"

Sun makes a noise similar to grinding gears, next words blunt. "No. It was just a simple mistake."

"I, right, right." You offer him your hand, which he takes and uses to help get to his feet. He doesn't let go once he is standing, however. Leaving you no choice but to hold his hand, lest you make this awkward.

You think for a moment. You should stay and help clean this up, you know how neurotic he—and moon—can be when it came to messes. You did feel bad about not being able to make it up to them regarding their lack of gifts, this could be a good chance. Especially when the opportunity presents itself to you.

"And I'll tell you what, Starshine. If we clean up quick I'll make sure to it'll be worth your while. How's that?" His hand squeezes yours just a little tighter.

Something about the way he phrases it makes your cheeks heat up. You cough into your hand with a nod. "Yeah, that um, sounds good."

"Perfect."

The next hour or two is a blur. After you cleaned up, the attendant had one activity then the next for you to do together.

Making a last couple of Valentine's crafts before putting the supplies away for the year, making puzzles, reading stories, acting out scenes, dancing to music. From one moment to the next it was something, something, something. You would have expected this out of Sun for sure, but the fact that Moon was just as active a participant was more than surprising.

In a brief moment of a break, while sitting down to watch a movie, do you think to check the time.

Twenty minutes before your friend's date. Shoot, you'd lost a lot more time than you'd thought. You peek up to Moon, who's focused on the screen in front of you both. He's got his arms wrapped around you as you sit—practically—in his lap. You think if you try to move you'll get trapped further, so you attempt with words first.

"Hey, this has been, a lot of fun, but I really need to get going now, alright?" You put your hand on his.

Moon's faceplate snaps down, hold on you instantly tightening. Not what you wanted in the slightest. "Why? Are they that much more important?"

"I, wait. Moon-man, are you jealous?"

He freezes, then looks away, hold on you slipping as he starts to shrink in on himself. "Yes. No. We both are." His next words are muttered, a mixture of static and, maybe another voice? "It's not fair. We've loved you for so long, but someone else gets to have you instead."

"You, you guys, like me?" You ask in the quiet.

Moon grips the edge of his hat, pulling it down over his eyes. You swear you almost see some of Sun's rays poking out behind his faceplate in the low light. "Not like, love. Too scared to say it until now."

"Even if I told you I cared about you both too?" You twist to face him fully, hands cupping his cheeks.

He melts into your touch. "Even what?"

You giggle. "Would you still be scared to say it? If I said I loved you too?"

"Maybe, maybe not..." One eye peeks out from the hat. "But, you're taken." And again, that harsh tone comes back, resentment, you realize.

At this you can't take anymore and start to laugh. "No, I'm not. I've been, well not trying super hard, but I've been trying to tell you that since early."

You finally are given the chance to fully explain the situation, including the 'Secret Admirer' part of the whole deal. You watch the tension melt in the bot in front of you, quickly becoming embarrassed and flustered that they'd been jealous over nothing at all.

Despite that, however, you end up having to text your friends that you can't help out tonight. As you've been told you have a lot of 'making up' to do for your 'awful' behavior. By both attendants, for that matter.

You're still sitting in their lap, movie long forgotten and lights now raised just slightly. Yellow and blue hands trace patterns into your waist as they hold you tight, seeming afraid to let go despite your whispered assurances. Their rays flutter and faceplate clicks at every sound you make, intentional or not.

As you kiss and are kissed—over and over and over again—there's only one word they murmur back, consistently, without fail.

"Ours."

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

Thank you @juukai for the request! I enjoy making jealous dca a lot hehe, just feels very fitting to me >:)c

My writing Masterpost

DCA Valentine's Masterpost

Tag list (if you would like added, simply say so!):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8 @luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @milosmantis @robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva @juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml @divinit3a @amarynthian-chronicles @crystalfay @that-one-unknown-artist @rosescarletful @buzzybee3

#fnaf dca #dca fandom #fnaf sun #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf moon #sundrop #moondrop #dca fic #x reader #mm dca valentine's #i definitely could have made them outwardly worse #but i digress #i think the undertones are there #you all know me and my subtext hehe #day 8 will be posted in like an hour or so oof

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thatbitchery · 1 day ago

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little acts of feminism you do daily?

acts of feminism lmao.

I'm a misandrist before I'm a feminist actually. Largely I just hate men I don't exactly love women but

When a gay man uses bitch or slut or whore etc I just use fag. Two can play this game. We can both use terms of degradation here buddy. Yours based on my sex mine based on your sex too. FAGGGGGGGGGOT. You don't get a pass you're a man that loves men you're worse than straight men to me.

I address women, married women, with their title and maiden name (and if I don't know them I'll use ma'am ). Dr Laney wtf is Mrs MacAdams who is he I'm talking to you I'll use YOUR name

Its not exactly an act but it's physically impossible for me to consume pop music. I tried watching the Grammys (CONGRATS TO MOM MISS BEY MWAH FOR THE CULTUREE) and almost threw up Sabrina Carpenter why. Men just dancing minimal in comfortable clothes full covered and one later of camera ready make up as women do entire routines 3/4 naked and in heels plus enough make up to season an Indian festival I'll throw up. I'll actually throw up. Get out. Why is Charlie XCX pouring wine on her boobs in that MV it does not even match the story? Why are women in pop like this? What are you doing ? Anyway shout out my girls Sia , Alessia Cara and Billie Eilish mwah

I don't interact with men unless I have to and when I do I make sure they know I didn't want to be there I just mhm and nod all night contribute nothing and stupidly drink. Because why do you even exist bud. In spaces where I can't avoid them I just limit interactions and when they happen I make sure they know I did not consent to it. Like at work when I have to share spaces with them I just say nothing and use one word responses and it's obviously not shyness it's just my guy get the fuck out. Which makes them want to serve me so win win .or destroy me, which is okay. Two can always play that game and one of us is naturally irrational and emotional ask walls .

I always give women the benefit of the doubt 10000× and do not hold women to holiness. Amber Heard my love I hope you actually did great his ass,for my female ancestors that use to get beat mwah. Blake Lively babygirl I hope you actually did coerce him like MILLIONS of women have to go through everyday. The world will only defend women if they're saints not me I defend women because the sun exists idk. Yes 100% have an abortion because it's a son for the girls that are murdered and neglected for being daughters. Mwah. Queen do you need funds? I'll hook you uppppp.

When a man accuses me of doing something that I didn't do I go and do it. You can't accuse me for free brah. This guy accused me of stealing from him so I went and stole? After I was proven innocent obviously so now he can't accuse me again without being racist. When women accuse me of something I let it go. When men do I just go actually do it. If I don't wanna I accuse them of worse and you will nottttt get out of it unscathed babes I'm African. Think thrice.

I always believe the woman. Even when I know for a fact she's lying. You know what queen matter of fact I was there I saw it with my eyes. More than women's rights I support women's wrongs. By default women right men wrong. Men have to go through hoops to even get me to consider them. If a woman says it it's true. By default. Go play video games or serve in the army .

I don't believe in God or religion because ew.

If a man wants me to believe something he has to prove it to me or hes lying. I learned this when I realized women have to prove things to men bc men are just considered right by default and women will pull out Harvard level data and men will be like lol lies. So I take one for the team I made my boss pull out data that the company is doing WELL in a meeting. Like are you sure?. Idk I feel it's wrong so maybe its wrong. If IDs right prove it.

I have no soft spot for men (or women) go hunt. Please. Go bring me a boar sir. I don't speak to men that are beneath me in any category men are better than women you are alphas leaders kings gods RAAAAAAH so as a man why am I smarter than you. And yes grades matter shut up. What was your GPA. SHUT UP. What's your net worth? Get out. As a superior being why are you ugly. Am I ugly? And I'm a lesser being!! A woman? Ew. Get out. As a man youre supposed to be better than me it's nature. And I'm really really really good, so good luck. I'm hypergamous like that. And mot just one front, buddy. Alll of them. You are a MAN. a natural born LEADER. and ALPHA. rrrraaaaaah or whatever.

I just don't take men seriously. Like okay buddy whatever you say.

If you ever put me in leadership of anything just know the men will wilt the girls will thrive and if a man does thrive then he is, in fact, an alpha male.

Like I said, it's not as much feminism as it is misandry. I don't exactly like women or put effort into empowering us I just really hate men.

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spideyson-stuff · 3 days ago

Text

I know we like the "Peter Parker SI Heir" trope thing but... I'm the only one who finds it really strange how we always make Peter the heir without even consulting Peter about it, like, HIS WILL DOESN'T MATTER!?

I want a fanfic where instead of Peter being happy he gets ANGRY, I want him to scream about how he should have the right to write what he wants for HIS future, and not just a "omg I'm the heir? cool!" like, just because he can doesn't mean he should, you know?

Make him feel betrayed by everyone who agreed to this without telling him, make him mad at Tony for choosing their future for him, maybe he wanted to be a florist or a photographer instead of a CEO? IDK

He DESERVES to be able to choose, without someone doing it for him, being a CEO is a lot of work, he needs to CHOOSE to be that, don't be PUSHED into it

#peter parker #spider man #tony stark #iron dad and spider son #spider son #iron dad #spiderman #iron man #peter parker headcanon #headcanon #peter parker heir

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acerathia · 15 hours ago

Text

how art is made (out of your desire) || Qi Yu | Rafayel

Summary:

Art is something subjective. It's supposed to be. Yet, it seems that everyone agrees what art is. You don't. To you Art is something special, something only you understand. Until you met him.

Wordcount: 4.9k (lol?)

Read on AO3

Pairing:

Professor!Qí Yù | Rafayel / f!non-MC!Art Student!Reader

Tags/CW:

Minors and Ageless Blogs DNI!! porn with some plot, art is subjective, and extremly horny here, semi-public masturbation (in a bathroom), orgasm denial, private masturbation (help lol), both vaginal fingering, edging, bodily fluids used in art, squirting, lowkey strip tease?, cucking as in, he's watching her masturbate idk if that's right lol, cunnilingus, pussy job, piv, some kind of exhibitionism, u will get it LMAO, this is without feelings, what if i kms, this is weird and lowkey gross and for meee

Note:

professor rafayel is lowkey insane and i need him in my guts thanks

Nobody truly knows what Art is for them. Many simply tell the normal and usual response.

“Art is an expression, some sort of communication.” “It’s entirely subjective.” “Everyone has their own interpretation of its meaning.” “The artist had an idea, a feeling and put it onto the canvas for us to understand.” “It’s the technique that matters.”

Nothing out of the ordinary, standard words for people to repeat without putting much thought into Art itself. Not you, though. To you, Art is something out of this world, something that sends shivers down your spine, making your heart beat, your blood rush, your head spin; something that excites you to the core. It’s reverence, it’s worship, it’s lust.

Maybe because of this difference in views, you can’t help but be bored to death at every single of your lectures. The professors, failed artists in your eyes, droning on about the techniques and how to use tools to use your skills to the fullest. Nothing but empty words when the right feeling is missing, when Art is missing.

That’s why you had pretty low expectations for your newest lecture. The professor is allegedly a famous artist, teaching just for some time, exclusively. Not that you care, most artists aren’t more than people with nimble fingers and connections.

At first, you did try to get into their world, to get to know all the different artists and their styles, what made them special, what made them stand out. But every time you stood in front of a painting, you felt… nothing. None of all these pretty decorations evoked anything in you, and soon boredom turned into frustration. Your dream was to belong, to have your own work join their ranks. But after disappointment after disappointment, you could not even think about your silly dream. Was it truly worth risking your beliefs just to fit in? To strip everything that makes art Art for you just to make it pleasing for all of these people with nothing but time and money? This realization made you turn your back on the world of artists, diving into your own Art, ignoring all possible repercussions of your intentional ignorance.

So, the professor at the front of the room is a complete stranger to you, but you do notice the reach of his fame, as the whispers stack on top of each other, getting louder with each student entering. You simply ignore the fawning and take a seat in a place where you can just not pay attention. Because the only reason you’re here is for the credits. And this new professor isn’t going to change your opinion about their type of art just with his senseless blabbering, probably filled with praise towards himself.

Still, you try to at least act as if you’re interested in what he’s saying, just until he’s not paying as much attention towards his audience anymore. You set your eyes towards him, and you freeze. Purple hair, soft as clouds above the setting sun, a gentle face, smooth and akin to beautiful marble. But what really gets your insides in a turmoil are his eyes. The way they shine when the light hits them, and the coldness hiding underneath all that radiance. Eyes that belong to someone with a certain touch, something similar to you, yet entirely different.

