#sorry for the semi-monstrous answer

[arainesque]

haunting ur inbox just to say that 'first impressions in the past tense' george is autism coded level nine thousand and i love him

ur always welcome to haunt my inbox friendly ghost (spirit/anon/fellow human) (especially with insights to things in my fics!!! I think it's so interesting and I love hearing how people interpret things!!). ❤️

He kind of is isn't he??? I didn't actively have it in mind when I wrote it but I can definitely see it now that you've pointed it out. Also the overwhelmed-but-doesn't-know-why, perfectionist, anxious traits for George kind of run through all of my fics?!!!

You've opened up a new can of worms here, thank u for dropping by. (we LOVE fictional George 🥺❤️)

[plussizefantasia]

Hiiii! I just discovered your blog and I LOVE ITTT and can I request either Thorins company or just Fíli x reader where reader is the one to kill Azog and then almost dies and loses consiousness for a while??

LMAO why does that sound like such a pick me scenario now that I actually typed it out😭😭 well anyway, I hope youre doing well :)))

Thank you for the request! Sorry it took so long but between my Internship, actual school work, and my job I don't have much time to write. I hope this is what you wanted because I enjoyed writing it!

Fili x Reader

WC: 1.8k

Warnings: Violence and battle, almost dying, follows the request pretty closely

There was too much going on around you for any one thing to stick in your mind. The past hours, days, weeks hell even months were a blur of exciting moments to exciting moments where you escaped certain death more times than you could count on your fingers. It was overwhelming to sit and think about, so you didn’t.

You didn’t have time to think, you had to fight. You had to fight the elves who threatened your kingdom’s door, you had to fight the men who aided the Elves and then suddenly you had to fight the monstrous creatures who burst through the very earth in front of you. 

If anyone were to ask why you fight, the answer you’d give them would be ‘for my kingdom’, there is a duty and honor in fighting for your king and the mountain he is destined to rule. But that answer wouldn’t be entirely true, sure you fought for the king, but not because he was the king. You fought for Thorin because fighting for Thorin was fighting for Fili, the heir and the dwarf who stole your heart. 

You aided the throne, and it helped that the dwarves who sat upon it were like family. You would die for the line of Durin, you’d kill for them. 

So when you saw those idiot men, full charge on the back of a ram up to Ravenhill and directly into danger you pushed yourself harder than you ever had to get to them in time. You ran up the incline, slashing at any foe in your way. Your mind clear of all except your goal, to get to him, to protect him, to hold him in your arms.

The number of enemies thins out as you reach the top, only a few orcs stay near to the tower and they are taken out easily. You push yourself harder.

Finally, with shaking hands and cuts on your fingers from the jagged rocky edge, you rise above the summit and haul yourself into a standing position, quickly spinning and taking stock of what awaited you.

Thorin, Dwalin, Kili, and Fili are standing in a huddle near the center of the ice. Thorin gives commands and the others nod before splitting off.

Splitting off?! What kind of daft idea is that? You shake your head and scoff under your breath before once again launching into a run to meet up with your beloved and his brother. 

Quietly you slip into the stone structure behind them following the princes as they make their way up the semi-exposed stairway.

You only speak up when Fili utters his ridiculous plan about splitting up even further, you tell him as such.

“That is the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard you say out loud, amralime.” Both princes make their best impressions of spinning tops and snap their gaze to your slightly amused one. “Three is better than one in all scenarios, we shall go together and give ourselves a fighting chance.” Your tone left no room for discussion and you motioned for the boys to continue onwards. 

The princes in all their chivalry sandwiched you, Fili in front of you, and Kili behind, all three of your heads were on a swivel. It wasn’t until you almost reached the top that you motioned for your little party to stop and listen.

You didn’t understand black speech but you knew what it sounded like, and though it was soft you could hear a conversation occurring on the other side of the wall you were hiding behind. 

You shift slightly, going to whisper the plan to your companions but before you can the brothers have managed to have what you can only assume was an idiotic silent conversation sealed with a singular nod at each other.

Because one moment, they are crouched behind the wall with you, and the next they are letting out a battle cry and rushing over the wall and directly into unknown danger. You’d take the time to roll your eyes and bang your head against the rock if you had the time. However, you need to jump into action, so you do.

Launching yourself over the wall only moments after the brothers, your eyes lock onto their fight immediately. Four or five orcs, all armored and armed to the tooth tower over the dwarf princes and slash at them from all angles. 

You run through the empty space whenever you see it slashing the sides that the orcs leave open and decapitating them whenever given the chance. Together you take down three before you hear a shout from Kili and the movement around you freezes.

You also freeze when your eyes land on the sight of your lover and future husband in the grasp of Azog the Defilier. He dangles Fili over the edge and speaks loudly down to whoever is standing below. 

You do not hesitate before acting, taking too long lunges and readying your sword you launch yourself at the back of the pale orc, fully sheathing your sword into the space where his heart should be and pushing both of you off the side of the wall face. 

If you had given this plan any thought at all you would’ve deemed it as idiotic as the plans the men had made, but all you saw in that moment was the life of the dwarf you loved, in danger. You acted swiftly and without thought and it could very well cost you your own life. 

You watch as Azog’s grip on Fili loosens and the dwarf is released from his grasp, falling oolong side you and into the snow piled at the bottom of the wall. A fall that will surely bruise him but he would survive and that is all that matters.

Nobody tells you how it feels to fall to your death, it must only take seconds, and yet it feels like a lifetime. An entire lifetime rushing past you, the wind blowing through your hair, and the view blurring out of focus. Eventually, like all things that fall you reach the ground.

You are not fortunate like Fili to land in a snowbank, instead, you land atop the body of an Orc, your head crashing against the ice as you try to roll off of him. 

The orc is unmoving next to you as you stare into the sky above you, your breathing is labored and your vision is growing dim. 

Is this what it feels like to die?

You see Fili’s concerned face hover above your own before everything goes dark, you think you smile but you can’t be too sure.

Your vision is restored all at once, and the first thing you clock is that the view is different. Where you last looked upon the bright sky, with your lover’s face gazing down on you, now you only see dark stone and wooden beams, caressed by the flickering light that indicated a fire nearby.

You hear the cracking of wood and nothing else. You take a moment to do a mental scan of your body. There is a slight pain in all of your limbs and you’re reminded of a knife wound you took to the thigh. The most prominent is the dull but persistent ache radiating from the back of your head. 

You try to sit up to get a clearer picture of what is happening, moving makes the pain worse but it is still not the worst you have felt so you push on. Groaning under your breath you make yourself stand. 

You get a better look at your surroundings, the room your in is decidedly dwarvish, the intricate carvings in the wall, and the build of the fireplace enough to give that away. You were in a room inside the mountain, presumably, one in the furthest reach of the east wings, where the dragon damage was less severe. 

While you stand and gaze around the space you find yourself in, the door to the room opens slowly, and in walks a blond dwarf with a braid matching your own. He carries a tray of food in his arms and doesn’t look up immediately.

When he does he freezes, looking your body up and down and up once more. He blinks twice and a smile with the brightness of the Arkenstone itself radiates from his face. The tray is cast aside onto the table in the center of the room and he takes quick strides to get to you.

He wastes no time pulling you into his arms and burying his face in your hair. 

“You are awake.” He mutters into your locks.

“I think so.” You reply.

“You have been asleep for a week, I carried you down from Ravenhill myself. You were looked at by both Oin and an elvish healer. It was terrifying.”

“More terrifying than fighting a dragon?” You try to tease. It doesn’t land.

“Yes.” Is his serious reply. “You did not hear the sound of your head hitting the ice, nor did you feel the panic I felt when you wouldn’t open your eyes again.” His words are fierce and full of fire, contrasting with the almost delicate hold he has on your body.

“I am sorry.” You whisper. “I did not think, I just saw you in danger and the rest was instinct.” 

“I understand, but I am still not happy.” Fili pulls back slightly and looks into your eyes as he speaks.

You match his gaze, “I can live with that.” You place a singular delicate kiss on his lips, smiling at the feel of his mustache braids on your face. The coolness of the beads makes you feel alive. And you are glad for it.

“Thorin wishes to see you. I promised I would tell him when you woke.”

“Why does he want to see me?” You ask.

“Maybe because you saved his heir and killed the orc that had been hunting us for nearly half a year?” Fili cocks his head to the side and smirks at you. 

“It is bad to say that I wish to spend a little more time with you before being unleashed into the grasp of the rest of the Company?”

“Only if it is also bad that I wish the same thing,” is his easy reply. “How about we just eat for now and then we can decide what to do next after that, hmm?” His voice is soothing and his idea favorable. You nod and he smiles again.

So you two spend the rest of that evening together, talking, eating and hodling onto one another. 

Both of you are sure that this is not the last battle you will face together, but this one ended well and you will cherish the moments of peace in each others company.

The rest of the world can wait.

[streamdotpng]

Military School AU

Wednesday gets (semi) seriously hurt in a challenge/Event and Addams' will fight to death (or just literally unable to continue) and Enid has a flashback to the night with the Hyde and her mind goes blank besides protecting Wednesday.

That's how the Nightshades/Wednesday realize Enid doesn't actually hate them/was just hurt and bitter. And how Enid's Pack realizes just how important Wednesday is to their Alpha/realize Enid Imprinted on Wednesday.

Or, Wednesday comes into contact with one of the Pack (handshake, combat, whatever), and has a vision of what Enid's been going through/feeling and how the Pack has been helping/taking care of her. And to everyone's surprise, Wednesday looks absolutely wrecked (but is trying hard not to show it), and gives them her gratitude and thanks for caring for her Wolf when she wasn't there (no matter how much she wanted to be).

[Sorry if this reads weird, I'm typing this in the car on my phone.]

its all good bud! sorry for answering this so late, my ass desperately tried to draw this but my hand is not handing today so lemme set the scene

Incoming huge werewolf lore dump!

Grimwolves are emotional beings. Any overwhelming emotion can lead to a partial shift! from the growing of teeth, a sudden burst of a werewolf paw or the shifting and dislocating of bones to a bigger form-

you can say its part of the reason why enid was so cold. Especially durimg her 'slump' in the 2nd semester of her sophomore year. It didn't help that when the pack settle into the dorm, there are times where they can see Enid desperately clenching her fists before slipping on her bracers.

Sometimes, when they wake up early enough to catch sight of Enid without them, they can see the way the muscles in her arms twitch and shift before settling.

They keep their mouth shut, all too aware of the fact that enid wears her muzzle during classes too. They aren't really dumb, they know of how Enid got her alpha rank after all but there's a difference between hearing and seeing

Sometimes, during the end of the semester when Enid seems to be coping all the more better and the muzzle wasn't such a need anymore, they can see the way she tends to pant with her mouth open at times. It wasn't anything new, most werewolves do that too at times

But it gives them an eyeful of the way too big teeth that most werewolves don't have

(aka enid still tends to get overwhelmed at times and having the ability to shift whenever isn't as much as a blessing like most think)

so! the pack are aware that enid's different. They don't know the exact name and she's a bit too big for her size whenever its time for monthly shifting but they never see her fully shift in distress

And that changes alot.

So as explained briefly here, werewolves have the whole day to get ready for their shift in the night. Which means that they don't tend to be too aggressive, theyre a touch more rational and their body can properly regulate all that wolf magic hormone stuff

Which leads to them looking more wolf than man. Which was a good thing! Makes it easier to blend in with the normies of back then

But grimwolves?

Their shifts are sudden and there is no period to get ready. It's just snap and you're a wolf but normal werewolves aren't made for that and so the body accommodates

So most of the time, it leads to the image above! Grimwolves were rampant back then along with violence so it spread to normies that these were how werewolves are supposed to look like and thus reinforcing their monstrous nature etc etc you get the point

Obviously it's been disproven by outcasts and grimwolves are totally myths

Now, imagine being in a tournament fully expecting to be able to beat a bunch of trained dogs because hey its not like it's the full moon, what can they do?

They already took down the Addams girl and her flowery friends, what's wrong with besting those smug mutts too?

Anyways I suck at words rn but enid beats their ass. She's been trying to control her shifting since her second semester last year but honestly, Wednesday has always lead to her doing the craziest of things

Revealing her existence on live was certainly not one she expected to do but if it meant keeping Wednesday alive-

Well, it wouldn't be the worst thing Enid has done

[strawberryscandy]

MilkMan x Guard

CHAPTER 1

Let me know who drew this so I can credit

NSFW, GORE, FEAR PLAY, MONSTER FUCKING

I wrote this so that there can be a female Guard and a male guard in next chapters.

It was just a normal semi-apocalyptic day, how boring. The guard was sitting in their office chair, spinning around to occupy the boredom that was taking over their brain. None of the residents had come in yet, it was a mid weekday so they were probably off at work. The guard stopped spinning when they heard the sound of the entrance apartment door opening and shuffling.

The guard let out a heavy sigh, straightening up their body and uniform so as to not look like they were being the company's number one laziest piece of shit. “Hello, how are you doing today? Go ahead and pass the documents through the slot.” The guard murmured while trying to look occupied with so called “paperwork.”

Hearing the sound of the documents ruffle inside the slot, along with a rough voiced “Hello..” through the speaker.

They couldn't help but look up at the man standing right infront of them. The guard swallowed what felt like a rock into their stomach. A man that looked to be dressed in a milkman uniform with empty looking eyes but a slight smile was peering into the window at the lonely guard.

The air in the office became thick like crude oil. And the guard was the duckling stuck in it. With shaky hands the guard grabbed the documents and started reading through them. Taking into every detail the milkman had on his persona. Something just didn't feel right about the man in front of them.

“Hold on… I'm going to call someone really quick.” The guard let out with obvious hesitation.

“Why.”

The guard stopped mid way of picking up the phone, “It's protocol.”

“No ones going to answer.”

They just ignored him, and called anyway. It felt like the world was slowing down as they listened to the phone ring

Rrriiiinngggg

Rrrriiiinnggg

“Hello??” A obviously more tired voice picked up the phone, “This is francis. Hello??” The guard was to stunned to speak.

“Sorry for the inconvenience, I accidentally called the wrong number. Excuse me, have a nice day.” The guard put the phone down and instantly slammed the office window door shut.

As the the door was closing the guard could hear “FUUUUUCKKK” echo into silence.

They picked up the phone again, like they were in a competitive race to who could call the D.D.D. Letting them know about the situation at hand, they waited a little while until the silence turned into a loud..

BANG

BANG

BANG BANG

Than silence.

The guard thought it was all over, so he pressed the button again for the door to slide open. It was a sorry surprise, it was over, over for the D.D.D soldiers not for the doppelgänger infront of him. He scanned the room through the thick glass and saw blood splattered on every wall, and where the bodies were stacked up it looked like someone poured a large bottle of strawberry syrup. The scariest part was the milkman, his perfectly clean white shirt was soaked in blood. The guard could see blood dripping from his hair and down the man's face. And the grin. The grin was the most devious part, the guard could actively feel the bloodlust soak them down to their bones.

Then the most disgusting feeling of all, the guard could feel a sense of longing build up from the bottom of their feet, coursing through the veins of their legs and into their crotch. Settling in their stomach.

And that was the most sickening part, the guard couldn't help it but turn to the side and spill vomit all over the office floor. Grabbing onto their stomach for a sense of comfort. And they heard it, laughter.

Glancing to the side they saw the milkman, teeth sharpen with their forehead pressed into the glass pane. “My.. my… A pretty little thing like you. I can smell the lust pooling out from underneath the slot from here.” The milkman drooled out, his dominance was thick around him like an aura of bloodlust, sex and monstrous desire.

The guard felt another shock in their crotch, Why were they so turned on by this? Are they sick? Is this some sort of unknown power?

The guard started to drool themselves, pawing at their crotch a little bit as if they were possessed by a succubus. Listening to the new groan coming from the dopplegänger as he slapped his palm against the glass pane.

“Let me in baby… Let me show you that we can do other things than just kill..” He growled out in desire.

The lust possessed guard did something without even thinking. Pressing the unlock button. Only to look back down at the floor, when the office door flung open and the monster stepped inside.

The room smelt like blood, lust and vomit as the guard looked pitiful at the milkman. The light above was flickering lightly and between flickers the guard was fighting with their own sanity. ‘What am I doing? I'm going to die. Please help me.’

The milk man stepped closer to the guard before grabbing their arm, pulling them out of their chair and onto the ground. A loud yelp of terror came from the throat of the guard.

“Look at you… All desperate for me..” The milkman snarled out while his face was burrowed into the guards neck. His long devilish tongue licking from the nape to the guards ear lobe. Causing the guard to let out a small moan along with, “Please… Don't kill me..” They whimpered out with tears rolling down their cheeks.

“I'm not going to kill you, you human insect. I just want to do a little experiment.” The doppelgänger whispered out while guiding his hands underneath the guards uniform. Untucking the dress shirt from their pants, along with snapping off the guards belt.

“Let's see how much you humans squirm and scream.”

Chapter Two

[another-clive-blog]

wwhat if clive just. exploded. in his mobile fortress

SO !! I may have gotten a little carried away with this prompt ?? Like I know this was probably for the meme or for a semi-serious conversation but also. I love angst. Anyway I wrote a little something. I hope that's okay and thank you for the ask !! =) TW : mention of death, implied character death (and Claire can be counted as dead, so you know). Also : this is Claire's POV, it takes place right after the gang has deployed the flying Laytonmobile, there is no comfort. Word count : ~ 500 words.

Writing under the cut !!

"Aren't we going back for him ?"

Why are they all staring at her ? They know the whole story, what Clive did and what they did before him. So why is Bill looking at her like that, as if he was completely removed from any of this ?

"It's too dangerous," Hershel is the first one to answer- of course he is. Always firm in his beliefs, an unwavering beacon of light. But beyond the man she loves, Hershel is one thing : the pilot of the car-plane, and therefore the one person Claire has to win over if she wants this vehicle to turn around.

"I can go alone." She tells him, and really it makes sense. They aren't sending children back into that monstrous thing, and Bill is not an option for… obvious reasons. She is the one who should go get Clive, say and do what needs to be said and done. She knows she can do it- actually, the hardest part is convincing Hershel of this. "Please. You know he isn't the only one to blame."

