#so the two sides of him that theoretically should work against each other

[aria-allium]

WAIIITT while i’m talking about this. it’s so fucking cool that the track named “NICHOLAS THE PUNISHER” incorporates both the music associated w the orphanage and the music associated w the experimentation done on him and kind of like. has those two different sounds working in harmony. yeah there are points where you can tell that the metal/electronic sound seems a little out of place, but for the most part they’re both there and working around each other.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Beneath Miles of Stone - Part two - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

Trigger Warnings: violence against women ; fat-shaming

Part one here

She’s sore and exhausted by the time her shift ends, and all she really wants to do is snuggle up on the couch and re-watch The Exorcist III to do fair comparisons between here and the actual movie, but when she walks into the break room, Benny is sitting at the table with an empty, stained Pyrex container and smashed can of Pepsi.

“Hey,” he says, looking at her expectantly with what she interprets as perhaps a smile.

She nods at him, hoping they might have gotten off on the wrong foot. Hell, maybe they can be friends. “Hey, just heading out.”

“So soon? Wanted to talk to you for a minute.”

She grabs her bag from her locker, almost fumbles and drops it, and clutches her house keys between her knuckles (as if the thin blunt metal could even penetrate this guy’s beefy skin). Turning around to face him, her heart lurches to her stomach when she sees he’s standing up, blocking the doorway with a massive frame. No, it was definitely going to be the wrong foot after all.

“I really have to get going,” she tells him. Her voice is scared and quiet.

“Settle down, honey,” he says, “just wanted to ask you if you’d like to go camping next weekend? Me and some guys from work and you. How does that sound?”

It sounds fucking awful. It sounds like she needs to get out of here. Now. “I can’t, I have plans, maybe next time-“

“Don’t gimme that bullshit.” He takes a few steps toward her and she contemplates bolting for the door. “I know you don’t have plans. Who do you have them with? Your fridge?”

Her body recoils like he punched her in the gut.

He chuckles, and she can smell the onions he must’ve eaten for lunch. “Didn’t mean it like that.”

But he did. He absolutely did. And it shouldn’t make her feel like it does. This man is not nice, and his words should theoretically hold little value.

Her back hits the wall before she notices he is crowding in on her personal space, rabbit heart lurching when he gets close enough that his stomach almost touches her chest. Fear slashes through her like a cold blade.

“C’mon,” he urges, “live a little. We’re gonna have lots of booze, some weed if you like, you can get some attention.” His grin turns disgusting, just like his breath. The sudden, acidic urge to vomit clenches her stomach.

“I cant, sorry.” She tries to step around him but he clutches her shoulder and presses her back against the wall. Clumsily, she attempts to reach out and grab his arm but he catches her wrist and pins her other hand by her head.

Her body reacts instinctually and wildly to the entrapment. She flails out with her right leg to kick something—hopefully a vital body part.

Her thrashing doesn’t go over well with Benny. He lets go of her shoulder, grabs her by the side of her head, palm full of her hair, and slams her face against the grimy wall hard enough to make her vision turn static for a few moments.

Pain diffuses from behind her temple into the rest of her face. A pathetic noise of distress hisses from her mouth and nose.

“You don’t need to be so fucking rude,” Benny spits. “I’m offering you a good time and you’re being bitchy about it and trying to hurt me?”

She yelps like a dog when he grinds her face harder against the wall.

“Now, you gonna come camping?”

“Yes, yes.”

Thankfully, as soon as she frantically agrees, he drops her and backs off. “Great. I’ll hold you to it.” There’s a sinister promise in his tone, and she curses herself for not just agreeing right off the bat and saving herself some of the foretold agony.

She watches him pack up his food while standing still and shocked against the cold wall. It’s when he walks out that the tears begin to soak her cheeks, because she’s not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry again. She slides to the floor, sobs and pants and chokes on thick emotion that she can’t control.

She can’t form a thought right now, can’t move. Has a full blown panic attack on the dirty stone, but she can’t stop it…All she can do is curl up into a ball and hyperventilate and sob like a baby.

At home, before her shower, she looks in the mirror and cringes at the dark bruises spreading from her hairline to her cheekbone. They are swollen and tender, making her wince when she scrubs her face, desperate to rid herself of the lingering feel of Benny’s touch.

She needs this job. It was hard enough finding another one that would take her after so many had failed before it. But, also, she doesn’t want the backlash of reporting Benny. He’s worked there a lot longer than her and she feels like management will be favorable to him because of it.

It will be worse if she calls the cops. They will take her report and then confront Benny, which would place an even bigger target on her back until the investigation clears. And she can’t just quit. Rent is due this week and her bank account has been barren for a while now.

She doesn’t know what to do, so she cries some more. In the shower, in the kitchen making ramen, on the couch where she falls to sleep, vowing while nodding off, in some desperate attempt to feel less helpless, to look for functioning security cameras in the break room, because she knows that actual evidence is hard to dispute.

If she’s being honest with herself, she’s terrified to see Benny again that night when she goes into work. She’s had a lot of curses in her life, but one blessing is the learned knowledge that men prone to violence will always utilize it again. Still, to be cornered by him and hurt is enough of a thought to chase her brain out of rationality. He already knows he can get away with whatever he wants and it’s too late to make a report now…If she was ever even planning to. A good 15 hours has passed since the incident and no cop or supervisor will take her seriously with the time gap, at least not without camera footage. Going into the break room and looking for cameras, however, means the possibility of running into Benny alone again.

She looks, for a long time, at her face in the rusted, cracked locker room mirror, at the ugly discoloration on her skin. She smooths her hands over her fleshy body, the paunch of her stomach, the jiggle of her arms and thighs, and wishes, for surprisingly not the first time, she were bigger*. No, maybe not bigger. Taller. Stronger. You’re already big enough,* her brain reminds. And that’s when she has to step away, because the negative thoughts will just avalanche and she can’t cry at work again.

She stays out in the open for the majority of her shift, exists where other people are and keeps her head down to avoid eye contact. She eats her employee provided turkey sandwich at the nurses desk. It works for the most part; she doesn’t see the burly guard and no one talks to her about the giant bruise on her face. She does, however, see some of his companions from last night, and she vaguely wonders which ones he’s…she’s…going camping with. The feeling of disgust, not at them but at herself for agreeing to the outing, bites at her heels.

And then John—his inquiry catches her off guard. She wonders if he’s genuinely concerned or if there is some motive behind his questioning because she’s not used to having someone be worried about her or even really asking her about herself. It’s the price of living in a big city with no family or friends around. Everyone is very good at ignoring everyone else, unless they have sinister intent. It makes her want to start bawling all over again.

But.

It also…feels strangely nice, this illusion that someone might care about her well-being, even if he’s a prisoner and her patient and she can’t think about him being anything other than that for professionalisms sake.

She really does need this job, but she’s not sure how to handle any of this. Unwanted attention from the prisoners is one thing here and there. Most of these men are lonely and haven’t seen any women in years besides the sparse ones that work with them, so she knew taking the job that they would possibly cat-call and say stupid shit just to get a rise out of her.

Between quietly burning with shame and staring intently at walls and floors instead of eyes, she has been pretty efficiently avoiding negative remarks, but feels hopeless thinking about circumventing someone she works with, someone who’s not in cuffs and not under control of the state. How the fuck is that supposed to work?

She guesses Benny is not here, does some counting on her fingers regarding time, figures that John’s guards change out roughly every six hours. Most of them sleep during the time that they are supposed to be watching him.

He can’t be that dangerous.

Healthcare liability and rules are a funny thing; you come to learn that most are for show, and policy-making CEO’s don’t even walk onto the field, but dictate what happens in it.

On top of all that, she doesn’t want to be afraid of John—mainly because she’s becoming afraid of everyone else here and her tolerance for feeling like a helpless woman is reaching its peak. That tolerance was never very high to begin with, though; when you live all your life as a larger girl, you get used to being strong and taking lead and defending your smaller friends and being tough. If you’re in a situation where you don’t feel that way, it’s quite uncomfortable.

So she’s not as scared of him tonight while she is changing his dressing, giving him water, and making sure he’s medicated. It’s kind of disgusting how these inmates are treated by the doctors and even some of her coworkers. She understands completely having problem patients that are rude and awful, but none of hers have been like that, especially not John. However, they all seem to severely lack hydration and pain control when she takes them on her assignment board.

“You can ask for pain pills every four hours,” she tells John while her hands work on his wound. It looks better already, edges beginning to turn plump pink and shiny. He bleeds a lot, soaks gauze pads and then the top of his pants, but he heals fast.

“Thank you, I didn’t realize.” There is barely any pain in his tone while she works on him, because her touch is soft—feather light when she’s not shaking with fear.

When she laughs, it makes him curious about what’s funny.

“You can also ask for water every now and again,” she reminds, once again baffling him with her concern. She almost sounds like she’s chiding him.

His mouth twitches into a tiny half-grin. “Thank you, nurse.”

It kind of sounds like he’s mocking her, so she stops the motion of her hands and looks up at him, matching his little smile with one of her own. “You’re welcome, patient.”

“Sorry,” he says, “I don’t know your name?”

She backtracks, not wanting him to think she’s upset about something so petty as him not knowing her name. How could he? She’s not allowed to wear her badge in the rooms because of liability, and the prisoners rarely know the names of their nurses. “No, that’s totally fine,” she rectifies, shaking her head. “You wouldn’t know my name.”

He is still grinning at her, like he’s won something. “What is it?”

“What?” She asks him.

“Your name?”

It just slips from her mouth, that sensitive piece of information. She is surprised at how comfortable she feels telling him.

He hums in approval, but still itches to ask about her bruise again. It’s lightening slowly, fading back into her hairline. He knows he will get angry, though, when she lies to him or brushes him off about it, and he has no desire to lay chained to a bed seething with nowhere to go and nothing to hit. He’s learned quickly that boredom, despite being terrible, is better than rage, especially when the rage has to stay inside, eating and burrowing deeper.

She feels awkward in this silence, like something is not being said, and she tries to let it go, but eventually has to say something to fill the tension. “This is healing up already.”

“Thanks are to you for that.” He loves to watch her blanch under the deserved flattery.

“Are you feeling any better?” She asks, changing the subject.

“Much,” he says honestly. “Again, my thanks for that.”

He’s not very good at this light conversation; he’d rather, if they are talking, delve into questions about her life. However, that would undoubtedly inspire her deer heart to sprint away and never come back, so he tries for minimal talk because it’s the only thing he can do while chained to this bed. He’s not used to speaking this much. It’s been months since he’s held an actual discussion and he’s never been a good conversationalist, but if it’s the only tool he can utilize to interact with her then that’s what he’ll use.

“Do you ever ask them to let you change positions?” She asks. “Getting bed sores sucks.”

There she is with the recommendations and concerns again. He tilts his head at her, and certainly does not look adorable while doing so.

“Yeah, you know, bed sores, they develop on your back or butt and burrow until they hit bone?”

“What?” He asks.

She laughs, and John loves the sound. “A hole in your ass..?”

He huffs playfully. “I know what they are. Why does it matter?” It’s a sincere question, one that he hopes doesn’t make her shrink back.

She looks from his bloody stomach to his eyes, blinks. “You are my patient,” she tells him, “I am taking care of you.”

How did this wicked world, instead of eating her alive as it should have, spit her out directly into his path? Maybe it knew that he would have more taste for her?

His face softens into a playful smile. “I can turn on my own.” To prove this, he pivots on one hip to face her with his body. She jumps back a little, but laughs at him.

He motions to her cheek, the bruise that muddles her pretty skin, skin that he knows will be softer than silk. “And who takes care of you?”

“I do.” There is defiance in her innocent eyes, now, the set of her jaw.

He is not smiling at her anymore, not when she means to oppose him. If he listens to her advice, now she will listen to his. “It doesn’t look like you’re doing a very good job.” The tone of his voice matches how low it cuts her, the addition to her name at the end of that sentence driving the knife hilt-deep into her flimsy sense of self defense.

She can’t help it. Defiance crumbles and reveals sadness. She looks back down at his wound with water tickling her eyelashes.

He wants to tell her to look back at him, wants to see her vulnerable and raw and admitting defeat. Admitting that he is right. That she needs someone to look after her. At her word he will gladly break from these shackles and follow his nurse out into the cruel world.

She doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t utter the chant to release him from his bonds. A few tears roll down her face and drop onto his bed as she finishes the dressing. His frustration turns to empathy in milliseconds, because he didn’t mean to make her cry, but is an absolute imbecile for not anticipating it.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her quickly, desperately, then reaches for her hand.

“It’s okay,” she responds, looking down at where they connect, at where her pudgy fingers are dwarfed by his stocky, warm hold. “Do you need anything else?”

He feels his heart rip into two pieces. “No.”

She gives his pinky a little squeeze, proving his theory that she is made of satin and cashmere, then leaves him alone to clean this sickly sweet gore in his chest all by himself.

[joycies]

so i have a fic THOUGHT.

what about a universe where miguel's daughter lives and becomes spiderman(girl) , but not before her father(miguel) dies. and so what you have is a spidergirl who's cannon event was losing her father and a spiderman 2099 who's cannon event was losing his daughter, and through the spider dimension thingy, you're able to reunite them together and somehow, someway, they'd be able to fill each other's void.

but that doesn't happen. because when miguel sees his daughter, the one who he's never been able to watch grow up, there's this feeling of guilt. she's his 'daughter', but she's also, essentially a stranger. and she sees him, and he looks the same as her real father, but he doesn't remember her. he doesn't remember the last (let's say) decade and a half she's spent with him, because again, he's not her father, not really.

and so you have these two people, who theoretically, should be able to fill the void of each other's hearts, but in reality, can't see past the memories of the person they had lost when they see each other.

what happens is that, as they work together as an organisation, they never really get closer, instead, they become this strange pairing that has the awkwardness of coworkers, but cares for each other like family. they would never speak to each other, or at the very best, have a proper conversation together, but they'll sneak glances at each other across the room, just to ensure to themselves they they're okay, and very much still alive.

miguel's 'daughter' would call him boss, because calling him dad would open up a whole can of worms she's not ready for, and calling him miguel seems like something so far over the line of disrespect that she can't even force herself to say it.

miguel doesn't call her by her name, because he only thinks of his little baby daughter that he'd lost when he utters it, so he settles with calling her kid.

when one or the other gets hurt, there's this feeling of pure panic that overcomes them, and it riddles their mind, and they can't think, and they can't breath, and suddenly, they're back in their universe, miguel losing his daughter, and her daughter losing him, all over again.

when she hears about miguel's unfortunate story, the one that'd happen before even meeting her, she gets this strange mix of sadness, and happiness, and bitterness. the sadness is quite self explanatory, but the happiness comes from the thought that in one way or another, he did that for her, or at the very least, another version of her. there's this sort of warmth she gets when she realizes just the extent that he just loves her. and then comes bitterness, because after this unfortunate ending, he'd seemed to given up on her. what about the current her? the one that's actually grown up and alive against all possibilities? he'll destroy a universe for another her, but he won't even look at the current, alive her without a grimace? is it because she's older? because she's not the same baby girl he remembers?

and when the whole anomaly dabacle starts, she immediately takes miles' side. she fights for him with a passion that's rarely ever present. there's a disappointment that she feels in everyone, but even more in miguel, because miles is just a boy who wants to save his father, and yet all he could see was an anomoly going against his fate.

and so she fights and fights and fights until miles is able to get away, and for the first time since she'd first come here, miguel actually approaches her, with a look of anger? confusion? disappointment? and this, this, she's familiar with, because for once, miguel actually gives her an ounce of attention that her 'real' father would give. and he'd ask her what the hell she's doing. why was she letting miles go? doesn't she know the consequences this could cause?

and miguel would look like he'd just gotten slapped in the face from the pure venom she has in her words, and ironically enough, this is the most father-daughter conversation they'd ever had.

and she'd look at him with an expression if pure disappointment, and goes 'if i ever had even the slightest chance of getting my father back, i'd do it in a heartbeat. i don't fucking care about anything else.'

he'd stumble on his words, and against his better judgement, he'd just sputter out, 'you have me'.

and she would give the most heartbroken look she'd ever had. somehow, this hurt so much more than the years of wilfull ignorance of each other's existence.

'you're not my father,' she would say after a deep breath. 'you're just someone who looks like him'

[spectresbase]

Spectre's Holiday Advent Calendar, Day 1

Happy Holidays! Bringing this back to count down to another holiday season with sexy stories about my and my readers OCs. Hope you enjoy!

Today's featured character is Captain Santiago of the Pirate ship Menagerie

***

Neither one of them should be in here, and they both knew it. Which was why they were both trying so hard to make each other cum without making a sound themselves. Pressed close, hands inside each other's clothes, Captain Santiago and Helga Sinclair strained to get the other to break first. Her grip on his cock was fierce, dragging almost painfully along the shaft. His fingers were hooked up inside her, working them back and forth in a rocking motion that matched her intensity exactly. Outside their hiding spot, marines searched for the intruders, snippets of spanish making it to them through the door. Santiago had broken into the governor's library in search of a manuscript that theoretically contained the key to translating a map his crew had recovered. Helga hadn’t said why she was here, but he’d found her half dressed in the governor’s rooms and she’d decided whatever he was looking for was more important that what she’d come for. She’d ambushed him in the library, pinning him against a bookshelf after he’d found the manuscript. The impact had alerted the guards and spurred the two of them into their scramble into this side room. Pressed close, Helga still half dressed, their history being their history, this outcome was inevitable. His breath caught when her hand executed a particularly clever maneuver and her lips spread a smug grin. They broke apart into a little gasp a moment later though when his thumb pressed into her clit, grinding against it while his fingers hooked upwards to drag along the roof of her pussy. She made a swipe for the book while she thought he was distracted but he lifted it over his head and she only succeeded in knocking against the wall. She yelped. He laughed. The guards' voices got louder. They both winced. They didn’t stop though. 