Your heartbeat rises, your lips curling ever so slightly. Oh, how much you desire to see a single work of his, to see if it could change your world. And so, despite your initial rejection, you begin to pay attention to what he says. Careful, one might even think calculated. Every word leaving his lips is akin to a script, something Rafayel, as he introduced himself as, is simply saying to please the masses. But you know, you know the way he’s speaking is different, the way his body coordinates so flawlessly with his words, but there’s always something off, and you know. Words which seem so pliant and meaningless, sprinkled with what he truly wants to express, hidden for anyone to see. And you were hanging on his lips, piecing everything into rough patches in your mind, out of order, nonsensical, but something.

Until he finally reveals one of his paintings, as part of the impending discussion. The moment your eyes lay on the canvas, the way the colors flow into each other, you gasp silently. The emotions seeping out of every brushstroke are caressing your skin, flowing into your veins, tickling the deepest part of you. The painting is filled with desire so intricate, so deep, you grin with excitement, pure unadulterated excitement, throbbing and twitching.

With this, you knew that Professor Rafayel is just like you, that his kind of Art is filled with the same meaning as yours does. A buzz is filling your brain, one stemming from all the possibilities, all the Art you can create under his tutelage; together with him.

The bubbling under your skin does not abate even after the lecture is over, your eyes never leaving him out of your sight, drinking him in, every single motion, every single word. You take everything, and you thirst for more.

That’s why you straighten yourself out, making sure that you look the right balance between amazed, worried and meek, hiding all your hunger away, before you make your way to his desk.

“Good morning, Professor Rafayel. Uhm, I love your art, the way the colors interlink and create this atmosphere, it’s amazing! Uh, what I wanted to say is, that I’m worried– worried that I might not do good work in this class. Do– Would you mind if I showed you my progress occasionally? Maybe give me some pointers?”

His eyes briefly glance over your face, and you barely hide a shiver, feeling your heart beat loudly in your ears. It’s obvious that Rafayel is a genius, and you don’t doubt he has seen through your empty compliment, but as most people sound the same, you’re not worried that he will call you out. Rather, it will strengthen your facade, making him believe that you’re truly as clueless as you make yourself out to be. So, you nibble at your lower lip and furrow your eyebrows ever so slightly, not too much, but just enough for it to look like a subconscious action.

“Alright, you can do so during my office hours,” he finally responds, scrawling all the information you need on a piece of paper and handing it to you.

Thanking him profusely, you leave the lecture hall, and the moment you step out, a grin breaks over your face, the tip of your tongue gliding over the edges of your teeth. You have finally found something that can satiate you, another person with the same essence as you.

So, without stalling for a single second, the moment the door to his office unlocks, you’re already carrying your painting with much care into the room, and give him a smile the moment your eyes meet. With a simple flick of the wrist, he shows you where you can set the canvas for the upcoming analysis.

The painting is one of the lighter ones. The real motive hidden behind the swirling colors of the waves, entering and leaving a cave, gushing. If one knew how to look, they would uncover the yearning, or rather, the desire behind each brushstroke. This painting got created with a mix of oil and water, highlighting the insinuation for those who get it. Normal paint, not the ones you mix specifically at home. No, those mixtures are used for that kind of painting you had yet to show. You first have to make sure that your intuition has not lied to you about Rafayel.

The artist has positioned himself in front of the canvas at the perfect distance and you watch as his eyes glide over every single decision of yours. Chaotic strokes and a use of paints that could only be called unrefined in the eyes of those who seek perfection. But every single one of these was a rational decision, every single one shows the heights you’re willing to reach, ignoring all that is natural and accepted.

You don’t know how long it takes, because you’re simply staring at him, watching every single reaction, down to the tiniest twitch. And then he faces you, a small smile playing around his plush lips.

“Interesting work. The emotional resonance could be stronger, though. Do you mix your own paints?” he cocks his head, his eyes wandering over your face, almost like it’s the first time he’s truly seeing you, like you weren’t even worth noticing before.

And now you are. You nod. Not trusting yourself to speak, as the depth of his eyes is revealed before you, their intensity not only shining through, but outright swallowing everything else. All of this makes your blood hot and you bite on your lower lip to suppress an inappropriately excited grin.

“Good. Next time, bring me one of those paintings. That’s when we can truly start with Art, yeah?”

A shiver runs down to your spine and you feel your lungs collapse, breathlessness wracking your body as you feel heat throughout your body. Before your reaction becomes too obvious, you thank him, giddiness tainting your voice, before you leave with your painting.

There’s barely enough time to stumble to the next bathroom, locking yourself into the cramped space, before you begin to pant, moans stuck in your throat. Before you know it, your belongings already strewn across the ground, your hand has dipped into your pants. Quickly, your fingers touch your throbbing clit, strokes after strokes after strokes, in circles, with more and less pressure, akin to how a painting is made. Slowly, they drag towards your slit, warm and wet, a cave yet to be filled, the waves yet to crash.

But instead of using your fingers to enter, you simply let the pads tease your entrance, and you shiver and clench. The aching hole, needy, bothered, yearning to be filled, an emptiness evoking nothing but inspiration. Your very own muse. One that cannot be taken away from you, ever. Your body tenses when your fingertips return to your clit, touch too feathery for your liking, but this lack of satisfaction makes you lightheaded, and you feel yourself climbing, climbing, one step and you’re going to–

With the last shreds of self control, you jerk your fingers away from your hot bud, your insides hollow and craving. Not yet, you’re only going to give yourself the heights of pleasure once you finish a painting that will make him look at you, truly look and see you.

A shaky sigh, before you fix your rumpled appearance and collect your scattered things. With the unsatedness settling in your body, you rush back to your atelier, inspiration fueled once again.

Once there, you grab your palette, dried colors flaking off of the surface. What you want, need, to show him should not be any old art of yours, no, it should be proper Art, the exact one Professor Rafayel is seeking.

There are uncountable tubes of paint sitting each in their own corner, but for this painting, you shall not use any normal paint. A stack of cans is hidden in a cabinet, each color painstakingly collected, wrung out, until mixing each component brought you these colors. Their consistency and shimmer something one could only replicate if they shared the same sentiment as yours. And of course, a small container, barely as big as your little finger, and its content even smaller. This truly is something that only exists for you, only imitations are possible, but perfect copies never. Unless you allow them to. But it has been ages since you have been attracted to another artist.

A thought creeps up at this, and you lick your lips. Maybe, if everything works out with Professor Rafayel, he might get a bit, and you might get another component for your colors. You wonder how that one might affect your painting.

For now, you set the small container away, it’s the last step to finish the painting, and then you turn towards the open white space of the canvas, and you remember how you felt earlier, how it felt to rise, rise, rise, only to plummet into nothingness. You let these feelings flow into the paint brush and you move, guided by your reverence, by your lust, towards Art.

The colors mix and flow, gush and squirt. Pushing and pulling, hitting the right areas, over and over again, getting the perfect angle with every stroke. Letting the tip caress and touch and love. Moving in circles, in patterns, pressure against the hot spot at the right time, and it drops and drips.

Heaving, panting, hot and feeling sticky, you finally take the small container combined with the smallest brush in your arsenal. You press your tongue against your teeth as you slowly spread the fluid where you need it to be, where it would have the most effect on your painting.

Only after the finishing touches do you unravel, feeling the high of Art, of this painting, penetrating you, making your insides squirm with want and desire. You throw your head back slightly and you moan, letting this feeling overtake you. This is what true satisfaction feels like, and it would reach new heights once you show this piece to Professor Rafayel, once you experience his reaction to it.

You let your piece dry, as there’s still time until you can visit him again. So, all you do until then is attend lectures as you have been, keeping the tension in you going and going, never letting it snap or slip away. Even if you were pretty close to losing control when Professor Rafayel made intense eye contact during one of his talks about the emotions and the way they manifest in art. Something about the way he looked at you made you clench and swallow.

And when he beckons you to talk to him after class is over, you feel your blood heat up with excitement, rushing to your head.

“How can I help you, Professor?”

Without a preamble, he gives you a slightly crumpled piece of paper. “Let’s change locations for the next meeting. I think it would be more ideal to do so. Do you mind?”

You shake your hand and glance at the address written.

“Good. See you then.”

His back is already facing you before you could say goodbye, but you don’t mind, your mind is too preoccupied with the fact that he wants to avoid meeting on campus. You knew your intuition about him was right.

With a grin splitting your face, you make your way home to grab your latest painting, before you input the address into your phone.

You have no idea how long it took you to get there, but standing in front of the gate closing off the huge mansion rips you out of your excitement-induced trance. This eerily looks like a home rather than just an atelier, just some place. Your ribs tingle and you hum. This is getting better with every step. You barely remember to ring the bell, your insides twitching and nudging, and all you want to do is grab him and show him what you’re capable of.

The gate swings open and you step through, feet almost silent on the soft rock leading you to the entrance of the mansion. You take a breath before entering with a knock.

“Professor?” You look around, trying to find the atelier in this huge place.

“Drop that, we’re not in university, right now, we’re just two artists,” his voice sounds behind you and you twitch in surprise and turn around to face him.

His words, coupled with his baring shirt and flushed face, make you unable to speak, suddenly stunned. Rafayel looks like he has been painting passionately and this, coupled with the removal of the societal barrier between you, make you lightheaded, your blood rushing into your fingertips, into your core, and weirdly enough, over your nape. You can only nod, clutching the canvas desperately.

He glances at your hidden work and cocks his head to make you follow him. And he leads you into his spacious atelier, paint and brushes, marble and chisels, a controlled chaos. You can’t help but stop to stare at some of his unfinished works, bare bones, but enough to light something in you, to make you yearn for something so far away, seemingly forever out of reach. His works are simply on another different level, out of your world, you can barely imagine how he might have achieved this.

“Hey, you can put it on this one,” he calls out to you, pointing towards a free easel.

A couple quick steps and you have caught up to him, and you put your painting where he has shown you, removing the covering at the same time. You notice the cloth covering the ground, but who are you to understand the whims of a genius artist.

You put some distance so he can have proper space to see your work while you watch him. Watch him scrutinize your work, analysing every single brushstroke, every single color combination. Like a lot of your paintings, it looks like a simple one, until you dare to dive deeper. This one shows the waves crash against an impossible cliff, trying to reach the edge but failing with each wave, with each push. To you, it’s obvious what your intent is, but you hope it’s clear to another person, to him.

There’s the tiniest clench in his jaw and you keep your eyes on him, wide and expectant, you’re not even trying to put on a mask anymore, it’s too late for that anyway. Soon after that miniscule reaction, he turns his head to face you, eyebrows ever so slightly furrows.

“This is excellent work. Truly, the repression is visually and emotionally resonant, making the viewer feel stifled as they’re failing to reach the climax. But say, how did you produce this?”

With a long stride, he’s letting his fingertips swipe ever so slightly over one of the parts you have coated in your very own mixture. And you almost whimper when you see him smell and lick it off his skin. All while holding eye contact with you.

“Why don’t you show me? Hm?”

You release the air out of your lungs, a little raspy, bordering between a giggle and a moan, and roll your shoulders and neck. Then, you make eye contact with him, as you let your fingertips wander over your throat and collarbones, drawing the line of your chest, splayed across the peak, before your palm beets your tummy, closer to the waistband of your pants.

Playing with the button, you ask him with heavy eyelids: “How much do you want to see?”

While you have been putting up this act, Rafayel has made himself comfortable on the closest couch. Positioned like it was his plan all along. From his seat, he cocks his head, fingers tapping slightly tapping against his temple, his body unrestrained, smooth and laidback, draped over the armrest, legs spread apart.

“Everything. Impress me.”

At his words, you hum, a suppressed moan in disguise, as you feel your insides twist and tense, yearning. With a flick you unbutton your pants and grab the zipper, slowly dragging it down, click by clack, his eyes watching your every move.

Without hesitation, you simply let your pants drop to the floor with a little shimmy of your hips. And maybe you did draw your motions out a little bit, just to see how his eyes follow each sway. Your pants out of the way, you lower yourself to the ground, legs apart to for him to see your still covered cunt and the wet spot on your underwear.

“Usually, I have something to collect it, but I suppose that won’t be necessary today, hm? This is but a demonstration. So, maybe a little censorship would make sense, don’t you agree?”

You watch as his eyebrows furrow, realization dawning upon him, as your fingers find your clit, pressing on your throbbing bud with the cloth still inbetween. A moan slips between your lips as you stroke it, drawing patterns on it, a piece in progress, swiping and flicking, controlled in a way a painter’s brush flows over the canvas. A calculated mess. The pressure sinking and rising, the angles changing, the position gliding. You know what your body needs, but to you, it matters more to satisfy the voices demanding for more and more Art. And the Art in this current situation is simple: A Show.