Hershel hums. His hands tremble on the steering wheel, probably itching with the desire to yank on it. Claire knows he wants to, and hopes he does so soon enough.

"We've lost too much time on our escape. I am sorry Celeste, but we can't make it." What ? No, they absolutely can. She can do this- she has to.

But as she opens her mouth to say just that, Hershel half turns towards her.

His head is held high and yet, his eyes are sorrowful and his voice is quiet. "I need to make sure the children are safe." He simply says, like an apology or a goodbye.

Before she knows it, Claire is standing and gripping the car door with both hands. Luke is screaming and Flora's little hands are gripping her vest, trying to keep her- from what ? It's not like she's going to jump and fly away, and plummeting to the ground won't solve anything.

There is nothing she can do.

"Why do you want to go back for him anyway ?!" Bill yells at her. "This man is a nuisance !!"

Clive is in the wrong. She knows this. Somewhere deep down, she also knows that there is no saving him, that, even if he gets ouf ot there alive, it will only be a temporary thing. It is too late- it has been for quite some time now.

Ten years. Time really does fly by when you've been condemned from the very beginning, or when you've never actually lived any of those ten long years. Then again, it seems that no one has really moved on from that terrible day. It's almost as if they had all been transported to this present day with her, only to witness history repeating itself. The smell of fire and the screech of metal are overwhelming, and she isn't sure if the screams she hears are real or mere echoes of the past, of that experiment and the explosion and the suffering, the fear-

"I don't want him to know what dying a lonely death feels like !"

The car takes a sharp turn. The kids scream in surprise and Claire falls back down- but when she sits up again, she notices that the car has in fact not changed its trajectory.

It takes her a few seconds to come to this conclusion, because the fortress behind them is gone.

-_-_-_-

There ! I am actually upset that the first piece I've shared with Claire in it is exclusively about Clive, although the parallels were too interesting not to be exploited. I am however planning to write another piece for Claire on her own because I genuinely love her character.

Anyway that was a good ask, thank you so much anon for sending it !! <3 <3

[sanguine-salvation]

"Free from suffering but alive again" question anon - No, not quite Mx. Zsasz, but I do appreciate learning more about you and all your thoughts. I wouldn't ask if I didn't wish to hear from you, after all. To be more specific I mean someone with supernatural capabilities of being able to come back to life after obvious and undeniable death. I wish to know your thoughts on that. I suppose it would count as being a zombie? But without all the typical drawbacks? It's a weird situation I'm curious of, I apologize~

“… Hm?” Viktor slowly perks from their semi-morose state and cocks their head. “Ah. The… stranger question. You know, once, I never thought of it. I had far fewer… immortal companions.” They make a face, not of disgust, but if… frustration. The word alone bites of tragedy and unfairness. “But now I’ve had to consider it deeper. More seriously. So really, not weird at all. Very serious, actually. Don’t apologize.”

They sit back thoughtfully, entirely shifted from their previous dour demeanor by sudden studiousness, their eyes closed. They do not rush themselves on account of the greyface. So many friends cursed with seemingly unending life. They think of Amity, cursed without freedom even in death. There was a price to knowledge and being part of an ever growing world. Finally they sigh.

“Well, that is… a question I have not solved yet, honestly.” They furrow their brow. “Some, I have been given the tools to kill with confidence.” They still held the dagger Roxxy gave them. It could kill her, they knew. They promised her. “Some though, I’m… not sure. Not all of them even look like… zombies… admittedly. The monstrous are not clear, but I don’t always know why. … I did say I wasn’t perfect, yes? Yes.”

They think of Elise. They think of Em. They think of Grundy. They think of a lot of people that they’ve foolishly become attached to, and it saddens them. But, to the question at hand.

“I suppose… I feel sorry for them more than anything. To never have Death’s embrace would be… horrifying.” They wince and scrunch their nose, clearly deep in thought. “On top of that, to get so close in death, but get ripped away, I can’t imagine how cruel that must be. I wish I had an answer for them, really. Maybe one day.”

Then a thought hits them, and their skin crawls. They instantly, reflexively run their fingernails over their scars, trying to distract from the feeling by damned near clawing into the grooves. “… Ugh… I can’t imagine accidentally making a mark for not only someone who is not free, but who has to live like that. No, I’d… I don’t like thinking about that.”

[avocadoleaf]

My Soul is Known Chap 1 (Edited)

Sorry for the hiatus, lost all motivation. I really love this story idea, honestly, but it needed an overhaul. That being said, avobabes, meet the longform fic. I hope to update semi-regularly, and hopefully care not-too-much about how it performs. Spy!XYX x Spy!FemOC Contains: Fake marriage, forced proximity, enemies to lovers, WWII au (leave me alone), and lots of other things updated per chapter

November 11th, 1923

Morality is complicated at best, a complete fallacy at worst. Respect for one’s body, especially its freedom, a laughable concept in the face of death. When faced with starvation on the street or relinquishing your autonomy, well… Freedom can’t fill your stomach. What good are rights to a corpse, especially one of a young girl?

The winter had been more brutal than most, the wars and rebellions destroying what little we had to live off of, and there I stood, clutching even onto the robes of death for a hand of comfort, a modicum of warmth. I felt the way my body didn’t even seem to resist the frost accumulating on my skin, rather surrendering itself with hardly any hesitation. Part of me wished to call out to my father and mother, or perhaps to God himself, and demand an answer for why I must feel that empty pit in my stomach day in and day out, but as I gazed hazily into the streets before me, I saw how I was simply one of many, abandoned indiscriminately. My cries would go unheard, or only heard by ears just as frostbitten as mine.

The sound of boots crunching the snow filled the alleyway. I lifted my eyes to see as they passed, moving calmly to where my mother and father sat in the snow. Their voices were hushed, the look of feral desperation evident on my mother’s eyes, as always. I was not her only hungry child, simply one of what felt like endless mouths to feed. She looked at me with an expression I could not, and cannot place. A soft nod, and then she ducked her head to my father’s chest. The boots drew near to me, and a man bent down to me. From a pocket he produced a pastry, some kind of bread with stark white icing dripping down the sides, reminiscent of the buildings surrounding this desolate place. I looked at him in questioning awe, and motioned for me to take the food from him. My eyes were soft upon his as I took the cake from his hands, quickly devouring the precious gift. He picked me up from where I lay on the embankment, brushing snow from my hair. I watched as the shape of my parents grew smaller and smaller with each stride, my mother calling out my name. Her goodbye was drowned out by the sound of me chewing, continuing to tear into my bun.

“Chew slowly, there is plenty of food for you where we’re going, little one.” His voice was soft, rumbling and soothing me to sleep, and for once I felt no fear as it overcame me.

February 13th, 1941

The year was 1941. I was a young woman. Specifics remain irrelevant. I stared blankly at the cot above me, waiting for the bugle to sound to drag me from the bed. They could keep me in bed until everyone else, but I could wake as early as I pleased. Some of us indulged these little moments, reveling in the solitude. The day would start soon enough though, and I would fade into obscurity as I always had.

A personal identity was never very important to us growing up, In fact, sometimes we would forget that there were many little “I’s” caught up in that monstrous, perfect “we”. Tolerance for individualism had never been lower, all that died with the tzar and his family. The world was made in a new way, one where I nor anyone else seemed to matter very much. That way of living certainly helped in my future… occupation. If one can call it that. In my service to the cause. It’s easiest to divorce yourself from your identity, and what better way to do that than by never creating one. We worked in tandem to accomplish our goals, me and everyone else like me. All made to be the same, faceless, nameless being.

We were the most expendable that way, all the same. What was it to them if one of us died when there are 10 others exactly the same? Plates that run parallel to our spines sure make it easy to be rid of one of us when she lost her use. 7 plates lie between seven vertebrae, a reminder of what exactly was given up for that full belly.

There it was, the horn. My feet hit the ground along with a few dozen others. We walked to the showers, to the clothing racks, the mirror. So many identical, beautiful little soldiers. We aligned ourselves to greet our officer, preparing for the new day of tasks. I prepared myself for filing, or maybe cleaning if I was particularly unlucky.

“You, step forward.” I felt all the eyes in the room on me at once. Yep, cleaning, forever. What had I done to be singled out? “Follow me. Everyone else may report to the same work station as yesterday.” There were no murmurs from the other girls, though soft glances said the words that would be spoken had censure not been nearly as tight. My cheeks burned as I followed the officer out of the dormitory and down the main corridor. I expected to walk into the headmaster’s office, but we passed it quickly. The kitchen? No. Where were we going?

         The hallway ended in a conference room, and with every other door briskly passed, I knew this must be my destination. I entered a room to see the headmaster sitting in the chair that would typically be mine. A man dressed in full regalia sat across the table, scowling at me.

“Close the door, please.”

—

“I am very happy that we can continue to work together. You have done well enough in your training over the past few years. But that was just training, you need to show us that you can be a real asset. So, we are willing to give you an assignment. A real chance to prove your worth to us.” He tossed a file across the desk at me, my picture stapled to the front. There was a number that followed it, something I suppose I could now call a name. I opened the front and looked at the documents provided to me. There were a few of my pictures as a child, perfectly vague, easy to slip into any narrative. I took out the passport that was clipped by its cover to the rest of the documents. Italian. “You speak Italian, yes?” He must have noticed me looking at it.

“Yes, I do.” I opened the passport. Eleanora Romano. I hadn’t had a name in so long, it felt awkward to say it and know it meant me. I read through her background information, reading slowly through a peaceful upbringing in the Italian countryside, living with parents and 2 brothers until she came of age, upon which she married. Married? I looked up at the commander. “I’m married?”

“Yes, Eleanora. You are married to Giancarlo Balotelli, as you have been for 4 years now. Giancarlo is an American asset that you have been partnered with to cooperate on this long-term mission. You two will assist in maintaining each other's covers. He has been in placements twice before, so you may learn a thing or two from him.” He paused, leaning in. “Do not trust the American. We may be friends today, but they are still unwilling to live as we do, even for the betterment of their people. It would behoove you to observe him as well. Let us know what our friends in the west are like, for the day that we may no longer be friends.” I nodded solemnly.

“I understand. Thank you for this opportunity.” The door opened, and a new man entered the room.

“This is your handler. He will be your contact while you’re undercover, providing you with updates to your objectives as well as coordinating your integration with your new world. He will be responsible for your care from now.” The door opened again, and my handler led me out. He was so very generic, hair that was neither brown nor blonde with eyes of indistinguishable color. Even his clothes seemed to blend away. If you passed your eyes across a room with him in it, you wouldn’t see him at all. He was perfect for his job, unseen. I looked down at the picture on my file; would I so perfectly fit the mold I was chosen to become? The dark hair and eyes that had so often been looked down on, now perhaps the very reason I would be allowed to prove my worth. I must make it worth their time.

He led me out the front door. The clouds covered the sky, hugging me in a blanket, like they too protected my identity. I felt snow crunch beneath my boots as I walked towards the gate, inching closer than I had ever been before. The handler motioned to the guards at the watchtower before the front gate opened. It felt like a vacuum had been opened, sucking me out of the only home I had ever really known. All I could do was continue to walk to the gate, breath catching with every move made.

With one last step, I was in the outside world. I looked up at the creaking sound to see the gate closing again, and I turned to watch the buildings I had grown up in vanish from view.

“I hope you didn’t have anyone you wanted to say goodbye to. The girls your age will soon be assigned on missions of their own, and it will be a while before any of you are recalled. If you survive that is,” he chuckled to himself. I didn’t find it funny. “We will meet the American asset and his handler to complete the profiles and transfer you to your station. You should be in place in less than 72 hours.” We boarded into a military truck, and I watched the compound grow more distant until it entirely disappeared from view.

 I was brought into a plain building with sets scattered on the inside. Final pictures to complete our life together would be taken here before we left for our mission. My handler motioned to a bench for me to sit. “The Americans are on their way, you may wait here for them.” I sank into the bench, exhausted from the events of today. We drove for at least 5 hours. I had no idea where we were, but I supposed that was none of my business. After what felt like hours on a chair that certainly flattened my ass a bit, the door opened.

The Americans walked in the room, confident in a way I was not accustomed to. One wore a mask much like my handler did while the other left his face exposed. His hair covered his face, obscuring his green eyes. He walked over to shake my hand. His grip was soft, gentle. He reached for my other hand and slipped a ring onto my finger. “I am USO-47022- XYX. It’s lovely to meet you, Nora.”

[echo-of-sounds]

i’m not angry. i’m concerned

Small drabbles of Aizawa, Toshi, Hizashi, and Gang Orca taking care of you after you have a relapse of self-harm.

Warnings: self-hate, self-harm, punching a wall, hitting oneself with an object, bad bruising/swelling, (semi-graphic) cutting, blood

Aizawa Shouta

You knew it would only deform your hand more. And you still did it. Now you were left with bruised and swollen knuckles. Damage jarred your bones. Trauma twitched your muscles. And they just kept swelling. They were so big, pulling tendons, stretching skin uncomfortably, distressingly. Cries and hiccups slipped through your stifling.

Footsteps hurried down the hallway. You turned around. Shouta questioned your back, “What was that noise?”

“Drop- Dropped something.”

“It didn’t sound like it. It came from the wall. Did you throw something?”

“I-” Tears and twinges killed your reply. You gripped your wrists, trying to cut off the rocketing pain spasms. He’d criticize, blame you for your stupidity. He wouldn’t even have to speak to let you know the shame he held. One apathetic, antipathic look and his repugnance would be clear, ridiculing your caricature of a hormonal, huffy teenager.

Even your body was revolted by the action. Eight months of self-power- no knifed skin, no disfigurements- was snapped in one vulnerable second- a weak, weeping second that left you pitiful and hopeless and useless and worthless-

Warmth wrapped your back. You jerked from his embrace, crying for him to leave. His voice was as warm as his body, “I’m not going anywhere. You need me right now.” Hands supported your monstrous one while he wordlessly directed you to the living room then the couch.

He briefly left your side before coming back with ice, pills, and a drink. You readily accepted the painkillers. 

While you sipped the water, he closely examined your knuckles. He asked, extending one of his fingers, “Can you push down?” It hurt but you could. “Can you bend them?” It was rigid but you could. “Can you make a fist?” It was tight and inflamed but you could make half a fist. “You have motion, which is always a good sign. If the swelling doesn’t go down by morning, we’re going in for X-rays.”

His words were caring. Yet guilt burst. You sobbed and tried to stand, to get away from his judgment. But he caught your hips, moving them onto his lap, hushing your feeble protests. “It’s alright. Just stay with me.” The cloth-covered ice pack was lightly swathed around your hand.

“Sho, don’t be angry. I didn’t mean to…” you cried through the smothering tears.

“I know, honey. I know.” He kissed your forehead. “I’m never going to be angry with you for something like this. I’ll only ever be concerned. I promise. I love you.” Two more kisses came. You nuzzled into his neck, wanting his warmth to soothe the frayed and confused emotions. “I love you so much.”

Yagi Toshinori

A loud sob broke through your attempts to remain quiet. You smacked your hand over your mouth, hoping he didn’t hear. But your hopes were dashed almost immediately. The door creaked open. You kept your head down, clutching the damp towel to your water-coated skin.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Why are you crying?” His calm voice trailed closer. A faint hum came as he noticed the issue. Delicate, cautious hands settled on either side of your lower thigh, cradling the bruised, swollen skin. He whispered your name, so earnestly, so soberly. It caused another sob to escape. “What did you hit yourself with?”

You shook your head, digging your nails into your hair at your juvenile, near infantile, action. The vague thoughts, the acute, uncontrollable anger, the snapshot self-harm wasn’t understandable no matter what the fucking DBT book said. And now your eight-month progress was rendered pathetically pointless.

One hand found your arm, caressing, seeking any response. He breathed your name. “Did something happen?” At more silence, he dropped to his knees, begging, “Sweetheart, please, talk to me. I’m not angry. I’m concerned about you and your safety. What did you use?”

You weakly pointed to the discarded brush. The handle broke off from the rest at your final, hardest hit.

“Did you do anything else to yourself?”

“No,” you choked.

“Okay, okay…” he muttered. “Can you stand?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on. Let’s try.” Your grip on his outstretched hands was horribly frail, unable to haul your weight. He helped, easily pulling in your absence. The towel fell and left you naked but you couldn’t care.

Your first step ended with you against his chest. The swelling spread to your knee, stiffing, tensing the joint. “I’m sorry,” you wept into his shirt. “I’m so sorry. I don’t- I don’t know why…”

“You don’t need to be sorry.” He kissed your head. Bearing your weight for you, he slowly guided you to the bed. A pair of underwear was guided up your legs then he laid you down comfortably. He kissed your head again, mumbling, “I’ll be right back. Okay?”

You nodded and nearly nodded off when your leg was lifted and a pillow was placed under it. Cold covered your knee next followed by a blanket. You welcomed the water and pain relievers.

After multiple gulps, you tried to explain but your breath caught, “Toshi, I didn’t- I think- I- I-”

“Shhh. It’s alright. It’s alright.” He slid under the blanket, curling up beside you, affectionately rubbing your stomach. His endearing voice softened into your ear, “You don’t need to talk right now. All you need to do is relax. Can you take some deep breaths?” He counted for you. And again for your next one.

“I love you.” Lips brushed the side of your face repeatedly. You leaned into them, letting his arms wrap around you. “I love you so much, sweetheart. You’re going to get through this, I promise.”

Yamada Hizashi

A couple of knocks startled you. Hizashi called your name. “Are you okay? You’ve been in there for a while.”

You didn’t hear his usual rambunctious proclamation of coming home. If you didn’t answer, he would obviously know something was wrong. “I’m fine,” you croaked. Your voice shouted that you weren’t, in fact, fine.

The door opened and you cursed yourself for not locking it. “Oh, baby…”

It was deplorable. You mashed your palms into your eyes, not wanting to face his anger, his horror, his utter disgust. Your defenseless, nude body, blood-soaked paper towels, smeared red thigh and hands, and the razor that did the defiling laid out helplessly, staining the floor.