They went harder.

[vermilionvector]

Ghost Game

There's one scene in EP. 64 I'd like to discuss.

This dice scene happened after HoverEspimon poured sour plum snacks into Canoweissmon's mouth to awaken him from Dagomon's hallucination.

Judging from the dice shape, they seemed to be decahedron dice. This type of dice (and also other polyhedral dice) is commonly used in tabletop role-playing games (e.g. Monster World in the first ever Yugioh series, which coincidentally, was also made by Toei).

The blue die is a bit peculiar, though. In games like DnD, the die with two digits is associated with the value of tens, so all sides on that die should have two digits ranging from 00 - 90. However, we only saw one side with double digits here. It could be assumed that the 0s on the other sides on the blue die were omitted because it's already made known that it represented the "leading digit" and the purple one represented the "following digit". For example, if we roll a 5 on the blue die and a 9 on the purple die, the result would be 59. Note that we did not see every numbers on the purple die, so we could not guarantee that all sides on that die were single digit or not. A special case would be 00 & 0. Conventionally, it'd be interpreted as 100.

Assuming that the hypothesis is correct, the roll above resulted in 1. If we consider the fact that Canoweissmon was in a pinch before this happened, it could be assumed that you need to roll some numbers to get out of the situation. For example, there's a 10% chance of HoverEspimon's interference working and you need to roll 1 - 10 to succeed. There are countless possibilities for the clear condition here, so let's not dawdle on that.

What does this scene imply on the larger scale, though? TBH I always find this season's name unconventional for a Digimon series. In Adventure, we go on, well, an adventure. In Tamers, we followed the story of those Tamers. In Frontier, we enter the frontier of the Digital World. In Savers, we follow the squad who saved people. In Xros Wars, we have Xros evolution. In Universe: Appmon, we had an alternate Universe that revolved around another species called Appmon. And then we have Ghost Game. The "Ghost" part is pretty clear with Hologram Ghost. But where does the "Game" part come into play? It's been a little mystery that has been nagging behind my brain since the series' announcement. The 60+ weeks didn't make anything clearer, up until this scene.

In DnD, a Dungeon Master will tell you the scenario, and the players will decide their actions. Then, they roll some dice to decide the outcome. Since the actions are pretty much anything within the scope of the game, it's very versatile. It could be that the entirety of Ghost Game thus far was based on a game played against a Dungeon Master. This Dungeon Master could be the one behind the crisis of the Digital World. One or more challengers appeared to try and save the Digital World and had to play this game to save it. One of the challengers could be Hokuto, who was summoned to the Digital World per the rule of this game, which would explain why he was not fried when going through the gate as this game might bypass conventional rules.

OR it could be that there was no Dungeon Master, but a central computational server that determined the results of each action related to Digimons individually. In other words, RNG, and the dice were only there for visual presentation.

The following section will be based on profile of GulusGammamon's evolved forms: Regulusmon and Arcturusmon.

In Arcturusmon's profile, it mentions that it is a theoretical existence which, if brought into the "real" Digital World, could expose it to Digital Hazard that drastically distorts the environment. Both Regulusmon and Arcturusmon are said to be the source of "Gulus Realm Burst" (GRB, a word play on Gamma Ray Burst), which corrodes any beings not possessing Black Digitron (the substance that alters the color of a Digimon). This could be the reason why we saw black Digimons every time Gulus appeared. They were the survivors who lived to tell the tale, or they could be "watchers" who were in charge of observing and confining him. Since, if we assume that the "simulation" hypothesis was true, the "experimenters" would definitely need results. And if we assume that the dice toss were actually just a visual presentation of RNG, the simulation hypothesis holds more water. Another factor to contribute to this is Proximamon's profile which also mentions simulation.

This GRB crisis might happen because of a simulation gone wrong and only the "evil" side of Proximamon manifesting and the "holy" side still dormant and could be the reason why Hokuto sent Gammamon to live with Hiro to awaken his "holy" side. But whether the "human world" is "real" and this entire series is just a large-scale experiment or it is just "fictional-yet-consequential", remains to be seen.

BUT considering that we only have 3 episodes left and we're going to the Digital World soon, the simulation hypothesis, though how much likely I made it sounded to be, could totally be wrong. Ghost Game tends to play things out straightforward to fit with its monster-of-the-week format with some exceptions being this last sprint of the series. And based on the released episode titles, we could assume how things will play out:

EP. 65: The Black Zone of Death - GulusGammamon would be in full motion here as the gang would be in direct contact with areas subjected to GRB. Kiyo was also shown to have been affected by it.

EP. 66: The Dark Dragon of Destruction - Probably revolves around Regulusmon and his fight with the gang. I think he'd also evolve to Arcturusmon near the end of the episode.

EP. 67: The Devourer of All - The last fight with Arcturusmon and Proximamon's debut. He could be the one to restore the Digital World back to the way it was. And, in my opinion, where we say goodbye to our adorable Gammamon in a noble sacrifice.

You know when I posted about the Appmon dream I didn't know Ghost Game would venture this way. Was it a premonition, somehow?

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

(v)

*GRAB!* *SMACK!* *BANG!* *CRASH!* *SMACK!* *WHAM!*

OOOF! GAGH! AGCHK! UHUGH! BAGH! OW! AAGGH!

RRRRAAAGGH!

*WHAAAAAM!* *CRAAAAASH!*

*Completely out of nowhere, Kuripa flies straight towards Uchui, using what little strength remains in his body to grab onto a speeding tank shell that soars through the air at the speed of sound towards the Theoretical Physicist! He lets go as the shell smashes into the factory wall, then grabs Uchui into a tight hold as they fall. He shields Uchui as his body smacks against wall and objects on the way down, until they get into a good angle, and Kuripa headbutts the wall with enough force that it propels the two of them away from the fire and to the safety of the forest. Kuripa lands in a trail of blood and dirt, still holding tightly to the alive Uchui.

KURIPA, WHAT THE FUCK!?

*Makoto, distraught at Kuripa's sudden actions, runs towards him and Uchui with Kibin and Mukuro, as well as a few medics in tow. Uchui recovers and crawls out of Kuripa's hands and onto his knees, while Kuripa sits up.

For crying out LOUD! Just LET ME DIIIIIEE!

NNOOOO!

Why!? Why don't you just LET ME GET WHAT I DESERVE!?

Too many people got hurt because of this stupid plan, AND from what my whole family did! I'm the only person who can cut it off for good!

I did what I had to do! Now I'm done! I'm the last remaining legacy of my family, so just LET ME GET RID OF IT.

Oh, SHUT UP! Stop feeling sorry for yourself, and don't you dare frame your desire for suicide as a "noble sacrifice" or some horseshit!

Guys, you-!

No. Stop.

...!

Let them talk...

...Kuripa...You and I have both been through too much...So you know what it's like to throw away the things that don't matter, for a plan that doesn't mean anything in the end!

I changed my name and identity to make this work! I chased this conspiracy with such blind passion that INNOCENT PEOPLE DIED because of it! You of all people should believe that RETRIBUTION MUST BE HAD FOR THAT!

This isn't retribution...You just don't want to live anymore, and you're using this as an excuse!

SO WHAT!? I've NEVER had a strong desire to live! EVER! NOT EVEN SINCE I WAS A KID!

...All I am is a weak, ugly, insignificant pest to everybody! An EMBARASSMENT! I worked hard to improve myself, but it all amounted for nothing because the ghosts STILL CHASED ME! Reminding me of who I really was on the inside! A lab rat and the son of the worst criminal in the world!

My death...will rid the world of his influence...for good!

...That's not true...Me...Boss...Rantaro...The entire reason we even came to this factory was because your sorry ass got captured, and we thought you were in danger! We risked life and limb to rescue you and the others! And it's thanks to you that we even had an opportunity to save the Survivors in the first place! That's gotta mean something!

Look up there! Chihiro Fujisaki was trying EVERYTHING he could to rescue you before you could fall! He put YOU FIRST before anything else! Does that kind of affection and care mean NOTHING to you!?

That's exactly my point! I'm not worth your life or those limbs! You should've taken the Survivors and ran! Now RANTARO'S DEAD, Makoto lost his mind, and YOU'RE FALLING APART!

Don't you DARE give me one of these long-winding lectures on the importance of life! It's all BULLSHIT!

*SMACK!*

!!!??

*Kuripa lifts his shaking arm and smacks Uchui around the face. However, while a smack of that caliber would usually send him flying, it is instead unbelievably weak.

It's not a fucking lecture, you twat!

Did you never stop to think about why we've stuck by each other's sides all these years, even after we graduated!? Why I never gave up on you!? I'm telling you right now it's not because you're always patching me up!

It's because YOU'RE MY FUCKING BEST FRIEND! NO MATTER HOW MUCH SHIT YOU DRAG ME INTO, I WILL ALWAYS BE THERE TO STOP YOU MAKING AN ASS OF YOURSELF!

...!?

You look at the world as it its black and white, Kamukura, but it's not that simple! It never has been!

No one ever valued you for who you are!? BULLSHIT! Me! Boss! Mukuro! Kibin! ALL OUR CLASSMATES! ELLA!

Crash and BURN!

//WARNING: Brief depictions of graphic imagery and gore.

Are we seriously leaving Hina behind!?

We don't have a choice! Uchui needs our assistance! We have to help him! Don't worry, I've already contacted our allies to let them know what happened!

We'll come back for her though! But we can't stay here! The factory will explode any minute now!

Fly as fast as you can, Hiro! We need to rescue him!

*Hiro picks up the pace and flies to the designated spot.

——————————————————————

Dammit...Damn you Enoshima...

*Still up on the outside railing, Uchui tries his best to make any modifications to the system from the outside emergency platform, but to no avail. The explosion rages on beneath him, and the ground beneath him shakes, threatening to give out at any moment.

This is...

Uchui! UCHUI, OVER HERE!

Mr Fujisaki!?

*The carrier flies up and parks itself next to the platform. Chihiro flings open the door and calls to him.

We need to get out of here! Come on!

You...You actually came back for me...!?

Why wouldn't we!? Now hurry up and get on so we can-

Ah!? LOOK OOOOUTT!

Huh!?

RRAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHH!

*WHAAAAMM!*

UGH! AGH!

*BANG!* *BANG!* *BANG!* *BANG!*

UCHUI!

*Before Uchui can make any moves towards the vehicle, Tsumugi, who recovers from her previous shock, rushes at him and lands one mean hook around Uchui's face. He's stunned, and she then proceeds to grab him by the back of his hair, and smash his face several times into the metal railing.

Uchui, hold on! I'm comin-

Make ANY moves, and I will THROW HIM INTO THE FIRE!

!!!??

Tch-!?

*Tsumugi grabs Uchui by the back of his neck and proves the meaning of her words by pushing him closer and closer off the edge into the raging inferno far below them. Sakura freezes in place, not wanting to make any moves that may risk Uchui's safety.

Worthlessssss....aaaaafteeerrrr...aaaaaaaaallllll...

Ngh...

Uchui...Don't let the voices get to you-!

FUCK OFF!

*BANG!*

AGH!

CHIHIRO!

SHUT THE DOOR!

Wha-!?

I got this!

[marvelimaginesyesplease]

Ares x Reader (One Shot)

“Oh absolutely fucking not.”

You held your hands up in disgust, backing away from the obviously bewildered beast of a man who stood before you. He looked stunned, as if you were the first woman to say no to him.

“Are you fucking with me?” He demanded, dark brows raised.

You scoffed at him, stunned that he would even ask you such a bold question. “Ares, seriously? You seriously though I’d say yes to that? Did Hermes toss you a few mushrooms again or are you just that fucking stupid?” You searched his face, desperately hoping this was some sick joke and the man you’d managed to somewhat befriend was only trying to crack a dumb joke for the sake of watching you squirm. But the way his mouth twisted downwards confirmed that it was indeed not a joke. Was he actually offended?

“We literally just started getting along!” You shouted, tossing your hands in the air in frustration. You could feel your cheeks beginning to warm. You were angry, somewhat hurt and thoroughly embarrassed. Why did anything with a penis always pull a stunt like this?

“I don’t know why you’re so opposed to something that could literally make every other god wild with envy!” He shot back, large hands curling into fists at his side. You’d bruised his ego, and maybe anyone else would have been terrified if the god of war was standing before them looking less than displeased but you barely batted an eye. You were one of the only ones who didn’t react to his bullshit. The chances of you taking him down were level with his defeating you.

“Wild with envy?” You asked incredulously, sneering at him. “Are you fucked? One, Aphrodite would have my head on a pike!” You held your finger up, moving towards him to point it angrily in his face. “And two, it would be a fucking psychopath.”

Ares’ jaw twitched as he clenched it. He didn’t seem to pleased with the notion that you were insulting the non existent child he’d proposed the two of you create.

“No he wouldn’t,” He shot back indignantly, taking a step towards you. He towered over you, but you only squared your shoulders.

“The god of war? Producing a child that isn’t a raging lunatic?” Your eyebrows shot up. You were mocking him now. “I sincerely doubt that’s even possible. And secondly, why the fuck did you assume it would be a boy?!” You were shouting now, heart beat rising as your anger began to stir. The string of curses that you were about to let loose would have made Dionysus himself blush.

“You’ve got an awful lot of guts to talk to me like this,” Ares growled, moving closer to you. He was less than a foot from you now, and you could hear him grind his teeth as he lowered his face to yours. His eyes were wild with rage, and you watched with amusement as they began to churn. Oh, yes, the god of war had become so angry he was starting to lose control. You could see the chaos beginning to unfurl behind them. Images of people tearing each other apart, wars unfolding, misery and despair taking control. It was enough to drive a man insane.

But you were no man.

“Don’t make an enemy out of me Ares.” Your voice was dangerously low, you could feel the way your own pupils began to darken. “I will hunt you like a wild animal and gut you before the very people that worship you.”

His pupils widened, just slightly, and you could have sworn it was lust that clouded his gaze. You wouldn’t have been surprised. Why wouldn’t a man whom everyone feared not feel attracted to one of the only women who could actually stand a chance against him in the ring? You’d never admit it out loud, but some part of you was attracted to him as well. He was dangerous, he actually stood a chance against your prowess.

“I should cut your head off for the way you speak to me,” He hissed, lips curling back over his incisors. His dark, curly hair was still plastered to his forehead, the sweat still glistening on his skin from your sparring match earlier. You’d come out here to train with him, work on some new war tactics, not argue over theoretical children. Although, his bronzed skin did look good…and the scar that ran from his jaw to his cheekbone looked rather-

“Fuck off.” You couldn’t tell if you were saying it to him, or yourself. You should have seen it coming, and you cursed yourself when you didn’t move quickly enough to block him. It was over in a matter of seconds, but you could only wheeze when Ares suddenly had his chest pressed against your back, your arms twisted painfully behind you. You winced, fighting the urge to groan in pain when he pressed the side of your face further into the dirt. “Bastard.”

“I’d avoid insulting the god of war when you can’t even defend yourself.” You could hear the sick fuck’s twisted grin as he whispered into your ear, noting that his grin became animalistic when you shivered at the sensation of his breath on your skin.

“Eat shit you spoiled rotten brat-“ You managed to choke out, curling your hands into fists. He’d break your arm if you made any sudden movements. Not that it would take long to heal, but breaking bones was never something you actively sought out. It still hurt every time.

“I should rip out your spine and leave you here,” Ares growled into your ear, fingers tightening painfully around your wrist as he pushed your face deeper into the dirt. You were going to cut his head off once you were free. “Let the animals-“

Ares was cut off when you let loose a primal shout, hooking your leg around his and kicking backwards. He rocked forward, nose breaking against the side of your skull. You rolled to the side, forcing your hands out of his grip, shoulder tearing from its socket in the process. You pushed yourself to your feet, chest heaving as you glowered down at the man who still lay a few feet from you. Your arm was hanging limply at your side, and you watched as Ares rocked back onto his haunches, wicked eyes meeting your own as he halfhazardly dragged his hand under his rapidly healing nose. Golden ichor flowed freely from it, coating the lower half of his face.

Ares couldn’t help it anymore. He watched, feeling absolutely fucking feral, as you stared down at him. Your eyes were ablaze with rage, the humanity within them barely a whisper, as you struggled to catch your breath. Your gaze didn’t leave his as you suddenly let loose a roar, reaching over to slam your arm back into its socket. You were fucking stunning, a wild woman who could not be contained. Even Zeus feared you, and it made Ares want you even more. He’d never intended to fall for you, in fact he’d only started speaking to you because he’d felt threatened by your presence and he’d wanted to discover your weaknesses. But when he’d watch you draw your weapon, lips curling into a grin as you tore through whatever stood between you and your goal, he’d damn near dropped to his knees. You were a wild animal, incapable of feeling fear, and he wanted you more than he’d dare admit to anyone, even himself.

Aphrodite was beautiful, a beauty nothing could compare to, but you were different. You could stop an immortal being in it’s tracks with your gaze. Mortals barely even spoke your name for fear of crossing you and bringing your rage upon them.

And Ares wanted you more than anything. God, the idea of fucking you had been living in his mind for so fucking long, he’d barely been able to focus on anything else. And whether you wanted to admit it or not, the two of you could create a child no one on Olympus had ever dreamed of.

“If you ever fucking try to cross me again,” Ares was barely processing your words as you spoke, instead noting how his blood had stained your hair, “I’ll rip your head off and eat it.”