So, you follow the stream of one, building the tension more and more, hitting every spot that sends electricity down your nerves, until you’re about to reach the climax, only to stop, a cliff, the depression, tension dropping. Your moans turn into whines, even if you’re the one doing this to yourself, letting yourself hang in suspension. His eyes feel hot against your skin as he takes you in, takes every motion, every twitch of your hips, every drop dripping onto the whiteness underneath you. And you grin, tongue against the edge of your teeth, when you notice the strain in his pants. The effect of your Show, of your Art on him makes you clench around nothing, feeling yourself getting worked up without even touching yourself again.

After the little pause, you resume, fingertips stroking over your hot bud towards your slit, and you tease your aching hole with slow motions. You catch his eyes for a moment and you let your eyelashes flutter as you moan, deliberately making it sound close to his name, but not quite enough. With each dip of your fingers, with each caress, you feel your insides tighten, electricity tingling between your nervendings. Until with a certain flick, a finishing brush, you unravel, twitching and moaning, a resolution fit for the finishing act.

Panting, you put your hands behind you to support you, and you cock your head at him with a grin.

“Does that answer your inquiry? I doubt you could replicate it, though, unless you have me,” you raise your hand and stretch it towards him, and from your perspective it looks like he’s sitting on your palm.

“The Art we could create together, just imagining the possibilities inspires me again.” You close your eyes as you shiver slightly.

A shuffle, steps, and then Rafayel is crouching in front of you, taking your hand to kiss the tips of your fingers, his tongue licking the wetness clinging to them. With dark eyes he looks to you and smiles. A smile filled with something calculating and sinister, and your grin broadens as you give him the same look back, eyes wide and excited at the words he speaks next.

“With pleasure.”

With these words, his knees hit the ground and he crowds your space immediately. His breath mingles with yours, but he immediately pushes your torso to the ground, before he makes himself comfortable between your thighs, his hot breath now cooling the wet cloth of your underwear.

“Let’s make Art,” he murmurs as he completely removes your panties, throwing them aside.

Not allowing you a moment to register what he’s planning, his mouth is already on you, tongue running once over your sticky folds, and his groan vibrates against you as he tastes you. Swiftly, he latches onto your clit, sucking and licking, teasing the throbbing, still sensitive bud with each move. His hands grab your thighs, holding you in place as your hips buck in reflex, yearning for the new sensation. For some time, all he does is let his tongue glide over your clit over and over again, enjoying the way your body tenses with each stroke. There’s a meticulousness to his lapping, a precision one only wields when holding a brush. And it seems that you have turned into a part of his canvas.

His control leads to your climax being delayed over and over again, every time you feel close to the edge, he pulls away, almost like he’s observing you, thinking over his next steps, how he wants to finish this piece. And you don’t know what he wishes to achieve but you’re willing to do anything for Art. So, you moan his name and tense over his tongue over and over again, feeling yourself drip and gush. Until he finally allows you to reach the edge of the canvas, one last stroke and it’s done, you unravel and out of your frays Art is made.

Your body limp on the ground and you barely look up as you hear the sound of the zippers, seeing him pull his pants just enough down to reveal his hardened length, pre dripping from the tip. His hands grab your hip, fingertips carefully digging into your flesh, as Rafayel pulls you closer to him, hip to hip, his cock pressing against your clit, and you whimper at the sensation.

“Before the real mixing starts, we gotta have all the necessary materials, don’t you think?” he murmurs before he begins to jerk his hips.

His silky tip presses against your throbbing clit, and the rest of him follows as he lets his length slide through your folds, carefully avoiding your wet slit, the one clenching with every time he moves his cock through you. His veins rub against your heat and you moan, his suppressed groans growing with each slide, twitching against you. You can’t help but grind your hips against his, trying to get more pressure, more of him. With each move, you feel your insides tense up, his length slick with your wetness, gliding and pressing against your aching bud. The way your sexes rub together, the noise, the slickness feels like that sort of Art where every viewer gets to participate, gets to feel what has been felt before. And before you knew it, you were watching him cum, splattering onto the white cloth, mixing with your earlier demonstration. Just seeing him twitch and the way his spend is pumping out, feeling its heat against your skin, makes the tension snap in you, just barely.

“Hng… perfect… now, the climax of this piece,” he rasps against your skin, eyes hovering over your face.

You barely have time to grasp his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself some way, before you feel it. His tip slowly pushing into your entrance, spreading you apart bit by bit. Filling the aching void you have always left behind, the one always spurring your inspiration. The very one now getting replaced by another kind of pleasure, another kind of Art. You moan his name, clenching around him the moment he has filled you to the hilt, your hip against his, grinding, rubbing, slick and wet, and pure Art.

For a moment, everything stands still, the rapture of attention, the discovery of something so innate to life and what it means to create. Until his hips move, pulling out of you, slowly, drawing out like a brush following a measured line. And then he pushes into you again, angling your hips to hit that sensitive spot inside you, to get you messy and babbling underneath his touch. That’s how Art should affect people, turning their minds into a chaos, incomprehensible yet swirling you to the core.

Groans slipping from his lips mix with whimpers of your own as Rafayel finds a pace that satisfies you both, steady, careful, yet filled with conviction and decisiveness with which one would wield a pen to paper. His fingers find your clit and they add more pressure, more sensation, more texture and feelings, and you suddenly burst at the seams, sparks and colors filling your vision as you spasm and clench around him.

The way you tighten around him leads to his own climax, but he pulls out of you before he fills you with his heat, a decision you’re slowly beginning to understand.

Because as you pant and try to recover, you notice how the once white sheet has turned into different colors. With a surprised noise you support yourself on your elbows and take a closer look.

“Do you like it? The colors react to acidity and basicity making them appear. And see, desire is Art, Art is desire, and together, well, I think we can achieve the pinnacle of Art, yeah?”

You giggle, and even after he has milked you dry, you still feel a twist in your tummy, hot and delicious. “That is how Art is made after all, isn’t it?”

The same white canvas, the one colored with your pure desire, mixing and swirling, is soon exhibited amongst his paintings, your name by his side, a collaboration for all to see, with much more depth than anyone could ever comprehend (but not for you, every time you glance at this piece of Art, you see the outlines of your hips, your legs, the dents of his knees, his colors and yours, and the way they coordinate, mix). As for both of you, Art is Lust, Art is Desire. Something much more than what the common folk acknowledges, it’s something to pour your whole body into, no matter the consequences. So, you will continue to thread this path of Art, no longer alone, no longer with shut eyes, but with excitement and him by your side, discovering more and more ways to turn these feelings into expressions and colors. Showing each other how art is made out of your desire.

#qi yu x reader #rafayel x reader #love and deepspace x reader #cw gross #ru writes

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sxprot · 2 days ago

Text

KISS ME, KISS ME WITH YOUR EYES CLOSED!!

Sprout X Toon!reader (romantic)

--> Also enjoy this random hcs, may be ooc lol as we don't know much about their lore. Thanks to all the writers that wrote about Sprout, ily and you all are my biggest inspiration/p

TW: nothing, just fluff or full of lies, bad grammar since my first language aint english, Reader is gn, idk how to write. This is before the ichor infection

--------

At first, when you are created, you weren't known and never been paid attention by the children and adults. Much to say that you're quite a distant type, even though there's a lot of Toons that's wandering around.

And yet, when your popularity has risen, you haven't found yourself talking to any main cast for long. Any attempts of them trying to strike up a conversation with you, only to be left with disappointment as they received nothing but merely a small talk.

Though, you feel close to common Toons, often seen chatting with them and helping their problems, you were known for your friendliness, of course.

And that seems to catch a Toon's attention!

Now now, first of all, he already saw you! Yes, you are well-known by the audiences, everyone adores you, even bought your merchs, plushies.

But he didn't get a chance to talk to you properly, noticing the way you seem to withdraw from the limelight, even when others tried to talk, you just smile and help their problems, later to be found disappearing after you're done.

So honestly! After getting a chance to meet you, it wasn't any better, actually! Even with a simple baking lesson, Sprout feels a bit awkward. And you, already feeling the anxiety building up inside your chest, only to nod sheepishly when Cosmo asked you.

Exchanging around with many waves and small gesture, you found yourself staying until Sprout left(had to, since Cosmo asked him so). You even go and gasp about it, to which your swirl roll friend shrugs, patting your back as a way to comfort.

And yet, Cosmo insists on inviting you two again to taste out his cookies as a way to get along. Many things has happened, along with your feelings for him.

-----

Okay, onto hcs...

Yk, Cosmo do thinks that you needs to make more friends, actually more like getting along with other main characters. He also thinks this as a good opportunity to lets Sprout makes another friend!

I also thought of Sprout faling first, often asking his friend Cosmo for advices on how to impress you, to which he said that Sprout should focus on being himself. Or maybe starting off with cupcakes and cookies...

The strawberry toon sometimes finds himself in his own reverie, thinking about you accepting his confession...Oh, and some domestic moments as a couple as he took care of you...with his sweet, small little love.

That one time when he was chatting with Cosmo, he suddenly saw you with Boxten interacting with each other. If you noticed his gaze and wave at him, he'd be smiling and returning the gesture back! But sometimes, Sprout would trip and hit the wall when he didn't snap out of his daze.

Imagining him confessing his love with cupcakes. The way Sprout would spent his time decorating it, writing in red frosting about him loving you. And if you accept it, he would be surpised and so happy to see you—happily agreeing to be his partner. He was in cloud nine!

"Thank you." He would said, staring at you with such fondness.

Overprotective, really. Golly, even a small boo-boos could makes him a tad bit worried! How did you managed to get yourself in such state? He would ask and tend your wounds, gentle and slow, simply reminding you to be more careful.

Matching bracelets! You, Sprout and Cosmo would made a matching bracelet for each others, haha.

Of course, you are also the first one to taste his baking, and also the first to witness the chaos when he forgot to turns off the oven, leaving the scene for you both to clean.

I hc Sprout also likes to tease you, like imagining him holding a cookie, alright? He would ask you to open your mouth and say "Aaaaaa" as he slowly twirl(?) his hand like an airplane that's flying.

"Stop it, Sprout! I'm not a kid." "Oh, come on, it's fun!"

Also, like the feeling of him planting kisses on your face? After a long day, he would like to kiss you with a content smile on his face, then yapping about his day.

He is just happy that you're his, and that he's yours. He's forever grateful for have meeting you, for you that's always patient with him, for you that's always there with him. Mwah :)

Oml, sorry if it's too ooc. I'm not a professional at dating nor any romantic...gesture? So writing them out was hard.

#dandys world #dandys world x reader #dandy's world x reader #dandys world fandom #sprout dandys world #sprout x reader #I'm so lazy #Holy fuck was this longgggg for my first time writing x reader #dw sprout #sprout seedly #dandys world sprout

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buckets-and-trees · 6 hours ago

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idk about you but i just KNOW that nomad steve talks you through it. in the most panty soaking gut wrenching way. he’s always tried to hold back a little, be respectful, not be too much, but once he becomes nomad he just stops giving a damn. and he’s so cocky with it too, knowing he can keep going, keep making you feel good. he gets you going and then it’s all “that’s it baby let go” “that’s riiiiight” “that feel good? yeah? ohh look at you” mocking your desperation when you start moaning and gasping GOD i need him.

Just Say When

Characters/Pairings: Nomad!Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 3.2k Summary: Saturday, February 10, 2018. A surprise in your apartment the weekend before Valentines.

Content/Warnings: "fluffy" angst; repeated hook ups; Nomad Steve is still soft!dark and a warning all his own; explicit smut (oral: male receiving, vaginal fingering, nipple play, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex/ejaculation); light dirty talk (there's talking, but it's not nasty dirty talk)

Author Notes: Eighth treat for the Valentine Storygrams.

Previous Part | Exiled Nomad Series

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You sighed as you closed the door behind you, dropping your keys on the small table in the entryway. The trip to UPS had taken longer than expected due to a line of people also shipping back their own Amazon returns. You were looking forward to a quiet evening at home, heating up something easy for dinner, and maybe catching up on that book you'd been meaning to finish.

As you shrugged off your coat, a sound made you freeze. The unmistakable hiss of running water hitting tile came from your bathroom. Your heart leapt into your throat, adrenaline surging through your veins. You lived alone. No one else had a key. There shouldn't be anyone in your apartment, let alone using your shower.

For a moment, you stood rooted to the spot, mind racing. Should you call the police? Grab a weapon? Run? But curiosity and a strange sense of anticipation overrode your fear. Cautiously, you made your way down the hallway.

The sound of water shut off the same moment you entered your room, and you hear very faint shuffling from the en suite bathroom. The door was slightly ajar and steam was billowing out. You hesitated for a moment before gently pushing it open.

The sight that greeted you made your breath catch in your throat. A very familiar, very masculine figure. His broad shoulders and muscular back were on full display as he stood wrapping one of your towels low around his hips.