Eight months went down the drain in just a few minutes. You couldn’t recall why or what you were thinking. It was all moronic, whatever it was. Now you only felt pain. An itching, pulling pain that was accompanied by gruesome liquid and coagulated blood.

He called your name, trying to reach you. But you didn’t want to reach back. He’d reprimand you for dirtying the floor. He’d criticize you for failing. He’d be sickened at your cuts. It was gross. You were-

“Please talk to me.”

The tears you thought you stopped sprung out loud and pathetically. You apologized, again and again, hoping he didn’t hate you and your beastly body.

A hand took your shoulder. You were moved as you continued repeating remorses. A cool cloth tried to gently clean your imbrued leg. Raw skin ignited. Slashes stretched. You gripped his wrist, shaking your head for him to stop. It was all too ugly. And you didn’t want him to see it, touch it.

“I need to clean some of the blood to see the cuts better. I need to see if you need medical attention.”

You collapsed and wailed into his chest, “I’m so sorry. Please, please, don’t be angry. Please. I’m sorry- I didn’t- I’m sorry, Hizashi. Don’t be angry. Please-”

“Shhh, baby girl. I’m not angry. I’m not even close to being angry. I’m just worried about you.” He mourned your name, kissing your temple. “Everything’s gonna be alright. I promise you that.” 

The cloth went on in a light motion. It eventually settled against the wounds, pressing with pressure to stop the rest of the bleeding. 

You continued crying into him. A few of the tears weeping onto your shirt weren’t yours. Lips graze your forehead, whispering, cherishing, “I love you so much.”

Gang Orca

The slits spilled over, painted your palm and wrist red. It happened too fast. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t stop your hand from gripping the blade and opening your skin.

Anger and fear didn’t control your movement. There wasn’t any sadness or anxiety harassing your mind. For so long, everything’s just been insignificant and now that blood slurred your skin, everything was still nothing. Injuries and confusion don’t count. Shame was a given. Pain was another but none of it was whatever you wanted.

There were no paper towels or tissues near. Your legs wouldn’t move. You could only stare at the detached emotions leaking from your hand. But seeing the layers of skin separate more and more grated pain into panic. Your voice broke as you shrieked, “Ku-GO!”

Heavy footsteps rushed into the bedroom. Your name waned softly from his mouth. You couldn’t look at him. You didn’t want his revulsion. Or his annoyance at your inane, weak-minded behavior. You were supposed to be clean of it. Though it always found you, no matter how many months you thought you outran it. 

He whispered, “I’m right here. It’ll be okay.”

“It hurts,” you gasped, tears now blurred everything. His warmth seated beside you. Your hand was carefully lifted and a cloth wrapped tightly around the wounds.

“I know it does. It’s scary, isn’t it?”

You nodded, desperately trying to calm yourself.

“It’s going to be alright. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” he helped compose your breathing. A hand barely stroked your back when you shrunk away from his touch, his irritation, his condemning of your feral actions.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do this. I don’t- I don’t- I don’t know why. I fucked up… I fucked up… I'm sorry…”

“You don’t need to apologize. I’m not angry with you. But I am incredibly concerned and worried. Right now, these need to be cleaned. Will you let me pick you up?”

You nodded again. Kugo easily lifted you, stopping to grab the medical kit before taking you to his comfy armchair. You curled up in his lap and rested against his chest while he thoroughly dressed the injuries. Despite his bulky fingers, he was as gentle and graceful as can be. Quiet praises came in between each bandage.

They brought more tears. Turning into his shirt, you cried out your grief. He hugged you close and caressed your arm. “Everything's okay. You’re okay, my love.” He held your hand to his mouth. “I love you more than anything else. You're going to get through this. And I'm going to be right here the entire time.” 

[sleepywerehog]

Steampunk Pirate AU Lore Time!! I'm so sorry it took me so long to make my brain is made of mashed bananas but I have done it,and it got very long!!!! Oh and @writersblog1987 asked me to tag 'em! So I hope you all enjoy this and feel free to ask questions I don't mind answering them the best I can (I also had a lot of inspo from Storm Hawks((good show i HIGHLY reccomend it)),Sonic Underground and Abney Park)

The Land Below:Mobius was a peaceful planet until the earthquakes began, the earth beneath the peoples feets began to crack,crumble and the ground gave way into terrorfyingly deep chasms where the bottom could never be seen,The oceans swelled and large waves crashed against cities and forests alike it was a mad dash trying to find any place safe but this was only the beginning. Soon dark beasts only spoken of in ancient legends began to crawl out of the gashes left in the disasters wake and began to hunt and kill any of the survivors they could find. It seemed like all hope was lost until A hero finally arrived and made it his quest to stop the devistation in it's tracks.

The Legend of Ventari:Enter Ventari a 15 year old Dark ashy blue Hedgehog with green eyes a cocky attitude and the power of wind on his side. By his side was his closest friend 16 year old Patchamarus(Patcha for short) an Echidna with deep red clay coloring and gentle yet fierce purple eyes who was tasked by his tribe to help see the hero through his quest to save the world. With the guidance of the elders of Patcha's tribe the two set out to find the chaos emeralds which wouldn't be an easy task. The two had to brave monstrous creatures,destroyed cities and towns, corrupted titan like Automatons who were once used to help build the now lost cites,desperate survivors and their final challenge the source of the deadly seas and colossal earthquakes Dark Chaos Gaia a horrible fusion of Dark Gaia and Chaos who had corrupted and poisoned most of the planets surface thanks to their combined powers.With the Chaos Emeralds and his power over wind in hand Ventari and Patcha fight and eventually defeat Dark Chaos Gaia but the land was too devastated and damaged to be habitable again so with the last of his power Ventari sent the surviving colonies up into the skies leaving only the wandering Echidna tribe and a handful of other mobians to try to revive the barren land themselves. While Patcha took on the role of guarding the Master Emerald. But rumors say that Dark Chaos casted a curse upon the two heroes which turned them semi-immortal and that the spilling of their blood could grant life and rejuvenation.

The Skies Above and the Familes that shaped them:Sensing opportunity three different families began to build large expansive cities for everyone to rebuild their lives in on the floating colonies and within a few years the bustling sky cities were born. The Robotnik's and Zobotniks built the cities,the industries,the roads and the law and order of these sky cities. The Kintobors however built massive gardens,entertainment centers,Schools and homes within these cities and for a time the three families were at war trying their best to out do the others. Then over the years the two of the families mergered into one the Zobotniks and Robotniks. The Kintobors however started to mysteriously disappear one by one until only a young Julian Kintobor was left and was adopted into the family with Ivo and Zardell as his older brothers.

The Tyrannical Brothers:When Ivo and Zardell were younger they along side Julian were always inventing things together which their parents deeply encouraged. The three brothers from then on when they weren't in school they were in the family's many labs working away on project after project. The trio's mother encouraged Ivo with his skills in making automatons better and more obedient than they ever were in the past,While the trio's father was more particular to Zardell who made the control collars and various other devices that could keep the riff raff in line. Julian however was often ignored by his parents and left to his own devices as well as outlet for his older brothers to vent their frustrations onto.When Ivo and Zardell came of age the two took over their mother and father's businesses and quickly made them into their own. They began to rule the cities under their families control with iron fists, only the upper classes were able to handle this change while the poorer people turned to either lives of crime or cruel unyielding employment until the brothers' rule. Many poor families who were unable to take this quickly jumped ship as soon as they could and eventually ended up in the Pirate ran cities where there was a better chance of a better life.

The Pirate Cities:The Pirate cities were a beacon of hope for a lot of mobians even though they were filled to the brim with pirates and crime ran rampant through the streets they were the only cities free from the rule of the Robotniks and Zobotniks. Once the mobians who were seeking new lives started moving in though the pirates and ordinary citizens were at each other's throats, as neither side really knew what to do to keep the peace until Ventari now looking to be in his late 20s (though in actuality he was already at least over a hundred at this point) came to smooth things over and proposed a plan. Two chosen citizens and pirates would become their city's leaders and together they would make improvements to their cites, and while it was rocky and risky at first the plan worked out surprisingly well with the first major pirate city to fully adopt this plan was Sanctuary. Sanctuary is a perfect blend of a pirate's paradise and a mobian's safe haven. The ports were guarded by Pirate and Citizen alike nothing could come or go without going through them, trade between the two groups was open and varied and while crimes did still happen they were significantly less frequent than they used to be.

Chaos Energy and Crystals: Chaos energy flows through every corner of Mobius and it is basically the magic of this world it's what makes the cities float(alongside specially made propellers as a safety precaution),automatons move,grants special abilities and powers and much more. Crystals are holders and crystallizations of chaos energy but depending on how and where they grew will grant them powers. Like crystals grown near lava would be able to channel and cast fire, Crystals found near water could channel and cast water, etc.

Automatons: The last bit of lore is the Automatons who fall into two categories Dolls and the Industri. Workers are your standard every day robot and are most often seen in factories and doing jobs that most other people don't really want to do. They are obedient to whoever they're working for but if there is a malfunction,a breakdown or a robot gains better sentience they are sent back to Robotnik's lair and destroyed then recycled into new workers However, if either a Doll or a Industri is beyond repair they are tossed down into the world below never to be seen again. The Industri also cannot speak all they can do to communicate is beeps,boops,chirps and chimes.The Dolls on the other hand look like well normal mobians but you can obviously tell that they're dolls by their joints as well as glowing eyes in dark places. Dolls are used for many things like being Caregivers,helping store owners by restocking their shelves,make deliveries for their owners and many other tasks but the dolls are most famous especially around pirates for being dancers and other forms of "entertainment" to put it lightly. Dolls are slightly more aware of their surroundings than their Industri brethren as they need to be for the rolls they play however their AI can only go so far. Dolls also can understand the Industri clear as day and tend to speak to them as a normal mobian would to another mobian.

[stillebesat]

Lemon Drops

Sanders Sides: Patton, Remus  Blurb: Patton just wanted to go somewhere where he wouldn’t be judged, wouldn’t disappoint...wouldn’t...screw up another relationship. (Takes place after SvS Redux) Fic Type: Hurt/Comfort, Frog!Patton  Overall Fic Warnings: Remus being Remus, Death Talk, Mentions of Nudity, Various Innuendos, Blood mentions, Negative Self Talk, Trapped/Captivity talk, Fight talk, Panic Attack Taglist in Reblog. 

There was no answer.

Patton exhaled, biting his lip as he dropped his hand, staring with only slightly blurry vision at the crown emblem on Roman’s door.

There had never been no answer before. 

Out of all the others, Roman’s room had always been open to him. No matter the time of day or night. No matter the reason. Roman...Roman would always let his door swing open and Patton could come in to spend however long he needed to inside.

Now….now….he swallowed, fighting to keep his vision from blurring further. Now...it obviously wasn’t. 

Maybe because of today this door would be closed to him forever. 

We love you. 

He hugged himself, chest aching as he turned away for the stairs, keeping his head down as he moved past both Logan and Virgil’s doors. 

Both firmly locked. 

Both silent.

Both...unhappy with him too.

Do you think there’s a limit... on how many times someone can say sorry? 

He wished there wasn’t. He wished that it would just be one more apology and things could get back to...being...better. Back to the...okay not great...but better times when his fellow Sides actually kinda wanted to be around him.

If they had ever wanted to be around him in the first place. 

Had they? 

Had they ever...liked him?

His breath hitched as he entered the kitchen, his fingers digging into his arms as he came to a stop in front of the stove.

Cooking had always made him feel better.

But what was the point of cooking for one? 

Patton closed his eyes, fighting to keep the tears pooling behind his lids from seeping out. 

He’d been so overbearing for so long. Been so set in his ways. In trying to make sure that Thomas was a good person...that...that all those icky feelings were locked up tight and pushed away that he--that he--Patton reached out blindly as his legs buckled, grabbing onto the handle of the oven, hanging onto it like a drowning man clutching to a tree root as his knees made contact with the tiles. 

Do you think there’s a limit on how many times someone can someone say sorry...before you have to admit...that they’re just bad for you?

Thomas wasn’t always a good perfect person. Despite how much Patton wanted him to be. He was...he was...Human. And humans made mistakes. His fellow Sides made mistakes. Patton...Patton himself could make mistakes.

He just wished it didn’t hurt so darn badly. 

Patton dropped one hand to his shirt, clutching at the fabric over his heart as he pressed his head against the cool side of the oven door, his throat aching with suppressed sobs as the tears he’d been fighting so hard to keep at bay flowed down his cheeks. 

Repressing depression can also be bad. 

Well...he’d--he’d never been particularly good at facing his own icky feelings either, not when returning to his room could bring such a quick jolt of happiness that he could forget for a time...all the...all the...and not let the others see...his...this...see him---

Unhappy.

Not that anyone was likely to see him unhappy here right now.

Not when they were locked in their rooms.

Avoiding him.

Because he...it felt like he’d been wrong more often than right these days. Hurting the ones he loved. 

And nothing he did seemed to fix--fix--

Patton shuddered, curling in on himself, trying to find a way to steadily breathe, to keep silent so no one would come to investigate. To--to...calm down. He didn’t--he didn’t need to become--that mutant frog again...to let his icky feelings change him like that--but it...he…

I just have a lot of feelings. 

And none of them were the right ones to help the others. 

They never seemed to be any--any--

A zing of electricity rushed through him and Patton let out a small cry as he felt his body abruptly shift.

NO. NO. NO.

He jerked his head up, gasping for breath as he caught sight of a bright green arm before it shifted back to his normal human appearance. 

NO! Patton fought to shove all the ick--sadness he was feeling away. To keep his regular appearance. He couldn’t trigg--

But the grief was welling up. Swelling like the tidal wave he’d felt before growing into that monstrous frog into a--bad guy. 

Patton shoved to his feet, heart racing his tears as he leapt for the doorway, shooting for the stairs. For his room where he could get that jolt of happiness that had to stop this--

He gasped as another electric zing zapped through him. He stumbled, falling against the door under the stairs that lead down to The Others. 

“Please.” He begged, sticky green fingers slipping off the handle as he curled back into a ball on the floor. Fighting to stay small, to not grow into that...that thing as electric pulses danced along his skin. 

Small.

SMALL.

He had to stay---

He cried out, closing his eyes as it felt like all the air was suddenly being squeezed out of his lungs and he felt himself shift further with a soft POP. He shook his head, missing the weight of the glasses on his nose and his cat hoodie around his shoulders as they fell with a muted thud to the carpet. NO FROG NO FROG NO FROG. He internally shouted, mashing himself into an even tighter ball, his voice choking off in a deep Croak. 

NO! Patton had to--he’d break something if he--he desperately synced himself out of the living room, falling down and away before anyone could come investigate the noise. 

The others couldn’t know. 

He landed with a soft plop onto a semi-bouncy surface that could only be his bed. 

Safe.

Patton drew in a shuddering breath, burying his head into the blanket, breathing in its fresh lemon scent, waiting for the familiar zing of happiness to hit him, to help him shift back to his normal human look.

He had to stay--stay---happy. Pre--pretend that things were---that it would all be okay. 

And that meant going somewhere else where he wouldn’t be judged, wouldn’t disappoint...wouldn’t...screw up another relationship further because he couldn’t control himself and became a terrible giant monster--

“FROG!”

DANGER.

Patton’s eyes flashed open barely taking in the surroundings of the softly lit room that definitely wasn’t his bedroom as he instinctively leapt before the oily voice over his head could finish pronouncing the G, terror rushing through him and coming out of his mouth in a series of frantic ribbits as he sprang off the enormous unmade bed.

SPLAT.

“Hey!” 

Patton gasped as neon red liquid flew past his face as he landed in something cold and slimy and--he didn’t want to think about just what he may be sitting in right now. No. NO. He had to get away from Remus before he...before he!

“Whoa! Wartface! Hold it!”

Patton flinched as Remus’s shadowy form towered over him and jumped--hopped? His limbs definitely were more froglike than anything human--freeing himself from the red icky liquid, to land on the cold black floor, leaving bloody red frogprints behind as he hopped yet again.

Only to have a puke yellow slime meet him in a squelchy embrace as he landed in a different container. 

What was this stuff?! 

“Froggysoggypants stop!” 

No. No way. Patton croaked as he freed himself from the second container, landing with another plop onto the blackened floor, marring its surface with red, orange, and yellow streaks as he frantically tried to run--hop away from Remus towering over him like--like--

Earlier. When Patton had towered over the others as a giant frog. But now that Remus--did that mean...had he shrunk instead?!

“GOTCHA!” Clammy hands grabbed him around the middle midleap, squeezing him tight enough that Patton was certain his eyes were bulging as he was lifted upwards. 

Remus’s crooked grin filled his vision, showing him just how small he’d become. 

He squeaked, an awkward sound coming from his frog mouth as he struggled helplessly in the Duke’s grip. 

“Look at you!” Remus breathed, easily holding him in one hand as he used the other to pull Patton’s arm out. “You’re blue!” He exclaimed, eyes sparking as he played with Patton’spaint covered pale blue froggy toes. “I wonder--”

Patton flinched, trembling as Remus ran his tongue over his back, the hairs of his moustache brushing against his skin. 

This was it. This was how he died. 

“Bleh.” The Duke gagged, pulling away wiping his mouth against his shoulder. “You’re not one of mine.” He complained, running his tongue over the fabric in a manner that had Patton cringing. 

How could Remus stand the texture of cloth against his tongue? Didn’t it--no wait. This was the Duke who ate pickled poo log deodorant. He probably loved the sensation.

“You taste far too sweet like--like--” He poked Patton between the eyes with a frown. “Like a saccharine sugar cookie under all that paint! Peh! At least taste bitter like arsenic or mucus! Frogs are covered in mucus! You should taste like that at least.” 

Patton closed his eyes, shuddering, still feeling Remus’s tongue on his bare back. It wasn’t like he could control what he tasted like! And if he tasted like cookies then that was much better than than--

Than all the ugly and gross things that would be right up the Duke’s dark, grimey, and probably blood covered alley.

But if Remus didn’t like sweet things. And if he realized who he was holding in his hands--

His heart dropped. 