Ares licked his lips, eyes glued to your ass as you stalked away from him. “Same time tomorrow?” He called after you, smiling like a madman when you turned to scowl at him over your shoulder. He knew you wanted him too.

[minubell]

So I now there is very little chance of it arriving because how would it work ?? But I am so curious about a Angmar meeting Melkor fic haha (or just the Nazgûl in general meeting him)

Well so because Tides of War is actually all technically backstory for my dnd campaign which takes place in the 4th age, THEORETICALLY my players could reach a a point where the Nazgul and Morgoth meet each other. I suppose you could call it one of several bad endings.

Bad Ending: At the Door of Night

Angmar is exhausted. Weary in a way that he has not known for several thousand years. Tired not in body but in spirit. This war has weighed heavily upon him and now, faced with their victory, all he can feel is fatigue settling over him like a blanket.

The others lay scattered around him, thrown backwards by the thunderous shockwave. It had only been by plunging the tip of his blade into the earth and clinging to it like an anchor that he had not also been cast down, though he has been driven to one knee and forced to bow his head to brace against the backlash. He cannot muster the strength to stand.

The tempest has eased now, and Angmar lifts his head slowly, squinting past the messy strands of his own hair. His hands still cling to the hilt of his sword, the tips of his fingers blanched white from the force of his grip. His arms are shaking slightly, but if he untangles his grip from his weapon he will probably collapse.

The Door of Night rises before him. Impossibly tall, with pillars of rich black stone. The ruby red eyes of basalt dragons stare down upon him with a weight he cannot truly describe. Smoke stills pours past their carved snarls, but it is beginning to run thin and die. The two great gates of the Door no longer bar the entrance to the void. They have been cast open by his Master, and Angmar is free to stare past them into the Void.

There is… nothing there.

It is blacker than the Door itself, darker than the darkest of nights. There are no stars, no light, but a strange, low humming noise seems to rumble forth from the darkness. Staring directly at it feels sickening. Forbidden. Forbidden in a way that is somehow worse than how it felt when he first stepped foot upon these lands. It makes his skin crawl like the swarming of thousands of spiders across his entire body, and he can feel his hair stand on end in response to the terrible, indescribable wrongness.

This Door should have been left closed.

Some dark fog spills out from the open Door, rolling across the ground on an invisible wind that sweeps his hair slightly. Where it passes the grass shrivels and begins to turn white as crystals of frost gather on the thin surface of their leaves. As it creeps over his legs Angmar cannot suppress the shiver that passes through his body. It is cold, impossibly cold, far colder than the North.

He bares his teeth against the frigid air and exhales sharply. His breath is visible like a white cloud that hangs in the air before him for an instant before vanishing. It is growing colder still, as if that thick, noxious fog is sapping the very warmth from the air. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

The Void is dripping now, and something thick and viscous like tar seeps out from the base like a wound.

A hand suddenly springs forth from the Door, blackened and oozing and slams against the frame. Claws dig into the stone as a second hand erupts from the dark and braces itself against the other side of the Door.

A third-fourth-fifth-DOZENS of hands emerge, grasping at the sides and top of the Door and digging into the earth at its base. Each of them blackened as if burned and dripping with that eerie, disgusting tar. There is a pause, then each hand tenses and begins to pull, dragging something out of the void. Something with a turbulent, unnatural, liquid-like body, something piercing white-blue eyes that seem to glow against the black of its body, something with scales and horns and feathers and skin and too many eyes, too many teeth, too many-

“Oh,” Khamul whispers reverently from somewhere on the ground behind him. Angmar could not disagree more.

The thing hauls itself completely from the Void, spilling pieces of itself upon the ground. It is as tall as the Door itself, and something that could vaguely assumed to be a head tips up towards the sky like a lizard bathing in the sunlight. It pauses there for several long moments, basking in the light. When it sighs more of that thick, choking fog spills past its sharp teeth.

“My Lord,” a voice calls out softly, and Angmar’s gaze snaps down to where his master stands just before the creature, impossibly tiny next to its bulk. The creature’s head drops and two large, strange, white-blue eyes focus on the significantly smaller figure. Several of its smaller eyes slide across its body until they too reach its face and are also able to stare at his master. Its face splits in a cracked, cruel smile, and Angmar grimaces against the wave of possessiveness that rolls across his own skin in response.

“Lieutenant,” the thing rumbles, its voice deep and rumbling like thunder. Hands, smaller than the ones that pulled it from the Void’s grasp, emerge from its body and reach out, running over his master’s shoulders, parsing through his hair, touching his face.

This time, Angmar does not bother resisting the possessiveness that bubbles up within him and escapes from his throat in a low growls.

The thing freezes. Its ever-changing, turbulent body goes impossibly still. Eyes blossom over its blackened, wet body, and in the moment it takes for Angmar to realize each of them are locked upon him, the creature moves.

One moment he is upon one knee, the next his head cracks against the ground and all Angmar can see are stars. He snarls even before his vision recovers, and in that moment he can feel a heavy weight pressing down upon his chest, holding him against the dirt. The stars sharpen back into reality, and Angmar realizes they are not stars at all but hundreds of eyes staring at him.

“Oh,” the thing purrs, a large hand pinning Angmar to the floor. A second and third hand pin his hands to the ground on either side of him, and Angmar instinctively closes his fist around the ring on his right hand so it cannot easily be stolen from him. A fourth hand reaches out, grasping for his face, and Angmar snaps his teeth at it, though it artfully avoids his jaws. A thumb presses against one of his cheeks and a finger presses against his other. Fingers curl under his chin and force his head upwards and slightly to one side, and those disgusting eyes are staring at him from all sides as the thing hunches over him. “Fascinating. Your soul is positively frayed, little one.”

“Little one?” Angmar snarls, cursing, trying to get his feet free enough to kick at the thing. His left foot connects with and then sinks into something wet and foul that must be the creature’s body. Incensed, Angmar lashes out with his other foot, and manages to get his leg up and around the arm pinning him down. It sinks into the tar-like substance slightly as well, but gives Angmar enough leverage to yank his other leg free. He aims his now freed leg higher, towards where the thing’s chin seems to be, but a fifth hand reaches out from the mass and catches his foot by the ankle before it can make contact.

“Hush, be still,” the thing coos at him, which only serves to make Angmar angrier, and he strains against the hand holding his face to try to bite it. It is not as if he wants any of that disgusting blackened tar in his mouth, but he is willing to suffer some if he can also inflict some pain in return. Were he not already so drained of might, perhaps Angmar could actually land a strike.

“Release him.”

Angmar watches those eyes slide sideways and glances to the side as well. Khamul has managed to find his feet, and stands a short distance away, legs shaking slightly from the effort. His sword is drawn once more, and he holds it at his side with one hand while the other wipes dirt and blood away from his cheek. “Please,” Khamul adds belatedly, a moment too late compared to his usual politeness.

He looks terrible. Like at any moment he might collapse again. No doubt the weariness Angmar feels Khamul too must be feeling. Possibly even more so.

“Another one?” the thing murmurs thoughtfully. There is a shuffling from around him, and Angmar strains against the hand holding his face to try to see the source. Whatever it is has the thing’s eyes sprawling all over its body to apparently see everywhere all at once. “Ah, and more still? What are you?”

“Those are mine, my lord,” Angmar hears his master murmur from somewhere he cannot see. “I believe you are scaring them.”

“Yours?” the thing asks softly, body rolling as it seems to physically digest this information. One of the larger eyes focuses back on Angmar, and he snarls furiously at it.

“My Nazgul, yes.”

“Ringwraiths?” the thing hums. Its eyes turn back on Angmar and scour over his body for a moment before settling on his closed, right fist. The hand pinning his wrist adjusts slightly so that the finger can reach up and scrape over the part of the band still exposed to the air, and Angmar shivers in response. “Ah, I see. How clever, lieutenant.”

“Thank you, my lord. Will you release him now? As I said, you are scaring them.”

“…Of course,” the thing reluctantly relents, and the hands grasping Angmar’s body recede. Its body rolls for an instant, collapsing in on itself before a man emerges from the dark. Thick, flowing tar makes way for pale skin, except on the man’s hands which remained stained black like they have been burned. There is a surprisingly normal amount of eyes and arms and teeth.

Annoyingly, when Angmar slowly struggles to his own feet, he realizes the man is taller than he.

“They are just so adorable, lieutenant,” the man says, and Angmar is not the only one of the Nine that bristles. He can feel a prodding, wordless question through his ring from both Khamul and Indur of worryconcerndistress, but he ignores them both in favor of glaring up at the man. The remainder of the Nine slowly regroup behind him, huddling together in a familiar formation with Angmar at the point. One of them-Ren?-presses a sword back into Angmar’s hand, and his fingers curl around the blade as best he can. Angmar himself adjusts his stance to be slightly wider, providing more cover to them in his shadow, but any other movements seem beyond him at the moment. He still feels slightly pinned and breathless beneath the man’s sharp gaze. “May I have one? You have… nine, surely you do not need them all.”

“You may not,” his master responds, and there is a slight snap to his voice that Angmar is used to being on the receiving end. Apparently this man is not, because he finally drags his eyes away to turn around, and Angmar feels like he can breathe again without that gaze upon him.

“No?” The man is frowning slightly when he turns back towards Angmar. The other Nine take a reluctant step backwards when the man steps towards them, but Angmar only bares his teeth in a grimace in response. “Look, this one is not even frightened of me. You should let me keep it. I promise I will not even break it.”

“I only serve my master,” Angmar barks back before his master can respond. “Not you.”

“Angmar,” his master calls, and there is a warning in his voice that Angmar immediately ignores.

“I am your master’s master,” the man responds, head tilted to one side. One of his hands reaches out towards Angmar’s face again, but it pauses when Angmar raises his sword in warning. “If he obeys me, surely you must as well.”

“Never,” Angmar responds immediately, and gives him a rude gesture as well.

The man blinks down at him before his frown splits into an eerie, disgusting grin that makes the others take yet another step back and Angmar snarl.

“There are not many Men that would deny me,” the man purrs. He’s stepping closer, and blackened nails pinch Angmar’s sword, keeping him from swinging it. He leans forward slightly, thrusting his face directly into Angmar’s, those eerie, blue eyes staring deep into his. Angmar thinks he can see the Void in those eyes. Certainly something dangerous, not deep within them but rather close to the surface. Danger that drives the others back, but only makes Angmar steel himself. “I rather like you, I think. Are you certain you would not like to serve me instead?”

Angmar glances past him, and makes eye contact with his master for just a moment. A moment where his master immediately reads his expression and must see something telling, because he quickly opens his mouth to call out a warning.

“Angmar-“

Angmar bites the man on the nose.

[random-thoughts-collection]

The Rings of Power: A brief look on Sauron

... and why Amazon's The Lord of the Rings series just isn't working for me.

There is a lot to be said about badly written dialogue, missing character moments, shallow mysteries and illogical actions. But I want to shine a light on the issues of the show by focusing on the character of Sauron in the first season.

[spoiler warnings]

Sauron's introduction

We as the audience first hear of Sauron when Galadriel tells us about him in the prologue of episode 1. He is briefly shown in his dark-lord-look, and that's officially all we see of him for a while.

Without knowing (theoretically), we meet him again in episode 2 under the name of Halbrand, when Galadriel coincidentally comes across his path in the middle of the ocean. He saves Galadriel from drowning, the two get picked up by the Númenoréan ship, and eventually the reach Númenor. Halbrand gives the impression to be happy there, and he wants to stay and start a new life, leaving his dark past behind. Galadriel however convinces him that he should join her on her quest to Middle-earth. Halbrand eventually agrees, so they end up fighting against the Orcs in soon-to-be-renamed-into-Mordor, and witness the erruption of the Orodruin. In the aftermath, Halbrand is hurt and Galadriel takes him to Eregion for healing. There he assists Celebrimbor a bit with the issue of combining mithril with gold and silver in order to create powerful Rings. Galadriel then realises that he is Sauron, and when confronted about it he offers her to rule together with him over Middle-earth, but in a "good" way. She refuses, and Sauron threatens her and leaves.

In this story the showrunners have hidden two possible arcs for Sauron as a character, but both possible interpretations contradict each other. But because both appear at different times, they also hinder each other in consistency, and as a result the character of Sauron falls apart.

The Redemption Arc

"And I knew if ever I was to be forgiven... That I had to heal everything that I had helped ruin."

Sauron being haunted by his past – allegedly.

One version of Sauron's story goes like this: he truly regrets what he did in the past, and is now trying to get away from it. This is who Halbrand seems to be and what he presents to Galadriel: someone burdened by the past, with a real fear that he can never be forgiven for his crimes.

This version of Sauron truly hides who he is because he is an enemy to everyone. In this version he really wants to stay on Númenor because he believes in a new and simple beginning. His hesitance when Galadriel tells him to join her is real, as is the scene where he first puts the crest down on the table, before he changes his mind and grabs it.

And when Galadriel eventually tells him "Whatever it was he did to you, and whatever it was you did... Be free of it", it really means something to him. In this arc, her encouragement lets him believe he really has something to contribute to the world, to right his wrongs. It's why he offers Galadriel a place at his side.

Sauron hoping for redemption – allegedly.

And this Sauron, with his fragile ego, imediately falls back into old habits and turns dark again when Galadriel turns him down. With his repentance rejected, he starts to resent Galadriel, and the chance for redemption is lost.

In this version of Sauron's story, none of the events have been planned by Sauron. He is relucant and only gets involved because Galadriel involves him in this again and again. In this version what he says about himself and what he presents to everyone as Halbrand is honest.

The Master Manipulator Arc

"In an instance like this, it seems to me that you'd do well to identify what it is that your opponent most fears. [...] Give them a means of mastering it. So that you can master them."

Sauron having a good time.

The other version is a very different story: in this, there are no coincidences. In this version, Sauron manipulates everyone in a way that will eventually lead towards his goals, whatever they may be.

So it's not by chance then that Galadriel crosses his path in the middle of the ocean. Getting to Númenor is also part of the calculation, and on Númenor he gently directs Galadriel in a way that she can win the queen's favour. He pretends to regret things in his past and to stay on Númenor (and maybe at first he wants to in order to then corrupt the Númenóreans), but he will eventually agree to come with Galadriel to Middle-earth.

Adar may or may not be part of his plan, but he certainly doesn't mind his actions. The wound Halbrand-Sauron has after the erruption of the volcano could even be self-inflicted, to convince Galadriel that she has to take him to Eregion. How much is planned when it comes to Eregion is hard to say, because we have no real knowledge about the origin of the tree darkening. In any case, Sauron takes the opportunities as they present themselves, and uses them to his advantages – he gains influence over Celebrimbor, and has some part in the creation of his rings.

Sauron returning to the dark land that apparently came to be without his help.

In this version, Sauron's words are mostly manipulation, not honesty. If he is implementing his plans, he has to use the people around him and has to deceive them to get them to where he wants them to be.

This version of the story is more difficult to see, because the manipulation – by nature – cannot be as obvious as what he pretends to be. But we see it in the advice he gives Galadriel in the cell about mastering the fears of others. And it's most prominent in his reaction to Galadriel figuring out who he is – he is not scared of being "cast out" as he seemed in Númenor. And although he still gets angry when Galadriel rejects his offer, in this story the reason is rather because she rejects his vision, not his chance for redemption.

The Atoner vs The Liar

These two character arcs are different interpretations of the same story. Both are possible, and at first this sounds like a fascinating situation: a character that could go either way, presenting many different options on how the story could continue.

And they truly can't be mixed: the whole point of Sauron's atoner arc is that he is honest, and for the liar arc the opposite is the case. Atoner-Sauron cannot plan anything in advance, because he has to go through an emotional journey – only slowly and thanks to Galadriel he develops the belief that he can do good in Middle-earth by ruling it. Liar-Sauron already has the aim to rule Middle-earth, he just has to move forward slowly and carefully to get what he wants.

For now the season doesn't give a definite answer on what version the correct one is, but most likely it will be revealed in a later season.

Sauron simply walking into Mordor.

So, what's the problem with either of these versions? I feel like they try to aim for both versions at the same time, and this just doesn't work.

Sauron as The Atoner fails to be a calculating, powerful villain. This Sauron has just been hiding, and hasn't really done anything and so far hasn't been much of a threat.

The creation of Mordor happened because of Adar and the Orcs, and Sauron had no hand in it.

The creation of the first Rings of Power wasn't part of his plan either, and anything he later does with the One Ring in regards to them is purely coincidence – it couldn't have been planned, because Sauron never intended for the Elves to create the rings.

His reaction on seeing Adar – if it's an honest reation – makes it seem like Adar was indeed able to hurt Sauron in a serious way. This weakens Sauron even further.

Sauron's attempt at redemption is given up too quickly. His change back to the dark side after this only seems to come from the rejection of a woman, which is a weak motive for the Dark Lord in Middle-earth.

Another important point to consider is the reduced timeline: if Sauron has been honest and "harmless" so far, his rise and fall as a Dark Lord won't last long – anyone who has read the books or seen Peter Jackson's movies knows that the players to end his reign are already in place.

And of course, this honest Sauron would not be the deceiver as the showrunners have described him in their interviews.

Furthermore, in the case of Sauron as The Atoner, Galadriel is indeed the one who has rejected his plea for redemption. This is not a storytelling-issue in itself, but has huge implications for her character and everything that follows in this Age and the following one. It irrevocably sorts her into a group with the likes of Túrin Turambar, and not a group with people like Gandalf, Faramir, Aragorn or Frodo.