For a moment, you simply stared, unable to believe your eyes. It had been a little over a month since you'd seen him unexpectedly in that nightclub in Aspen. How was he here, in your shower, as if he belonged?

Certainly sensing your presence, Steve turned, his eyes locking with yours. Without a word, he stepped closer.

"I hope you don't mind," he said, his voice low and husky. "I let myself in."

You stood frozen in the doorway, your mind reeling, pussy pulsing already.

You swallowed hard, your eyes roaming over Steve's damp, chiseled torso. Droplets of water clung to his skin, trailing tantalizing paths down his chest and abs. The towel hung dangerously low on his hips, leaving little to the imagination.

"How did you get in?" you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Steve's lips quirked into a small, almost sheepish smile. "I may have picked the lock. I needed to see you."

Your heart raced at his words. He needed to see you. Despite the shock of finding him in your apartment, a thrill of excitement coursed through you.

"Steve," you breathed, taking a hesitant step towards him. "What are you doing here?"

He closed the distance between you in two long strides, his large hands coming to rest on your waist. The heat from his body radiated through your clothes, making you acutely aware of how close he was.

“This,” he answered your question by lowering his mouth to yours.

Steve's lips crashed against yours, hungry and demanding. You melted into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck as he pulled you flush against his damp body. The towel was the only barrier between you, and you could feel the hard planes of his muscles through your clothes.

His tongue swept into your mouth, tasting you deeply as his hands roamed your body. One large palm cupped your ass, squeezing possessively as he ground his hips against yours. You could feel his arousal growing, pressing insistently against your stomach.

"I shouldn't keep coming here," Steve murmured against your lips between kisses. "But I need to have you."

You knew you should question this, but all rational thought fled your mind as Steve's lips trailed down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin.

Your head fell back, giving Steve better access to your neck as he continued his sensual assault. His beard scraped deliciously against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Your fingers tangled in his damp hair, holding him close as he lavished attention on your pulse point.

He walked you backwards out of the bathroom and further into your room.

Then Steve stepped back, his eyes roaming over your body with undisguised hunger. The intensity of his gaze made you shiver, desire pooling low in your belly.

"Undress for me," he commanded, his voice low and husky. "Slowly."

Your fingers trembled slightly as you reached for the hem of your shirt to lift it over your head. Steve's eyes followed every movement, darkening with lust as you revealed more skin. Once your torso was fully exposed, you glanced back at Steve and let the shirt fall to the floor.

Steve's hand moved to the towel at his waist. He pulled it away, letting it drop. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him fully naked, his impressive arousal on full display.

Steve's hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly as he watched you continue to undress. The sight of him touching himself sent fire through your veins.

“Keep going,” he insisted.

Next, you unzipped your jeans, shimmying them down your hips. Steve's breath audibly caught as you stepped out of it, leaving you in just your mis-matched bra and panties. At least they were good ones.

With deliberate slowness, you reached behind your back to unhook your bra. You held the cups in place for a moment before letting it fall away. Steve's eyes darkened as your breasts were revealed, his hand moving faster on his cock.

"Don’t stop," he breathed.

Your thumbs hooked into the waistband of your panties, sliding them down your legs. You stepped out of them, now fully naked before Steve's hungry gaze.

Steve studied your body for another moment, drinking in every curve and plane. "Come here," he growled.

You moved towards him, drawn like a magnet.

“Kneel,” he said.

You sank to your knees before Steve, your eyes level with his impressive erection. His hand was still wrapped around the base, and you watched a bead of precum form at the tip.

"Open your mouth," Steve commanded, his voice husky with desire.

You complied, parting your lips as Steve guided the head of his cock between them. The taste of him exploded on your tongue as he pushed deeper into your mouth. Your hands came to rest on his powerful thighs, steadying yourself as you took more of him.

"You're always so eager for me," he gloated.

You didn't care. It was true.

Then Steve's fingers tangled in your hair, guiding your movements as you began to bob your head. "That's it," he groaned. "Take all of me."

You relaxed your throat, allowing him to slide deeper. Your tongue swirled around his shaft as you sucked, drawing a low moan from Steve. His hips began to rock, fucking your mouth with shallow thrusts as you worked him with your lips and tongue.

"Fuck," Steve groaned, his fingers tightening in your hair. "Your mouth feels so good."

You hollowed your cheeks, sucking harder as Steve's thrusts became more urgent. His cock hit the back of your throat with each movement, making your eyes water. But the sounds of pleasure falling from his lips spurred you on, eager to bring him to the edge.

Just as you felt Steve's muscles tensing, signaling his impending release, he suddenly pulled away. You looked up at him, confused and breathless.

"Not yet," Steve panted, his chest heaving. "I want to be inside you.”

Steve's eyes were dark as he reached down to help you to your feet. Without warning, he lifted you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the bed. He dropped you down onto the mattress, his body covering yours quickly as he settled between your thighs.

His lips found yours in a searing kiss, his tongue plundering your mouth as his hands roamed the curves of your body. You arched into his touch, desperate for more contact. Steve's beard scratched deliciously against your skin as he trailed kisses down your neck, nipping and sucking at your pulse point.

"Steve," you whined as he lavished attention on your breasts, his tongue swirling around a nipple before sucking it into his mouth.

His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your slick folds. You moaned as he stroked you, his fingers teasing your labia, circling your clit before dipping lower to tease your entrance. You mewled and arched into his touch, desperate for more friction.

"So wet for me already," Steve murmured against your skin, his voice low and husky. "Is this all for me?"

"Yes," you breathed, your hips rocking against his hand. "Only for you, Steve."

He groaned at your words, capturing your lips in another searing kiss as he slipped two thick fingers inside you.

And it was true. You had never been this way with any one else - not so quick to get physically involved, not uninhibited, willing to let him use your body, so ruin you with pleasure. You let him give and take without question.

You moaned into his mouth as he began to pump his fingers in and out, curling them to hit that perfect spot inside you. His thumb found your clit, circling it in tight, precise movements that had you trembling beneath him.

You knew you should stop. You knew this was dangerous, that you were setting yourself up for heartbreak. But as Steve continued working your body, you could only continue to succumb to your desperation for him, the thing that flickered in and out of your life.

"Steve, please," you whimpered, teetering on the edge of release. "I need you inside me."

Steve growled low in his throat, withdrawing his fingers. He positioned himself at your entrance, the thick head of his cock nudging against your slick folds.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice rough with desire.

You forced your eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. The raw emotion you saw there – lust, possessiveness, and something deeper you couldn't quite name – took your breath away.

Steve pushed forward slowly, stretching you as he sank into your heat inch by glorious inch. You both groaned at the exquisite feeling of him filling you completely. When he was fully seated, he paused, giving you a moment to adjust to his size.

"You feel so good," Steve murmured, his forehead resting against yours. "So tight and perfect for me."

You whimpered in response, overwhelmed by the fullness and the intensity of having Steve so close, here with you.

Steve began to move, starting with slow, deep thrusts that had you gasping with each roll of his hips. His eyes never left yours as he gradually increased his pace, the intensity of his gaze making you feel utterly exposed and vulnerable.

"Is this what you wanted?" he growled, snapping his hips forcefully. "To be filled by my cock, stretched around me?"

"Yes," you moaned, your nails raking down his back. "God, yes, Steve."

The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, punctuated by your breathless moans and Steve's low grunts. He hooked one of your legs over his arm, changing the angle to hit even deeper inside you.

"Fuck," you cried out as he struck that perfect spot.

"You like that?" he panted, driving into you relentlessly. "You like how I fuck you?"

"Yes," you whimpered, your nails raking down his back. "God, yes!"

His rhythm became more frantic, his hips snapping against yours with increasing force. The intensity of his thrusts had you clinging to him, pleasure building within you with each powerful stroke.

“Then fucking take what I give you,” he said.

Your mind lost everything except the feeling of Steve moving inside you, the sound of skin on skin, and the increasingly desperate noises falling from both your lips. Steve's rhythm became more frantic, his hips snapping against yours with increasing force. The intensity of his thrusts had you clinging to him, nails digging into his back as pleasure built within you.

"Open your eyes," Steve demanded, his voice strained.

You forced your eyes open, meeting his intense gaze, not realizing you’d let them slip closed. The raw emotion you saw there – desire, possessiveness, and something deeper you couldn't quite name – took your breath away.

"I want to see you fall apart," he growled, never breaking eye contact as he continued to drive into you relentlessly. "I want to watch what only I can do to you."

One of his hands snaked between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with practiced precision. The dual sensations of his cock pounding into you and his fingers on your sensitive bud quickly pushed you towards the edge.

"Come for me," Steve commanded, his voice strained. "I want to feel you come around my cock."

His words and the relentless pressure on your clit sent you spiraling into ecstasy. You cried out Steve's name as your orgasm crashed over you, your inner walls clenching tightly around him. The intensity of your climax triggered Steve's own release. “Look so pretty when you fall apart,” he groaned, burying himself deep inside you as he came. “So pretty with my cock inside your cunt.”

For a moment, you both lay there, panting and trembling in the aftermath. Steve's weight pressed you into the mattress, but you relished the feeling of being surrounded by him.

When he finally lifted his head to look at you, his blue eyes were soft, almost vulnerable. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly.

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath. "More than okay."

Steve rolled to the side, pulling you with him so you were curled against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as your breathing slowly returned to normal. For a few moments, you simply lay there in comfortable silence, basking in the afterglow.

But as the haze of pleasure began to fade, reality started to creep back in. Questions swirled in your mind - why was he here? How long would he stay this time? When would you see him again, if ever?

As if sensing your thoughts, Steve's arms tightened around you. "I should go," he murmured.

“You say should go, that you shouldn’t have come here, that you shouldn’t have sought me out at the night club, I’m so tired of should’s, Steve.”

“What are you saying?”

You propped yourself up on an elbow, looking down at him. "I'm saying... I don't know what I'm saying. Parts of this are confusing, Steve. You show up out of nowhere, rock my world, and then disappear again. I never know when or if I'll see you next. It's exhilarating and amazing when you're here, and maybe that’s all this needs to be."

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. The conflict in Steve's eyes was clear. "You can’t mean that.”

“I’m an adult woman, Steve. I’ve built a life for myself. Let me know what I mean. If I make good or bad choices, they’re mine.”

Steve's jaw clenched as he considered your words. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "You deserve better than this. Better than stolen moments and uncertainty."

"Maybe," you conceded. "But right now, this is what I want."

Steve searched your face, his eyes intense. "You don't know what you're asking for. The danger I'm in, the life I lead now, it's no life for anyone else."

You sat up, pulling the sheet around you. "I'm not asking to join you on missions or be part of your team, Steve. I'm just asking for this to be fine and not a ‘shouldn’t’ anymore."

He sat up as well and ran a hand down your back. You looked over at him.

“That’s all I could give you.”

Your heart swelled painfully in your chest, but you ached for more. He set your bones on fire and made you feel so good. The logical part of your brain knew this was a dangerous path. But in this moment, with Steve's warmth beside you and the lingering afterglow of pleasure, you couldn't bring yourself to care.

"Then give me that," you said softly, meeting his gaze.

And how was this any worse than the fuckboys, the bad relationships that had crashed or stuttered out, or the periods of solitude and celibacy?

"Give me whatever you can," your voice was resolute.

Steve's eyes searched yours, a mix of longing and conflict swirling in their blue depths. For a moment, you thought he might refuse, might pull away and disappear into the night as suddenly as he had appeared. But then he nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement.

"Okay," he agreed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Relief flooded through you at Steve's agreement. You leaned in, capturing his lips in a fierce kiss. Steve responded immediately, his hand coming up to cup the back of your neck as he deepened the kiss.

When you broke apart, Steve rested his forehead against yours, both of you breathing heavily.

“I’m thirsty,” you said. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Oh, I’m plenty thirsty,” he replied. “I’ll have some water, but I’ll also have something else when you come back,” he emphasized by slipping his hand between your legs to cup your pussy, curling one of his fingers into your folds, and you moaned.

You quickly but reluctantly pulled yourself away from Steve's touch, shivering as his finger slipped out of you. As you stood, you could feel the evidence of your escapades trickling down your thighs. You padded across the room, snagging Steve's discarded t-shirt from the floor and slipping it on. The soft cotton draped over your curves, the hem barely skimming the tops of your thighs.

The hardwood floor was cool beneath your bare feet as you padded down the hallway towards the kitchen. The apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of traffic from the street below.

You pulled two cups out of your cupboard, then opened the refrigerator to pull out your water pitcher. As you pulled the door open, the interior light illuminated the contents, and you did a double take.