It definitely wouldn’t be pretty. At all. Not when he was sure the Duke blamed Patton for being kept from Thomas’s conscious mind for so long.  

He could easily take revenge.

Remus could skewer him with a sharp stick, throw him in a boiling pot of oil or even peel him open like some sort of crazy science experiment---

Patton whimpered, the sound shifting to soft frantic ribbits as he wiggled in the Duke’s grip.

“Nah! Ah! Sticky Feet! No. Stop squirming!” Remus tightened his grip on him as Patton did his best with his odd toe finger things to find purchase to pull himself free so he could hop the heck out of there and shift back to normal away from the Side that had always given him the heebie jeebies. 

After all…it wasn’t like any of the others would come to his rescue.

Not when none of them...liked him currently. 

Not when their resident Prince and Hero who loved to save people in distress...had locked his room and refused to come out.

Patton stopped struggling, feeling a cold heavy weight settle in his stomach as he stared hopelessly up at Remus. 

Roman wouldn’t come save him. Not this time.

Perhaps it was only right that his brother, the Duke, Master of the Dark Side of Creativity, held him now. Captive. Trapped. He probably deserved it after all he put everyone through today with his…..monstrous self. 

“There there.” Remus whispered, stroking Patton’s back with a finger instead of his tongue this time. He plopped down cross-legged on the paint splattered floor, head tilting at an unnatural angle as he studied him. “You’re not mine.” He repeated softly, an eerie light shining in his eyes as he played with Patton’s toes. “Too sweet. Too sweet. Not Ro’s either. The salt on him is thick these days. Sooooooooooo~” He tilted his head the other way, a small smile playing on his lips. “What brings you here to me in my dark dismal tower and not to him in his gleaming marble castle, little sugar wartface?” 

Patton gulped, trembling as Remus brought him up to eye level, unable to do anything more in his grip. He’d already tried to go to Roman. B-b-but--

That door was shut to him now.   

“Blue...a blue frog….” The Duke mused, humming under his breath as he rocked in place. “Call me Mr. Blue...but with the downright stodgy rainbow theme all of us have going on...being blue means you can only be--” He paused, eyes growing sharp as he grinned like a feral cat about to catch its prey. 

Today really wasn’t his day. 

Patton slumped, a soft ribbit escaping him as he fought back the urge to sob. He just wanted to get away where he wouldn’t hurt the others. Where he wouldn’t be judged or hated. Where he couldn’t...couldn’t mess things up for anyone any more.

But all his icky feelings had only screwed him over more. Changed him into a tiny slimy frog. Landed him in Remus’s room where he was now trapped in the Duke’s grip. 

And now Remus knew exactly who he was. 

“Potty.” 

He flinched at the nickname, closing his eyes as his heart sunk even lower. Sure, he felt like a pile of crap right now. A tiny smelly useless pile of nothing. But he didn’t...didn’t want to be compared to a...toilet. 

“This is no place for you and your awfully tender heart.” Remus said, booping him on the nose. “Why did you come to me? Like this?”

Patton cautiously opened his eyes, confused. Why was the Duke not boiling him alive right now? Hating him too? Why was he--he---being gentle?! 

‘I don’t know.’ He whispered, his words changing to a soft croak as he spoke, rendering his words incomprehensible. 

Out of all the Sides...Remus would have never have crossed his mind as someone to come to for any reason. In a--in a perfect world he would never have to deal with the Duke at all.

“Ooooohh~ Lemme guess.” Remus flopped backwards, head landing in a pan filled with pink paint, sending neon droplets flying across the room as he held Patton high over his head. “You waiting for a kiss?” He asked, puckering his lips, drawing him close.

True love’s kiss can break any curse. 

Even if this had been a curse and not his own fault that he was now a useless tiny slimy frog, Patton knew that no-no one woul--would….no one--not even Remus--He recoiled as the moustache filled his vision, breath hitching as the gaping hole in his chest where his heart should be only seemed to grow wider. 

A kiss wouldn’t work. Not--not when...no one loved him. 

How many times? How many times can you say sorry?  

Not enough. Never enough. He couldn’t--

A fresh lemon breeze washed over him as Remus paused a hair's breadth away from pressing his lips against his face. He tilted his head, going cross-eyed as he hummed staring down at Patton.

He snorted. “No kisses? Figures. You don’t want to see us as lovers?” Remus wiggled his eyebrows, smirking as he rolled to his stomach, the room spinning like a kaleidoscope around them. 

L-lovers?! Patton squeaked, feeling his body go all warm. If he’d been his normal human self, he was sure his face would have gone bright red at that. 

Remus cackled, dark eyes glittering. “Surely as Thomas’s Heart, wittle Pittle has a teeny weenie spot of love for smelly old me if he loves all of Thomas.” 

And Patton thought his heart couldn’t break further. If he was any good at his job...then that should have been True.

But it wasn’t. 

The knowledge that he didn’t want to have any love for the Duke only made him feel worse.

What good was he as Thomas’s Heart if he couldn’t love every Side of him? 

Remus huffed, eyes growing sharp. “Oooh~” He sing-songed jabbing a finger into Patton’s chest. “Did Sappy Pappy forget he’s the center of all of Thomas’s feelings?” 

Patton kicked back smearing paint across the Duke’s arm as he wiggled in his grip. No!...Yes…maybe? He...he was...the center...but….Patton pushed pointlessly against Remus’s fingers, his throat contracting with suppressed croaks. 

What did it matter what he was to Thomas? Feelings. Morality. He wasn’t doing a very good job of being either one right now. 

The Duke wiggled his eyebrows as he made a fart noise with his tongue. “Are you trying to only be happy again? Hide all your juicy twisty feelings? How booooring, Poppyseed. You gotta let it out!” 

NO! He shook his head. Letting out his...twisty feelings had only resulted in BAD Things. He’d become a giant frog! That wasn’t good. 

Now you’re a small frog. Is that any better?

“Guess what, Potthead.” Remus dipped one hand into a pan of green paint, flicking his fingers at Patton’s face. “Hate is a feeling.” 

He flinched, raising a shaking toe finger hand thingy to rub the paint off his face, giving a loud ribbit of disagreement. Hate was such a...a strong word.  

Remus rolled his eyes, plopping Patton down in a pan of orange paint, speaking over his croak of disgust at suddenly being surrounded by more cold slimy ickiness. 

“That’s not bad, Pottycake.” The Duke said, easily catching Patton as he jumped out of the paint and plopped him into a different can of pink slime before he could blink. “You don’t have to like everything you encounter or everyone you meet.” 

Of course not, but that didn’t mean he--Thomas couldn’t pretend! Patton wiped the paint from his eyes before he doggy--froggy paddled over to the edge.

Things worked a lot more smoothly when Thomas was nice and happy.

Only it hadn’t worked out doing that this time had it?

Patton pressed his lips together, chest aching as he heaved himself out of the can. 

It didn’t matter. It would work out eventually. He just had to keep up the positive attitu--

Remus scooped him up, careless of how Patton struggled in his grip, getting slime and goo all over himself. “You know…” he clicked his tongue, dribbling purple paint all over Patton’s back. “I don’t need you to like me, or tell me exactly how you feel, but that feeling is a part of you.”

‘NO!’ He didn’t want it to be. 

The Duke’s eyes grew sharp as he lowered his hand, chuckling as Patton sprang from his grip, narrowly avoiding landing in any other pans, his feet leaving multi-colored prints over the dark floors. “It’s a part of good old Tomalongadingdong that won’t go away, Potty, no matter how much you try and shove it into a dark dusty corner and forget about it.” 

Repression can be bad.

It was--he knew that. Patton forced himself to keep hopping, crying out in frustration as he was easily grabbed around the middle and plopped back into the Duke’s lap. 

Remus had proved that as Thomas’s Intrusive Thoughts despite Patton’s best efforts to keep Thomas from ever knowing that his Dark Creativity even existed. That the bad thoughts could be--be--okay. That just because they were there didn’t mean Thomas himself was...bad. But knowing was not the same as...as...accepting. 

And he wasn’t about to accept being stuck here with Remus any longer than he had to. Patton scrunched up his face, concentrating on gathering his limbs together for a more coordinated hop. Even if he wanted to express his icky feelings--which he didn’t!--there was...wasn’t anyone left he could...could go to.  Who would ever need you? When all you do is more harm than good? 

Remus tsked, scooping Patton up and dropping him in a large can of blue paint before he could spring away.  

GAH! That. WAS. IT. ‘Would you QUIT it!’ He yelled as he surfaced, splashing paint back up at Remus’s face. 

It was bad enough already being stuck here without any hope of the others coming to get him without continuously getting tossed into paint along with it! 

He froze as the Duke threw his head back with a loud laugh.

Oh no. 

“Oooh.” Remus’s eyes glittered as he lowered his head, teeth flashing as he grinned, blue paint dripping from his moustache into his mouth. “Patteywattey has some fight to him!”

‘NO!’ Patton recoiled with a strangled croak. He’d fought far too much earlier today as that--as--tha--as the Monstrous Frog! He’d--he’d attacked Leslie, Lee and Mary-Lee. He’d even attacked Thomas without realizing--He’d--No. NO NO NO. NO FIGHTING. EVER.

He ducked down, letting the paint cover him completely, a hollow ache in his chest. He had made another stupid stupid mistake splashing back. Fighting back. That wasn’t supposed to be him! If he wanted Remus to leave him alone he shouldn’t have encouraged him by action! It should have been through words---

What words? You’re a frog. All you can do is Croak. 

It wasn’t like words had helped earlier either. Not when he didn’t...when he hadn’t known the right things to say. 

Patton felt rather than heard the splash of something else entering the paint can with him before reaching fingers grabbed him, pulling him free of the paint, if not of Remus’s grip. 

“Hiding from a fight isn’t very fun.” The Duke said as warm liquid splashed over Patton’s body, washing away the heavy weight of the paint covering him. “But then again.” His blue moustache came into view, tongue stuck out between his teeth as he carefully wiped around Patton’s eyes with a green stained towel. “You fighting against me would be really weird, Pops, despite how often you’ve threatened violence against our dear old Virgin.” He smirked.

I will physically fight you. 

Patton shuddered, gripping onto Remus’s fingers as another wave of icky feelings rushed through him, choking him to the point he could barely breathe. 

Again and again. He was reminded that he could do nothing right no matter how hard he tried. 

Virgil.

Logan.

Roman. 

Despite his efforts...he’d let them all down one after the other.

Just like the deadbeat fathers in all those tv shows.

He was a failure through and throu--

“The thing is….”  Patton looked up as Remus ran the towel down his back before setting him on the half-made bed. 

“It’s just goo and paint, Pattycake.” Remus gestured around his room to the various multi-colored splotches before resting his arms on the bed. “Using it to create--” He placed a sheet of paper on the bed along with a tube of paint, squirting a glob of red into the center of the page. “It’s just a way to express your feelings. All your feelings” He said dipping a finger into the paint, trailing it over the black sheet creating a--. 

Patton winced, looking away from the crude image. 

“There’s nothing bad about getting those feelings out. It’s what Creativity is for.” He wiggled his shoulders suggestively as he flicked his fingers at Patton splattering him with red droplets. “Didn’t you once say that you liked playing with the stuff?” 

My channel would have videos of me playing with goo and mixing paint. 

Patton frowned down at his hands, squeezing his toe finger things into fists before relaxing them on the page. It felt like a lifetime ago though. Back when he’d been trying to include Anxiety in their group. Back before everything---He hadn’t even thought about sticking his fingers into a tub of goo in ages. Not when he’d been trying so hard to keep Thomas happy. 

And failing.

“Now’s your chance, Patcasso.” With a wave of his hand the image on the paper vanished, leaving the single glob of red paint once more untouched. Remus winked as he scooped up Patton, depositing him on the large sheet right next to the glob of paint. “Stop repressing. Paint.” 

Repressing Depression can also be bad. 

But...But….painting? How could that hel--

Remus hummed, dipping his finger into the paint, idly drawing a heart right next to him. “The Heart becomes a Frog.” He murmured. “Just like one of those prudishly dull fairytale quests my dear old brother enjoys huh? With the kissing and the happily ever afters.” 

Had enjoyed...it wasn’t like Roman would want to---Patton drew in a shuddering breath before shakily dipping his hand into the paint, drawing a jagged line down the middle of the heart. 

No one loved him. 

The Duke’s eyebrows rose, eyes gleaming as he leaned forward. “A broken heart? Oooo~I do love an unhappy story.” With a wave of his hand, the rest of the rainbow appeared as globs of paint on the page. “Go on.” He encouraged, resting his arms on the bed. “What fly got into your soup?” 

Go on? But he had no idea where to start. It was just--too much. He’d been wrong--so strict and set in his ways for so long, he didn’t even know where the problems had begun between him and the others! Today was just the latest addition to a very very long list of--and--he shoved both hands into the red paint, smearing it across the heart with a muted croak. Red for his failure with Roman.

We love you. 

….Right. 

The hurt. He’d tried so hard to--but--red streaked fingers dug into the yellow paint, as he drew a lopsided crown on top of the heart, the yellow marred by lines of red. Roman refused to answer the door. To let him do what he did best. Comfort others.

Hence why everyone has shut their doors to you huh. You’re sooo good at comforting. 

Another lie. Another falsehood. What good was Morality? What good were Feelings if he couldn’t--

He shoved his hands into the dark blue paint, drawing another wobbly heart with a line through it followed by a large smear and then a ragged tie. Logan. 

Another broken heart. This one purple. Followed by the cloud and a lightning bolt. Virgil.

All streaked through with yellow. With Janus. With Deceit. 

How many times can you say sorry? 

Not enough. Never enough. He--he--Patton slammed his fists into the paint sending it flying all over the bed, chest aching as he closed his eyes.

“....Patton?” 

He shook his head, ignoring Remus. It didn’t help. Painting didn’t help. The icky feelings were still there. If he was feeling icky how could he ever hope to--

Patton gasped, jerking as splotchy green arms suddenly wrapped around him in a warm hug, squeezing him far more tightly than he was comfortable with. 

He looked up, meeting the dark eyes of another frog, one with blue tipped black spikes sticking out from his upper lip. 

Remus? Why had he--why was he hold--why was he a FROG?!

The frog gave a watery croak, holding Patton close in an embrace that was so warm it sent a wave of soothing heat through him. 

Oh Crofters...He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hugged.

It felt--it felt---He melted into the other’s arms, burying his head against the Duke’s chest as the dam he’d tried so hard to build to hold back his tears crumbled like so much dust, leaving him sobbing in a series of squeaky croaks against the Dark Side. 

Remus made a buzzing noise, nearly like a hum as he rocked Patton back and forth, keeping up the steady too tight pressure around him. 

It shouldn’t make him cry harder. Yet Patton found himself doing just that, hot tears trailing down his cheeks. It had been so long. So long since anyone had done this with him. He’d never expected Remus of all Sides to instigate a hug with him, not when he’d spent so many years trying to keep the Duke from influencing Thomas’s everyday life. By all rights, Remus should hate him for being so strict. Should want nothing to do with him.

And here he was.

Hugging Patton.

Comforting him.

Trying to help in his own odd Remusey way.

It left him feeling all tingly inside, like butterflies dancing inside an inflating balloon as electric pulses danced across his skin. 

Fresh tears leaked through his closed eyelids. It should end soon. All hugs had to end. Remus had to pull away at some point to leave Patton feeling all cold and icky again.

And yet…

Remus didn’t move. 

The Dark Side wasn’t known for his long attention span, always fidgeting or spouting out a new topic of conversation.

But here he was...holding tight unto Patton without showing any signs of releasing his grip, his warmth as constant and steady as the Duke’s heartbeat. 

Patton drew in a shuddering breath, eyelids fluttering. He didn’t deserve this. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, voice hoarse, barely registering that actual words left his mouth instead of croaks.

Remus huffed, adjusting his grip for the first time to run his fingers through Patton’s hair, sending a shiver down his spine. “Apology accepted, Padre.”

Accepted? Just like that? No questions? Patton trembled, breath hitching, not quite believing he’d heard correctly. “Y-you--why?” 

“Mmm?” 

Patton steeled himself before looking up, registering Remus’s very human face inches from his own. His regular sized face. Not a giant one. Which meant...he’d somehow shifted back to his normal self while bawling his eyes out. “Y-you di-didn’t ask why I-I-I was sor-sorry.” 

Remus made a clicking sound with his tongue, as he trailed his fingers down the back of Patton’s neck, eyes glittering. “Do you know why you were saying sorry?” 

Patton blinked, mouth half open with no idea what to say, his mind racing as he raised a shaking hand to scrub at his wet cheeks. There was...it was hard to explain! “I…” 

Remus chuckled. “Then it’s sewage under the bridge, Patters. I don’t need to know why. You just needed to know I accept. Right? Make you feel better?”  

He...he did feel a little better. “I--but--that--” Patton growled, shaking his head. “Tha-that’s not how apologies work!” 

“Says who? Cus they’re wrong.” Remus winked. “Besides I got to see your rosy cheeks and it was well worth the wait.” He met Patton’s eyes before deliberately looking down. 

Patton looked down as well and squeaked, practically throwing himself off of the Duke’s lap, knocking the paint covered paper to the ground in his desperation to grab a blanket to wrap around his waist, ears burning as Remus collapsed in a fit of giggles, his own--his own...rosy cheeks just as exposed as Patton’s had been. “WHY ARE WE NAKED?!” He demanded, voice cracking.

Sure he’d felt his glasses and hoodie fall from him when he’d changed into the tiny frog, but he hadn’t realized the rest of his--He shuddered again feeling Remus’s tongue against his bare back. No wonder it had been so--but he was human again! He should be wearing clothes! He’d had his outfit unmarred after he’d changed back from being that monster frog! 

Remus rolled to his side and Patton flushed harder, looking away, pulling the blanket up to his neck, getting a wift of lemons as he did so. 

“Never changed into an animal before have you?” He remarked, a wicked grin crossing his face. “Clothes can’t shift with you when you do that. You just leave them behind.” He pointed to his own pile of clothes on the paint covered floor.  