Sauron as The Liar creates a character that doesn't exist. While Halbrand would be a character that Sauron has made up in order to fool everybody, her also told a story to the audience that wouldn't actually matter. The man lost at sea, the man with the dark past regretting his crimes, the man hoping for redemption – in this version there is no origin story here, not as the showrunners intended.

If we are supposed to believe that he has planned many things in advance, and has deceived everyone to further his own goals, then his strategy still depends on many many coincidences and contrivances:

Meeting Galadriel: he coldn't have known that Galadriel would jump from her ship.

Galadriel's demands in Númenor: he couldn't have planned for Galadriel to realise what the mark means and where it's located

Galadriel declaring him King of the Southlands: he also couldn't have planned for Galadriel to decide that his sigil meant he was King of the Southland, and that she wanted him to come back to Middle-earth.

While he could have had his hands in the erruption of Orodruin and could have faked his wound, he couldn't be certain that Galadriel would take him to Eregion on a ride that should have killed every actual mortal being.

Sauron hardly could have forseen the Elves getting mithril from the Dwarves to forge Rings. What happened in Eregion would have been mostly luck on Sauron's part.

In addition, any second attempt to get back to Númenor later on would hardly be an accomplishment – he had been there before after all, and hasn't used that chance.

Conclusion

Real of fake emotion? Was Adar part of Sauron's plan or not? Was he really able to hurt Sauron?

By trying to present Sauron mostly as the Atoner, the show failed to build up the foundations of Sauron as a threat. He hasn't created Mordor, nor were the Rings of Power his idea.

With the lack of focus on a manipulation arc for Sauron, any interpretation of this season in the light of Sauron the Liar struggles to be convincing because too many events in this plotline are purely coincidence. The fact that Sauron had been to Númenor already and that the rings can't have been part of his plan will most likely be a weakness in the storytelling of later seasons.

As so often with this show they may have had some good intentions here – but the execution was not convincing.

[0097linersb]

Pink Lemonade

CHAPTER 3

Pairings: Jaemin x Renjun x Haechan x Jeno x Mark x Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Humor (I guess), Slow burn af

Summary: The dreamies decide to spend some weeks at an Inn in the middle of the nature to relax and enjoy some outdoor adventures, far away from their crazy idol life. What they didn’t expect was the nice girl running said Inn.

Word count: 4.1k

A/N: hEy guys, I’m SO sorry for 1. taking so long for this shitty chapter and 2. I will no longer be tagging new people simply because I am so lost and I feel like I will miss half of the people who asked so I don’t want to make anyone feel forgotten or upset

THIS ISN’t PROOF READ I SUCK I KNOW I hate thIS STORY

☼  previous / next  ☼

The next morning you woke up before Jeno, you tried to silently sneak out to give him the chance of pretending nothing happened, in case he decided it had all been a drunken mistake and it should be forgotten. Your plan was proven kind of difficult with the whole having to untangle yourself from the man and unzipping the tent open situation, bright sun rays suddenly filling the space. You winced at the light and tried to quickly close the door back up, startled by a groaning sleepy Jeno who confusedly sat up and rubbed his eyes, “What’s going on?”

“Sorry, I was just trying to get out,” You apologized.

“Oh, ok. What time is it?”

“I have no idea, my phone died.”

The man searched for his phone among the covers and sighed when he realized he had run out of battery too. You awkwardly stared at each other, not really knowing if one of you should bring up what had happened or just casually move on.

“I don’t think the others are up yet,” You tried to start a conversation before the tension could swallow you up.

“Probably not. I’m still sleepy though, could go for a morning nap,” He smiled before lying back down, you were thankful he was trying to end the awkwardness too.

“I love morning naps.”

“Come join?” He asked with hopeful eyes and you nodded before practically throwing yourself back into his side, careful to not touch him in case he wasn’t interested and you didn’t want to impose yourself. You turned your back to Jeno and closed your eyes, ready to fall asleep in seconds, but was surprised when you felt the man’s arm silently wrapping around your waist and his chest pressing against your back before lazily whispering a “Good night” against the back of your neck. You smiled contently to yourself, hearing Jeno’s breathing get heavier and slower as sleep took over him, following his steps soon after.

The second time you woke up, was to a screaming Jisung. You and Jeno both jumped awake, startled, before running outside thinking there was a snake or something dangerous like that. The two of you were soon staring at the young boy judgingly, looking between him and the cockroach on the floor.

“Jisung, it’s dead,” Jeno sighed, trying to not get annoyed at the young man.

“It’s still moving!” He whined, still refusing to go down from the camping chair.

“They do that,” You sighed too, giving up on trying to make sense of the situation and approaching the boy with your hand out to help him down. “C’mon, help me to put the things back in the truck so we can go back to the Inn.”

Jisung reluctantly did as you said and Jeno started to wake up the others, everyone folded their tents and picked up the trash in silence, too tired and hungover to play around. If looked from afar, one might have you mistaken for extras on a zombie movie.

As you arrived back at the Inn, everyone crawled into their rooms without muttering a single word. You took advantage of the moment to take a shower since you were still in your bikins and Jaemin’s sweater, feeling completely disgusting after a day (mostly a night) of sweating. You were deep in your nirvana state of mind, enjoying the hot water relaxing your muscles and finally cleaning your hair of all that lake water, when you heard a bang at the door. You jumped in shock and looked over at the door instantly.

“Whoever is there, please let me in, I really need to pee!” Jisung screamed, fist still knocking on the door in urgency.

“You can use the bathroom downstairs!”

“Cockroaches,” He squealed before letting out a loud whine. “Please, I’m going to explode.”

You lightly groaned at the inconvenience before quickly shutting the water down and wrapping your towel around you, opening the door and signaling to Jisung that the bathroom was all his. He banged the door shut and you leaned against the hallway wall, waiting to return to your very good shower that you were missing very much after experiencing the chilly wind outside.

“Is there anything wrong?” Jaemin asked after opening his door, seeming like he had just woken up from a deep slumber.

You tried to act casually, like you weren’t standing around in just a towel, “Everything’s awesome.”

Jaemin had his mouth open to start saying something else when another door opened, an annoyed Haechan appearing behind it, “Who’s yelling and why?”

“Jisung needed to use the bathroom,” You explained, feeling way to exposed and embarrassed to elaborate.

“Can’t a guy ever sleep in peace?” Renjun’s suddenly appeared from his room, whining at his friends and rubbing at his eyes sleepily.

“Ok, can everyone please stay inside their rooms for the next 30 seconds?!” You requested loudly in frustration, kind of laughing internally at the way Jeno was midway through opening his door before muttering a sorry and closing it back in super speed.

“Yeah, sorry,” Renjun apologized before going back to his nap, but you didn’t miss the way he gave you a once-over first.

“Enjoy your shower,” Jaemin smiled at you before copying his friend.

Haechan simply stood there staring at you and you looked at him in expectation and a ting of annoyance. The man smirked at you before winking, “Looking good.”

“Yeah, and very much naked, so if you could like, just go inside for a minute,” You politely requested.

“But that’s very much what I’d like to see,” He playfully flirted with a low voice so no one would hear, slowly approaching you. He gave you no time to react as he looked down at your chest, right hand suddenly pinching your hardened nipple and you gasped in surprise, “Cold?”

He looked up at you with a teasing look and you nodded with furrowed eyebrows, confused as to what he was playing. Haechan whispered a “cute” against your ear before returning to his room with a smirk, right on time for Jisung to open the door, “Thank you so much! I’m sorry for interrupting your shower. I think I had the content of two whole wine bottles in my bladder.”

“It’s ok,” You assured him absently, still bothered by Haechan’s antics. You honestly had thought he was all bark and no bite, you two have been playfully flirting since day one and you had guessed it was just part of your friendship dynamic considering you both always laughed about it.

Well, you could do nothing about it except from seeing where life would take you two.

            _____________________________________________

After showering, you prepared some yogurt bowls with fruits and granola for breakfast, figuring you could all have a late lunch. Jaemin came downstairs after an hour and helped you out, stopping you from murdering another poor orange.

“Do you think everyone will be up for an activity today?” You asked, hoping they would opt for a more relaxing afternoon, as you were pretty much tired and hungover yourself.

Jaemin softly laughed, “If the activity is dying on the floor of the living room, yes.”

“Oh, thank god.”

“Slept late?” He raised an eyebrow at you and you almost dropped the knife you were holding.

Does he know?

“I went to bed right after you did, red wine is just not my friend,” You awkwardly laughed, trying to calm your mind down. He couldn’t have heard anything over the loud singing yesterday and Jeno probably didn’t tell him.

Jaemin said nothing to that and you both enjoyed a semi-comfortable silence until he offered, “Want me to teach you how to peel an orange?”

“Theoretically speaking I know how to do it, I just can’t make my hands actually work,” You laughed, but moved closer so he could show you anyways.

“I’ll teach you an easier way then, it’s not ideal but it’s better than losing half of the orange,” He teased and you glared at him. “You just have to cut it in half like this, and then like this. Actually you can cut it as many times as you want to. When they are in slices like this you can just use your fingers to pull the peel away.”

“Oh, I think I can do that,” You exclaimed in excitement, “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Hey, do you by any chance have more of that pineapple cake?”

“Chenle finished it but I can go to town to buy some more when we’re done with this. You can come along if you want to, they have a lot of options.”

“That sounds great.”

The two of you managed to quickly finish decorating the bowl, even adding some pretty flowers Jaemin went out to pick on top of it. After placing it all in the fridge so it wouldn’t become a mess until the others woke up, you scribbled down a note letting them know you had gone to the city and would be right back before heading outside to the car.

“Can I drive?” Jaemin asked jokingly, knowing your car was very dear to you.

“If you crash it, you’re giving me that watch,” You rolled your eyes, throwing the keys at him, who looked surprised at your compliance but laughed excitedly when catching the keys. His watch was probably worth more than your car anyways.

You hesitantly climbed into the passenger seat and tried to not say anything as Jaemin left the property in reverse, you hated riding shotgun.

He did look kind of hot, though.  

“I know how to drive, you know? You don’t have to grip the handles so tight,” The man laughed once you were already on the road.

“I’m just not used to not being the one behind the wheel,” You apologized, forcing yourself to relax your hands on your lap so you wouldn’t offend a man’s driving’s skills. “Turn right on that street. Did you enjoy skiing?”

“I did, yesterday was just a fun day as a whole. You also looked really pretty in my sweater,” He looked at you softly and It took a lot of control for you to not melt into the seat.

“I’m giving it back as soon as I wash it, by the way. Thank you again for not letting me freeze.”

“Don’t worry. You can keep it, it looked better on you.”

“Jaemin, I know you’re trying to be a gentleman and all but that’s a Balenciaga swea-“

“And I’d like for you to have it.”

“I’m really living everyone’s fanfic’s dreams, aren’t I?” You giggled softly.

“Do you read those?” Jaemin chuckled.

“Of course. I live in the middle of nowhere, anything to pass the time. Follow that Sunny Mountain sign.”

“Ok. You should teach me how to find those, I’m curious as to what our fans write about us.”

“Uh, you really shouldn’t.”

“Dirty stuff?”

“Lots of it, probably.”

Jaemin laughed at that but said nothing more, deciding to pay attention to the road for once. You were distracted trying to find a cool Spotify playlist on your phone when you felt the man’s hand on your thigh, he didn’t move it and he didn’t look at you, just staring straight ahead with a casual demeanor like it was something you did all the time. You said nothing about it, just enjoyed the touch and followed his lead.

As you arrived at the city, you directed Jaemin around until you were parking right in front of the little traditional bakery.

“Good morning, Mary. Looking beautiful as always,” You complimented the old lady behind the counter, who you have known since you were a little girl. “Please tell me you made some pineapple cake.”

“My dear, if I didn’t I would run out of business,” Mary laughed. “I’ll wrap one up for you.”

“Thank you. Jaem, do you want to try something else?” You asked, pointing to the display in front of you full of a variety of cakes, which this region was famous for.  “This is a banana one, it’s so good. The wine one is also tasty.”

Jaemin shivered at the word wine and you laughed because honestly, same.

“The banana one sounds good,” He agreed.

“Mary, I’ll take one half banana, half peach.”

The boy looked at you surprised that you remembered his favorite fruit and you just smiled at him, showing you were also paying attention.

“On it. Is that your boyfriend? I’ve been praying for you to find someone to keep you company in that big old house for ages,” The lady started, taking the cakes from the displays to cut them for you.

“He’s handsome, isn’t he?” You joked, winking at Jaemin who gave you a teasing smile back. “But unfortunately he’s just a guest at the Inn.”

“Oh, that’s unfortunate, but it’s a pleasure to meet you anyways. Maybe it’s better this way, my Gus would be jealous.”

You laughed in joy at the mention of your childhood summer friend, “How is he? I miss him!”

“He’s doing amazing,” She answered with a smile when talking about her grandson, placing the cakes’ halves on a plastic plate. “He just graduated last year, rented me a fancy dress and all.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that! I need to congratulate him. When he’s back in town, can you ask him to drop by the Inn really quickly? We’re having some internet problems as always.”

“Of course, dear. He will love that, I bet he’ll come around by the weekend. Here’s your cakes! I’ll put it on your account.”

Jaemin helped you getting one of the boxes from the balcony and you got the other.

“Thank you, Mary! Have a nice day!”

“You kids too!”

You carefully placed the cakes on the back seats, wrapping the seatbelts around it so they wouldn’t move during the transportation as Jaemin looked around, appreciating the view.

“The city is pretty cute, right?”

“It is, actually. Is that an ice cream place?”

“Kind of. But they do have an ice cream buffet.”

“That sounds awesome, can we go there?”

“I guess the cakes won’t go bad in the car if we’re quick.”

“They won’t, it’s kind of cold today.”

“Right? I thought I was sick or something,” You complained, pouting at the temperature change.

“Here, let’s go freeze,” Jaemin laughed, wrapping one of his arms around your shoulders and leading you across the street.

                              ______________________________

You figured you liked Jaemin. As in, you really liked Jaemin. He was just so easy to talk to and a genuine funny caring guy – You didn’t see much of those anymore.

What was supposed to be a quick trip to the town turned into a 2 hour long tour around all the little spots the city had to offer, playfully taking photos of each other like you were in a romantic movie or something.  When you finally went back to the Inn, your heart was swollen and your cheeks were hurting from smiling too much.

“Be right back my ass,” Haechan welcomed you with a grunt.

“We took long but we brought cake,” You pinched his pouting face.

“Ok, I forgive you.”

“Are you guys hungry?”

“For cake? Yes,” Jisung excitedly exclaimed.

“I meant for real food, it’s past lunch time.”

“We actually just ate breakfast, Jeno is still sleeping,” Renjun informed.

“It’s ok, I’ll cook today,” Jaemin messed with your hair and you glared at him.

“No, you won’t. You’re a guest here.”

“And I’m a great cook, so get your ass back in bed and I’ll call you when I’m done.”

“That’s rude of you, Na Jaemin,” You joked.

“Learning from the best.”

You glared at him but decided to accept your fate. After your nap with Jeno and your shower, you were not sleepy anymore, so you decided to invite the rest to sunbathe in the lower deck by the lake. Haechan and Mark were happy to join and the three of you sprawled around under the blue sky after changing into your bathing suits. You were struggling to get sunscreen on your back and Mark silently asked for the tube in your hand, doing It for you as Haechan blabbed about League of Legends – It was really hard to hide the chills across your skin when you were wearing basically no clothes.

After Mark got over being awkward because of your exposed skin, he was actually one of the most fun people to be around that you had ever hung out with. He literally laughed and got excited over everything you and Haechan said and it made you feel special, you definitely understood his charms now. Also, with him being from Canada and all, you two had a lot more in common than you had imagined, which was revitalizing.

Soon enough, both boys started bickering over something and you just closed your eyes and tried to drift off, this was supposed to be relaxing time. But then again, it was hard to put relaxing and Haechan in the same sentence.

After what seemed like ten minutes of the men next to you arguing, you suddenly heard your name and opened your eyes begrudgingly with a “Huh?”

“Help us. Who’s right?” Haechan asked.

“I ain’t even listening, I’m sorry.”

“Haechan over here seems to think he has a bigger chance with you than I do,” Mark smirked and you chocked around air. What kind of demon possessed Mark Lee’s body?

“Of course I do, don’t I?” It was Haechan’s turn to smirk at you and you just stared between them totally lost. They were arguing about song lyrics a few minutes ago, what the fuck happened? “So? Who’s right?”

“Huh?”

“You heard me,” Haechan lifted an eyebrow at you in a challenging way.

“Let her speak,” Mark cut him off and you felt goosebumps up your body once again at his strict tone. Damn, that was definitely not expected from Mark Lee.

“This is very unprofessional,” You muttered in shock, not really knowing what to say.

“Oh, c’mon. You think I didn’t hear your little show with Jeno the other night?” Mark laughed darkly and you shrank into yourself.

“What? What happened with Jeno?” Haechan asked confused.

“Nothing,” You quickly inform, trying to end that conversation.

Mark tsks and softly put your hair behind your ear, looking at you with endearing eyes, “Our pretty Y/N had some fun times with Jeno in their tent, didn’t she? Tell Haechan.”

You gulped and turned to Haechan, only nodding in shame because you were not about to admit you sucked his friend out loud. The boy’s eyes only widened and you could see Mark’s smirk from the corner of your eyes, what a wicked man.

“Guess none of us have a chance, then. Since Jeno got to you first,” Mark played and you briskly shook your head, feeling how you were already pulsing between your legs. The man raised an eyebrow at your reaction, like it wasn’t what he had planned, “Oh?”

“Please,” Was all that you managed to let out. Too embarrassed to elaborate.