There, on the middle shelf, sat a familiar white takeout container that definitely hadn't been there earlier. Your heart skipped a beat as you recognized the logo emblazoned on top - it was from Bella Notte, your favorite Italian restaurant in the city.

With trembling fingers, you reached for the container, already knowing what you'd find inside. As you lifted the lid, the rich aroma of coffee and cocoa wafted up, confirming your suspicions. It was their famous tiramisu, the very same dessert you and Steve had shared that night in September when he'd shown up unexpectedly at your door.

The sight of it brought a flood of memories rushing back.

You’d been fine when he left in September.

You’d been fine when he left the first time.

You would be fine when he left this time.

You would be.

This was fine.

next part: March 10, 2018

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

So this is it! This is the last encounter that brings us now to the original pieces of Nomad Steve March 10 and then March 21 (back when this was one random drable and one follow up).

And what now, you ask? There are four more parts I have planned out for them formally.

read more in the Exiled Nomad Series

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

#steve rogers #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #nomad steve rogers #steve rogers x yn #female reader #curvy reader #aspen wrote something #exiled nomad series #aspen's valentine storygrams

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messrsrarchives · 1 day ago

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I’m curious to know how you feel about all the he/him lesbian debates online? Because I have gotten into a couple online myself and I personally do not understand why people care so much about other people’s labels 😭😭

Anyways yes just wanted to hear your thoughts (I said I don’t understand why people care and then proceed to ask anonymously about it mhm okay go me 👍)

i think people need to get out and touch grass. maybe learn some queer history. focus on their own lives etc etc. idk. i think people care too much about labels too. like they're not rigid and they're helpful, yes! but i am Tired of all the boxes, yk? humans aren't meant to be slipped into neat boxes, how boring.

even if you don't understand,,,, that's okay! either listen and get educated or,,, be quiet because this whole "that makes no sense and doesnt fit what i think" is the same mindset used against she/her lesbians. and like,,, the entire LGBTQIA+ community i fear.

queer discourse is so incredibly Tiring. they hate all of us, stop fighting and group together. i promise you the individual labels aren't an issue, it's just people exploring themselves 🙂↕️ those are my thoughts

#asks #i myself am not very educated on this actually #so im no expert but idk #labels are meant to help Individuals explain themsleves #not separate us further and start infighting #not rn besties #not Right Now #(or ever actually but right now we need unity)

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kurosagihater · 2 days ago

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ahaha yes let's do this with Romeo with the current understanding i hv about him (this is very much biased)

To begin, I think I have a thing for guys who fell from grace yet still act all mighty and proud and obnoxious as if the world should be handed to them on a silver platter (and I would fucking do it if I could. You have no idea how much I want to) but they actually worked hard to get to where they at. Before I liked him I liked Izumi (enstars) and I guess that's what they both have in common. I do have a taste. I hate that they're my taste sometimes (No I don't).

To be honest I won't argue much if people say they don't like his personality. I acknowledged the fact that he chased his junior with a literal weapon, stripped them, and confined them in a cage like he's treating some animal (sorry Kaito). He got his ambition and honestly... I get it. He's not afraid to take risk and he knows how to get things done, even though some of them aren't fair to others sometimes.

I don't wanna agree with the whole pretty privilege thing but believe me when I say I will follow through with it if it's him. God it feels so fucked up for me to type that but idk how else to explain it. "So you just like him because he's pretty?" fuck idk. maybe? I would still like him even without understanding his character lmao. But tell me why I would sit in silence for a whole night staring at nothingness every time I think of his stigma? Or his bad leg?

"He complaints a lot." They're all justified in my eyes. Man got high standards and it's people around him that are incompetent (I'm kidding). But hey, time is money and he won't be wasting any.

It amaze me how he can juggle everything all at once. Taking care of his appearance, taking care of the casino, taking care of Taiga. I would've lost my mind if I were him. I can't even keep a simple routine for myself like having a decent sleep and eating schedule (it's currently midnight as I'm typing this). Whatever fuel he has to keep himself going, I need that. (Is it revenge, I wonder...). And I need to keep my priorities straight but fffuuuuuck it's so difficult.

"He's selfish." I prefer other term like goal oriented. He's strict on himself and others (but not in Luca's "hard on others hard on himself" way). On the contrary, I, myself, leans more into the selfless category, and I got hurt a lot by that. I'd look at him and deep down I wish I can be a little selfish too. Just for myself. But at the same time I'd be haunted by the guilt that hasn't even come and I'd back out so fast. I am so sorry for being a loser, Romeo.

He's neither an optimist nor pessimist—he's a realist. At least to me. And he makes me want to be a better person—as weird as that sounds since we're talking about Romeo here.

I need more of his past, please. It'd hurt me most likely but I'll take any crumbs. He might bitch a lot but he's my bitch <3 (im sorry romeo pls put the gun down)

I draw the line at people calling him ugly. You will NOT put that word in the same sentence as him IDC IDC. If anyone ever say that we will argue sorry not sorry <3

And I wish people wouldn't reduce him to like a tsundere or smth. I mean he is one but come on...

That should be all for this. I can go on and on about the things I love about Romeo bcs I'm blinded like that LOL. The easiest thing is to say I like him because he's pretty so so fucking pretty I'd give him the world in its entirety. It'll save you the trouble from hearing my (more or less nonsensical) reasonings.

tkdb fans- reblog this post with your best defense for your favorite! I'm trying to understand what everyone likes about each character :D

#rhyapping #yeah im not tagging anything romeo related here

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lazylittledragon · 3 months ago

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y'know every time i feel guilty about bothering someone by singing along when i'm listening to music, i just remember that i have to tolerate my dirtbag brother screaming at his ps5 for hours every day so listening to muffled off-key fall out boy is probably preferable

#ramble #it's not loud btw it's just like. singing along in the car volume #not to get on my soapbox but there's a literal dent in his wall from his controller. and we're in the uk you CANNOT punch through walls #idk about anyone else but i've NEVER yelled at a video game?? like i'm absolute dogshit at 80% of them #and i've never had a PHYSICAL reaction beyond maybe 'ughh' then turning it off #if you're getting that angry maybe you just need to play different games because you're clearly not having fun #also added bonus that i didn't realise until adulthood. as a former daughter #cis son privileges are CRAZY #i don't even swear in front of my parents and my dude is just screaming actual slurs next door with NO consequences #like you wouldn't do that in public why is it ok to do it here #i think i've said fuck in front of my mum ONCE and i literally couldn't look at her the entire day #this is a box i am not ready to unpack yet akdhdh #is this just a my family thing or is this common

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angelpuns · 2 months ago

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pov i did in fact get a (v cheap) cane to see if it helped any but I'm??? apprehensive about using it or telling anyone about it cause im?? Idk if it will improve my life but it's a temporary solution until I can go to the doctor. Anyway this is just me telling someone( the internet) about it cause it frankly should not be this big of a deal. It just is cause that's the type of person I am. I mean- my friends can attest to me not being able to stand or walk for long periods of time, I just don't want them to??? i don't wanna say judge me, but maybe think I am being dramatic?? It really is temporary to see if it helps so. Idk. I know they probably wouldn't but man im just.ragh. I also was under the assumption that canes are just for support when walking but apparently nthey are also helpful if you have trouble standing. good to know cause that's where most of my issues lie. walking sucks too but I can usually deal cause im too focused on other things such as 'dont get hit by car' and 'dont let knees get too straight'

ALSO SIDE NOTE I WILL BE GOING TO A DOCTOR SOMETIME AFTER JANUARY IM JUST LITERALLY TOO BUSY AND POOR RN TO DO SO

#anyway #ughh #I am the type of person who does the 'am i gay quiz'#i also have not figured out if im aromantic for this same reason #but thats like a whole dif problem #While i was doing research to see if maybe it WOULD help I saw a lot of people being like #'yeah people who don't need canes generally don't think about getting one at length'#so #anyway will probably delete this #BTW THIS IS ALSO HOW I WAS ABOUT BEING AUTISTIC SO??#I HAVE A TRACK RECORD FOR NOT WANTING TO BE FAKING/THINKING I MUST SOMEHOW BE FAKING #idk how I would fake body pain tho #not a vent btw #it kinda reads like one #idk im just trying to figure out how to not feel apprehensive about using it #its less shame and more ' someone is gonna see me and somehow know i dont need it' even tho I DONT EVEN KNOW IF I DONT NEED IT #chat is it crazy to not want to be in pain all the time and to use something that might help #and if it doesnt its not the end of the world #or os it #are people going to eat me alive for using a cane without knowing if i actually need it #raghhh #back to drawing now #if you read this far #gold star #lets see if i actually post this idk

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hood-ex · 1 month ago

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The torture of reading bat fics one after another and having to read "B" in every single one of them. I need us all to collectively shake hands in agreement that we will use Bruce or Batman from now on because I can't take it anymore!!

#genuinely feel like i'm going insane now #you don't understand #bc when i read ''b'' then my mind instantly switches to fanon voices #like yes i will read dick's voice differently depending on how he's written #and when he says b in every fic my mind is flashing to his saccharine fanon voice #i am shaking B so violently in my mind that the top half breaks off and i'm left with an odd looking D #i know i already made a post on this like idk a few months ago maybe #but it's getting to me man *pig squeal*#i'm pretty certain i have done this as well in my fics or the older ones--so at some point i'll go edit them all #but in the future i just. need us to dropkick B into a volcano. we'll be fine. we'll be amazing even. life will be so good i promiseee

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spotaus · 15 hours ago

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Hehe, you flatter me!!!

Yes! This is low-key Error's first real introduction to tye plot as of now, so I had to re-establish his behavior a little! He's like... obnoxiously happy to share his stuff, all the time, and it shows!!

And ough, I'm so so glad the vibes played out there because that's exactly the energy I was going for with the food, haha! (He's suddenly in a very secure and safe location, feeling good about himself, and has very little worries? AND he doesn't have to eat Geno's bad cooking? He'll yeag 🙏)

Yes! At first I was going to have him overreact, but Error has seen a LOT of weird stuff in his life, and heard a lot of stories, and frankly Nightmare's new look didn't strike him as an issue. (And if it *was* something he wasn't supposed to see. Well. He was decent at playing off those encounters too lol-)

I wasn't sure how intense I wanted to go with his reaction, so I went with the gut feeling of 'oh, that's not good'. Because like. Geno used to tell Error all sorts of horror stories from magic mishaps from his school, or in the market, or from the past. The academy had certain magic studies banned for those reasons too. And. Idk how much I want to focus on it. But Geno didn't always have that giant wound in his skull. I almost like to think that what made him the way he is now was him playing around with altering his magic typing.

I'm thinking that back before even Fresh was around, Geno had realized that his magic could be stronger if he just learned to use other magic, like humans could. Amd the way he sees magic like gems? He'd cobble together haphazard crystals, each one with a different make-up, texture, and ofc spell behind them. They were unrefined, and not clean. And then it occurred to him that Diamonds reflect all the colors! So maybe... and yeah, I think this idiot baby boy tried to make a spell with all the magic types fused into one, but obviously he was just a little guy! The strain on his developing soul was too much and he burnt out his right eyelight. His soul, already about half a normal soul, crystallized and chucked away, leaving him with his soul 'shard'.

And Error doesn't know the full story, but Geno had warned him away from playing with different magic types when he was alone. (BTW Geno did end up figuring out how to make crystals. They just require an ungodly amount of patience and perfect concentration for like. Several days. Pressure all at once backfires, slowly applied pressure works wonders.)

Sorry, sidetracked! But yes! Error knows that it's not good, abd that it hurts, and the he doesn't like it! But it's not his place to step in because Night's not doing it alone, and he assumes there must be good reason if someone like Ccino isn't stopping him. (When Nightmare literally told no one how much it hurts abd strains him so they just don't know lmao-)

Hehehe!!!! I took a page put of you bookeith that section! I wanted to delve a bit deeper into how Error sees his magic, abd like you said, he needed to try it out himself to try and understand! I feel like Error's always a hands-on learner, and when words fail him, physical things won't!

And yeag. I think the house was usually pretty empty, but when Geno came home for breaks he'd fill a shelf with his books to study. And Error isn't a book guy, but a skim would've been more helpful than his current nothingburger worth of knowledge lol!

!!!!! I genuinely could not come up with a way to present the vibes Error had but! Yes!! He saw Nightmare frfr being just like him. Someone talented, someone special in a way people weren't prepared for (bro does NOT get that Night actually has -3 intelligence coming to Magic now) and he's thrilled! Another person in the same boat as him!