Patton gulped, twisting the blanket in his hands. “But Deceit!”

“Shifts between people.” Remus waved a hand dismissively. “That’s different. People wear clothes. You’ve never seen him change into a snake in front of you have you?”  No….but! ”But that-- my clothes! Earlier! I kept--”

Remus raised an eyebrow as he rolled off the bed, heading leisurely to his closet. “Were you a real frog earlier?”

Patton paused, mouth half opened. He--he--well they had been in a video game formant at the time he’d--he’d changed. Did...did that not count?

“Thought not.” Remus reemerged, thankfully wearing a tank top and very very short shorts as he tossed a wad of fabric at Patton’s head, the clothes vanishing just before hitting him only to reappear on his body. 

If he hadn’t done cloth swaps before with the...with everyone else before, that would have been---Patton shoved the thought from his mind, drawing in a shaky breath, reluctantly lowering the blanket to see just exactly what Remus had dressed him in. 

His fingers brushed over the black tank top with a picture of a kraken wrapped around a broken ship, to land on a pair of pajama bottoms that made it look like he had a multitude of tentacles instead of two legs.  

Remus gave him a critical once over before flopping back onto the bed. “Satisfied Mr. Monk? I’m sure that outfit won’t upset your delicate tastes too much.” He winked. “Though I can always dress you in something more--” he popped his lips.

It wasn’t his favorite get up... but it was much better than--than a lot of things he could imagine Remus wearing. Imagine Remus trying to get him to wear to get a reaction from him. Patton bit his lip, looking back up. “Why are you being so….nice? To me?” He whispered.

 Remus tilted his head at an unnatural angle to look at him, his eyebrows raised. 

There is no rhyme or reason to what I do, I just do.

Right. Patton flushed, looking away. Remus just...did things. Not just bad things apparently. Good things too. “Sorry. I just---no one…” He cut off as his voice cracked, blinking as his eyes began to burn again. “I...I’ve made a lot of mistakes. Recently. I--I thought you’d--” 

“Kick you while you were down?”

Patton bit his lip, pulling his knees up to his chest, grateful his tentacle patterned pj bottoms were pants instead of a pair of short shorts. “...Yah.” The Dark Side of Creativity liked doing things like that...didn’t he?

Remus twisted, shimming up to flop between Patton and the wall. “It was tempting.” He admitted, tapping a random pattern on Patton’s arm as he smoothed down his moustache with his other hand, “but considering you just cried hard enough to fill like twenty toilets--” He shrugged. “There’s only so many times you can kick a dead horse before it’s no longer fun. Seemed like you needed a breather from being hit.”

Patton swallowed over the lump in his throat as he relaxed his grip on his knees, turning his head to Remus. “Yah...I-I did.” 

Remus smirked. “As a frog though? You know there is this delectably bitter frog leg soup I’ve been itching to make and your legs--” He smacked his lips, eyes dancing with laughter as he stared at Patton. “Are quite shapely.”

And he thought his face couldn’t grow any hotter. At this rate he would give himself a sunburn from blushing so hard. “I--I-” 

Why did Remus have to go and say THAT. Despite his legs already being covered with his pants, Patton pulled the blanket back over them, hiding them from view. 

“Soo sensitive.” Remus teased, his feet prodding at Patton’s covered ones.

He was Feelings. He just--he pushed his feet against Remus’s, shoving them back. “I’m not used to--” 

“Ah yes.” Remus propped himself up on one elbow, rolling his eyes as his knee knocked against Patton’s calf. “Roman’s compliments are a bit more tame aren’t they? Something more boring about how you’re super sweet and like unto fields of flowers and being like the Sun and other trite drivel?” 

Patton bit his lip, a hollow pang echoing through his chest at the sound of Roman’s name. “...I don’t think he’ll be saying anything like that...to me….for a while.” Probably never again.

Remus froze for half a breath before he twisted, forcing his head between Patton’s chest and his legs so that he could use his stomach as a pillow. 

Roman used to do that. 

Patton swallowed over the lump in his throat, staring down at the Duke as he made himself comfortable. 

He should push him away. 

But at the same time...he--he missed...moments like this. Where it--it felt like someone wanted to be in his bubble. Wanted to stay near him. 

“I do love an unhappy story.” Remus remarked, bracing his feet against the wall as he gave Patton a feral grin that quickly softened as he stared up into his eyes. “But,” He raised a hand to brush at Patton’s wet cheeks, fingers coming away with flecks of paint on them as he dropped his hand to his lips, tongue flicking out to lick his fingers. “...I don’t think you should tell it tonight. A scab isn’t fun to pick at if it’s still fresh you know.” 

Patton bit his lip, blinking to keep his vision from blurring. “Right.” He managed to choke out. 

He didn’t know when this..this would not be fresh though. Would it ever...ever scab over if Roman--if Virg--Lo...if he was constantly left alone on the Light Side--

A warm hand again pressed against his cheek. “You’re welcome to stay, you know.” 

Patton drew in a shuddering breath, leaning into the Duke’s palm. “Huh?” He was...welcome? Here? 

“The night. For a breather. Be away from everyone. Seems like you need it. Though--” Remus’s eyes lit up with laughter as he gestured with his other hand around the low lit room. “I do only have the one bed.” 

Patton jerked, face burning as hot as the sun as he shoved Remus off him. “REMUS!” His voice shouldn’t sound that strangled. But. AH!

The Duke’s infectious laughter rang through the room as Remus rolled back to his spot between the wall and the bed, giving Patton as much space as he could on the twin sized bed. 

He may be more naive than the others in some aspects, but after finding some of the stuff that the Fanders had written about them...he--he--knew what that particular phrase could imply. “You could create another.” He said, once Remus’s laughter had died down to faint giggles, hating how high his voice still was. “You’re Creativity too!” 

“I could.” He easily agreed, shoulders still shaking with silent laughter. “but that’s not Fun. I wouldn’t be able to hear your breathing if you weren’t right here,” Remus dropped his voice seductively, smoothing down his moustache. “Next to me.”

If he got out of this room without getting third-degree burns from blushing Patton would be amazed. “I--I--stop it!” 

Remus tilted his head at that unnatural angle, his foot darting out to tap his toes again. “Stop what? You’re the one still here, Patters. On my bed. I haven’t tied you to it with fluffy handcuffs or anything though I could give you some. In your favorite shade of blue even.” He snickered. “Ooooooh, I’m sure I could make you squea--” He cut off as Patton shoved a pillow into his face.

He! He! Patton fell on top of the pillow, muffling his voice as he--he wasn’t sure if he was screaming or not, but AGH. Remus was--was so! So!!

An arm snaked around the pillow tapping Patton’s head before trailing down his neck. “Why haven’t you left?” Remus asked, his voice barely understandable through the pillow. He wiggled, the tip of his nose peeking out. “You can any time you know. I know you don’t like me, Pats. Don’t stay on my account.”  He--yah...he---he could leave. Should have left as soon as he realized he was again. Synced back to his room. To the light sides...to--to the loneliness. “If you know I--I don’t---lik--I haven’t been that--that good to you Remus. Why are you being nice to me?” Patton whispered reaching up to grab The Duke’s hand before it could trail further down his back. 

“Thomas is nice.” Remus said simply, going lax under him, his fingers twisting to squeeze Patton’s. “I’m just nice...differently.” 

He didn’t understand. Had never fully understood Remus nor his purpose. But this-- Patton tightened his grip. “Well it’s...I...I need nice right now. To feel--” Loved. Wanted. He trailed off, trying to keep his voice from wobbling. Was that pathetic of him? Wanting to stay when Remus was talking to him when no one else would? When he was instigating touch without Patton having to ask? “And..and you’re...you’re being nice...you hugged me and I just--” He cut off with a squeak as the pillow suddenly vanished, sending him right into Remus’s chest, the Duke’s arms wrapping around him in that too tight grip, fingers trailing through his hair.

“Let me hold you then.” Remus whispered. “If that’s what you need.” 

It was. He--he needed--Patton trembled, fingers gripping the Duke’s shirt as he pressed his face into his chest, breathing in the scent of lemons. “I’m sorry...it’s---���

Remus huffed a laugh into his ear, squeezing him tighter. “Apology accepted.” 

[ponds-of-ink]

A short (?) fanfic inspired by @frosted-firefly‘s latest answer to a drawing request. I was going to post this as a genuine fanfic, but I wanted to “publish” it here first. Y’know, because context.

Enjoy this semi-rushed piece and let me know what you think.

A carriage sped down the narrow roads leading to the town of Marseilles. The driver, eying both sides at each turn, urged the horses to roll faster and faster. “I’m sorry, Monsieur Morrell,” he called over the thundering hoofbeats. “I’m afraid there’s no turning back.” 

The coach’s rider opened the window and leaned his head out. “What do you mean, Philipe?” he asked in fluent French. “Marseilles was my childhood home, not a den of thieves or a hideaway for the corrupt. My father lived and died here, and I never heard of such a horrible implication from him. For shame if someone has ruined this beacon of hope for France’s commerce or her people!”

The driver we now know as Philipe winced as he watched the fog build around them. With great swiftness and an even greater knowledge of how to master horses, he slowed the beasts down to a trot. “With all due honesty, Master Maximillian, I didn’t mean to imply that Marseilles is a smuggler’s cove,” he admitted as he lit his lantern. “It’s not, really. Think of it as a place where krakens might lurk the seas or ghouls lurk in every corner.” 

Maximillian shuddered at the mention of krakens. The questions he wanted to ask died in his throat. He put his head back inside then shut the window. His heart throbbed. For all his years as a soldier, he had never experienced the terror any soul under the haunting song of ghost stories. Was Marseilles doomed by some eerie calamity? Did a shipwreck unknowingly set off a chain of events that led to this? Or a vengeful ghost wishing to ruin everyone in its path until its “justice” was finished? 

As the passenger contemplated the past, the driver focused on the present. One hand pulled tightly to the reins while the other held the handle of the candlelit lantern. All he could rely on was the yellowed map on his knees and the sensitivity of his horses. Such sensitivity was well tested when the pack rose to their back hooves and whinnied in fear. “Whoa!” Philipe yelled, tugging back the reins and trying to regain control. “What did you lads see?” His answer emerged as three ring-tailed animals with its leader wearing a tattered hat. They scurried up to the coach and clawed at the door. “Get away from there!” Philipe growled, preparing to leap down and confront them himself.

“You heard the gentleman,” a snakelike voice said, alerting the rodents. “Leave the coach alone. We don’t want to scratch any gold paint off, do we?” 

The trio chirped as if disappointed, then hurried to the stranger’s side. “You’ll have to forgive them,” he chuckled. “They”re just as greedy as their namesake. Old Caderousse loved his gold as much as these wretches love their garbage.” He approached the carriage and placed an arm on the motionless driver’s seat. The man was a well-dressed (if not slightly gaudy) figure with a deep plum top hat and an orange bow-tie to match his suit. His face was scuffed by decades-old injuries, but his mood certainly seemed unaffected by them. “Say, you look a bit agitated for someone startled by raccoons,” he noted, taking a good at his surprised listener. “May I ask where you were headed?”

Maximillian, who had been listening to the entire scene from inside the coach, peered outside from the window. “We are supposed to be at Marseilles tonight,” he explained. “I was given a letter by—“

“A mysterious person known only as Sinbad,” interrupted the stranger darkly. 

“How did you know?”

“Because I myself had received a message like that months ago. The promise of gold lured me in, then I got this job as payment for my stay here.”

“Payment? For what?”

A bitter laugh escapes the hat-wearing man as he approaches the solider. “My dear Maximillian, I’m surprised at you,” he said, placing his elbow on the paneling. “Time may have eroded any childhood memories, but I thought your father would have mentioned my disappearance before he died.”

Maximillian started. “Danglars?” he asked hoarsely. 

“Very good. Maybe I’m not as ill-remembered as I thought.”

“But how did you end up like this?”

Danglars’ expression strained. “Let’s save that story for another time,” he answered with some hesitation. “You must be on your way, and I don’t want you to be more than fashionably late.” He then paused to watch Philipe and the black-masked bandits quarrel. “May I serve as driver’s assistant for the rest of the trip?” he resumed. “I’ve guided many a carriage down these roads like Captain Leclere led the ocean-fairing boats.”

“Anything to put Philipe at ease,” Maximillian replied, putting a hand to the doorknob. “But be sure to not mislead us, or I will take action when our next stop arrives.”

“Don’t cast such a dark cloud of thought upon yourself,” Danglars grinned before turning to face the tense battle of man versus animal. “I’m legally obligated to make sure each person enters in safely. So, on behalf of the town, allow me to say ‘Welcome Home’.”

A few minutes later, and all six members of this motley crew rode past the gate that served as the west entrance. The lights in each window dispelled the fog, allowing Philipe to park the horses in an orderly manner. Once the journey had officially ended, Maximillian stepped out into the narrow cobblestone street. A grim atmosphere and an ever-present chill in the air greeted his senses as he processed what had changed. The buildings, though clearly still strong in their construction, had a look of decay and corruption. Anyone who passed him dove inside somewhere or rushed by without a word. If he had seen an old acquaintance in that moment, they were unrecognizable either due to some dramatic change or to their clothing choices. “What is going on here?” Maximillian asked Danglars, who had busied himself with paying the raccoons in jewels. “Philipe warmed me of krakens and ghouls, but there are none to be seen!”

“That’s because the ghouls are a little timid this hour,” explained the guide, joining the young solider’s side. “If you want to see them, I suggest waiting until some time past midnight. As for krakens, that’s just old sailor’s tales. If they did exist, they would be the only thing in this lot I would be genuinely afraid of.”

Maximillian nodded. “My father did say you dreaded storms because of that,” he added. “But that was when you were young and inexperienced.” 

“‘Inexperienced’ is not a strong enough word,” Danglars muttered to himself, adjusting the brim of his top hat. The realization that his job was not yet over helped him regain his composure. “Mercifully, the past is the past,” he resumed with a confident air. “Now I have a mission that is not guided by the stars, but by a strong sense of direction. Follow me, and I will show you your inn for the night.”

Maximillian silently complied. As he wandered through the winding streets of his old home, his ears caught a faint noise mixed with the gentle breeze. It was almost as if someone was in the deepest throes of agony, but did not want to be found. He looked at his guide, but nothing in his posture had significantly changed. “Maybe this is one of those monstrous souls who now resides here,” the soldier figured. “Maybe I will meet this strange fellow later on tonight, if my fate gets any more strange and fortunate.”

[last-wish]

Feainnewedd: Chapter 5

Summary: Ciri meets the witchers and starts her training at Kaer Morhen, Geralt struggles with his new role and unexpected troubles demand outside help.

Pairing: Geralt x Yennefer

Word Count: 3,7k

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: None

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! This chapter took me longer than I thought, with the change of setting in the fic and all the stuff happening in the world. I hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think! Cross posted to AO3. Special thanks to @mclintocks for her invaluable help.

“Ciri, stop right there!”

The girl brought her horse to a halt some fifty yards ahead of Geralt. “You’re such an old man!” She laughed. “Why do you hate fun?”

“I am an old man,” he said as he caught up with her. “But wait until you see Vesemir.”

Ciri spotted a half-smile on the witcher’s face as he overtook her.

“Well, if he raised you, he must be even more boring than you.”

Geralt chuckled. “When I ride into a new town, kids not much younger than you stare at me with their mouths open. The very bravest among them even dare ask me about my exciting life hunting monsters.”

“I have seen through you already. You’re just a boring old man hiding beneath that armor.”

“You’re really hurting my pride, Ciri. Don’t you have any mercy?”

“Not when you don’t even let me run a little. Come on, I’m hungry! Can’t we go faster to the next town?”

Ciri put on her saddest face—to little effect on the white-haired witcher.

“You have dried meat in your pouch.”

“But it’s awful! We’ve been eating this shit for weeks.”

“Language. You don’t want Vesemir hear you say that. And yeah, this meat gets tiring pretty quickly. But we can’t stop at every tavern and risk someone recognizing us. Or someone remembering us when certain people come later asking for a certain rebellious, ashen-haired, green-eyed princess. Maybe it wouldn’t be so obvious if we had cut your hair short.”

Ciri stabbed him with an unambiguous look.

“But I see that’s still not an option,” the witcher added quickly. “Anyway, don’t worry too much, the next town is the last one before Kaer Morhen. Then it’s a couple more days and—”

A rider appeared out of a gully that descended from the nearby hills. He hastened his horse in their direction, looking nervously towards the hilltops.

“Good morning,” Geralt said.

The man stopped before them.

“Another one of you? Are you coming to help?”

“What are you talking about?”

“There’s a man-eater around here. I just guided one of your kind to the place where it attacked yesterday.”

“What, who—”

“I’m not staying here!” The man hurried his horse. “Go up the gully and you’ll find him. Or what’s left of him!”

“Fuck,” Geralt cursed as he dismounted Roach.

Ciri noticed then a shadow on the ground. At first, she thought it was just a cloud. But as it grew steadily, moving towards the rider, she felt something was off.

“Geralt…”

She raised her head and stared in disbelief. A beast that looked like it had jumped out of a tapestry crossed the sky, piercing the cold morning air with a horrifying shriek. Folding its monstrous, bat-like wings, the creature dived towards the rider, quickly closing the distance despite the man’s desperate efforts.

“Ciri, hold Roach!” Geralt said as he unsheathed his silver sword.

Ahead of them, rider and horse fell to the ground. The animal neighed when the monster plunged its claws deep into its belly. The man wheezed as the fangs pierced his throat mercilessly. The man-eater stood on top of them, raising its bloodied head with an almost royal look. The impression quickly vanished when Ciri noticed its hideous face crowned by two long horns. It was then that the girl saw a figure nimbly descending from the hillside, sword in hand.

Before it could get close, the monster lashed with its long scorpion tail in a semi-circle. Ciri looked at the man’s face as he stopped, wielding his sword before him. A long, ugly scar crossed half of his face. The beast must have been fixated on the man, too, since it did not notice Geralt approaching it from behind. With a quick pirouette, the witcher slashed its left wing. The man-eater roared and writhed. Instead of trying to dodge the tail coming at him, Geralt crossed his wrists, stopping the sting amidst an explosion of sparks and blood.