“Kiss her,” He ordered and you noticed he was talking to Haechan, who smiled widely before bending down to capture your lips.

His kiss was playful like his personality, his hand found its place behind your neck and he lightly nibbled on your bottom lip with his teeth, not allowing you to deepen the kiss like you wanted to. When you whined in frustration, you felt his smirk against your lips before he harshly grabbed your hair and pulled you closer, his tongue finally against yours.

Well, this was not how you expected your day to turn out.

You were so focused on how good it felt to melt into Haechan, that you jumped in shock when you felt Mark’s fingers playing with your bikini bottoms.

“Look how wet she it, Haechan,” He commented like he was hypnotized by the view and you two broke the kiss so he could look at where his friend was staring. Mark’s middle finger started to lightly circle your clit over the fabric and you moaned, hiding your face in shame. You were probably about to have sex. No, not sex. A threesome. With your guests!!!

“Y/N.”

“What?” You groaned.

“Y/N!”

You uncovered your eyes annoyed only to find Haechan and Mark staring at you weirdly, sitting up on their own beach towels like well-behaved boys.

“Did I fall asleep?” You asked confused.

“Yeah, we thought you were having a nightmare so we decided to wake you up,” Mark explained softly and you gulped.

“Thank you, it was horrible,” You lied, heart beating fast and chest heaving.

Mark and Haechan went back to arguing while you tried to recompose yourself, but as soon as Haechan shot you a knowing smirk, you quickly got up and left, figuring you could play cards with Renjun or something.

                                            ____________________________________

Jaemin didn’t lie when he said he was a good cook, and not only that, but he was also an organized worker, washing and cleaning everything right after using it. What a dreamy man. You were still too bothered over having a weird wet dream with your guests, who were right beside you, to think much about how amazing Jaemin was.

After everyone had lunch (and you decided to sit far far away from your sunbathing partners, safely cuddled between Chenle and Jisung at the end of the table), you washed all the dishes left while Jeno dried them, thankful that you two managed to not let things go south after your little encounter.

The Inn still had no internet so there was nothing much you could do with everyone being tired, so like Jaemin predicted, you all sprawled around the living room’s floor and played some games. After a few hours, you started getting tired of playing and turned the Tv on, trying to find the least terrible channel the Tv’s antenna could pick up, settling on a game show that got everyone pretty excited. Somehow you ended lying on Jaemin’s chest and you noticed Jeno giving you a look but couldn’t quite catch what he meant with it. He seemed normal with you after it, so you decided to let it go, realizing you were only overthinking things.

For dinner, you all had some leftovers from lunch and lots of cake. You had spent so many hours talking that you felt like you have known these boys since forever, or at least you wanted to. There was just not a moment around them when you weren’t laughing or smiling, and besides the obvious sexual tension moments, it felt really comfortable to be around them. Of course they could be annoying and inconvenient at times, they were men after all, but it was not hard to get over that.

Surprisingly enough, even after sleeping until way past noon, the boys were still tired and went to bed early with the promise of fun adventures for the next day. You and Renjun stayed back in the balcony talking about life and art, looking at the stars and drinking a glass of wine. It was nice sharing your deep thoughts with someone who matched your intensity and excitement, Renjun was indeed an artist and you loved experiencing the universe with him for a night.

When it was around 1 in the morning, the two of you said goodnight with a soft smile, knowing you two now shared a bond.

Entering your room and turning the lights on, you were surprised to find Jeno playing with his phone on your bed.

“Hey,” You offered confused.

He gave you an eye smile before dropping his phone on the bed, “Hey.”

“So, you’re in my room…”

“Just wanted to ask if I could sleep with you, it’s nice.”

“Oh, ok. Yeah, I’d like that. Let me just change,” You agreed and laughed at the way Jeno covered his eyes when you grabbed on the hem of your shirt and pulled it off, “I think we’re way past that, Jeno Lee.”

“Sorry, it’s automatic,” He explained as he dropped his hands back on the bed, watching you silently as you changed into your pajamas. You sleepily climbed into bed next to the man, both of you lying on your sides and staring at each other. “You’re so pretty.”

“Thank you,” You softly breathed out. This seemed all too familiar.

He delicately pressed his lips against yours, hand grabbing your cheek so his thumb could soothingly caress your cheek. You closed your eyes and enjoyed the soft touches, reciprocating the kiss with the same fluttering intensity. Jeno simply did that for a few minutes before breaking away from you and smiling, “Sorry, I just really wanted to kiss you.”

“It’s ok,” You giggled, content and in peace.

taglist:  @eggbutnotyolk @lauraneuuh @geeisaclown @jenotation @riemm @junguwuuu @prettychaeng @satanssugaraddiction @luvlyjaemin @sweetjaemss @oofimdumb @junglekooks @unknown5tar @rosedchae @deantrblismyhusband @yukheisworld @chippijunxiao @kkakkdugi @luvenshiti @sleep-is-all-i-seek @aka-minhyuk-kun @elithereal @jenniferecand @tacojisung @tiramisubox @hobicore-smut @renjunniex @markresonates @hufflepanda221b @ncttboo @neejaatjeh @heyyyun @yutaalove @iwishihadabettername

[redorich]

In the HermitCanyon au, How is my favorite Bee armored Admin doing? How long does it take for Xisuma to become.. aware of what is happening? For the first few sections it seemed like he was in a coma/unconscious. In the most recent bit Impulse tells Etho to get Xisuma, so at least theoretically he can now move, but how long has it taken him to get there, and where is he on the scale to full recovery? Are the other hermits keeping him safe with rabbit stew? (if they have rabbits that is...)

Part 2 of this.

Etho comes back twenty minutes later with a solemn look on his face. (At least, Puffy assumes. She can't actually see most of his face because of that mask of his.)

"X is in a bad way today," he says quietly. "I can take Puffy to him if you guys would like to stay here with Zedaph."

Impulse and Tango look nervously at each other. On one hand, they very much would like to stay with Zedaph, who is mostly healed but still very loopy and probably should not be moved. On the other hand, allowing Puffy deep into the Hermits' inner sanctum is a risk in and of itself, let alone with only one Hermit with her. Etho's a good fighter and a wily bastard, but Puffy is most certainly no slouch.

In the end, it comes down to trust. How much can they show Puffy before they can no longer trust that she won't snitch? How sure are they that she won't try to kill them all and steal their stuff?

"Tell Xisuma I said hi," Zedaph warbles from the bed in the corner of the room, out of any window's line of sight.

As Etho presses a button which removes a panel of the wall in a whir of piston noises, Puffy snorts out a little laugh. "I'll be sure to do that."

Tango nods subtly to Impulse. If Puffy brought Zedaph back to the canyon, saved him from a painful respawn, and didn't once ask for anything in return, then the Hermits can trust her at least this much.

Etho leads Puffy through a short hallway into a large circular room with a domed ceiling. The room is mostly quartz, though the walls are lined with sea lanterns and oak leaves. It’s beautiful. This place has been hiding under her feet this whole time?

“This is the Atrium,” Etho says, “or at least the main one. Come on, getting a mule will be more trouble than it’s worth if you’re not carrying anything.”

Puffy is speechless, utterly and profoundly, when Etho takes her through a tunnel on the opposite side of where she entered. It almost looks as though the tunnel here was carved by hand, then completely redone in dirt and grass and vines to give it a secretive, high fantasy look.

“Hey, Etho!” says a dark-haired man with a big smile as he comes trotting out of a branching hallway to the left. “Hey--” He catches sight of Puffy and his smile dissipates into panic. He shouts incoherently and dives back into the hallway he just exited.

“Hey Bdubs,” Etho greets impishly, then turns to Puffy. “Man, it’s like he saw a ghost or something. Maybe Mothman.”

Puffy bleats out a surprised laugh. Up ahead, she spots another Hermit lurking around the corner of the archway Etho is leading her toward.

“Etho,” says a tall blonde woman. “Cleo wants to talk to you about, er...” The blonde woman glances at Puffy. “Her thing,” she finishes lamely.

“Well, as you can see, I’m a bit busy at the moment. Would you mind telling Cleo so she doesn’t skin me alive?” Etho says sweetly.

The blonde woman snorts. “Face the music, Mothman. I’ll take care of Puffy from here. I assume you’re taking her to Xisuma?”

Etho wilts. Clearly, whoever this Cleo person is, she’s not someone to piss off. Puffy wonders what Etho did.

“See ya around,” Etho waves, somehow both cheery and morose at the same time, like a funeral for someone nobody liked. Puffy and the blonde woman watch him go.

“My name’s False, by the way,” the blonde woman says. “Thanks for the bandanna. Normally I’d be wearing it, but I just got back from beating up Iskall.”

The woman-- False-- laughs. Puffy is once again taken aback by the idea that the Hermits actually use the items that she makes for them. 

False takes off in a brisk walk toward the archway she’d come out of. Jumping a little bit at being torn from her thoughts, Puffy hurries to follow. It’s hard to keep up, since all Puffy wants to do is stare. She must be in the living quarters-- they let her in the living quarters?! Each door matches the high fantasy, underground sort of aesthetic, but a few doors are left open and each one is remarkably different on the inside. One room is built entirely out of red and white concrete, whereas another is Nether-themed with actual fire, and the room down the hall is entirely underwater!

One door is different. It’s got blue-purple banners along the frame, and when False opens the door for Puffy, she can see that the room is made of blackstone bricks. Maps of the Dream SMP line the wall, and in the center of the room there is a mildly ornate table made of warped wood.

At the end of the table in the back of the room, opposite the door, sits a trio. To the left, there is a plain-looking man with a beard and an “at” symbol on his shirt. He speaks in a Southern accent to a man on the right side of the table, who wears a red sweater and twirls a feather between his fingers like the cat that got the canary.

In between the two, at the head of the table, rests someone very unique. He’s obviously tall, that much is obvious even when he’s sitting down. He’s also got mesmerizing purple eyes which glow faintly against the dark of the blackstone. Puffy doesn’t know why, but she gets the feeling that they’re supposed to be glowing much brighter.

As taken by the man’s eyes as she is, Puffy doesn’t notice the non-invasive breathing tube the man also has (a cannula? She doesn’t know what it’s called, but that sounds right) until the man’s gaze falls upon her, still standing in the doorway next to False.

“Oh,” the man says. “You’re not supposed to be here. Welcome.”

False steps forward, breaking Puffy from her trance. “Puffy, this is Xisuma, Joe, and Grian. I’d introduce you to them as well, but... you know.”

“I don’t know-- oh,” Puffy says awkwardly, catching sight of the massive crochet blanket she’d made for the Hermit months ago, draped across Xisuma’s shoulders.

“Why are you here?” Grian asks with a tilted head. “No offense or anything, but I just lost a bet. I had three diamonds on Cub bringing you in here eventually-- he’s the one you usually meet at the barrel, you know.”

False interjects, “I didn’t bring her down here, it was Etho!”

“Shoot,” Joe says. “Cleo wins yet again.”

“It was Zedaph, actually,” Puffy says. All eyes turn to her. “I found him on the surface. He was really injured, so I brought him back here. Impulse and-- Tango? Yeah, Tango-- told Etho to take me down here.”

Puffy uncharacteristically twiddles her fingers a little bit, feeling in over her head. “Uh, you know I’m not gonna tell or anything, so... Why am I here?”

The full weight of Xisuma’s piercing stare falls upon her. Even as fragile as he looks, even as strong as Puffy is, she feels a jolt of apprehension.

“You’d know more about the red vines than we do,” he begins. “Etho mentioned that they’re what hurt Zedaph; he’s mentioned them on multiple occasions, and never in a good way. How long do you think it would take for those vines to reach our village, and what do you think would happen once they do?”

“As far as we’re aware, there are several players who are proponents of the vines, and claim they originate from some sort of egg?” Joe adds. “I’ve had a hard time calculating how big of a mushroom we’d need to make an omelet out of the egg, but apparently most of my fellow Hermits do not in fact want evil eggs on their omelets.”

“And how come the End is inaccessible?” Grian cuts in with a whine. “I want my elytra.”

Xisuma huffs a laugh into the cannula. “As you can see, we have many questions which only a native Dream SMP player like yourself can answer. In the interest of keeping ourselves safe--” he trails off into a coughing fit.

Puffy bites her lip, feeling as though she really shouldn’t be seeing this. Joe rests his hand on Xisuma’s back.

“You give us answers, and we’ll give you diamonds, netherite, whatever you want. And when we move out-- well, it wasn’t much of a secret anyway-- we’ll offer you a safe place with us,” Grian speaks up on Xisuma’s behalf.

A thousand thoughts spin inside Puffy’s head. She feels like Dorothy in that tornado, and Grian’s offer is the Wicked Witch. “Did you guys really save Tommy’s life?” she finds herself asking.

The Hermits seem taken aback.

“The blond kid?” False asks. “Yeah, but he was unconscious the whole time. I think Scar told the kid to keep us a secret, but... I don’t think any of us expected that to actually work.”

Puffy laughs disbelievingly. “He’s the one person on the entire server who keeps insisting that you guys aren’t real.”

“That’s good to hear,” Xisuma says quietly. “Do you have an answer for us, or would you like some time to consider?”

There are a thousand and one variables Puffy needs to think about. What is Dream’s stance on the Hermits? Who will she be setting herself against by allying with the Hermits? What will Puffy have to expect, from both underground and surface-dwelling players alike? Which players can she take in a fight?

Fuck it, she thinks. “You’ve got yourselves a deal.”

Xisuma smiles. Despite his ill condition, she gets the feeling that this nice, mild-mannered man is far more dangerous than she could ever hope to be.

“I’m glad to have you on our side, Puffy,” he says. “Thank you for your help.”

[tripleaxelrose]

One-Shot #3: Dare

Original prompt: Honestly I can't find it. But I will post it if I can. Also, I am unskilled at fic content warnings, but this is somewhat dirty and you should probably not read it out loud at your place of employment, for example.

She reaches a hand over. She's laying on the couch. She reaches a hand over and. He's sitting on the floor, back leaning against the couch somewhere in the vicinity of her hand, looking away from her toward the TV, which is not turned on. And. They are both very drunk, it's worth mentioning. One and a half bottles of wine between them and steadily working to complete the second. It's been a terrible day. For most people, this is not very drunk but for the two of them, this is VERY drunk. For him more so than her, even. 

He's a bit slumped, remembering things he doesn't want to remember. Stumbles in competitions, mostly. Each one a twisting ghost. A hand supporting his dizzy forehead, a list of mistakes he has memorized like a looping playlist. 

Her terrible day consists of a verbal battering by her coach. (Well-deserved, she grimly admits, eyes closed.) His is a fight with his mother. Not even a fight. Worse, even. Her recitation of a laundry list of disappointments, all over the phone. All of the disappointments on the list are him. 

In the store on the way home from the rink, they choose the wine by price, him gleefully holding up the bottles for her inspection so she can approve or deny based mostly on the label design. (One has a puppy. And a screw top. The decision is made.) 

Back at her apartment, they pour it into coffee mugs -- his has a bank logo; hers has a birthday cake tilting under the weight of too many candles and a slogan that says "Over the Hill." They toast, sitting on opposite sides of her kitchen table where they have not had dinner.

"Fuck everything about this day," she says with a grin, a note of triumph in her voice.

"Word," he grunts, clinking the edge of his mug with hers, a little too hard. 

They are no experts, surely, but both of them know this is not good wine. They drink anyway. As the sun goes down, she snaps on the hanging light above the table and they rehash the day all over again -- they have already done this in the car -- but their mutual fury feels good. Neither of them has thought to change out of their practice clothes and they smell vaguely of sweat, the bags with their skates in a lumpy pile by the front door.  They affirm each other's outrage. 

She's firing her coach. He's never speaking to his mother -- no, both of his parents; no, his entire family -- ever again. She's going to coach herself. If you can represent yourself in court, she reasons. He's blocking all their numbers. He's moving so far away from all of them, he says, waving his hands. Germany. He's moving to Germany. 

"Germany?" She squints at him across the table, takes another gulp.

"I don't know," he says, impatient. "Somewhere extremely far away." 

They make plans that they will never execute, say things they do not mean. By morning, it will all be forgotten, and coach will yell at her again and his mother will call him and upset the equilibrium of his day, forgetting that he is harder on himself than she will ever be. But sitting at the table, they are wholly supportive of each other's total, self-immolating, theoretical rebellion. 

By the time she opens the second bottle, really putting her elbow into it, they have migrated to the living room with the intention of watching a movie, but they never put it on. She half-heartedly suggests Mrs. Doubtfire and he goes on for a solid five minutes about how this movie is destructive and evil and how people should just be able to get divorced. There is more hand waving.

Their despair burns itself out. 

"I kind of want to just live on a farm," she says, cross-legged on the floor, the mug propped between her heels.

"Do you even know how to run a farm?"

"I could figure it out," she says with a too-confident nod. "It can't be that hard."

"Mm," he says. 

"What?"

"Nothing, I'm just saying." 

"You think I couldn't run a farm," she says, leaning in closer to him, eyes narrowing, accusatory. "Just say it." 

"I think you should probably keep working on your triple lutz," he says, trying hard to be serious and failing, dissolving into laughter. 

She loses it. A screech the likes of which he has never heard from her before. 

An instant later, she has him pinned against the floor by his shoulders, but not before she carefully moves her mug to avoid spilling it. (Years later, he will think of this moment -- while  on the subway; while in the middle of surgery, his hands hovering over a sedated patient; while watching her very seriously try to discipline a frowning, curly-haired three-year-old who has just drawn a picture of a bear on the kitchen wall -- and he will start laughing all over again.) 