Yes, the offer! Technically, Nightmare already offered for Ccino to leave. (I don't think he ever asks the Knights directly, but he hints at it. Those first few missions after his change being solo ones, a chance to run) but Error is the first person he believes might take it. He could go anywhere, Night would sponsor him, and it would be easy as that. But Night forgets that Error is opinionated. (And stubborn, and he hates drastic change.) Error made his choice that a day to become a Mage. He broke rules to get here, he sat through Night's lectures to get here! He's not just giving that all up now! Protection is never something he believes he needs, he's the danger to everyone else, frankly. He's staying whether the King likes it or not!!!

And yeag!! Nightmare was scared! He had spiraled after Error fled his office and was sure that Error would run away, or hate him, or (worst of all) decide to rebel. Despite Ccino calming him down, he was sure Error was going to leave. Nightmare thought he was going to fail Error. But! When Error so stubbornly claimed loyalty, Nightmare couldn't help but cry! He was an emotional kid before, he's one now. And Error! He's not used to people crying (not like Fresh or Geno did much of it) but he used to get comforted by Geno a lot when he'd come back from market or school and get so mad he would cry. And Geno used to tell him it was alright, relate to it. So Error does the same here! (<- Geno was emotionally constipated about romance, but he's got brothering down to an art!)

The balcony!!! That stupid lil fireworks gun was going to be my final scene whether I wanted it to be or not! Error made something entirely for fun for once, and it was to be thoughtful towards the king! The King he didn't even know was young again! And he shut his trap for once to just enjoy tye silence. Not many people can get him to do that haha!

New Age AU Drabble (Lonely)

Hello everyone!! Welcome to the next drabble I swore I was going to write! This one I'm very fond of, because it involves the two who kickstarted this whole thing, the King and his Royal Mage (in-training)-

This happens some time after Nightmare's reversal to his new age, so it's basically the next one in chronological order for the main story drabbles!

@ancha-aus @mutzelputz @papiliovolens Hi guys!! Welcome back :)

Ping

Error glanced up from his project when the little tingle of his magic blinked into his awareness. Someone’s outside? He looked over at the heavy door that separated the cool space of his study from the stairs which led down to the main floors of the castle. On his end, it was absolutely tangled in blue wires, like his own little spider web. Though, to be fair, the rest of the room wasn’t faring much better. He’d certainly taken the chance to make the space his. The king had told him to, after all! Much better than the tidy room his brothers always made him help clean…

Blue strings lashed out from the ceiling and wrapped around his current project, wrapping securely around it before tugging it, his knitting needles, and the notes he had scattered all up into the loft space shrouded in shadow above him. It was just a lot safer to keep all his projects up there, out of his way until he needed them. Out of sight of his rare visitors. He couldn’t show them something that wasn’t ready! That would be embarrassing! Not Royal Wizard behavior at all.

As his project rose, Error rolled onto his back, popping his spine before making an effor to stand up himself. How long had he been laying there? Normally he’d have been up in one of his hammocks, but this project required he keep it level until a later step, so he’d decided that the soft rug on the floor and a few blankets would have to suffice. Had it been an hour or two? Knowing him, probably much longer. He didn’t like pulling back the curtains, his strings didn’t glow in the darkness if he did. Infusing magic worked a lot easier for him in the dark.

He glanced to the door again. Thirty seconds and there hadn’t been any more pings? It had to be someone he actually halfway wanted to see, then. Darn.

Error crossed the space, stepping over a few loose supplies, and around a few of his hanging strings, until he came to the door. As much as he wished he could ignore this person, he knew better. So, he gripped the solid iron handle and swung the door inwards towards him.

Stood outside on the landing of the stairs was Sir Dust.

He wasn’t an unwelcome sight, but he definitely wasn’t an expected one either. Lately, it’d been that Ccino guy showing up to his door unannounced, bringing him meals or just checking in on him. Sir Dust had been there the day he was hired, the knight doing his best to encourage Error to not make stupid, rash choices. Fortunately, given that chance to think, Error had been able to return with a smart and rash choice instead! Which, might he add, landed him this sweet gig for royalty. That was why, when Dust came around, Error didn’t turn him away. His magic was powerful, and despite being small, he was really cool.

“Error.” Sir Dust greeted. “Brought dinner. Ccino’s been busy.”

Sir Dust was always blunt. Even that first day they met, when he’d spoken more than a few words he’d seemed strained. Uncomfortable. He was comfortable here in his home territory.

And, he wasn’t lying! Error hadn’t even noticed it, but when he looked down, his eyelights honed in on the plate held easily in one of Dust’s hands, and a jug held in the other to his side.

Error was quick to lean out the doorway with a grin and snatch up the plate, careful not to make contact with Dust’s hands. He’d abandoned his glasses somewhere behind him in the room, so he had to raise the plate closer to his face before he recognized the contents.

“Noodles, sweet!” He half-whispered to himself.

His hand moved, gesturing out towards Dust. More of his strings shot past, from somewhere in the room, and clutched the jug before tugging it back inside with a flick of Error’s free hand.

“Ccino told me to tell you: Drink that water. You’ll get dehydrated.” Dust voiced, watching unbothered as the jug was tugged back and out of his view.

Error glanced up at him, and scoffed. Ccino had been doing his best to get Error to drink more tea with him because tea had water. Error was fine! He didn’t need as much water or food as an average monster, it was normal! Besides, he’d forget about it anyways.

“Okay. Thanks!” he said anyways. Though, it was mostly thanks for the food. Error loved when Ccino made noodles. They were always buttery, and Error wasn’t sure how he always made something that looked so bland taste so good. …Now his mouth was watering. Maybe he was a little hungry after all.

Error waited for Dust to start making his decent back down the stairs, but when he saw the monster was still stood still and quiet, he raised a brow. Was there something else? Had to be. He hoped Dust didn’t want inside. Error had all the plans to devour this food and then dive headfirst back into his project. He didn’t want to be distracted.

“One more message.” Dust said, watching Error. His white eyelights were clear under his hood. Error didn’t think he was wearing his mask, but even with the soft glow from his web of strings he couldn’t tell in the shadows. Didn’t matter to him either way.

“King Nightmare’s rescheduling your next… report.” Dust said plainly.

At that, Error felt his soul stop a bit in his chest. “Why?” He asked without thinking. The King had been listening and seemed interested during his last report! He’d made a lot of progress since then too, finished one of them enough that they could test it! The King had said he was excited to see it! Surely he hadn’t been tossed aside so quickly?

Dust seemed unphased by his demand of an answer.

“The King is just taking time to rest. Last project wore him out.” Dust explained, before he added, “Ccino’s orders. Like drinking your water.”

Error couldn’t tell, not really, but he was pretty sure the knight was grinning at that last part. Ha ha, very funny. Though, he wasn’t wrong. Error was pretty sure the entire castle knew that Ccino guy was in charge of keeping the King in check. Heck, when he’d first been brought in, the King looked worried about introducing him to that Ccino. Error never knew why, they’d gotten along great!

But, if it was Ccino telling the King to take a break? He figured that the King was probably listening. Fair enough. His soul calmed down a little at the rationalization.

“Oh, alright.” Error said finally, “Do you… know when he’ll want the next report by, then?”

He could still plan, right? Maybe it was only a few days.

“Mm, pretty sure Ccino said next month? Gotta catch up on some things. You live here.” Dust replied.

Oh. Okay. Hmm. That was… a lot longer than he’d been hoping for. He could probably manage, though. Keep chugging away at his current project, maybe have time to draft a new one. Bigger? But, wait, the King wanted him to propose any bigger ones to him first. Supposedly he’d be allowed unlimited creative liberties, it was more so if something exploded he’d know what happened, but still. He didn’t want to break the few rules he had. Old projects then! Make them the best ever!

He blinked in surprise when the little ping tingled in his skull.

Dust had turned around without him noticing, a hand extended to just barely nudge one of his hanging strings. He didn’t look back as he spoke.

“Gotta get back to rounds. G’night Error.” He said.

Error watched, disoriented for a second, before he nodded to himself.

“Good night, Sir Dust!” He returned hurriedly.

He watched as the knight started moving, and entirely silently he descended the steps. Only when he had turned the curve out of sight and his shadow disappeared from the wall where torches below cast it, did he pull the door shut and return inside his room.

His steps echoed against the stone floor until he returned to the cushioned rug, and then moved even further past that to one of his low-hanging hammocks.

It was tucked beside a bookshelf that the King had let him stock with whatever books he liked from the library during his first week. The room had been cold and bare, obviously unlived in for a while, and Error didn’t exactly have a lot to move in. Just his spare clothes, the (now empty) pouch he’d been using to store his coin, and the dolls. He’d refused to remove those from his bag until he was alone, though, so he’d really had nothing to call his own. The King had given him the opportunity to collect items like books from the library, had let him choose some items from an incoming shipment of trading goods, and had sent someone to buy any equipment Error might need to advance his magic and creations.

And, for the most part, Error was very self-sufficient. He’d had time to knit himself new clothes, and blankets, and decorate the room entirely with his magic. He spent a lot of time up in the high ceiling too, it was where he kept his dolls, and the projects, and all his important belongings. Everyone once in a while, though, he liked the bookshelf wall. Especially when he was eating. It was just easier to remember not to just hang up the plate among his projects.

Ccino’s cooking was always delicious, Error would never not look forward to a meal made by him, even if it was the lamest sounding food ever. He’d managed to make brussel sprouts tolerable. A feat, honestly. The tastiness and warmth that spread through him couldn’t distract him from his worries, though.

Error knew he’d have to work hard to make sure the King was impressed. But also not too bothered by it. He knows his explosive spells used to make his professors and tutors angry, and while the King had been nice about it so far, if he was tired? Error wouldn’t want to push the limits. But if he was too simply about it or lackluster, the King might be upset he was wasting his time? Ohhh. At least he had a month to work and try things out before then. Hopefully he could have an idea at that point. Hopefully.

…

Ten days.

Error had given it about 5 days after the time that the report was originally meant to happen, five days after Dust told him it’d been rescheduled, before he felt like he might go stir-crazy. Not because he was worried, but because of the exact opposite. He had his few other ongoing projects, mostly if not entirely completed, up to the King’s review. But he’d also developed another, newer, concept that he just knew would brighten the King’s mood.

Dust had been the one periodically bringing him food still, he hadn’t seen Ccino, and Error didn’t dare pry too far. All he’d been told was that the King was still swamped with duties and was locking himself in his study to complete his duties.

Now, Error was not one to talk about unhealthy work ethic, not in the slightest, but he figured it couldn’t be fun. The things the King was doing weren’t exciting or engaging like Error’s projects were, they were all papers and about talking to people. Error dreaded the idea of sitting alone in a room, trying to figure out something stupid like which roads a guy should walk or what people thought of him. Sounded stressful.

So, Error had made something to make the King feel less bad! Less cooped up!

Originally he had wanted to wait until his report, but he’d been so invested in making this that it’d only taken him a day, and his miniature prototypes had worked perfectly, so the larger one was ready in just a day or two! He’d really really tried to convince himself to be patient but… The King had liked him because he was bold! And did things he didn’t expect! And Error didn’t want to lose that reputation. If the King wouldn’t come to him, he’d just go to the King!

That was the thought process, of course, which had led him to the entryway to the King’s royal wing. Then past it and the guards standing watch. Then to standing right infront of the door to the King’s study.

He knew it was the study because he’d been inside once before. The King usually met with him up in the tower, but they had met down in his study once, to talk about the revised contract. It had been a long, boring conversation which involved the King asking Error to repeat his words back to him at certain points (the King had caught him spacing out several times, but never scolded him) to make sure he was actually listening. Something about making sure Error was safe and had other options? The King seemed super serious about making sure Error was okay, just because he was a kid, but he wasn’t a kid anymore! He was 13 by the time he signed, basically a whole adult!

But, point is, Error had spent at least an hour or two in there listening to the King talk. He knew where this room was.

Staring at the door was… a little imposing. What was his plan again? Burst inside?

Yeah. If he knocked, someone would send him away. Just like at the try-outs. He had to just commit and walk in. The King had said in the contract that Error was always welcome to come to him if he needed something. And right now? Error needed his attention.

He reached out, grabbing the big handle in one hand as he clutched his satchel with the other. He twisted it, and the moment it processed that it wasn’t locked, he pushed it inwards and slipped inside. He blindly shut it in his wake, just in-case someone tried to push him outside.

Leaning against the door, his eyelights shot around to take in the room.

No one was charging at him, and no one was rushing to yell at him. Good. Good. He-

“Error?”

Well that wasn’t a voice he recognized!

Error abandoned his skim of the room to search for the origin of the voice, and found himself staring wide-eyed at a monster across the room. This monster was a skeleton, their bones white, they seemed short, and skinny, and their one socket was wide in surprise with a single cyan eyelight, the other empty and seemingly gone dark. They stared at each-other.