It must be one of his witcher tricks, Ciri thought as the two men circled around the beast, its wounded wing preventing it from taking off again. Suddenly, as if they were reading each other’s thoughts, the two men attacked at the same time. But the monster was still very much alive, fending off the men with a lash of its tail, a dodge and a counterattack.

From her vantage point, Ciri watched the fight with fascination. The girl had seen skilled warriors dueling in tournaments back in Cintra but this was completely different. Instead of the slow movements of plate-armored knights wielding heavy maces, the nimble jumps, spins and dodges of the two seamlessly coordinated men resembled more of a court dance. The man-eater started moving more slowly as the dark blood spilling from its left wing formed puddles on the ground. Noticing this, Geralt and the scarred man got closer to the beast.

The end of the fight was quick. In the blink of an eye, the scarred man bisected the monster’s tail and Geralt sliced off one of its legs. The other man then jumped on top of the beast and buried his sword up to the hilt, instantly killing the monster.

The man with the scar landed on the ground and sheathed his sword into the scabbard strapped to his back. The witchers wrapped their arms around each other in a quick, tight embrace.

“Still sharp, Wolf.”

“It’s either sharp or dead, Eskel.”

“As Vesemir always says. Are you going to winter in Kaer Morhen too?”

“Yes”—Geralt looked at Ciri—“We are.”

“You’re bringing a boy? It’s been a long time.”

“Not a boy,” Geralt said while Ciri approached them, pulling back her hood. “This is Ciri.”

“Oh. Forgive me, Ciri. Geralt, are you sure Kaer Morhen is the right place for her?”

“As long as your food is better than the dried shit we’ve been eating,” Ciri answered for him, “I’ll put up with you.”

***

“Again!”

Ciri wiped the sweat off her forehead with her wrist and looked at her feet, one in front of the other, standing on a narrow beam four feet off the ground. She held the wooden sword in front of her, keeping perfect balance.

“Now!”

The girl took two quick steps and swung the sword with all her might against the target—a leather sack roughly shaped as a person.

“Way too high. We’re aiming for the carotid artery. You remember where it is, right?”

“I’m not stupid, Coën.”

The young witcher smiled at her from below, his yellow-green eyes glinting playfully against his bronze skin. Both outsiders—Coën came from the School of the Griffin in Poviss—they had connected with each other from the start. Besides, Eskel was too calm for the energetic girl, Vesemir could be too protective and Lambert… Well, Lambert was insufferable.

“That’s what I thought,” Coën said. “Again, come on.”

Ciri returned to the starting position. She glanced from the corner of her eyes at the opposite side of Kaer Morhen’s courtyard. Geralt had said he would be sharpening swords but every time the girl looked at him, he was staring into the distance through a wide gap in the ruined wall. The girl focused back on the target and attacked.

“No, no, this time you got too close. Shorter steps. If you get that close to a good swordsman, they’ll hack you to pieces before you swing.”

“Ugh.”

“Come on, you were begging all day for sword practice.”

“Because you have me all day practicing stances!”

“What’s so bad about it? It’s just like learning to dance. Didn’t they teach you in court?”

“Oh, they did,” Ciri scowled at him. “And I hated it.”

“Don’t look at me like that with a sword in your hand,” laughed Coën as he approached her. “Hold the sword in front of you. See, your grip is wrong. You have to hold it… like this. Try again.”

Ciri got into position, took a deep breath and tried again.

“Better!” Coën patted her shin. “Your steps were fine, the strike was alright. But you have to swing faster or your enemy will parry easily. Again!”

The girl took a moment. She re-tightened her ponytail, stretched her arms and looked at the leather sack. There was a wrinkle in its surface that seemed familiar, almost like a frown staring at her above a pair of sharp cheekbones. She saw a dark helmet, crowned by two feathered wings. Cold sweat trickled down her back. But Ciri tightened the grip on her sword and fire burnt through her.

“Great! You did it perfectly! You have to show that to Geralt. Hey, are you alright? Ciri!”

Ciri felt the sword leaving her hand. She looked at it, slowly falling towards the ground. But the ground was further and further, and the sword became so small it disappeared from her sight. A sudden gust of cold wind stung her face and darkness surrounded her. Somehow, the girl knew she was standing on the same spot of the witchers’ keep. She then saw lights at the other side of the courtyard where Geralt had been sitting just a moment ago—only this time the wall was no longer in ruins. The air grew warmer and she was relieved to hear distant voices. But as the voices grew nearer, she recognized something unpleasant among them.

The torches were close. The stench of smoke, sweat and blood inundated the courtyard. An endless tide of people marched towards her. Ciri saw their eyes and shivered. They all glimmered with hate. Hate and bloodlust.

“Good men of Kaedwen!”

She noticed the clubs, the axes, the pitchforks. Stained with blood.

“You have done the hardest part. You must finish the job now!”

She heard sobs beside her. A group of kids. Some cowering in fear, some standing defiantly with short swords in their hands.

“To exterminate the pack one must kill every wolf, even the pups!”

Only two wounded witchers stood between the mob and the boys.

“You want to end this plague of mutants and freaks?”

A roar answered. Geralt and Coën looked back at her.

“Then have no mercy.”

***

The old man was sitting at an austere table. Surrounded by piles of books and parchments, he pored over the pages of a leather-bound volume. With each page he turned, a small cloud of dust took off, barely illuminated by a dying candle. The man was so focused on the book he barely heard the light steps approaching.

“Across the Veil,” said the voice behind him. “By Sebille Tilly, if I’m not mistaken.”

“One of the most influential books on the arts of revelations, prophecies and dreams, or so they say. Although poor Sebille’s prose wasn’t the lightest, I was just about to go from theory to practice on this dreams chapter. How is she, Geralt?”

“She just woke up. Fine, just a bit agitated. The vision she had…”

“What?”

“You know she called out to Coën and me. What she described, Vesemir… It must be the Fall of Kaer Morhen.”

A tense silence followed, finally interrupted by a sigh from Vesemir.

“And you both were in the vision, I suppose.”

“Ciri saw us at the courtyard, trying to protect a group of kids from the mob.”

“That happened almost a century ago, how would you…? I was one of the first to arrive here after the Fall. We saw the bodies, what remained of them. And I’ll never forget it, there was a group of students there, lying on the courtyard. I don’t know a damned thing about these visions of the past and the future, I’m just a fencing instructor. But I can’t help but feel this is bigger than Kaer Morhen, bigger than us.”

“I know. And she should be here by now. If she can’t help her… I don’t know what to do. I didn’t even believe in destiny before finding her, what am I supposed to do with this? I don’t care about the meaning of the visions, I just want her to be safe. And I know enough about mediums and Sources to realize someone must teach her to control her power before she hurts herself or someone else.”

Vesemir stood up and put his hand on Geralt’s shoulder.

“You said you trust her. She’s helped you before. She’ll help us now.”

Geralt squeezed Vesemir’s hand and nodded. “When I was hurt in Sodden, I don’t know if it was a fever dream but… I saw my mother. Visenna. She didn’t answer my questions but the look in her eyes was enough. Her silences were enough. She abandoned me because her life wasn’t fit for a child. She must have tried, I know that, but in the end it wasn’t enough. Look at us, what are we supposed to do with her? You took me, you trained and raised me, and I’m grateful for that. I would be dead otherwise. But I don’t want this for her. The danger, the hate, the loneliness of the Path.”

“Geralt. When I took you in, the School of the Wolf was in shatters. We were a ragtag collection of the few witchers lucky enough to be running errands far from here when the Fall happened. I had been on the Path, sure, but most of my life was here. I’d have never imagined I’d have to raise you, Eskel and Lambert. I did my best. But you… You shared the table with kings. You took impossible choices and bore the consequences. You saved a cursed princess and you protected the oppressed. You have friends among the elves, the dwarves, the dryads and the sorceresses. You are so much more ready for this than I ever was. And most important of all, you saved this girl. Destiny has brought you together for a reason. And I see how you look at her. You’re not Visenna, Geralt. You’re not me. And you’re not alone.”

“I just… Every night I close my eyes and I see Yen. I wish she were here. Because Ciri and I wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for her. And I don’t even know if she’s alive… I must do this for Ciri—but also for her. Thank you, Vesemir. For everything.”

***

A few weeks passed since the incident in the courtyard. Ciri continued to train without experiencing more trances but her nights were becoming more and more restless. She usually woke up agitated in the middle of the night, covered in sweat. Strangely, she didn’t remember anything about her dreams after the incident, which did not make it any easier for her. And the lack of sleep was starting to affect her during the day.

“Ciri! Are you listening to me?”

“What?”

Geralt sighed. “Another bad night?”

Ciri yawned and nodded.

”Those damned nightmares,” Geralt said. “And this book is not helping. Too much dry theory. Let’s see… Do you see that shield over there, leaning on the wall? Well, this is the first Sign every witcher learns—Aard.”

Ciri saw the witcher’s fingers twisting and forming a strange gesture in front of him. An instant later, flames roared in a nearby hearth, an empty sack flew to the other side of the room and the shield fell with a heavy thud.

“Oh,” she gasped. “It’s like the trick you did with the manticore.”

“That was Heliotrop. Useful against a sudden attack. But it’s more advanced. Let’s focus on Aard, it’s the easiest Sign. You only need two things to do it. First of all, the gesture. Open your right hand. This finger… here. Bend this one… like that. And now extend these. Good. You can practice the full gesture now.”

“Aha! Not too hard. But why is it not working?”

“The second thing you need is concentration. You have to focus on what you want to achieve.”

“Alright. I want to knock that basket off that chair.”

“Good. You have to see in your mind how you’re going to do it. Close your eyes. Can you see it?”

“Mhm.”

“Then do the Sign.”

Ciri opened her eyes, arranged her hand forming the Sign of Aard and stretched the arm forward. But nothing happened. She tried again, with the same result. And again.

“It’s alright, Ciri. Sometimes it’s hard at the beginning. Remember, close your eyes. Focus. And… Don’t worry, I’ll do it again for you. Remember, you have to picture yourself doing it. Like this!”

The basket flew across the room.

“That’s what I’m doing! And I didn’t even moved it a bit. There’s no point, I’m blocked. I can’t do a simple Sign, I can’t control my visions and I can’t even sleep. It’s only getting worse. And I don’t see why this Sign is worth the effort, you only made an empty basket fly for a few yards and the people pursuing us are a bit heavier than that.”

“Hey, I know this is frustrating. But we’ll get through this, you’ll see. And Aard is very useful, I was just showing you how to do it. Besides, Signs can be intensified in some ways.”

“How?”

“Witchers have potions. Certain preparations can improve reflexes, build up stamina or accelerate healing processes. And strengthen the Signs too. But don’t get any ideas, a witcher potion would kill you on the spot. Only those who pass the Trial of the Grasses can bear the toxins and you know that’s not an option.”

“Then what’s the point of learning it?”

“There are other ways of intensifying Signs and magic in general. What you did that night in Cintra when you screamed… When you are pushed to your limits, your body and mind react differently.”

“So this will only be useful when I’m about to die?”

“Well, you can also provoke those reactions. In the end, what you need are heightened emotions. That stuff is not written in witcher books, I learned it from Yennefer. And I can tell you, it works.”

“Oh. Mmm. But how do you—”

The girl stopped when she saw the strange expression in Geralt’s face. The witcher cleared his throat. For an awkwardly long time.

“Anyways,” he continued. “We’ll get to that when you learn the Signs.”

The witcher was interrupted by hurried steps coming from the corridor. A smug face framed by rebellious red curls appeared from the doorway.

“Hey, you two! We have a visitor and I think you both know her. Come with me.”

Geralt and Ciri followed Lambert through the corridors of the eastern wing, making their way to the entrance hall of the old keep.

“Geralt, I knew you were fond of a certain sorceress. But I thought her hair was black. So tell me, does she enchant her hair when she gets bored or is this a different one?”

“Lambert.” Geralt looked at him with a stone face. “Stop.”

The witchers and the girl crossed the last doorway and arrived at the entrance hall. They almost bumped into Coën, coming from the stable laden with saddlebags. Behind him, among a sea of chestnut locks, a familiar face was nodding and smiling at something Eskel was saying.

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen, Triss,” Geralt said.

“Greetings, Geralt. You keep this castle of yours well hidden, I almost froze to death finding my way here.” She grabbed a wooden mug Vesemir brought to her and drank. “Now that’s better. Fiona! Glad to see you again, you look different. Come here, let me see you.”

“Fiona?” Lambert laughed. “I think you got the wrong girl, this here is Ciri.”

Triss looked at Lambert with a raised brow. Then at Geralt. She left the mug in Ciri’s hands and crossed her arms.

“We couldn’t take risks.” Geralt said. “There will be time to explain everything, but yes—her real name is Ciri.”

“You witchers are always full of surprises. Well, I have news for you too, Geralt.”

The sorceress noticed his suddenly blanching face and hesitated. Ciri saw him clenching his fists.

“Say it,” the witcher demanded.

“Yennefer is alive. We found her in Tor Lara, she portalled there from Sodden Hill somehow.”

Geralt closed his eyes and sighed deeply. The expression on his face was something Ciri had never seen before. She saw relief, regret and hope. Her throat dried up all of a sudden and she drank from the mug. For a moment, she did not even notice the strange taste. Not until Triss looked at her with her mouth open.

“Ciri, that’s not for—”

The girl felt a freezing wind stinging her face and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she was floating close to the high ceiling of the hall. She saw Geralt, Triss, Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert below. Coën came back to the hall in that moment too. She saw the fear in their eyes. And she heard a metallic, unpleasant voice. It took a moment for her to realize her lips were moving and the voice came from within her.

“Verily I say unto you, the era of the Wolf’s Blizzard is nigh! The sword and the ax will flood the earth with hate and discord for it will be the Time of Madness and the Time of Contempt! Beware, you two, who will fall in this struggle as your kind fell here before. Two teeth will kill the Griffin! Three teeth will slay the Wolf! Past and future converge now, the serpent sinks its fangs in its own tail. The world will end amid the frost and begin anew from the seed of Hen Ichaer. Watered with the Elder and the Altered Blood, the seed will not sprout but burst into flame! Watch for the signs! You will know it is time when the rivers run red with the Blood of Elves.”

[stevenbasic]

Just under four years ago…

I should not be here I should not be here I should not be here

I feel terrible, I feel awful. I feel like a weak man, a scummy boss and a terrible husband. I’ve got a bottle of expensive wine in my hands, I’m in wrinkled khakis, and I have no delusions as to why I’m standing outside the door to her townhouse in the rain. Rina - a young, single mom, a townie who’s never left the state - has got a good thing going: me, her employer, a respected physician, wrapped around her little finger. All she has to do is shoot me texts like the one from a couple of hours ago:

Mommys still so fullllll

...and she knows I’m helpless.

We’ve been in this, this affair, for about six weeks. Thursdays are our time, ‘our night’; I’d told my wife Sheryl that I was giving a lecture series to the local Lions’ Club at the senior center. And earlier today, Rina had trapped me in an exam room, confronted me about our last weekly tryst, how I’d lost control of myself after taking my first taste of...

God, stop it. I can’t keep standing here. What if somebody sees me? And...I’m getting soaked. 

<knock knock...>

My heart races in a dark, secret thrill, and then leaps when she answers the door in a soft, white robe and a pleased, self-satisfied smile.

“Hi baby, you’re early…” she gloats, pulling her robe taut around her waist to protect against the wet evening chill - or maybe to show off the size of her swollen bosom, “I’m not even dressed yet…”

“Oh, uh..do you want me to give you a m-”

Rina is a tall enough girl and she’s strong. Before I can even finish, she’s grabbed me by the tie, pulled me inside, and kicked the door closed. “H-hey..!” I begin, laughing, but fall lockstep behind her as she leads me - still by the leash of my necktie, into the condo. My eyes have fallen to her broad, swinging hips in front of me. Her short robe just barely covers her figure-skater’s big, muscular rear.

“I got the wine you like…” I offer weakly. 

After a few paces in, just at the entry to her living room, she spins to me and pulls me to her with my tie. The lights throughout the condo are down low. “Put it down,” she directs me, and I see her eyes flash with a thrill of victory for just a second before we’re locked in a kiss.

“Mmph!” I start to melt already as I’m blindly dropping the bottle, forgotten, onto a side table. My hands then immediately fall to her waist, and I’ve pulled her hips against mine. My god the ass on her...

“Mmmmmm….” she purrs through the kiss, after indulging me with the press of her body into mine,  “someone’s excited for tonight…” 

“I...I..” I start to stammer, already ashamed at what she knows I’m imagining, “I can’t stay long...:” My lips are insistent, back on hers. She starts to chuckle.

“Oh, really..?” she coos, breaking our kiss, playing with the knot on my tie for the moment, undoing it, “that’s too bad...the baby is at my mom’s place...”

I know she’d dropped her infant daughter off soon after work. We’re alone.

Undone, the tie’s pulled from around my neck. “I’d sent her with plenty, enough to get through ‘til the morning…”

I’d seen it before, the countless packets of breastmilk in Rina’s freezer.

”...so the only one I have to take care of tonight…” she continued, pressing her firm, swollen chest suggestively into mine, “...is you.”

I moan, I utter something. I give away my arousal. Holy shit what does this girl have planned for me?? Though more than ten years her senior, I feel like a little boy with her tonight. I’d never...never faced a night with this sort of...promise.

She’s getting me out of my clothes. She’s unbuttoned my shirt, she’s undone my belt and pants…

...and she’s on her knees on the hardwood floor.

She has me in her mouth in a moment. She knows I’m at my weakest, that my inhibitions disappear, when my oversized cock fills itself with precious blood, robbing it from my brain. She sucks on me, half-engorged in the warmth of her mouth, and soon I feel myself growing down into her throat. 

A gag from her, and a chuckle as she draws me out. I’m too big. 

“Will you do that for me?” she asks, worshipfully rubbing my thick, outrageous length against her soft cheek, doe eyes looking up into mine, “Will you let me take care of you tonight?”