She lowers her face so that she is mere inches from his nose and says, dead serious, almost whispering, "I would be such a good farmer." 

He cannot stop laughing. This makes her furious. She leaves the room in a huff, stalking away from him with a slightly crooked hitch in her step that makes him laugh even harder. 

"You are a horrible person!" she shouts without looking back at him. She slams the bathroom door behind her.

"I know," he groans, closing his eyes, sitting up. "My mother agrees." 

When she emerges back into the room, she leans against the door frame, folds her arms. She's still in her practice clothes but she's taken off her jacket. She's been wearing this outfit all day. A peachy tank top over a sports bra. Dark leggings. A version of what she always wears at the rink. It should not feel somehow different to him. She's barefoot, her toenails painted a pearly pink. 

He feels himself grinning, the heat creeping up his face. He stares at the beige rug.

She points at him. 

"You. Truth or dare." 

"Oh god," he sighs, covering his face with his hands. "Can we not?"

"Oh," she says, stepping across the room and picking up his mug up off the floor. "We can."  

She refills it nearly to the brim, hands it back to him with a smile. 

He takes a breath. "Truth." 

She does not hesitate. "What did you think of me when you first met me?"

"I thought you were crazy," he says. 

At first, he thinks she's going to sit beside him on the floor but instead, she situates herself on the couch, leaving him in his spot on the floor. 

"OK, Why?" 

"I don't think you get additional questions in Truth or Dare."

"Come on," she says with a dismissive gesture. She refills her own mug, carefully placing the mostly empty bottle on a side table. 

"You never shut up," he says. "Like, for a second. And I just didn't like talking to anyone and I was so afraid you'd say something to me and I wouldn't know what to say back." 

"But see, look what happened," she says. "You were fine. You always knew what to say."

"Yes," he nods. "After knowing you for like… three years. It was fine." 

There is a moment of quiet between them. He senses her preparing to say something, but then she shakes her head. 

"Ok, my turn. Dare."

He thinks of a list of things that, even in his current state, his head fuzzy, he cannot bring himself to say out loud. She makes a face and he imagines her around the time they met, at middle school sleepovers, the ringleader of games like this. 

"I dare you to order Coach a pizza."

"That's the worst dare I have ever heard of," she says, exasperated.

"No, think about it. It's kind of funny." 

"It's not funny at all. We would need to pay for the pizza, first of all, and then Coach would get a pizza. If you want to order a pizza, we should just get ourselves a pizza." 

"That's not a dare. That's just dinner," he says.  

"That is almost exactly, yet also not quite my point," she says. 

She shifts her legs around, lays down on the couch, stretching out with a yawn. She lays a dramatic arm across her forehead. She is disciplined, she repeats to herself. She is. No matter what Coach says.

Once she settles, he scoots over to the couch, turns around, leans back against it, still sitting on the floor. When he leans his head back, it's touching the side of her leg. She doesn't move away. Doesn't move, period. 

"You owe me a dare," she says, testy. 

He takes another sip, his heart clattering so loudly that he wonders if she can hear it. 

 * 

He's leaning against her leg. It registers and it doesn't quite register. Partly because she likes it -- she definitely likes it. This is different, she thinks. This is not a thing we have done before. But also she is drunk and not quite grasping the details of their conversation. She likes this, too. The sense that they are haphazardly careening toward something inevitable. She knows exactly what it is, even her in state, but she gives it a minute. Feels herself breathe. The back of his head against her leg, though, is... interesting. She waits, wondering when he’ll move. 

"You owe me a dare." 

When he doesn’t answer, she reaches toward him and sinks a hand in his hair -- his ridiculous hair. Hair women would murder for – those dense, perfectly defined, glossy curls. Even without looking, she finds the tendril that always falls over his forehead, winds it gently around her index finger.

Something in her relaxes when she hears him laugh.

"What are you doing?"

"Daring myself to play with your hair because you have no good dares." 

"I have so many good dares," he says thickly, "I'm just thinking of them, that's all." 

"I don't think Truth or Dare is the kind of game that really benefits from a lot of thinking. It's not like... that game with the people. And the crimes." 

"Miss Scarlet..." he says, a bit dreamy, to no one in particular, as she runs her fingernails gently against his scalp.  

"In the TV room..." 

"With the half-empty wine bottle," he finishes. 

She grabs a handful of his hair and gives it a tug. "Come on," she says. "Give me real dare." 

“If I give you a real dare, you won’t do it.” 

“I will do it. This is the point of this game. I always do dares.”

“What if I dared you to like… run out into oncoming traffic, though?”

“You are terrible at this game.” 

“I’m being serious. I’m just trying to understand the parameters,” he says. All the while, he does not stop her from touching his hair.  

“I would like to remind you that you’re the worst. But also, the rule is, if you don’t do a dare, you have to do Seven Minutes in Heaven.” 

“Oh, that’s the thing with the closet.” 

“The thing with the closet, Nathan, yes.” 

“OK,” he says, and she can almost hear the gears turning in his brain, the wine making them spin infinitely more slowly than usual. She likes this, too. She can almost keep up with him in this state. 

“So if you won’t do the dare, then the Seven Minutes thing.” 

“That’s the rule, yes,” she says. And she knows what’s coming, suddenly feels jittery, a little shy. But she knows. She wonders idly if he will actually do it. Then he does.

“OK. I dare you to take that empty bottle of wine and smash it as hard as you can over my head.” 

She tumbles off the couch, howling with laughter, a tangle of arms and legs. He startles, starts to scuttle out of her way, but she stops him, grips him by the shoulders of his sweatshirt, presses him back against the couch. 

"Nathan," she says. She is breathless with laughter and with something else. “I am absolutely not going to murder you in my living room with a wine bottle. And you’re kind of cheating, but… I’ll ignore it. Just this once.”

"OK, well then. Six minutes in the closet or whatever," he says. He's smiling but she can sense his hesitation. 

"SEVEN!" She shouts it without meaning to. She likes him like this, a little unfooted. It moves over her all at once, the telltale ache in her wrists, in the tips of her fingers, and an instant later, between her legs. She wants him to touch her. She fights hard for her sensible self, bites her lip as though it will quell the tingling. “And we’re not going in my closet because it’s full of stuff. And also because we’re adults.” 

She watches his eyebrows go up, a crooked smile perk up one side of his mouth. His voice is low, an edge on it she has not heard before. “OK, so where are we going to go? And how do… adults… play this game?”

She stands up. It takes every fiber of her willpower to do it, to release her grip on the soft fabric of his shirt, her awareness of his warm skin underneath it. As she makes it to her feet, she gives the curl on his forehead one last tweak, brushing at it with the back of her hand. She turns her back on him and crosses the room, hits the light switch on the wall, plunging them both into darkness. 

The light is still on in the kitchen. It gives them shadow and outlines. 

“There,” she says. “Close enough.” 

It happens all in one motion because she is bored and impatient with waiting. They could go on, she knows. Could talk for the rest of the night, because they can always talk. Keep the conversation going because they are both nervous, because they don’t know what will happen next if they do this thing. This thing that they have been working so hard not to do. But the wine has left her flush and loose limbed and less worried about what will happen, what they will say to each other, tomorrow. How they will travel to the rink together. How their bodies will feel.

He does not so much as gasp when she leans over, presses a hand against his shoulder, and straddles his thighs in the dark, sinking onto his lap. It is more like a sharp intake of breath, not so much surprised but relieved and frenzied all at once. She does not take time to adjust or get comfortable, to notice the feverish state of him, quivering in his skin and hard against her thigh, before she presses her mouth against his. 

He groans into her mouth and she draws back, hears nothing but the blood pounding in her ears, their panting breath in the dark.

“I dare you to…” 

“Shut up,” he whispers against her lips, finding the bottom hem of her tank top and yanking it in one motion over her head. 

She doesn’t even bother waiting for him to figure out her sports bra. (He never will, she figures. And she’s not that patient.) With a wriggle, she is out of it in an instant. When he presses his palms against her and they are warm, more assured than she would have expected, his fingertips finding her nipples, wandering to the soft spot behind her ear, the nape of her neck. 

When he angles one hand against her belly and glides it downward, under the waistband of her leggings, she pulls away.

“Hold on,” she breathes. “Hold on, this is… not fair.” 

“What?” Concern gathering in his eyes, a wrinkle across his brow. 

“Why do you still have all your clothes on?”

He laughs, placing a soft kiss against her cheek. She feels his warm breath. “I think that’s your fault, slacker.”

“Slacke..!” 

He silences her with another kiss, breaking it only when she peels off his sweatshirt, the tshirt under it, all at once. She is not surprised, really, has always known about the hard muscle that she finds there. But careful examination, this is not something she has ever let herself think about in too much detail. She lets herself more than think about it now, her lips skimming along the soft skin of his shoulder as his hands stroke long lines up her spine. 

When she tugs at the drawstring on his sweatpants, her mouth anchored to the base of his neck, it’s his turn to stop her. 

“We should… hey… Oh god…” 

“Mmm?” she says, attempting to nudge his sweatpants off his hips.

“Are we…” 

She straightens up, places a hand on his cheek. Gazes into his eyes. 

“Yes, I think we are,” she says. 

“Listen,” he says, and she can feel his mounting panic. “I don’t have…” 

She reaches out to clasp his hand, hopes he can see her. Actually see her. 

“It’s fine,” she says. “I have some.” 

“You do?” He is calling to her as she leaves the room now, all of the warmth between them dissipating in an instant. He feels bereft, a little embarrassed. She feels bold, rummaging through a drawer in her bathroom. She is prepared for this. She is prepared for this with him, even. 

She tosses the condom onto his lap when she returns, her leggings having been discarded hastily in the hallway. “You’ll have to put it on yourself this time,” she says, “But next time I can maybe provide assistance. If you want.” 

“We’ll see if I need assistance,” he says, and she can feel his smile more than she can see it. 

They transition to the couch faster than she expects, the two of them kicking off the last shreds of their clothing. He positions himself over her and when he touches her between her legs, finally, she knows what he will find – that she is wet, ready for him. That she has been for hours. Years? Her breath catches. 

He leans his forehead against her as he presses inside her – as she loops her legs around the small of his back, pressing him closer, closer. Closer. As he whispers her name in the dark. He slides a hand between them, strokes her as he moves, and when he feels her tense, gasp, reach up for him, he kisses her. Hard. He follows almost instantly, groaning against her open mouth, and for a moment, they are relieved for the dark, clutching each other in the silence. 

When she wakes, before the sun rises. Before him. Him knotted around her, still half on top of her. She thinks they should get into her bed. That they should attempt to get dressed. Put themselves back together. But it’s too early. Her head pounds. 

She unwinds herself from his limbs, careful not to wake him, pads across the floor to grab a blanket. When she drops it over the both of them, he shifts in his sleep, drawing her closer. Maybe he realizes. Maybe he doesn’t. She hopes he does. 

She presses her cheek against his chest, feels his heartbeat, wondering who they will both be when his eyes open.

[aquarii-txt]

Prosthesis Repair — ffxiv

He should have asked permission a long while ago, but the option is simply out of the question. The man lays prone on a spare cot, all but dead to the world—Oh, Menphina, cast him down for those poor choice of words—and the state of the prosthesis wasn’t one he could let be. So it was a decision he made with apologies already forming on his lips ready to spill from his mouth the moment the other’s eyes opened. It took roughly half a bell to figure and sort how to detach the prosthetic arm.

The intricacies of its workings were a touch out of his scope, but he had no plans of polishing it to a shine; the elbow joint had locked up, and the smallest and ring fingers bent unnaturally. Minor fixes, get the piece moving again just enough until Keiteaux can get someone more suited for this work to look at it.

As expected, it’s a hefty piece, and the last of the wires and attachments come undone with a surprisingly delicate click. Ruhvi’a hovers over the arm, hands still holding the prosthesis up close to its harness and takes a mental note of how each little detail aligns with itself. A furrow weighs his brow and those gold eyes don’t turn away until he’s sure he could put it back. He pushes himself to stand from the bed and hefts the piece up with him.

Theoretically, it shouldn’t pose too difficult to get the piece moving again, to smooth out the dents and realign the joints. Gently he places the arm across the desk, the work space cleared and cleaned. A soft, neatly folded cloth is tucked beneath the elbow joint, another beneath the palm, and Ruhvi’a turns away for just a moment to strike a match and light a candle. The workspace tucked against the other side of the room soaks in a soft warm glow against the dark room, the only other light the gentle moonbeams draping across the hard lines and angles of Keiteaux’s sleeping profile like a veil. Ruhvi’a turns away as his brow furrows deeper.

Carefully, like touching a precious glass figure, he lifts the hand and hunches over the prosthesis, adjusting his glasses just a touch lower down his nose and deliberating over its details. Despite dents and scratches maring its otherwise modestly ornate surface, nothing more strikes him as odd or a potential risk of falling apart or snapping. A part of him thinks Keiteaux got off lucky this time around; another prays. The joints of the hand, both the wrist and fingers not mangled, move with relative ease as Ruhvi’a runs his fingers over its lines, marveling at the craftsmanship. His experience runs a bit more modest—simple limb replacements and harnesses and mounts—but even his unspecialized gaze sees the problems. Oh so delicately, he lets his calloused fingers slip between the gaps of the larger hand until his own can near wrap around the crooked ring finger. An old habit to pause on the count of one, breathe on two, then squeeze and twist the joint back into place as “three,” slips past his lips, giving it that courtesy as though it were living bone. He repeats it all over again for the other finger.

With that last pop, Ruhvi’a pulls back on the digits, carefully watching the mechanisms for any fault or damage. The fingers move as easily as he assumed they could and deins it well enough. He reaches for a small jar set off just to the side and twists the cork off. The smell of the oil is strong and a sharp contrast to the gentle scent of the chamomile and other herbs he so typically has drying over his windows and over some banisters. A glass dropper taps against the rim of the jar as he dips it in, then dabs the tip to each joint it can reach. It's meticulous and slow-paced work, not wanting to ruin the prosthesis’ finish.

When he does about all he can do, he sighs and sits back as he gently rests the hand back down. Absently he rubs the cloth over its surface. His hands still. He suspects a few different sorts of reactions and possibilities to Keiteaux waking with the missing limb. Ruhvi’a rubs at his face, slips his glasses from his nose to rub even harder at his tired and sore eyes, and gets his answers ready for the inevitable. He reaches out and rests his hand overtop the prosthetic one, then gives it a gentle pat with a heavy heart as he stands from his desk, wiping his hands clean with the cloth.

The bandages at Keiteaux’s ribs should need replacing about now, and he should clean the rest of him while he still has the energy to stand. He presses the beads at his wrist to his mouth only a moment before he’s right back to work.

[lstories]

Emma and Gaudi(um)

I do plan on writing a prequel or two but for now, I still got school, life, and other projects that have been coming out of nowhere.

(Safe, soft, vore, unintentional fearplay)

Wordcount: 2572

Olivia was over the moon with happyness and she could barely contain it to keep herself from passing out. "We were just wrapping presents and Felix couldn't figure out how to keep his presents wrapped. Eventually, I decided that I should start taking the presents out to the car and when I came back in he gave me a present to unwrap. He had wrapped up and framed the acceptance letter for the college I applied for!"

"That's amazing, Olivia! I'm so glad you'll get to do this. What will you be doing though?" Emma was deffenetly happy for her friend. They haven't had much time to catch up due to their new lives they built for themselves and each other.

"Well, I plan on going into theoretical sciences but I don't know exactly which study I should focus on. But to do any of that..."

Emma could see the sadness corrupting her friends happiness. She knew what was making Olivia sad and she didnt want say it either.

"You'll have to move out of the states."

Olivia's face shifted in guilt and she stared back down at her nearly empty drink. The silly straw hanging over the side got her to smile just a bit as she watched the bubbles move back down.

"I don't want to leave, but this is exactly what I've wanted for a few years now." She had built her whole life here and now she had to choose which way she went in her new one. It started to hurt her as much as the first time she had to leave somebody she had grown to call family.

"Well your not leaving for the rest of your life right? Once you're done with collage, I'll be the first to welcome you home." Emma knew Olivia was scared, she was too, but she couldn't let her friend feel any worse.

"I also don't want to quit your company." They had made their program when they worked out of Emma's garage. Eventually they just kept branching out into new businesses and it kept working.

"Who said anything about quitting? You helped me build this company so your just as much a part of it as I am." She held onto Olivia's shoulder to reassure her. Olivia smiled and took the last sip of her drink. "We have business over there too and I'll make sure you can get a good paying job that won't hinder your college education, ok?"

Olivia looked back down at her drink, she didn't want to have everything made for her but, she also knew how persistent Emma could be. "That'll be great, thanks, Emma." She just smiled back at Olivia. "Well, sorry this was short but, it was good catching up one last time. Felix and I should get the last of the boxes packed."

"Maybe when you get back, you, Felix, Gaudi, and I could go on a double date?" Emma had never met Felix in person but she had heard him when she was talking with Olivia.

"Ya, maybe." Olivia knew Emma or Gaudi could never meet Felix, they wouldn't understand, but it is nice to dream about. "See you soon, Emma. You too Gaudi."

Emma gave a light wave goodbye while she fought against the frown forming over her smile. She didn't want her friend to leave, but as the carved wood and glass doors closed, it finally set in that she might not see Olivia for possibly a couple of years. Emma could feel her eyes start to sting and her muscles forced themselves into a frown. The bottem half of her vision was going blurry and she couldn't stop a choked sob that escaped her throat.

"Hey, are you ok? Is there anything I could get for you?" Gaudi couldn't help but be a bit protective of Emma. Sadness radiated off her and he wanted to fix that.