This odd skeleton, Error noticed, wore the King’s clothes. To a tee, the cloak, the shirt, the pants. The shoes looked different, but the pants covered them enough that Error couldn’t quite tell on a quick glance. That, and this skeleton had the King’s circlet resting on their skull, crescent moon plastered right in the center of their forehead.

Error would’ve doubted the conclusion his mind came to, if it weren’t for the fact that he noticed this skeleton was not the only other one in the room. A quick glance revealed that Ccino was sat nearby to the skeleton, resting on one of the chairs around the coffee table. Error had been able to pick up that Ccino didn’t relax much at all. Especially not around strangers.

“King Nightmare?” He asked back, staring at the monster across the room still.

The way the monster seemed to flinch at the title told Error he was right. This was the King!

A lot of questions flooded his mind, but they were beat-out by a sudden flood of curiosity. He hurried across the room, rapidly approaching the King, until they were stood just a few feet apart. He didn’t even notice Ccino’s worried ‘ah, ah wait-’ or the way the King had to refrain from stepping away. He just saw his suspicions were correct.

“You’re… shorter.” He voiced, stupidly.

He wasn’t wrong! The King was now shorter than him by at least half a head! Before the mass of dark magic that was the King had been taller than him by a lot, and he was tall for his age, but now! Now he was tiny! He wasn’t sure what to do with this information besides be delighted. He was used to being taller than people, but taller than a king? Now that was more his speed!

It took a few seconds for it to finally hit Error that the King did… not look happy. He didn’t look mad, but Error knew that was not an expression people would give when they were happy. His brows were furrowed a bit, his mouth tugged down ever so slightly at the corners, his shoulders were tense.

“I- Yes, I am a bit… shorter. Than usual.” The King replied, “May I ask why you’re, ah, here, Mage Error?”

Error blinked at him for a second. Right! He was here for a reason!

“Oh! I just finished a lot of my projects, and I know that the report was rescheduled, but I made something I thought you would really like, and I…” He trailed off a moment as he realized Nightmare was staring at him. Had he done something wrong?

Nightmare was still watching him, but seemed more alarmed that Error had stopped talking. He wasn’t sure he liked being able to read the King’s expressions like this. Usually, the king had a poker-face worthy of a family game night, only breaking when he was pleased and smiled. Now his expressions were so obvious even Error could read them. It was strange.

“...Please, continue. A project?” The King seemed to catch himself and prompted. His expression schooled again, though it looked like he had to put in some effort. Eyelight flickering away from Error before shooting back to him.

Error hesitated for a second, but ultimately continued.

“I just… Thought that if I came to find you it wouldn’t take too long to show you, and then you wouldn’t be stuck doing just all your paperwork all day.” He was a bit more reserved than he’d meant to be when he presented the idea, both his hands now clutching the strap on his satchel. “I mean. If you’re that busy I can always. I can come back.” He paused again, “Or I- I- I can wait until my report day. Like I… probably should have.”

He didn’t like the way his voice had stuttered and lagged at the end as he became more uncertain. He glanced over at Ccino.

The older skeleton was watching between them wordlessly, looking a lot more tense than when Error had first seen him. Like he was waiting for something to happen. His eyelights were plastered on the King. Who was staring at Error intently.

“Is this project something which you could share inside the study? I… wasn’t intending on leaving my hall today.” the King asked him in an oddly gentle tone. His voice slowed the same way as usual, but it was strange to hear it in such a high voice.

Error’s hands wrung the strap of his satchel as he thought. “It’s. Ah. Explosive. It’d have to be outside.” He admitted in defeat. He hadn’t thought about the possibility that the King might not want to abandon his work to go look at Error’s spells. Thinking back, they did probably all look pretty silly to the King. He was really good at magic. Just like Dust was. “It can wait.” he added briefly.

The silence that followed only lasted a second or two, enough for Error to furrow his brow and feel that little hint of indignation that used to plague him, the one that made him so mad at everyone. What was he thinking? He was good at magic too! Maybe not as good as the King, but certainly he was powerful, his magic wasn’t bad or a waste. Those instructors back at the academy were wrong, he knew so, he had to stop thinking about what they’d thought of him.

Error found himself glaring at the floor when a sound snapped his attention upwards. A fizzling sound and a little groan from the King. The King had gripped his skull, covering the socket with the cyan eyelight and turning away from Error’s view in a snap.

That fizzling noise had sounded… unhealthy, to put it plainly. It didn’t help that Ccino finally spoke up, a little ‘My King?’ worriedly ringing out from the chair where Ccino had planted himself. The King had hunched himself forwards a bit to clutch at his socket, like he was trying to hold in pain.

Was… was the king sick? Was that why he looked like this? Initially he’d assumed the dark energy had been a glamor. Some kind of magical enhancement to shield him, to make him more fearsome, even to cover up stunted growth. This must’ve been what he looked like normally, right? But. If that were true, the King would’ve just called it back onto his person or had Ccino usher him out. If he was sick, though? He might not be able to control that magic. Might be limited in its output, or even barred from access…

Error would’ve asked him, but his eyes moved curiously to the mirror instead. The reflection gave Error a perfect view of the King’s other side. The way the magic in his palm was flickering and sparking. Between- Between colors. The cyan Error was familiar with, and a soft purple that he’d never seen.

He must’ve been right, on some level, because he realized it. He couldn’t sense the King’s magic.

Or, at least, he couldn’t sense any magic that was active. The King’s magic worked like an aura, at least as far as Error had seen of it. Wide-spread, curling around anyone and anything it liked like a vine, and strangling what it didn’t like a noose. He wasn’t as good at seeing magic or feeling it as his brother, but he knew when a magical signature was missing, and he could feel familiar ones. The magic that the King was using to make his eyelight flicker? It was familiar, if only faintly, but it wasn’t his normal magic. Not by a longshot. There was very little intent, and what there was felt. Strange. Desperate, almost.

“It’s alright. I’m fine, just a hiccup.” The King said, clearly responding to Ccino.

It took a few deep breaths before the King righted himself, and Error watched as he peeked at the mirror first. He saw that the King’s eyelight was cyan again, but only partly. The bottom portion was still that lavender, and he hissed under his breath before covering his socket with his hand again.

That same fizzling noise again, but muffled. Error watched, clearly, as the King’s face momentarily contorted with pain, before going still again.

That couldn’t be healthy, whatever he was doing. His brother had told him all sorts of horror stories about things going wrong with magic at his academy. People who would change their appearance, and they would do it poorly, with adverse effects on their body. He got a chill.

“I- I- can wait. The project can wait.” Error muttered over the sound of that magic fizzling and popping over the King’s socket.

He didn’t waste any time, even as he was pretty sure the King turned to call him back. He was already to the door, and then out of the door, and then hurrying down the hall.

No one in the castle actually cared what he was up to, so he wasn’t exactly careful as he hurried down the halls and back to the tall tower which was his. When he passed the entryway, hsi strings caught his arms and tugged him up and over the dozens of spiraling stairs, straight to his doorway. He practically spun inside and retreated to the rafters among his projects to disperse the ones he’d placed into his satchel.

…

It was childish, but Error felt faint about what he’d seen. He wasn’t sure why, but his head hurt just thinking about it. Altering appearance wasn’t something unheard of, or even really frowned about in his circles. But the magic the King had been doing was unfamiliar and strange. Not just something to alter the appearance of his magic, but something else. Something that was unnatural.

He tugged a string directly from his socket as he hung alone in the rafters, and saw the way that it hung from his fingertips. Blue, a deep one. Monster souls shouldn’t have traits, most didn’t, at least not the way human souls do. Magic, however, tends to manifest in a way that reflects its owner. Error had seen the way a white soul produced bright red magic. His own manifested as a dark blue. Integrity, he’d been told. It was reflecting on how he saw himself as well, he never gave up, he always walked his own path. Those who’d met him could certainly vouch for that.

As far as he’d known, the King’s magic was cyan. Somewhere between Patience and Kindness, which made sense to him. The King had certainly been kind, offering him this job despite the rules, and he was patient too. Letting Error go on and on and on about his creations. He’d never doubted that those were accurate traits. Now, though? Now the King seemed to be sporting Purple. Purple was not a color which Error had ever seen from him. And it seemed the King must’ve thought the same thing of himself.

Error took a breath as he moved the string so it sat hovering between his index finger and his thumb, the ends clinging with residual, pliable, magic. With his other hand, he pinched the end nearest to his thumb and closed his eyes.

He didn’t think about it often, but his strings were just that, made up of plenty of little threads, all woven together in just the right way which pleased Error. Texture and thickness which he liked and relied on to hold his weight, keep his projects secure, it was unlike any threads seen in the rest of the world. All his own. It’d taken him time to perfect it, though. Each new string, a new pattern and new density, until a few years ago when he’d figured it out. If he was right, though, he could mimic other styles. Other existing patterns. Other existing colors of magic.

He let his grip slide an inch or so down the string, concentrating as the fibers snapped and rearranged themselves. He furrowed his brow as he recalled the method to make a rope, the braids and twists and tension involved. Each strand felt like he was mentally moving a ten pound weight, and his concentration wavered when he realized his fingers were growing warm. Then, a few more seconds, another inch, and it felt like his fingertips would burst into flame. He hissed and opened his eyes, retracting his hand to see what sort of abomination he’d made.

Half the string was still that familiar deep blue, but the portion near his thumb was a bright yellow. Thick, three times as thick as the blue, and with the appearance of a rope. It trembled and shook with tension, the portion where Error had given up being a strange and ugly, frayed mass of blue and yellow strands, some portions a muddled green at the exact mid-point.

The sight made Error wince, and he pulled his fingers apart, the frayed portion snapping easily. The blue strand fell limp into his palm, while the yellow strand began to unravel. Quickly. LIttle chunks of burnt-out thread exploded like confetti, turning white or back to that blue color. It spun and spun until Error was left with little chunks of blue magic thread stuck to the fabric of his shirt and floating to the floor below him. The yellow magic he’d imbued, all the intent pushed behind it, wasn’t nearly enough to keep it steady or in place. Even if he’d finished the entire strand and burnt his fingers to do it, it wouldn’t have held up a small rock, let alone anything important. It was useless.

His little test, he realized, didn’t even cover the severity of the situation. He’d used strings, something he’d removed from his person. The King was doing that… to his own socket.

How long had he been doing that? If Cyan wasn’t his natural magic, how much strain had he been under? For how long?

It was none of his business, he reminded himself. The King was an adult, with a lot of advisors and strong magic users and people like Ccino. He had people who would tell him to stop. Error didn’t have the whole picture, surely. It wasn’t his place to worry about it. It just… rubbed him the wrong way. It bothered him.

…And now he had two things to sulk about. Great.

…

Ping

There it was again.

Honestly, Error hadn’t expected anyone to come to see him again so soon. It’d hardly been a few hours since he attempted to visit the King, and it must’ve been dark by now. Who was coming up past dinner time?

He eased himself down from where he’d placed himself in the rafters, and stood in front of his large door for a second, before opening it up to peek out.

And. Outside, in the dimly lit corridor, was… The King.

Or, at least, it looked like the King? Same clothes, same height as he’d seen earlier in the day, and his eyelight was cyan once again. Only, this time he couldn’t see the King’s expressions. He was wearing a mask. Error had to blink to process it. An owl, round and dark, with big eye holes right at the right level for the King’s sockets. It reminded Error a little bit of the fluffy owls he used to see outside his window, the ones just barely out the nest still losing their fluffy baby feathers. Was… Was it heresy to think the King was small and cute? Probably. Very absurd thought, compared to the haunting dark mass he usually was. Maybe that was why he disguised?

“Mage Error,” The King greeted, voice calm as it usually was, “I am aware that this is an impromptu visit, but may I come in? I realize I did not attend to you as I should have earlier, and I wish to rectify this mistake.” His cyan eyelight watched upwards, and Error stared down at him for a moment through the crack in the door.

He glanced past him, too. But it seemed like the King was entirely alone. Just like he tended to be.

Error swung open the door, pulling himself out of the way along with it. It wasn’t like he was going to say no to the King, but he wasn’t nearly as excited as usual. What should he do? Say? Obviously something was up with the King, but was Error supposed to say anything? Or was the King just here to make sure Error stayed out of trouble? Adults did that a lot back in the day when he got on their nerves.

His thoughts persisted as the King entered the space. Error shut the door behind him and watched idly for a breath. The King was moving oddly. Like he was faint. His steps were just ever so slightly uneven and he seemed to wobble ever so slightly as he moved to sit at the unoccupied chair before Error’s desk. What was wrong with him?

Error started moving, shifting away the items he’d once again strewn out on the floor back to the shadows of the rafters, and instead lowering a set of strings which held his hammock and a wooden board he much preferred to a table. The King watched as the items lowered, just like he always did, but the table was empty as Error hoisted himself to sit on the edge of the hammock across from the ruler.