“Oh god…” I answer, as I feel my legs tremble. The sensation is overwhelming; a member this size, when erect, is like a disability. I’m rendered helpless by the intensity of the pleasure. My eyes are glued to her hand, her small feminine hand wrapped around my huge cock. In comparison, it looks delicate, where my manhood is monstrous. But, delicate as they may be, she shows me that her hands hold power as she stands and pulls me, by my brutish, eager shaft, along with her as she steps backwards, smiling mischievously into my eyes.

The fact that I’m being led around by my cock is not lost on me. 

And so, gently yanking me by the root, my pants still around my ankles, she slowly leads me to her couch, sitting me on its low arm, facing her. She drops my dick, leaving it to hover wildly up into the space between us, and continues to undress me. I watch - her standing now head-and-shoulders above me - as she unbuttons, slides me out of, and then discards my rain-spattered shirt. As she crouches to remove my shoes, peel my socks from my feet, she takes a moment to smile wordlessly up at me. I step, with her help, from my puddled khakis and when she stands again I am completely naked. 

She giggles as I come again face-to-face with her big, robed breasts. Deeply, deeply, deeply I understand just how weak I am, as I stare at her, as I feel myself falling under her spell. We’ve been together only a handful of times but she has such power over me, and she’s come to know it...and how to use it.

“You’re quiet today, hm?” she asks, as she twists at the waist, slowly, showing her womanly body off to me, “Is there...anything wrong, baby? Anything you need? Anything I can do?”

She understands I have misgivings, guilt and apprehension about our affair,  that I’m in a constant struggle. She knows, she knows how tortured I am, and that this is just tightening the screws. But that I’m already speechless, giving not even an attempt at a response...to her this is full proof of my acquiescence. 

“I think I need to spoil you,” she says as, slowly, she opens her robe. 

“Oh jesus, Rina,” is all I can answer, watching as her body, in full-cut panties and a big white bra, comes into view. She’s fit, so fit, with a taut waist and trim torso that just magnifies how large her breasts are. On purpose or not, she’s positioned herself perfectly under an overhead recessed can, whose light and play of shadows add even more drama in the otherwise darkened room. 

 "I’m so sorry,” she apologizes, as she lets me stare at her, holding her robe open wide and pulling her shoulders back, “I'm wearing my mom panties...my mom bra." Her bra is a big, white industrial thing, with thick straps, thick silky cups. Designed to be functional and give good coverage...to a woman three cup sizes smaller. But it’s feminine, girlish in its own way and has a generous allowance for her soft, creamy cleavage to bubble out, invite attention.”Nothing fits right anymore…”

And she’s got my attention. I’m already breathing heavy, staring into her tits, even in the semi-darkness gaping at the swollen veins and taut skin of a bosom full, seeming ready to burst.

“It’s so hard,” she explains, half-complaining, “to find cute stuff when you’re nursing. When you’re this big everything has to be so practical.”

“Uhhh…” I grunt, not even pretending to keep conversation. 

“And…being this full, I barely fit in it. Even my big mom-bra doesn’t fit me right…with its big cups, its big straps…” The sound of the rain outside has faded away as my attention is focused now entirely on her. 

“But you don't mind, do you..? You like this look. You like the ‘mom-look’..."

She giggles at my bewilderment and approaches me, holding her robe open wider, stepping in until my nose, mouth, cheeks settle onto her cleavage. I moan, feeling the warmth of her breasts, their silky skin, getting a waft of her light, floral perfume. She then, with a gentle sigh, closes her robe over me, wrapping my head into her chest. 

“There you go…” she finally coos, both hands behind my head squeezing my face deeper between her firm breasts, “now, you just make yourself comfortable.” My vision is all but gone, everything dark. My world is suddenly centered in her chest. The overwhelming scents fill me - her perfume intermingled with sweetly salty sweat and...something more earthy. As I pull it into my lungs, I hear her giggle. I swear she’s so swollen that I can feel her breasts on my ears. She’s never been this big.

“How is it in there?” she giggles again, down at me, as both her arms are now wrapped around me, “Nice and warm?” The sound of her voice is being both drowned out, muffled by her breasts about my head, and amplified, reverberating through her chest. When I groan in response, I’m sure she feels it more than hears it. “How do I smell? Hm? Do you smell my bra? My milk?”

Oh my god that’s what it is, the earthiness. It’s the scent of her milk. 

“I tell you baby I haven’t pumped all day,” Rina says, hugging me more firmly into her bosom as I breathe the air from her soft, fragrant skin, “I’ve been saving up for this, saving up for you.” She cups her shoulders around me, enveloping me further. “Do you like how big they are now?”

With a moan, a soft sigh, I begin to tentatively kiss what I can, the smooth skin between her tits.

 “Ooo I feel that!” she lauds, wrapping her robe more tightly about us, “I like it…” I feel her kiss the top of my head, then rest her chin upon it. “Do you hear them?” she asks,”Do you hear them going to work? Making all this milk for my baby?” All I can hear is her voice and, below that, her heartbeat through her breasts. I’m imagining every pump, every beat, is filling her chest up more and more. “Mommy’s chest has been getting soooooo big for my baby boy.”

I know her kid is a girl….is she talking about...?

My hands have found themselves on her waist, fading their way back on her hips. She’s in perfect shape, more muscular than any woman I’ve been with.  

“You like my mom body?” she asks, as my hands roam into the twin swells of her magnificent, hugely solid  ass. She’s muscular, a former figure skater who still finds time for the gym and the ice, “Nice and soft, hm?”

My arms now fully around her hips, she lets me marvel at just how much of her there is. “Feel how big I’m gettin’ back there? I know that’s how you like it. I’ve been lifting so much, lifting so many weights for you? Mama’s getting big and strong.”

My breath catches. Into her breasts I gasp and whine. 

“Ohhh what’s that?” she laughs, squeezing her tits around my face with her arms, “What just happened?” I’m tensing, I can feel it, my ungainly cock now fully erect, standing between us, pressed into her thighs. 

Her voice drops, but in the dark intimacy of her bosom it’s thunder.

“That turns you on, doesn’t it?” she says knowingly, the moment becoming more and more intimate by the second, “When I call myself ‘mama’?”

I groan into her, grunting her name, but in shamed disbelief of myself. How am I letting myself do this??

“Why is that? Hm, baby?” she presses, “You like the idea that I’m a mom? A mommy? You like the idea that I have a baby, a baby I grew in this body?” Though she’s speaking in questions, her voice is strong with the confidence of a woman who knows her audience, has the keys to the dark lockboxes of my mind. How does she have me so figured out??  “A baby I protect and care for with this body? That I feed with this body?”

Again I whine, I whimper, wordless. She has her answers already.

She chuckles, breasts jiggling against my face. “You had a little bit, didn’t you? Last time? Hm?” she asks, holding me close, pressing my nose and face into the soft, firm bulge of her left tit. “You had a little suck, didn’t you? A taste, when we were fucking?”

Meekly I kiss her breast, its ripe, silky swell.

“And you’ve been thinking about it ever since, haven’t you?” she probes, as I submissively mouth her inner breast, “You can’t get it out of your head, what it was like. You want me to be your mommy, don’t you? You want me to treat you like I do my own baby…”

I go completely still. She’s struck at something so primal that I shudder in fear for what’s coming next.

She feels me react.

“Oh you like that idea, do you? You want me to be your mommy...” She is speaking slowly, deliberately.

At that she opens her robe, steps back. I’m quivering in the newly fresh air, speechless, looking up at her, waiting for what she’ll do next.

“Well, you’re going to get your wish. I'm going to be your mommy tonight,” she says, her crooked smile regarding me, “We’re going to do some role playing. I’m going to be the mommy, and you’re going to be the tiny..little...baby.”

I begin to mouth my weak, false protests. We can’t...I shouldn’t...

“Shh shh shh...it's okay...no one needs to know. The girls at the office don’t need to know. Wifey doesn't need to know…” she instructs.

She smiles wider.

“It’ll be our..little...secret…”

==========================

>>Audio of Rina’s Dialogue<<<

==========================

Another collaborative piece, with great input from my co-authors and of course the magnificent dialogue at the end read to us by the ethereal GoddessByNight. Think she should do more Rina for us?

Her Patreon is here

[magicb0x300]

MCSM: Warmth~ (a Jesse x Aiden Holiday Fic!)

~

Aiden watched as the snowflakes gently fell and melt in the ground, a few already settled in his dark brown locks.

It was a calm, snowy evening, and everyone was putting up colorful decorations for a particular, special day; Christmas.

Aiden gazed at all the lights and decorations littering people’s houses, his pine green eyes lighting up at how beautiful and warm the colors were.

His lips quirked into a fond smirk; this was the first time he’s seen so many lights! It was all so new to him.

Aiden was so lost in the town’s scenery, he was not aware on what was in front of him.

The dark chocolate haired man ran into someone, stumbling back. “W - whoa!” he gasped, trying to regain his ground.

“Hey!” the stranger yelled, whipping around to face him. They did not seem happy.

Aiden stuttered, trying to squeak out an apology, but the words caught in his throat. “I -,” was all he could manage.

“Watch where you’re going, boy!” the person demanded, voice gruff and forward.

“I - I’m so sorry, sir - I wasn’t -,” he was cut off by the man.

“Hey. You’re that scrub who destroyed that city in the sky!” the man squawked, drawing a soft gasp from the younger male, “why the hell are you not behind bars?”

Aiden felt a lump form in his throat, “I - I was, but I - I,” he whimpered, regret from that very day slamming onto the poor boy’s shoulders.

“I don’t wanna hear it. Countless lives ended because of your ignorance and greed. There’s no excuse for that,” the elder man growled, “you’re a disgrace to man - kind, boy. You don’t deserve to be free. Hell, you should’ve just stayed in prison.”

Aiden sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, the sting in his eyes verifying the tears yet to come. “ I... “ he whimpered, legs beginning to shake before him.

“You don’t belong here.”

Aiden couldn’t hold back the tears any longer; he let the dam break.

The poor boy sunk to his knees, covering his eyes with a sleeved arm.

The man had already trudged away, leaving Aiden broken, and ashamed on the cold, icy ground.

The people around him glared, frowned or paid no mind. They knew, they all knew. It was all his fault, his doing, his choice.

Oh, how he wished he could go back and change it all.

~

Jesse’s hands were holding bags filled with gifts for his friends. Said hands were growing numb from the cold air, but he could care less. His heart was full of warmth and joy, the cold air was no obstacle for him.

As he got further down the path of the colorful and festive town, he happened to bump into a stranger. “Sorry, sir!” he said, smiling apologetically.

The guy huffed and waved him off, “nah, don’t be sorry, boy. At least you’re not as monstrous and horrible as that other boy,” he said, shuffling away with haste.

Other boy? Jesse’s brows slightly creased; what did that guy mean?

With a small shrug, Jesse trudged on, smiling at passerby. The town looked so lively today, it honestly made Jesse feel like a kid again.

What sadness could be lurking about on such a joyous day?

Soft sniffles up ahead caught Jesse’s attention, and he found himself staring ahead at a crumpled figure on the ground. The brunette frowned in an instant, his steps becoming hasty.

“Hey,” he softly greeted, earning a shaky intake of air from the other.

The crying male turned his head, glazed over eyes widening. Jesse’s own eyes fluttered in surprise, “Aiden?”

“J - Jesse?” the other croaked, wiping his eyes with the palm of his hand, “ what are you -” he whined, “what are you doing here?”

Instead of answering, Jesse set down his filled shopping bags, and held out his hand. Aiden looked at said hand. He tore away his gaze, looking down, “just leave me here, Jesse. Nobody should assist... a - a criminal,” he whimpered.

Jesse frowned, and kneeled down, pressing a finger under Aiden’s chin. He lifted it gently, Aiden’s eyes shining with tears.

“You’re not a criminal. You are reformed, and forgiven by many,” he assured, “you’re not the bad guy anymore,” he added. “C’mon, let’s get out of the cold.” 

Aiden sniffled, “but - no, Jesse - I’m not -” he sobbed, “I’m horrible.”

Jesse sighed, turning his attention to the shopping bags beside him. Smiling softly, he dug through a bag, pulling out a soft, teal scarf littered with white dots.

He wrapped it around Aiden’s neck with care, chuckling at how cute it looked on the latter. Aiden’s cheeks lit up a bright pink, the shade growing darker as Jesse interlocked their hands together.

With ease, he lifted the both of them to their feet. Aiden continued to stare at Jesse in awe, eyes practically glowing with admiration for this wonderful man in front of him.

He felt... warm. Jesse made him feel warm, happy, awestruck and pure.

“Jesse,” he whispered, body falling into a pit of bliss as the other pressed his soft, warm lips against his own chapped ones.

The kiss lasted for a minute, both men pulling away with hesitation. Aiden was at a loss for words, his lips tingling from the attention that was given to them.

Jesse had kissed him.

The hero of the entire world had kissed him.

It felt so surreal, so magical...

Aiden blinked, his entire face a bright hue of pink. Jesse chuckled, “you alright there, bud?” he asked, his voice sending vibrations down the other’s spine.

The dark haired boy nodded, arms semi-consciously wrapping around the brunette’s neck. The regret he had felt was washed away by Jesse’s waves of compassion, replaced with sweet relief and assurance.

After what seemed like hours in each other’s arms, Jesse broke the silence.

“I’m making gingerbread cookies at home. Would you like to help me with that, Aiden?” he asked, rubbing the latter’s back.

Aiden nodded against Jesse’s neck, his lips softly pressing against its warm flesh.

The brunette smiled, “then let’s get going,” he whispered, “I’ll even have you lick the spoon,” he added with a wink.

Aiden snorted, nudging Jesse slightly with his shoulder.

The former snickered, sighing with content as they made their way home, hands held, “Merry Christmas, Aiden,” he cooed.

“Merry Christmas, Jesse,” the other replied, voice shy and quiet, yet filled with so much joy.

They were both filled with joy.

And that’s what Christmas was all about.

Joy and warmth.

~

[pocketfulofrogers]

Forever May Be Enough

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: 5 Years after the snap and losing everyone, including the love of your life, you take Scott’s semi crazy sounding plan straight to Tony. Basically bits and pieces of Endgame.

Notes: Endgame spoilers, but in this house we ignore canon. This is my final contribution to @teamcap4bucky summer sun and fun games! I got inspired while reading part 15 of @marvelgirl7 series The Protector. She writes lovely, but heartbreaking stories so in this we have a lot of angst, some Bucky, and a sweet ending.

“It’s not possible.” Tony says simply. “I’m sorry.” He adds quieter. You feel Steve tense, Natasha’ s shoulders fall. You’re almost certain Scott is vibrating.

You however, are frozen. Stuck leaning against the rough grain of a wooden pillar, eyes trained on the lake at the edge of the property. The clear blue burns your throat, turns your stomach inside out. His words swirl around your head and lap at the edges of the last wall of sanity you have left.

It’s the same ones that have haunted you for years. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. They weave their way through your body until you hear them fall from different lips.

Broken consonants and wide blue eyes looking up to you, filled for the first time with true fear. Crumbling fingertips leave ash in the sweat of your cheek as they desperately try to grasp something. Anything. Shaking fingers trail through long hair in an effort to keep him with you and you beg him to hold on just a little longer. You scream for Steve to do something, but you can see in his eyes defeat has already carved its home within him.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky whispers below you.

“Please. Bucky, please.” You beg with a sob, but he disappears anyways. You fold into yourself, howl your grief as you grapple at the empty space before you. Pain sears in your chest and you can taste rust on your tongue. Heaving gasps catch in your throat making you fear you may actually be suffocating. “Make it stop.” You beg.

Steve has to drag you away.

Natasha nudges you and you break from your trance only to see Tony walking away.

“Please.” The word breaks through louder than you intended and wince. “Tony, please.” You add quieter.

“I’m sorry, kiddo.” There are those stupid words again.

He grabs your hand, presses the pad of his thumb into your knuckles, and moves to meet your gaze. When he clocks the cracked skin of your lips, the dark skin seeping beneath your eyes, worry builds in the pit of his stomach.

“Why don’t you stay for a while? Get some fresh air and Pepper can teach you about composting. Would be a great time. Morgan would love it.” Tony offers. When you don’t respond, only look off into the distance past his shoulder seemingly caught in a memory, he looks to Steve. He shrugs a response and slightly shakes his head. They all know you’re not well. You haven’t been for a while, but he’s forgotten how to help you. “We still have a room for you if you change your mind.”

His hand slips from yours and with it, your last piece of hope.

Steve walks to the car with you, his hand on your back. When he opens the door and helps you in, you want to scream at him that you are not fragile, you have not broken, but you can’t form the words.

**

Bruce turns Scott into a baby, among other things, and you excuse yourself to get some air. You were clinging so desperately to this second chance, but the harder you grasped, the quicker it seemed to slip away. Steve recognizes the look of you teetering on the edge and follows you.

“We’ll figure it out.” He says behind you.

Raking your hands down your face, you turn to him. “I know, I know.” You huff out. “This is just bringing everything back up. I guess you could say I’m not handling that well or whatever.” 

“I know it’s hard, Y/N.” 

“I just miss him so much.” You whisper.

It’s times like these he wishes Tony came around more often, or that you’d accept the countless offers to stay at the cabin. Time had allowed for apologies, but Steve still carried the guilt from Siberia and your relationship with Tony had forever been tainted after the accords.

Tony doesn’t know if he hates that he made you choose sides or the fact you didn’t choose him more.

Still, he knew you in ways the others couldn’t. Two souls born of similar circumstances; he was always able to read you. He had taken you under his wing after stumbling onto you what felt like almost a lifetime ago. He considered it his job to look after you, never failing to protect you in battle. Despite you arguing you can hold your own.

When Tony pulls up, seemingly answering Steve’s unspoken wishes, his relief is palpable. But when he pulls the shield out of his trunk to return it, your relief sends you flying into his arms.

He stumbles back, slightly caught off guard. “Oh, thank god.” You mumble into his neck.