"No, maybe? I don't know. I just- I don't want to lose Olivia." she couldn't help but bury her head into her arms and let out another choked back sob.

Gaudi walked out from behind the counter carrying an almost finished drink he'd prepared. "Heyyy, this isn't going to be the last time you see her, you even said it yourself. Plus, you said you were going to hire her into one of the diffrent chains, maybe you could personally check if the store's up to code whenever you want to see her." He had sat down in the stool next to Emma and began to finish the last of the drink. "Maybe try to keep some memories fresh, like... how did you two meet?" Gaudi didnt know much, if not anything about Olivia.

Emma looked back to him and raised her body to talk in an almost professional way. "Well... we were..... I was working on........." Emma couldn't remember how they meet. The only memory of Olivia she had besides the past year or two was just a still image of her and Olivia working on a black screen. "Uhh... could we talk about this some other time?"

Gaudi's face shifted in disappointment. He had wanted to know something about Olivia but there wasn't much to know. "Of course." He had the finished drink ready and made a big show of putting it down in front of Emma.

Emma couldn't help but let out a small laugh as Gaudi took the time to pick out the perfect coaster and bow in his stool as he set the drink down before hopping slightly away. Gaudi always knew how to make her smile. "Umm... could I ask you for a weird favor?"

"Of course. What do you need me to do." Gaudi stood up and dragged his chair back to the counter before sitting back down next to Emma.

"R-right... uhh, could..... do you remember when you first showed me you were a dragon?" She knew what she wanted to ask but she couldn't find the right words.

Gaudi was a bit taken aback, leaving silence to hang in the air for a few seconds. He was a bit confused and the echo in the back of his voice confirmed it. "Of course, but I thought you said you never wanted to talk about it again." Emma could barely get over it but she eventually began to see him as a friend again, but she had said that nightmares haunted her every night.

"Well, ya. I didn't want to remember it, but you're still the same person when you're a dragon so you- I know you won't hurt me." She had to close her eyes while talking, Gaudis dragon form looked like it was just forming in the air behind him.

"Are you sure you-"

"Yes! Just do it before I change my mind."

"Alright, as long as you promise this will make you feel better."

...

"Yes, I promise."

Gaudi didn't want to scare her and have a repeat of what happend the fist time, but if this is what she wanted, he would help. He walked into the a more open part of the house. His skin began to shift as his scales repeatedly flipped over, replacing his skin bit by bit. The air around him started to dance as his wings began to appear out of nowhere. His size steadily increased as his dragon form took over.

Emma, braced herself to keep her from screaming or running away, but... nothing. She wasn't scared of Gaudi. He was still a dragon, but not like she remembered. There wasn't any curling horns or bared teeth, the small grove of spikes along his back seemed dulled down and otherwise harmless. He had soft paws rather than the huge claws she rememberd. His eyes were bigger and not focused on her than the glaring she thought she rememberd. They almost seemed sad, maybe worried. "Oh, Gaudi, are you ok?"

"I thought that's what I was supposed to ask you." He couldn't help but smile as she talked to him like normal. He didn't want Emma to think he was a monster again. He had built up so much trust over the past few months and he was scared that it would be thrown away in an instant. "Is there anything you need me to do before I change back?" It felt nice to be in his dragon form but he wanted to change back as soon as possible. The longer he was a dragon, the higher the chance he might scare Emma.

Emma stared for a while. She wanted to ask for the very thing that was giving her nightmares. She looked back down at her drink while beginning to take a sip. She stopped when she saw the runes on the lid. She set the drink back on the coaster, she didnt want to be awake for too long. The words swirled in her head as she stood up. "Uhhh... c-could you..... there.... I-I just n-need you to......" everything was telling her to stop as tears started to from in her eyes. She couldn't find the words to tell him. Her mind was yelling at her to just go to bed for a week and forget this happend! Everything was getting so loud! "I JUST NEED YOU TO EAT ME!" Her eyes went wide as tears finally started to stream down her face as she fell to her knees.

Gaudi flinched backwards as Emma yelled at him, he didn't know she could be so loud. But the question caught him more off guard. "...what?"

Emma, was balling into her hands at this point. Had she believed that he was just going to eat her the second she said that? "P-p-please, I j-just need you to... e-eat me."

Gaudi felt like he was going to cry. Had he messed up? What prompted her to want to be eaten? "W-why?"

Emma didnt want to tell him. "I-it..." She had said, time and time again that she would never tell anyone! "I j-just wanna...." She might as well tell him to get out beacuse he would never forgive her! "S-s-so warm....." Why did she insist that this was a good idea! "It w-was so......" He's just going to leave! "I WANT TO SLEEP!"

Gaudi laid down onto his stomach as a million questions flooded his brain, but there was one that stood out. "How would me... eating you, help you sleep?"

Emma didnt want to tell him. Everything was going wrong and she just wanted a hug from Gaudi. "E-everyone says face your fears, a-and being i-in there somehow h-helped me feel better."

Gaudi wanted to give Emma a hug, she looked so sad and scared it was hurting him. How long had she felt like this? Was it normal for humans to do this? One of his siblings would be better prepared for this. "I... I don't want to-"

"Gaudi please, I get three hours of sleep a night and it's always a nightmare. I don't want to be scared anymore."

Gaudi stared at her for a second, it hurt him to see her this scared of him again. He reached out one of his paws, bringing her closer and nuzzling her with the side of his head. "I don't want to hurt you." Gaudi nearly fell over when he felt Emma's arms wrap around his neck.

"I know you never will."

Gaudi wanted to melt. How did she trust him enough to ask to be eaten. "I... (sigh) Only if you promise that this will make you feel better."

...

"It will."

Gaudi reluctantly let go of Emma after a minute. She walked in front of him as he stood up. "So, what should I do."

Emma looked at him, she was still scared but Gaudi could cheer her up, he always had. "Um. Could you just... bring your head down?"

Gaudi had to close his eyes as be brought his jaws down over Emma, he didnt like knowing that he was eating his only friend. As Emma's cheek hit his tounge, he could taste the same milky chocolate he was regrettably craving. He could feel Emma shaking and he wanted to reassure her that she was ok, but he knew if he lifted his head he wouldn't be able to help Emma. He brought his head down a bit more, bringing Emma up to her waist as he continued to cover her with saliva. He lifted his head up, bringing Emma with it and giving him confirmation that she was scared. She was deffenetly fighting every urge to struggle. Gaudi was nearly on the verge of tears again, he didnt want Emma to be scared. He couldn't help but think this was the wrong decision. Emma began to slide down his throat and he couldn't help but purr at the feeling of something heavy moving towards his stomach. He gave one last swallow, sending Emma completely to his stomach. The weight settling in his middle started to make him drowsy as he felt Emma stop struggling.

"Are you ok?"Emma needed to be ok, if he let himself go threw with this and she wasn't ok he would never forgive himself.

"I'm... ya, I'm fine. Thanks." Emma wasn't able to let herself feel last time she was eaten, and it surprisingly felt wonderful. Everything was so soft and she had a bit more room than she initially thought she would.

"You seem to be a lot calmer."

"Ya, thank you, it's a lot nicer than I remember, but may I also try to sleep?"

"Sure, I (yawn) also need to take a nap."

"Hey! You're only supposed to sleep after eating from a Thanksgiving meal!" She lightly punched the top of the stomach for emphasis.

Gaudi couldn't help but purr at the feeling of something moving in his stomach. "Ya, you're right. You're not Thanksgiving dinner sized. Not human dinner sized at least.

Emma scoffed at his remark and began to flail wildly with a grin on her face. He really could make her smile at nearly any situation. "When I get out I'm going to hunt you down."

Gaudi nearly collapsed as Emma moved around. Instead of the firm punching and kicking, it was instead a weird form of rubbing. He barely caught himself on the counter. The gentle cracking from the expensive stone had him make sure to stay away from it. "Cant you already see me?"

Emma hadn't realized it but she didnt have her eyes open. It was a sight when she did open them. The slick walls shown with small streaks of a bright pink bioluminescent flesh. It was pretty amazing. "It... thanks (yawn) Gaudi."

Gaudi couldn't help but let out his own yawn. It was contagious. "Goodnight."

He was tempted to lie on the floor and sleep there but he had enough energy to walk to his room and luckily Emma installed large doors so he could walk around the house to stretch out his wings when she wasn't home. The four large king sized beds were enough for Gaudi to sleep comfortably on without hurting his wings. He flopped onto his side and began to lay a hand over his gut. Emma's balled up form underneath his scales made him happy, knowing that Emma was safe with him. It's a good thing he was scared over nothing, maybe they could do this again without being so scared.

[yannowhatigiveup]

A Blinded Kiss

I haven’t posted anything recently so I dug around in my WIPs to see if anything was even worth posting and I found this that I made a while ago. It certainly isn’t the best but it isn’t the worst out of all my other WIPs.

"Is this really necessary?" The bluenette asked, eyeing a blindfold given by her brotherly figure.

"Of course it is Pixie!" An older man with two-toned hair replied, way too over enthusiastic about the whole situation. "It's a great way to find your way around the manor”

"And it's a great family bonding experience too!" Another man in the room replied, even more enthusiastic than the first.

"Fine, I'll do it Jay" the blue-eyed girl huffed, twirling the blindfold between her fingers. "What are the rules again, Dick?"

Dick beamed at the girl before answering. "Well Mari, it's simple. Put the blindfold on, count to fifty, spin around and try to steal a hug from anyone in the manor"

"So I have to walk around the manor blindfolded and try to sneak up on you? You know that's impossible!" Marinette exclaimed, she would not go around the house looking like a touch-starved fool.

"That's exactly why we're doing it" Jason replied, shrugging his shoulders. "It'll last a long time."

After a few seconds, the blue-eyed girl sighed, giving in to both Jason and Dick. "Fine, if that's what makes you happy" Marinette wrapped the matte-black fabric tightly around her eyes, already struggling within the first few seconds. She began counting and she heard the two scuffling away, smiling while being able to tell which direction they went in. In the mean time, Marinette debated her options.

'Both Jason and Dick would be the ideal choices but they'll be able to hear me from a mile away. Tim would be the most logical one since he's half asleep, but where does he even go in this maze? God knows where Alfred is, Mr Wayne is scary. Damian-' She paused her train of thoughts, granted Marinette had only met him a few days ago but that didn't stop the crush she had heavily try to cease. 'He'd probably hear me from a mile away as well. This game is so unfair'

Soon enough, Marinette reached fifty and spun herself around, she used a bit too much force than needed so now not only was she blinded but she lost her sense of direction. Giving herself a minute to recover, the bluenette began to walk. Using her improved senses, thanks to the miraculous, Mari was slowly able to create a theoretical map in her mind, though it did take much more energy than she desired.

"Fighting an akuma is easier than this" The bluenette muttered as she hit her thigh along the corner of a wall.

Even though she was using her enhanced abilities, she'd pump into a corner or a wall every now and again, the amount of times increased when her energy was being used. After wondering a hall for what seemed like hours, the bluenette came to a staircase, one that she ever so carefully used to get to a higher floor. Once she did, she kept a hand on one of the walls, using it as a guide. Soon enough, her hand came to what felt like a doorframe. The door was closed she could tell but it was recent used due to the fact that the doorknob was warm. Making sure not to intrude, she knocked on said door, she almost missed the muffled 'come in' had she not been paying attention. Marinette opened the door, went in and quickly shut it behind her, taking a deep breath.

"Okay I hope you don't mind but which room is this and whose in the room? Dick and Jason thought it would be a good idea to walk around the manor blindfolded while trying to sneak up on them" The bluenette huffed, only to freeze when she heard a familiar chuckle.

"I've heard, you're in my room, It's Damian just to clarify" 'Sh-' "So, what task must be fulfilled to give you permission to take the blindfold off? I doubt you want to keep it on any longer" Marinette giggled.

"You're right, I would probably get lost of I continue. Um, I have to 'steal a hug' apparently"

"So you have to hug someone without them inspecting it" Damian came to that conclusion to which the bluenette nodded her head.

"Yeah that's basically it, hey do you have anywhere I could sit down? I'm getting tired..."

"Of course, my bed is five steps to your front and two steps to your right, make yourself comfortable" She wasn't sure how red she had gotten but she obliged anyway. Had she not been wearing the blindfold, she would've seen Damian smiling at her flustered state. Giving herself a moment to regain her energy, Marinette turned to where she presumed Damian was working at his desk. "Can I hug you? Jay never said I couldn't ask the person first. I-I won't if you don't want me to! I just wanted to ask so..."

She heard the boy thoughtfully hum before he made his way over to her. From what she could tell, Damian was now in front of Marinette, looming over her.

"Did Todd or Grayson say it had to be a hug?" Marinette tilted her head in confusion and thoughtfulness, that had never crossed her mind before.

"W-"

"What happens if I kiss you instead?"

The bluenette didn’t reply with words as she knew how terrible her words would be in her flustered state. But she wanted this, her heart longed for it in a way it never did for anyone else. Instead, she nodded, giving the green-eyed boy permission to do as he wished.

She felt his hand lightly tilt her chin up towards, where she presumed, his face was. Then he pressed his lips onto hers, his other had behind her head, tugging at the fabric around her eyes. Marinette felt bliss, she was glad that no one else would interrupt this moment. Shivers went down her spine as she felt Damian’s hands travel up from behind her neck and to wear the blindfold was knotted, gently tugging at the binding. She was glad that when her face was free from the fabric that comprised her vision, the first thing in her line of eyesight were Damian's deep emerald eyes, the shimmered the same way they had when she first laid eyes on him, she'd been enraptured ever since. The boy, however, was smirking as he noticed the pink that dusted her face. Without a moment passing, she threw herself the green-eyed boy, delivering a hug. As she pulled away, her hands cupped his face and she returned his embrace with one of her own. When she pulled away once more, she smiled in satisfaction at his flustered expression.

"When did you realise you had feelings for me?" Marinette asked softly, her forehead pressed against his trying to regain her breath.

"That's a very easy question" Damian stared lovingly into her eyes. "I fell the moment I saw you take down that Akuma three times your size" Her eyes widened.

"You know about me being Ladybug?"

"The same way you know I'm Robin"

They both smiled, creating a truce to not reveal anything.

"Well I better get going, see you later." She got up from the bed and opened the door, only to turn around and say "Je t'aime mon cœur" before exiting the room, leaving a blushing Damian.

Marinette walked back down the stairs, the piece of cloth in hand and small love-struck smile on her face. When she entered the main living room, she came face to face with the owner of the manor.

"Oh hello Mr Wayne"

"Hello Marinette, I see you managed to get the blindfold off" The older man gestured towards the piece of fabric in her hand. "And please, do call me Bruce. Who did you end up surprising with a hug then?"

She smiled brightly before replying. "Damian"

His usual formal demeanor broke for a moment but Bruce quickly picked the pieces back up. "He didn't attack you or injure you in any shape or form?"

Marinette decided to play the oblivious little girl. "No..? Why, does he do it often?" Her head titled in confusion.

"Nothing it doesn't matter" Bruce simply sighed and shook his head. "Also, there's something I'd like to discuss with you at dinner, if you don't mind"

"No not at all, I'll see you at dinner then?" Bruce nodded and left, leaving Marinette alone in the room, waiting for her honorary older brother and his brother to come in. Which they did but only after some time, it was hilarious to see them crouched down, talking to each other in hushed voices. They flinched as she cleared her throat, both slowly turning towards the sound to find a smug looking Marinette and a blindfold whipped around her finger.

"I win"

~~~

Most of the occupants at the table were either in an all out war or were about to be, except for Marinette and an exasperated Bruce Wayne.

"So Marinette" The eldest Wayne began, silencing the rest of the table. "I hope you don't mind me asking but when you were off searching for Jason, you mentioned attacks that have been occurring in Paris, is this true?"

No one failed to notice the girl flinch. "Yeah it's true"

"...how bad are the attacks? In your opinion"

"Well it depends on how strong the person's emotions are really. If their emotions are strong, then the Akuma is strong too"

"What's the strongest akuma that Paris has seen?" It was Tim who asked and memories of the event began swimming through her mind, she got rid of them with a shake of her head.

"The deadliest akuma Paris has experienced was an akuma called 'Syren'. She's a regular person but, as an akuma, she managed to kill around 2 million people. But don't worry! Ladybug's cure managed to bring them back to life"

"D-did... did you die, Pixie?" Jason asked, his anger mixed with worry was boiling over and luckily simmered after seeing her shake her head.

"Do you think the heroes of Paris would let heroes from the Justice League come over to help?"

Marinette contemplated for a moment, should she really risk the heroes getting akumatized? "I think they would but I wouldn't know"

Bruce nodded while Jason leaned over the table to talk closer to his honorary little-sister. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I didn't want to bother you"

"You're not a bother, Pixie" Jason smiled at the bluenette on the other side of the table. "You never are and you never will be"

~~~

Marinette returned to Paris a few days later, in the mean time, Bruce and the rest of the batfam were planning their visit to the City of Love. Soon enough, the vigilantes were boarded on the plane. Their flight to Paris was relatively silent. After a few hours, they landed and the vigilantes waited on the Eiffel Tower, only to find out there was a battle going on. Before they could engage in the fight, they were engulfed with magical ladybugs that seemed to fix anything destroyed. As they were mesmerized by the cure, a certain spotted-heroine wobbly landed on the platform. Batman was first to notice.

"Ladybug" His voice caused the others to turn around. "Thank you for allowing us into your city"

Ladybug nodded, not uttering a single word.

"We were hoping, with your permission of course, that we could help you be rid of Hawkmoth once and for good" Again, Ladybug didn't reply. "Ladybug?"