“You… have questions, right?” Nightmare voiced.

The King was looking at the empty surface suspended before the both of them, and Error realized he hadn’t even moved to gather his projects. For some reason he was hesitant to bring them up again.

“Can I? Ask you stuff?” Error questioned uncertainly. “Adults usually don’t like when I start asking questions.” He admitted.

The King looked up to him, before he sighed and nodded. “Ask anything you like.”

That was… an odd allowance. Error wasn’t used to that either. Usually the King was the one letting him talk, and talk, and talk, and his questions had never been about. Well. The King himself. Just about the knights, or the tapestries, or the food. Never about the King.

“Why are you small?” The burning question was the one he had to get out of his head. He had theories, but the King was the only one who could confirm or deny them.

The King was quiet for a brief second, before he brought a hand to his mask. It hovered there as he chuckled, though to Error it sounded a lot more like a giggle.

“It is a… complicated story. I’m still not quite sure myself, but I will share with you what I know as to how I came to be this way.” The King moved a hand behind his skull, tucking it beneath his hood, and tugged at a pretty silk ribbon. A purple one, Error noted. “It’s the least i can do.”

The mask fell forward into the King’s awaiting hand, and once again Error was met by the image of that clean and soft white bone. The rounded face he didn’t recognize. His expression was neutral, schooled, careful.

“I know you are not from Orchard, nor are you familiar with the traditions of our kingdom. However, you recall the story of my upbringing, and my twin, correct?” He asked, and Error nodded. He recalled decently that there had been twin princes, the King, Nightmare, and his brother, Dream or something? He’d been asking about the tapestries and the King had told him how the two of them had grown up really close, and how he ended up with the throne in the end, banishing his twin so he wouldn’t steal the crown or something.

“Good. Well. My coronation was not actually mine. It was that of my twin. Dream. He was the crown prince, but I had found word of a great cost to completing the ritual, and I was sure he would be hurt by the process.” The King explained. “The power of the kingdom is passed from generation to generation through the soul. Each King’s soul warps and changes, taking the shape of an apple, golden and shining with a seemingly divine magic. When my mother gave up her soul for Dream to eat, to inherit her title, I…”

The king trailed off for a breath, and Error felt his insides twist a bit. Eating a soul? That was… a concept. Fascinating, but also he couldn’t imagine a scenario in which someone would actually follow through with it. Of course eating an entire other monster’s soul would provide a magic boost, just like when monsters absorbed human souls, or humans overloaded on magic.

“I stole it from him and completed the ritual myself.” So, maybe that was why he was sick? “The ritual, as it was meant to do, provided me with power beyond myself, yes, but it also altered my mind and physical form. I aged significantly, something I had always assumed was due to the overwhelming force of the gifted magic. In a matter of moments I was old, my mind more clear and sharp. The way you knew me before was the shape I was meant to hold. That I expected to stay.” The King rubbed a hand against his good socket, the other gently resting over the mask sat on his lap. “Several weeks ago, I collapsed. And when I awoke, I had taken on this form again, and it seems my mind is reverted as well. Both have returned, aside from my memories, back to the exact condition that they were on the day of my coronation. So, I find myself back in my youth, and small as a result.”

He seemed to pause for a second, before puffing a sigh, “Or, almost the exact condition. It seems a wound I suffered the same day didn’t ever quite heal.” He ghosted over his empty socket and the cracks running up and out of sight beneath his hood.

Error stared at him a second, and he blinked in confusion. That was a lot of wacky magic shenanigans, and that was coming from him of all monsters, but he was processing something that had been glossed over.

“Wait, so how old are you?” Error questioned, confused.

The King blinked at his question, before Error caught sight of something he didn’t quite expect to see today. A slight lavender blush dusted the King’s cheekbones. Error’s not even sure the King noticed he’d done it.

“That’s a… tricky question I’ve been trying to decipher. However, as far as my development and mental state are concerned, I regrettably appear to be 13.”

The King seemed ashamed to admit it, but Error found his mind working a bit faster than he’d meant it to be. The weak aura, the weird magic, the short height, the baby face, the higher voice, all of it! He’d heard of cases like this. Not usually between monsters, but often when monsters would overtake too much magic, or too many supplements, or strain their bodies, they could take on a higher form before reverting. Usually it only affected the amount of magic they could harness, and no one had ever sustained one long enough to actually age before releasing it, but it wasn’t an impossible idea. If the King had been operating on borrowed magic? It was entirely possible that there was a sort of stasis provided to him. Especially since Error was pretty sure he never ever got hurt.

Part of him wished he’d paid more attention to the books on the shelves back home. His brother would eat this up. Soul-based research with an abnormally long-lasting period? Oh boy…

“That’s cool!” Error blurted without really thinking about it.

The King seemed to actually flinch about it, cyan eyelight looking wide at Error form across the makeshift table.

“I- What do you mean?” The King questioned, obviously confused and shocked.

Error frowned a bit. Did the King really not realize how much skill that takes to pull something like that amount of magic transfer off? Error’s not even sure he could do something like that, and all without losing himself to this other invasive magic?

“King Nightmare, it sounds like you were a torch holding a really really hot fire and you didn’t even get burnt. I’ve never heard of someone using magic like that.” And he blinked as he suddenly perked up, “You’re young too! We’re like each other! Doing cool new magic things that no one wanted us to do! Well, I mean, you want me to do it, but- That’s not the point!”

Error actually leaned forward a bit so his elbows planted on his knees, and he squinted at the King. “I bet I’m older now too, that’d be really cool. What season is your birthday?” He’d not seen the King celebrate his birthday since he’d been there, but then again, the King was always busy, and Error didn’t pay attention much.

The King seemed taken aback, but still spoke, “My birthday is in the spring, but-”

Error lit up at that, “Yes! I am older!” he exclaimed excitedly to himself. He’d never had anyone younger than him to hang around before! Granted, he’d met other kids at the academy, but they hadn’t liked him much.

His grinning was cut a bit short when the King stammered from the seat across from him again.

“Mage Error, I- I’m glad to see this news isn’t distressing you, but I please ask you to consider my next few words.” The King was watching him, and Error tried to tone down the smile gracing his face. “News of my… state is not being circulated just yet. Orchard is still recovering from centuries of mistreatment under my bloodline’s rule, and I am nowhere near to being able to restore the kingdom as I had planned. My goals will likely only bring more turmoil and frustration to the people, and while assassinations and other sabotage have rarely graced these halls, if word gets out of my newfound weakened form? This castle, this entire kingdom, could be thrown to chaos.” The King’s tone was very serious, and it sounded tired. “You, Error, are not officially my mage, but to prying eyes your studies here fill that same purpose. I was willing to take you in when I was sure I had the power to protect you, but I can’t provide that security any more.”

“Before I came here, I reviewed our contract. At the loss of my protection, you are welcome to request an indefinite leave of absence from the position, and I will have one of my knights accompany you anywhere you wish to go and ensure you arrive safely. I do not want to put you in danger due to my search for reform. You have no obligations to stay in this place nor risk your life for it.” The King’s voice was steady as he said it. “You do not have to give me an answer this moment, but I needed to inform you so that you have a full understanding of your options.”

Error’s grin had faded about halfway through the King’s speech, and he could already feel the fuzzy numbness creeping up one of his legs as he tried to keep himself from lashing out. Dust had talked to him about that. His reactiveness.

“King Nightmare, I’m not going anywhere.” he declared, crossing his arms with a huff. “That dumb contract you made me read also said I can stay as long as I want the position. And I want the position.” And the food, and the tower, and the courtyard, and the knights, and the King who listened to him talk about his explosives. “I don’t care if you’re short or have purple magic or whatever,” the King flinched at that, “ You’re still really smart and you have a bunch of really strong people you’re in charge of. Including me, by the way.”

He was almost offended. He was strong! He was dangerous! The King had always praised him for ingenuity and sheer force of will placed behind each of his projects, and Error took pride in that. He was strong, and powerful, and he wanted to do fun experiments and help the King. Almost more now that he knew that the King was some twig of a monster. Now he didn’t have to worry about lame old people bossing him around.

The King seemed to lean forward ever so slightly in the chair he was sat in, and Error didn’t shy away. If this was a battle of the wills, he wouldn’t be-

A sniffle.

Error jolted when the King pulled his hands up to his skull and hastily dragged his sleeves against his sockets. Was he crying??

“Ah- Forgive me!” The King said in a small voice, “Emotional regulation, another damning loss from my sudden form alteration. I’ve been lucky I hadn’t embarrassed myself sooner.” He practically teased himself.

Error let his body stop tensing, and he noticed the uncomfortable fuzzy feeling had fled in the aftermath of his bold declaration. If he’d had any doubts before that this King was actually as he said, this was the final sign. The King had never showed so much emotion before.

“I think it’s fine. I get mad all the time and you never mind.” Error voiced, though he wasn’t sure how welcome it would be.

At that the king laughed, and Error grinned to himself, looking away from the scene. He didn’t like it when people saw him cry. He understood that one all too well.

A silence fell between them. Error wasn’t going anywhere, he’d made that abundantly clear. The King wouldn’t be sending him away, either. It went unsaid, but it was there in the agreement they’d made just hardly a year prior. The King never went back on his deals.

“Mage Error, I believe you wanted to show me something earlier. Now that it is dark, I believe I would be willing to have Horror accompany us out to the courtyard so I may observe.”

Error glanced back to the King, and saw that he was looking up at the darkened ceiling. As though trying to predict when a string would lower down his newest creations.

“Oh, actually I bet we can do it here. From the balcony, I mean. It goes up into the sky, so it shouldn’t hurt anything.” he said, his excitement gaining momentum once again. “I actually made test ones this time too, just to make sure!”

Error swung backwards out of his hammock, and let the strings above him loosen to drop the item into his awaiting hands.

The King rose from his seat, walking a bit strangely still, but nothing which bothered Error much. He was more interested in the curious face of his ruler as he approached Error near the balcony exit. Error wasn’t one to use his balcony often, he didn’t even have strings set up to pull the curtains aside, so he lifted one back so that the King could pass by, and he followed himself shortly after.

The balcony was a thick one, reinforced underneath by large wooden and stone beams, the railing thick enough that one could sit along it like a high-stakes bench. Error did just that, pulling himself up so his feet dangled over the edge. The King remained back, hood pulled tight to his skull as the night winds attempted to tug it away from him. It took a few moments before he joined Error near to the edge, leaning on the balcony which was just ever so slightly too tall for him. His arms rested at chin-height and he seemed to be debating whether to rest his chin on them like an arm rest.

Error watched from over his shoulder, and grinned to himself as he secured the little invention with his strings before holding it out for the King to see in the moonlight that illuminated the darkness. Them, the castle grounds below, the mountainside and the sprawling hills and valleys beyond.

“I’ve seen people make these before with gun-powder, they always glowed red, though. So I infused some magic into the canister and the projectiles, and they should do something fun.” Error explained excitedly, pointing out different locations on the thing held in his strings. Long, slender, a mix between a crossbow and a cannon, but tiny. Only the length of his forearm. “Best thing, it should be quiet!” He’d noticed that some of the knights didn’t like when his explosions made loud noises, and a lot of guards came rushing the first few times he’d set off his creations.

The King examined it for a few moments longer, before he nodded silently.

Error snickered before he pulled it back into his grip and aimed it up and out. Away from the tower, where it should’ve been just over the large, round, open space in the center of the castle. High in the sky.

He shifted, dragging his fingers along the surface, the long portion lighting up and flinging something from the end of the device. A little ball of pure white. Up, up, up.

It exploded.

Error laughed in triumph as the night sky above the palace was set ablaze with a collection of little shimmering lights, like falling stars in all shades of blue and green and purple and white flying everywhere before going dark. His eyelights shot back to the King as he loaded the next round, and he was delighted to see that the single cyan eyelight was plastered on the smoky after-effect left by the burning magic. He desperately wanted to start telling the King all about how he’d done such a genius thing, but he found himself simply hefting the little device up once again and firing into the open darkness instead.

#new age au #oh yeah. Error was SUPER fixated on being taller than Nightmare lmao. he usually doesn't even care but like. he was baffled. he's never seen #so many petite skeletons in his life and the King being one was a plot twist!#and the age is mainly because he's used to being the youngest. now he's not lol!#and yeag. Error is internallu thinking ' I literally have 4 bombs stored above our heads rn' and considering that if any assassins came #after him they wouldn't make it up the staircase (it's boobytrapped lowkey lmao. hostile intent gets blocked.)#he totally is gonna refocus his inventions to defensive now too.#Geno does it with Reaper and Dust. Error does it with Nightmare. hehe!!!

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