**

You travel back in time to New York, get a kick out of seeing a younger Tony again and remind him you are well versed with old man jokes. Steve comments that you sound more like yourself, Tony agrees.

“Hope is a powerful thing, boys.” You smile.

Somehow you manage to hold onto it when Tony tells you they have to try 70s New Jersey for the Tesseract. You try to convince him you should go in his place, beg him to let you do this for him. He smiles softly, shakes his head, and disappears.

**

You mourn the loss of Natasha. It settles deep in your bones and you wonder if this will be the thing that breaks you. Steve, ever stoic, reminds you of what you’re all fighting for and he sounds so much like her.

**

Bruce snaps his fingers. There’re several explosions, you’re drowning on the lower level, and then you’re thrown into the next battle for the fate of the world before you’re even able to catch your breath. It’s a scene from your nightmares and so reminiscent of the worst day of your life.

Smoke thick in the air, an outrider pins you down. Its monstrous face snaps at you with rancid breath and you push back as hard as you can. The moment you think this is it, a bullet rips through it spraying blood into the open air.

“Perfect timing.” You mumble as you push the body off you. There’s a chuckle from behind you.

Oh, you know that voice. It whispers to you light as air on your worst days, sings lullabies when you can’t sleep, ghosts its lips down your neck.

“I’m getting pretty good at saving you.” Bucky quips behind you. You don’t want to look, you can’t. Fears that he will only disappear again will not leave you be. He kneels before you, concern creasing his brow. “This isn’t the best place for a break, doll.”

You finally meet his eyes and the air leaves your body. He reaches for you, a ghost manifested, and you flinch away. It couldn’t be, could it? You hover a hand beside his face, graze tentative fingers down his temple and you ache.

“Bucky?” You whisper, broken. You repeat his name again with more weight.

“Unless you know another handsome guy with a metal arm.”

He catches the tears as they fall from your waterline and you lunge for him. Wrap your body around his, bury your head in his chest, breathe him in. It’s sweat and dirt, but it’s him. Truly him. This moment had taunted your dreams for the last five years.

You pull away to take a moment to look at him. Not a day aged, the same soldier you’ve always loved. He gives you a crooked smile and you trace his lip with your thumb.

“We should really get back to it, darlin’.”

You smile at his voice, let his low timber soothe the scars time has left. “Just a moment, please.” He nods. You lean forward, replace your finger with your lips and revel in the taste of home.

“Alright, let’s finish this.”

**

Pepper clings to you when the doctors say Tony will survive. You hold her and whisper soothing words to hide your own tears. Rhodey takes over for you, ignoring your protests when you tell him you’re fine. The bags beneath your eyes and your bitten down nail beds tell him a different story.

Bucky finds you outside on a nearby bench pulling at the loose strings of your sweater.

“I hear Stark is going to pull through.”

You smile up at him and pull his hand into your lap when he sits beside you. “He’s too stubborn to let death win.” You chuckle.

“Seems that’s something else you learned from him.”

You’re quiet for a beat and he hopes you’ll take this moment to open up to him. You were different, that much was blatantly obvious. You carried yourself stiffer, your tone had become colder. He tried to ask the others, but it had been subtle changes over the years, things they never noticed. Clint even suggests there may have been no change at all.

But he knew better. For you it was five years, but to him it was five hours. He just wanted to help you.

You tilt your head towards him, turn up the corners of your lips. “Good thing, too.” You joke instead.

**

Steve returns with Natasha. You don’t ask him how, they don’t offer.

**

Bucky awakens to you grunting in your sleep. Your fists have the sheets gripped in a vice; your knuckles are white. You mumble something he can’t quite make out before screaming yourself awake. He pulls you to him quickly. Slips his hand in your hair while he whispers affirmations that he is okay and you are safe.

He waits until your sobs slow to just a hiccup.

“Talk to me.” He pleads softly.

You push out of his lap. “I’m fine, really. Just a standard superhero nightmare. Run of the mill. Go back to bed, Buck.” You flash him a smile, all tear-stained rosy cheeks and bloodshot eyes, and his heart still flutters.

He watches you get up for water and finds himself about to lay back down. You had gotten so good at disarming him, he almost didn’t catch what you had done.

“No.” He says before you’ve crossed the threshold of your room.

You turn back to him and raise a brow. “Well, I supposed you could stay up? I’m not your mother.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” He counters.

You advert your eyes and cross your arms before your chest. Bruce had taught him cues to look for when he asked the others for tips. He knew your arms were meant to act as a barrier, which meant he was encroaching on something you didn’t want him near.

He reaches a hand out to you. “Come here.” You don’t budge. “Please.” He adds.

You huff, but walk to take it. He guides you to sit before him, but you’re still unable to meet his eyes.

“You don’t have to tell me everything, or even anything, I just want to help you. Five years is a long time, doll. It couldn’t have been easy to go through.”

You’re quiet, only tracing the metal lines of his hand. He lets you turn his arm over and wordlessly gives you his other when you reach for it. Tony said it was how you grounded yourself. Feeling something on your fingertips allowed you to anchor yourself to something real.

“I’d never tell the others, but I think I gave up for a long time.” You start quietly, keeping your eyes down. “After we killed Thanos and found out the stones were gone. Steve tried so hard, he did, but I think it’s hard to hold someone else together when you yourself are falling apart.” You gnaw on your bottom lip to stop its quivering. “Losing you was the hardest thing I think I’ve ever had to survive.” You barely whisper.

He squeezes your hand in support. “I’m here.”

You clear your throat and swallow down your emotions. “You are.” You marvel. “The whole world said it would never happen, that we needed to just rebuild what we still had.”

“I’m s-“

“Don’t, please. You came back to me and that is all I could have ever asked for. It’s just going to take a minute for me to make peace with the time we lost, but I’m getting there.” You place a hand on his cheek and he leans into your touch. “You just simply being here is more than enough.”

**

He makes you pancakes in the morning. The smell is what wakes you and you follow it all the way to one of the kitchens of the compound. You find him standing before the stove, back facing you. He’s still in what he wore to bed. Sweats, no shirt. The muscles of his back tightening with his movements distracts you enough that you have to shake your head to clear the number of less than innocent thoughts that come to mind.

“Well isn’t this a treat.” You say from behind him.

He laughs and bows before motioning for you to take a seat. He puts a plate before you, topped exactly how you like it.

“Who went out and got all of this?” You ask.

Bucky licks some whipped cream from his thumb. “Guess Natasha had a sweet tooth.” He shrugs.  

You plop a bite into your mouth. “What’s the occasion?” 

“It’s been a while, Tony’s on the mend, Steve’s still set on retiring for now, and the others are laying low. We have to decide what we’re going to do.”

You hum and raise a brow. “Awful big decision for first thing in the morning, my love.”

He nods in agreement. “Still a decision to be made, though.” He takes advantage of you full mouth. “We could stay here, run some trainings, monitor some missions with the new head of SHIELD. I think we’ve earned a break from saving the world for a bit.”

“Or?” You prompt, sensing the word on the tip of his tongue.

“We trade this life for one of our own. A house, a yard,” He lists. “Kids.” He adds quieter.

Your eyes widen. An awfully big discussion for first thing in the morning indeed, but clearly something that’s been on his mind.

“It’s just something to think about, but there is a question that needs answering. What do we do now?” He asks you.

You swallow the last of your breakfast and smile, commit the image of him hopeful and buzzing before you to memory. “Well, we have forever, don’t we? Let’s figure it out tomorrow.”

[bella-gunn]

More Blue Exorcist conspiracy theories!

I apologize, first thing for this "Wall-O-Text"(tm), anyone who knows me reasonably well knows I have a lot of thoughts that turn into mountains of words.

Unfortunately I still haven't found a way to toggle from rich text to html on my phone app (if such a thing is even possible). I do pretty much everything with my phone, so I'm sorry, no pretty text cut here.

Without further ado...

yuri-egin-123 asked some fantastic questions and this is my humble attempt to answer them, theoretically.

"...going back to Yuri's past, when Rin first saw satan, did Satan feel it? because it has already been proven that Rin can feel powerful demons nearby and Satan also in chapter 107. Now, does Satan know that Rin has been in the past?"

Rin is powerful, true, but I don't think Satan would have noticed Rin for two really good reasons and one kind of theoretical reason.

Good reason #1:

Satan is incredibly arrogant. He can sense all demons, weak and powerful, but frankly he doesn't care because he knows he far out classes anyone else. So it doesn't make sense for him to take special notice of Rin in all the mess of demonic activity around him.

Good reason #2:

Rin is powerful, but he isn't more powerful than Lucifer, Mephisto, Egyn, Iblis and Asteroth, who are also in close proximity to Satan. Mephisto has been acting as Rin's personal tour guide, even Lucifer has ignored Rin in Mephisto's presence and they were in the same room practically face to face.

Theoretical reason:

Satan may not be able to tell the difference between Rin and his own power. The other demons respond to Rin's power just like it's Satan's, until Rin asserts control over his flames there is even some concern that they are actually Satan's flames. So I think it's unlikely that Satan would notice Rin because he would feel familiar and "same".

What. An. Ass.

"...and in question the shiemi, at first I thought she was a clone of Shemihaza but nevertheless in chapter 99.5 they said "your mother awaits". I do not think Shemihaza is the mother of Shiemi, maybe Shiemi is Shemihaza herself, do not you think?"

I agree with you 100%; I do not think Shemihaza is Shiemi's mother in the traditional sense. It's clear there is a connection between Shiemi's birth and Shemihaza but I think it is less direct than Shiemi being a Shemihaza clone.

As far as Shiemi being Shemihaza let's examine what we already know from the story so far.

There are two upper demon ranks, the Baal and the Sol, Satan is above all.

The Baal are the 8 demon kings, the Sol are the emperors of nothingness and creation, Armumahel and Shemihaza respectively.

The most recent chapter has given us suprising information; Armumahel is the source for holy water. Armumahel's influence "hollows out" humans, eventually making them "soul less", his influence on demons seems to cut their spiritual connection to Assaiah, sending them back to Gehenna.

This is wild, the whole thing from holy water to the experimental Illuminati weapons had me thinking:

If this is the power of nothingness made manifest in the material realm of Assiah, then what would the power of creation do!?

I have been turning this over in my mind since the Grigori representative called Shemihaza interacted with Lucifer in section 13.

Lucifer acknowledges the Grigori representative as Shemihaza but also appeals to their humanity. It is apparent the the Grigori representative was at one time human, but has put aside their humanity to take on the role of actually being Shemihaza in reality. This is no mere playacting, all signs point the the Grigori representative of Shemihaza as being a manifestation of Shemihaza.

Certainly there is some limitation, Shemihaza the Grigori isn't all powerful, but she is certainly well respected by Lucifer, who only respects power greater than his own.

Then there is the matter of Shemihaza the Grigori's seemingly unaging enterouge of obviously related people. They are all different shapes and sizes but they have very strong common traits, traits that are shared with the Lucifer clones.

Which brings me back to the question of Shemihaza's power in Assiah.

Creation much like Nothingness are broad concepts, without indulging in much philosophical navel gazing, I think the most obvious power of Shemihaza in Assiah would be making something exist spiritually that didn't exist before, perfectly opposed to and balanced with Armumahel's power to erase something spiritually from material reality.

As we learned from Reiji Shiratori and numerous other reminders, demons possess things that are spiritually aligned to themselves. It's somewhat problematic for the higher ranking demons, especially the kings, there is difficulty finding someone who is compatible, then they have the issue of their power destroying their host body.

So the section 13 researchers had two problems to solve:

1. Make the body resilient to demonic power.

2. Make the spirit compatible with the demon who will take possession.

The first problem was solved by taking tissue samples from Lucifer, Samael and Azazel, the three most powerful of the Baal.

It is obvious by the massive scale of the project, the images of the rows of birthing tables and cribs, that they tried surrogacy initially. It doesn't seem like that approach was entirely effective as they had begun using cloning vats/cylinders (Lucifer still uses that method currently so that indicates that it was a later and more successful method).

Out of the hundreds of clones there were only two successful clones (as in they suppoted posession): Ambrosius, a clone of Samael who was spontaneously possessed by Amaimon. There is some subtle indication Mephisto meddled, Amaimon certainly seems to owe him for something.

The other was Goro, the Azazel clone who was eventually possessed by Satan. Goro was not a perfect clone, he was damaged (if we go by Shiro's reactions) and was ultimately put in a semi vegetative state in a cloning vat because of his regenerative abilities.

There is something about that which is off putting to me. I kept getting hung up on the idea that this clone, Goro, who was essentially fully developed was placed in a vat and he didn't decay, didn't degrade. Bodies don't work that way, they begin to adapt to their environment on a cellular level, his skin at least would have been extremely damaged from years of submersion and any liquid medium he could have been placed in that would arrest that process is not conducive to keeping him alive.

With the revelation of where holy water came from it smacked me in the face; the liquid in the cloning vats is derived from Shemihaza.

This "water" derived from Shemihaza may be the base of the "elixer" and a sort of fountain of life but I wouldn't be in a hurry to fill up a cup! At best it is very unpredictable and difficult to control such a broadly active substance, after all you would want to grow new cells at a controlled pace, otherwise you end up with something cancerous like and truly monstrous. Michael Gedouin and all those poor people he experimented on are a cautionary tale.

Also, it seems that long term exposure to Shiemihaza's "water" may have the opposite effect of Armumahel's "water" and make things in Assiah more susceptible to possession.

Of course this is conjecture, there is nothing in the book that says I'm right, but it makes sense and explains why Shemihaza, the Grigori, is so involved in something as reprehensible as section 13.

Granted, the entire Grigori would have needed to approve and be involved with the project to some extent but we never see the other two, only Shemihaza.

Shemihaza is also deeply invested in Lucifer's decision and the outcome of the project in a way that indicates personal interest, which makes sense if you consider the spiritual and emotional connection of being the source of life for all those poor clones as well being, well, the Emperor of Creation. Even the misshapen more demonic clones that Lighting and Sugaro encountered would have been her progeny.

Going back to Shiemi, she shares certain characteristics with the Lucifer clones, namely blond hair, green eyes, a mysterious past and amnesia. Shemihaza's entourage identifies as her family so there is s very real possibility that Shiemi is a successful clone, not necessarily for Lucifer, but to be the next Shemihaza.

I think Mephisto was hiding her in plain sight, as it were, to keep her out of Lucifer's hands until the time was right for her to be brought to Shemihaza. She seems to have some disordered memories from her early childhood that relate to the garden she is taken to so it is very likely she was never in section 13. It is possible Shiemi was created directly by Shemihaza in the garden, which would explain the mother comment and her inclination towards growing things.

So I posit that Shiemi was created by Shemihaza, possibly from the Lucifer clone lineage, to be the replacement for Shemihaza the Grigori.

She is already most of the way to being able to channel Shemihaza, which she demonstrates by manifesting a forest to contain Rin just after his immolation. Obviously Mephisto knows something about it (poor Amaimon doesn't figure it out until it's too late for him to make a real marriage proposal, lol) and Shiemi's mom knows something because she told Sheimi enough for her to be prepared when the Grigori representatives came for her (very creepy people by the way, just a shade too perfect to be entirely human).

It will be interesting to see where things go but what really has me twisted up right now was Lucifer's casual demonstration that he has perfected the cloning method.

Up to this point we have operated under the assumption that the elixer was the only thing sustaining him and all of his efforts were going towards the creation of viable clones.

Now we know that not only does he have perfect clones for himself (which implies he appeared before Mephisto in a compromised body as strategy to keep Mephisto from knowing how effective his cloning process is) but he also has been collecting demons with regeneration abilities and is planning on cloning a body for Satan.

I have so many questions about this.

Satan seems to think his perfect body is running around, inconveniently occupied by his demon son, and would like to take it. But he is hanging around with his wimpy human son for some reason. Yukio is immune to the flames, all flames, has a temptaint so bad it's a wonder he wasn't posessed by a demon years ago except that he can't be possesed...

What do they want with Yukio?

Even better, why the hell did Lucifer give Yukio the Armumahel guns?

I think the answer is twofold.

They, Mephisto and Lucifer, are setting Rin and Yukio up for a showdown, a sort of battle by proxy.

Mephisto and Lucifer are playing chess to determine the fate of the world because they cannot fight each other directly.

So Rin and Yukio are pawns that are poised to become queens on the board.

My magic 8 ball says "as I see it, yes":

*Yukio will confront Rin, because Rin can't let Yukio go.

*When that happens Yukio will use the Armumahel guns and damage or partially remove Rin's soul; in that moment of weakness Satan will have his opportunity to possess Rin.

*Yukio will immediately realize he has fucked up and will try to fix his mistake by killing Satan, or at least removing him from Rin as much as possible.

*More Armumahel gun action......

If everything goes Mephisto's way Satan wil be reduced to a shade of his original power and banished back to Gehenna (serves him right for being such a prick and dropping a helicopter on Mephisto's head), Lucifer will have to concede defeat and back down as per their wager.

If everything goes exceptionally well Rin's soul may even be restored to his body (I have a feeling Shiemi would have something to do with that).

But either way the balance would be restored and Assiah would be preserved.

If Lucifer gets his way Rin's soul is forfeit, Yukio is a way more fucked up Abel than the original bible story, Satan gets his groove on, Samael has to step back, allowing Satan and Lucifer remake reality unopposed.

I think the reason why Lucifer needs Satan is because Lucifer has the power to collapse everything back to the moment of creation but that's the best he can do on his own.

Essentially that is suicide.

He threatened it before, when he was trapped in a decaying shell, unwilling to allow himself to return to Gehenna. But now that he has a viable means of sustaining himself, and Satan has entered the picture, his plans haven't changed so much as they have shifted.

He still wants to end suffering but now he wants to remake the world, not destroy it, and to do so he needs Satan's power.

To Mephisto, destroy to create anew or destroy permanently, is all the same. Everything that makes him demon king of Space and Time, everything that makes him himself will cease to exist. He *has* to oppose Lucifer's plans, to do otherwise is to negate his own existence, which is something Mephisto is not capable of.

@yuri-egin-123 , thanks again!

Which is cool by me, otherwise this story would have been over before it began!