When the heroine didn't respond, Batman glanced at Nightwing and the rest of his sons, clearly something was wrong. Unexpectedly, Robin took his glove off, approached the Ladybug-themed hero and placed his hand onto her forehead.

"You have a fever" he stated, his hand trailing down her face to cup her cheek. His family all shot him weird looks. She tiredly blinked at the vigilante, recognising him as Robin and allowed herself to fall into his arms, detransforming while doing so, leaving a burning hot Marinette.

"Dami?" He hummed. "Take me home, please..." She drifted off to sleep, comforted in her lover's arms. He glanced at his family, holding the bluenette close.

"Pixie...is Ladybug?" Red Hood's voice was first.

"You didn't know?" Robin's voice mocking confusion, enraging Red Hood that his youngest brother knew something about his sister that he didn't. Even more so that his demon brother was holding said sister,

"We should take her back home" Dick went over to feel the girl's forehead. "She's burning"

"Tikki?" Robin asked and a red creature flew out from one of Mari's pockets, startling most of the people there.

"I'll try to heal her on the way, follow me"

The floating red creature flew down from the Eiffel Tower, Robin and Marinette close behind. After some hesitation, the others followed, they ended up on top of a bakery. One by one, they entered through the trapdoor on the balcony, finding both Damian with his mask off and a weak looking Marinette. Despite her enfeebled state, the bluenette greeted each vigilante, her gaze landed on Jason.

"It's just a fever, I'll be fine"

Jason removed his helmet and ran a hand through his hair before both settled on his hips. "You don't look fine"

"I promise I am" She wasn't convincing, not at all.

"Fine" Jason huffed, he could never truly say no to the girl he viewed as his little sister. "But since when were you two a thing" He pointed at the two, his gaze resting maliciously on Damian.

"It's all thanks to you, you know" Marinette smirked at Jason's confusion. Tim snickered as he seemed to catch on to what she was saying.

"Had you not organized that 'blindfolded game', I doubt we would be together at this moment" Damian supplied the information, clearly unfazed by the burning rage in the eyes of his older brother.

"Baby Bird's all grown up" The eldest Wayne son overdramatized wiping a fake tear, Batman sighed at his two eldest sons while pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Get your fucking hands off her, Demon Brat!" Jason tried to lunge at Damian, only to be stopped by both Dick and Tim. Though his fury only grew when Marinette snuggled closer to the green-eyed boy, both smirked in victory over Jason's horrified appearance.

Marinette was now part of the family in more ways than one. Though they wish they had found out in better circumstances, they would be able to take down Hawkmoth once and for all, side by side, all together. And to think this all happened because of a silly blindfold game.

[hlizr50]

Labor Day Bonus Update: The Raven and the Songbird

Nothing like a holiday giving me an excuse to post the next chapter early. It's one of my absolute favorites.

Read on AO3

Chapter 5

Gwyn yawned, her entire form stretching and tightening. She knew it wouldn’t go unnoticed by Nesta and Emerie, but she just smiled serenely. She had needed this – time to talk and laugh and enjoy good food with her two closest friends in the world. The fae lights were dim, casting the private library in dusky shadow. Book spines were barely visible on the shelves, but she was content to sit and enjoy the conversation. She sighed before turning her focus to her Valkyrie sisters sitting on the floor, finding Nesta with a skeptical eyebrow raised.

“What?”

The eldest Archeron patted her hand on a tufted woolen floor pillow, green like a spring meadow. “Sit, Gwyneth. We need to talk.” Unease coiled in her stomach, but she slid down from the couch, clutching another throw pillow to her chest.

“What do we need to talk about?” Gwyn’s voice was tinier than she’d intended, and she knew the question was ridiculous as soon as she asked it.

“You’re tired. You’re sad. Nesta knocked you on your ass today,” Emerie answered, concern glowing in her dark gaze.

“That doesn’t mean something is wrong with me,” Gwyn giggled, but she knew her mirth was unconvincing. “You both are skilled fighters. Maybe Nesta has just gotten better than me.”

“I haven’t and you know it.”

Gwyn turned her attention to a very interesting tassel on the pillow she held. She could feel the pressure stinging her eyes and tried so hard to push down the tears that had so quickly threatened. She felt gentle fingers at her chin, pulling her gaze until she met Nesta’s gray stare.

“Gwyn. Talk to us. You are our sister. We love you. We’re worried about you.”

Her sisters. The knowledge that she had Nesta and Emerie had kept her going these past weeks, kept her stubborn heart and eyes from giving up. And now it was that care and comfort that unraveled her. She felt the hot trickle down her cheeks as Nesta’s calloused fingers brushed tendrils of hair away from her face. But she couldn’t say the words. She wasn’t one of those females that needed a male to be happy and thrive. She was a powerful warrior, strong and skilled.

“Is it Azriel, Gwyn?” The voice came from her other side, along with a feather-light brush of fingertips down her back. Emerie. Gwyn blinked and took three steadying breaths, allowing the patience and care from her sisters wash over her. It took a few moments before she felt she could form the words she needed.

“He started avoiding me, after the necklace,” her face cooled when Nesta removed her hands and reached down to grasp one of her own. “I let it go on for a few days, but I missed him. We were friends, and he… he helped me when I couldn’t sleep. Sometimes we would talk, most times we would train. After we found out about the necklace he stopped coming out to the ring at night. He would come to the door, and when he saw I was there he would leave. So I cornered him one day after training. It was all so stupid and I just wanted things to go back to normal.”

“What did you say to him?” Emerie asked, her voice soft as velvet.

“I told him that the necklace was a stupid thing to do, but we all do stupid things. I said that Elain and I had both deserved better, but I knew he would be better. I told him that I missed him, that all was forgiven, and then I asked if things could go back to normal.” Gwyn looked back up to Nesta, then turned to Emerie. “He said we were friends, and that everything would go back to normal.” She took a shuddering breath, earning a squeeze on her hand.

“And then he just… disappeared.”

She felt the burning return to her eyes and her throat, recalling that night in the rain when she had desperately wished he would come to her.

“That’s when you started zoning out at training. And punching the post until you were bruised and bleeding,” the Illyrian female realized.

“I knew it was bad when Cassian made you stop,” Nesta mused.

“Twice,” Gwyn confirmed, tears welling again. “I trained hard during the day, harder at night. The effort and pain helped distract me from the loss of his friendship… and from the nightmares.” She stared down at their interlace hands, noting how the low light made Nesta’s and Emerie’s skin contrast so deeply to hers and letting the tears fall in earnest.

“I thought they were better, Gwyn.” The worry lacing Nesta’s voice was thick, and suddenly the priestess felt guilty for keeping it from her… from them. She couldn’t look at them, but clutched their hands.

“They were, but now… it’s been really bad these last few days.” Gwyn sniffled and pulled her hands away from the comfort of her chosen family, opting instead to clutch the tasseled pillow to her chest again. She needed that grip, as if it were the only thing that could hold her together. “Almost a week ago I was in the training ring at night. It had been a difficult day, my hands were throbbing, Merrill was being… well, Merrill. It was raining when I walked out the door, but I needed time and space so I went out and sat in the middle and just let the rain wash everything away. Azriel came to the doorway, the first time since I’d cornered him that day. And… he barely spoke to me. I even said I’d had nightmares almost every day. And… and he told me I should go inside and then he just left.”

Gwyn tucked her knees up to the pillow against her chest and covered her face with her hands. Her body shook, much like it had that night when he’d left her – when something had shifted. Her throat felt so tight around her words. “It’s like something broke then. I stopped going to the training ring, and started working extra to distract myself. And the nightmares,“ she sobbed. She wasn’t ready to admit the terror of her changing dreams, but she was also desperate to tell someone how she had been suffering. “I have the same one every night – of that day at Sangravah. But… but when the general is done, when he tells the other males to continue taking from me…” Her breath sawed in and out of her and she could feel herself tremble. She could barely make her voice work as she uttered the terrible turn that her dreams had taken.

“He doesn’t come for me,” she whispered. The air was so still that she could feel Nesta’s sharp gasp stealing it from the space. “That moment when Azriel slaughtered them – when he saved me – no longer exists. And I have to face the terror of knowing what is coming. The fear and the pain and the horror and the desperation… it all feels just as real as it did that day.”

A pair of strong arms crushed her, and then a second embrace. Gwyn let go of the pain and the fear of those nights alone, afraid of sleep and unable to seek comfort from the only person who had helped keep those dreams at bay. Fingers combed through her hair, stroked up and down her back, soothing her as she cried.

That was all there was, for how long she didn’t know. She just knew heat in her cheeks, trembling, comforting hands at her shoulders, on her back, and in her hair. Then fingers gripped her wrists to pull her hands away from her face. She was sure her skin was red and splotchy, but she looked up to find Nesta’s own watery gaze.

“Gwyn, we will always come for you. All of us, including Azriel. You know that, right?”

“Of course I do,” the priestess answered with a nod.

“Good. As for the rest of this,” Nesta wiped her eyes and donned an expression not so unlike the days when she was brimming with the power of death. “Azriel is a fucking idiot.” Emerie burst out laughing, causing Gwyn to join with a chuckle of her own.

“I’m so glad I don’t prefer males.” The winged Valkyrie’s eyes glittered with mirth and concern, earning a nose-crinkling smile. Nesta pulled Gwyn’s attention back, pushing her jaw with a finger.

“Azriel is an idiot, but he cares for you. I’m certain of that. I haven’t known him too terribly long, but Cassian has. He’s different with you.”

“Maybe that isn’t a good thing.” Gwyn shrugged. She had thought so, too. But now he seemed to treat her with the same brooding aloofness that he reserved for practical strangers.

“No, I don’t think you understand,” Nesta insisted, reaching up to brush the wetness away from her cheeks. “Cassian and I have had this conversation more times than I can even count. ‘Berdara made Az laugh today’. ‘He couldn’t stop grinning today’. ‘I’ve never heard him banter like that’.”

“Why do you have so many conversations about that?” Gwyn couldn’t help but laugh at the strangeness of that thought, that Nesta and the general would be so invested in her interactions with the spymaster.

“That’s not even the point, Gwyneth,” Nesta huffed. Gwyn stuck her tongue out, still feeling Emerie’s hands softly at her back. “I’m going to kick Azriel’s ass back into line, but…” The priestess could see that Nesta was trying to choose her words, lips pursing  and eyes staring above her. Then those icy eyes came back, full of determination.

“Do you care for him, Gwyn? Or, I suppose, how do you care for him?”

She just stared into Nesta’s eyes for a long moment, trying to find the right things to say. How to express what was churning in her heart. “Of course I care for him. He has become a dear friend.” Her friend’s gaze didn’t falter, daring her to say what she hadn’t admitted to anyone, not even to herself.

“And?”

Gwyn jerked her head, surprised that Emerie also seemed to know that there was more. The Illyrian’s countenance held that same caring determination, waiting with barely concealed expectation. Gwyn could only sigh.

“I… I don’t know. I trust him. Implicitly. He’s the only male I’ve never feared. And he’s beautiful, of course.”

“Yes, he certainly is,” Nesta sighed wistfully. Gwyn giggled and swatted her friend playfully on the shoulder.

“I feel… drawn to him, like we understand each other’s darkness. I should be terrified of him, theoretically, but I can’t be. And if… I don’t know what romance is supposed to be, what a relationship looks like. But I think, if he wanted to try, I would say yes. Without hesitation. Even after what happened at Sangravah,” she admitted. “But first and foremost… I just want his friendship. If that’s the only thing I can have then I’ll be happy.” And that was the truth. She would have him in her life, in whatever capacity. His absence was far too difficult to bear.

An enormous yawn pushed out of her lungs and she clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide. Nesta and Emerie laughed, Nesta pushing herself to her feet before offering her hands to Gwyn.

“You need to sleep. Hopefully tonight will be more restful,” she said as she pulled Gwyn to her feet and swiftly gathered her into a hug. She felt Emerie at her back, enveloping her as well. Gwyn could only smile and release a contented sigh, reveling in the love of her chosen sisters. She felt lighter, relieved to have shared the struggles she’d been facing. But then she yawned again, the exhaustion in her bones suddenly the only thing she could feel. Her eyelids drooped and she felt herself losing her battle with sleep even as she stood there, still wrapped in that Valkyrie embrace. As her body became heavy, yet weightless, she couldn’t comprehend the words she heard.

“Ready to crash boys night, Em? I might actually kill him.”

~~~

Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys lounged in the study, each nursing crystal glasses with varying amounts of amber liquid. Azriel studied the cut angles in his glass, the firelight reflecting kaleidoscopes of brightness off the liquor. He’d already had more to drink than usual, not typically one to lose his wits from alcohol. But tonight he had partaken in a bit extra, perhaps in the vain hope that the libations would settle his mind. The roaring thoughts still stormed through him from earlier in the day – guilt, stubbornness, anger, shame.

Of course, the alcohol staunched none of it.

“You seem particularly broody tonight, Az.” Cassian’s amused voice broke through that cyclone and Azriel fixed him with a narrow-eyed glare. His brother just smirked victoriously at him, knowing the truth in his observation. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with that sleepover at the house, would it?”

“Sleepover at the house?” Rhys turned his starlit gaze toward the shadowsinger, but Azriel didn’t have any intention of answering. Cassian, however, so enjoyed irritating him.

“A certain redhead priestess has been acting strangely and Nesta is determined to figure it out,” he drawled, pointed amber gaze fixed on the spymaster. “I think it has something to do with our tall, dark, and brooding brother here.”

“Gwyneth Berdara?” Azriel flicked his eyes toward the High Lord whose brows were arched in surprise. “Why would that have anything to do with you?”

“I’m pretty sure,” Azriel groaned when Cassian began to answer, sinking deeper into the velvet tufts of the oversized armchair, “that the two of them want to be friendlier than friends.”

“Gwyn and I have a professional, platonic relationship. Nothing more,” Azriel growled. He wasn’t in any sort of headspace to deal with Cassian’s ribbing, or to explain it away to Rhys. He looked up to find the Illyrian general had set down his glass and was leaning back casually, crossing his arms.

“Is that so?” Azriel wanted to slap that smug grin off his face. “Is that why you can never keep your eyes off her at training? Is that what’s happening when you grin at her when she gives your shit right back to you? When she makes you throw your head back and laugh?” He could feel the heat rising up his neck and into his cheeks.

“Laugh? Out loud?” The High Lord balked and Azriel rolled his eyes.

“I laugh, thank you very much.”

“Not like that, you don’t,” Cassian countered. Azriel just shook his head as his brother turned to Rhys. “You should see it, Rhys. I never thought I’d see the day – “

“WHERE IS HE?!” A female voice echoed from down the hall.

“Nesta?” Rhys wondered aloud.

“Where is that idiotic overgrown bat? I swear on the Cauldron I’m going to kill him.”

“Yup, that’s Nesta,” Cassian confirmed with a groan. “What the fuck did I do now? I wasn’t even at the house –“

The study doors burst open as Nesta pushed through, gray eyes shimmering with rage. Azriel leaned forward as her gaze fell on him.

“YOU.”

“Me?”

“Him?” Cassian gawked, but then grinned wickedly. “Oh, this is a nice change. I could get used to this.”

“Keep your mouth shut or you’re next,” Nesta snapped as she strode in front of Azriel’s chair. “Azriel, would you care to tell me why I just spent an hour comforting one Gwyneth Berdara while she sobbed in my arms? Any ideas?” His eyes grew wide and his face went slack, unable to comprehend exactly what was happening.

“Nothing to contribute, Shadowsinger? How fucking convenient. Maybe you could tell me why you avoided her even after you told her that things would go back to normal and that you were friends? Or perhaps you could explain why you left her alone in the rain the one time you did actually talk to her, even after she told you her nightmares were bad again?”

“I –“ He didn’t get a chance. Nesta stepped closer.

“Not done, Az. Not even close. Maybe you have an explanation for her working herself into exhaustion at the library to avoid time alone? Or the reason she doesn’t go to the training ring at night anymore?” Azriel just stared, dumbfounded at what she was saying. He pressed himself back into the chair as the honey-haired female placed her hands on the armrests and leaned in so far they breathed the same air.

“Tell me, Azriel,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion and ice, “why every night for the last week she has dreamed of Sangravah. And in that nightmare when that general is finished hurting her, she has to feel the soul-crushing terror of watching the next soldier take his place because you don’t come to save her.” And Nesta pulled a hand back and slapped him.

Azriel knew his eyes were wide as saucers as the breath punched out of him. He barely registered the tingle of pain in his cheek, absorbing what she had told him. Gwyn’s nightmares. Every night. And they had twisted into something even more horrifying.

How could any part of her think that he wouldn’t come for her?

He looked back to Nesta who had backed away. Cassian had risen to comfort her, brushing tears away from her cheeks and murmuring into her ear. Azriel got to his feet and took a measured step toward them.

“Nesta, I –“

“You care for her, don’t you?”

Azriel knew they could see the wetness in his eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He had been wrong to leave her, wrong about so many things. And he was done denying.

“Of course I do, Nesta. More than I think I can explain right now.”

“Then fix this.” Her voice was colder than his could ever be, a warning that he wouldn’t like what would happen if he didn’t make it right. But he had every intention to.

He was miserable without her.

Azriel gave Nesta a curt nod, turned on his heel, and stalked out of the study. He kept his surprise masked as he passed Emerie, who was leaning in the doorway, also wearing that expression – promising violence for hurting one of their own. He nodded to her, too, acknowledging his part in all of this. Then he practically ran down the hall and through the entrance of the river house, only taking three steps in the night air before taking to the sky.

Straight to the House of Wind.

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