#sort of since we talk about crests

[randomnameless]

About crest removal, I think it's a non issue for humans. the difference is I don't see it as mere blood, I see it as tangible power that was never theirs to begin with.

IMO, This power belongs solely with the Nabateans. We know from Rhea that Sothis' never intended for humans to get crests. This power was either stolen from the Nabateans through violence , forcibly put into people through vile experiments , or given by the saints only out of sheer desperation to stop Nemesis.

Crests that get passed down are just crests that their ancestors stole or got through magictechy means. Either way, they were never meant to have it and the only reason it ever became part of their identity is because of the toxic "Crest System" they created around it due to their obsession with power.

How is a crest all that different from hereditary titles to humans ? in Fodlan, Crests are a valuable commodity that they obsessively collect like land, titles, and relic weapons (Book of Seiros II) . It's a tool, its Power. It's not really part of their natural identity, it never was.

At best, Crests are part of someone's identity like Hereditary Titles and Class is. And i don't really have issues with removing people from the top 1% or stripping titles from people LOL.

Yes they'll probably have an identity crisis, but I suspect it's more a result of having lost access to power rather than losing a piece of their core identity.

Like is Edelgard going to give a damn she lost a crest? I agree, she would be PISSED ! But it has nothing to do with it being part of her identity. It's because it's power she can no longer use to wage her war with.

Hopefully this is making sense cause Ive never been good at voicing my thoughts LOL . I dunno what it is exactly but something about the idea that crests are part of their identity just sounds so... false.

My mind goes to the times when warmongers stole relics from the peoples they genocide and how they claim it as their own and continue to benefit from it years later. The exploitation and greed pisses me off I guess.

(Those are old asks, august and september - I wanted to write something serious, but then forgot, and here we are, in november lol, sorry anon(s)).

So!

To First anon,

I would agree about Crest only being something that doesn't belong to them and not "blood" for the Elites (or first generation crest wielders), but for their children who inherit it?

It's part of who they are (that's not the only part that makes them an invidual, of course) and they were born with this. Should you give away a "part" of yourself, because your ancestor, who ultimately passed it down to you, stole it 1k years ago?

Also, I think that there is something important about how Nabatean blood, thus Crest, can appear in humans : in FE16, we learn Nabateans and Humans can have offsprings together (Flayn and Linhardt's paired ending). Ergo, a being with both bloods (their resulting children have crests of Cethleann!) can "naturally" exist - and I am pretty sure if you exsanguinate said beings from 50% of their blood they die - humans can have Nabatean blood (or Nabateans can have human blood).

Besides, Nabateans can choose to share this "power" with humans to save them (Yuri, Jeralt).

We will never know what were the "rules" if there were any about sharing blood with a human, but both Rhea and Aubin (if he was a Nabatean, but imo, this blood = crest strongly suggests he was!) wished to save a dying human kid. Crests isn't only "power", it's also some sort of powerful "medicine" able to help and heal humans!

I agree though, Humans being humans and greedy would later create some sort of hierarchy using Crests as a mean to discriminate - and what is even more saddening, is how Adrestia, the place where the humans got their crests without "stealing" them from Nabateans - is the place that puts the most value on Crests as someone's identity (whereas the Kingdom values Crests for the power it can bring, Adrestia seems to value Crests just as a social "plus").

In the case of crested families, well, those games being what they are, we have no character who is thankful for their crest because it means they are able to help others or do things other people cannot do (maybe Dimitri?) - but take a person with a crest of Cethleann who prides themselves on being able to heal a flu by snapping their fingers, someone from a family that is well known for being the best healers in the region, if you remove the power of their crest, what are they now? Just healers, who cannot heal life threatening conditions and ailments that they could previously heal with their crest.

So while I agree a crest can be seen as power, and power is ultimately a tool, it can also be part of your identity. Miklan thought he wouldn't be anyone without a Crest, and resented Sylvain for being the person he was supposed to be (the future Margrave Gautier).

For Supreme Leader though, I agree, she'd more pissed at losing "power" and not part of her identity - and yet, the idea of "removing" crests from humans who got them, from the Elites, or from direct blood donation (or because those humans are hybrids!) imo feels wrong.

Annette was born with a crest of Dominic, should she get hers removed to "apologise" for what Dominic did eons ago? Should she lose a part of herself ?

I think the difference between Hereditary Titles and Crests is how Crests are basically part of that someone - yes, Annette technically should never have had a crest, but are we really going to exsanguinate her to remove "part" of her blood? Hereditary Titles are social constructs - Crests, in the Fodlan World, are biological parts of someone.

Oh, and now that I think about it, iirc, Yuri is quite proud to have his crest, because his crest is the proof Aubin existed and helped him, and motivated him to save/help people.

That crest is a part of his identity and what motivates him.

While it's still irksome that what was, at least in the Elites's families, stolen "property" being passed down as their legacy, the children of the Elites just happened to be born with those things - it is irksome, but again, I don't think they should "pay" for what the Elites did by "losing" parts of themselves - that, in any case, cannot return to the one from whom that "property" was stolen!

And again, Fodlan gives us the perfect counter-example with Adrestia - humans got "crests" from willing sources, but with time, they use that same power against the ones who gifted that power to their ancestors!

The Elite's descendants are the ones to protect the Nabateans, when the descendants of the humans favoured by Nabateans are the ones who now want to kill them! Yuri, in his most "canon" routes, sides with the Nabateans. Jerry refuses to work with them. And yet, they both got blood from a Nabatean.

It's almost as if the origin of the property/blood/crests doesn't matter, what matters is now what the current humans are doing with that "power".

I kind of understand your feelings about Crests, anon, even if I disagree! It's such a shame that the Fodlan games basically don't really care much about Nabateans to give, say, reactions to people learning where their relics and crests come from, and how Nabateans would react to that.

Ultimately, Rhea's choice of sparring the families and children born with those crests saves her in the BL routes, and yet, Macuil is ultimately right in GW, with the cruel cutscene from Nopes where we see Goneril oppose Seiros in Tailtean, and GW ends with Rhea opposing Goneril (and her pals)' descendant in the same plains!

Humans being greedy and exploiting something that weren't theirs to begin with is annoying, but put in balance with ultimately, striking children for the sins for their ancestors by depriving said children of parts of themselves feels, imo, as wrong.

Don't worry about voicing your thoughts even if it ends up as a messy ask lol, I always plan to write something coherent, then I remember I forgot a thing, and it ends up in, well, some sort of non-coherent wall of text lol

As for you, second anon -

Not everyone from the cast!

Adrestians got their Crests from, per Nopes, consensual "blood sharing", and then they passed it down to their descendants... who will later turn agains the very Nabateans who blood shared :/

Yuri ultimately got his crest because Aubin wished to save him, and did so by giving him his blood, ditto for Jeralt.

So I wouldn't say it's the worst way possible - but what I feel was the intention of the devs with this question (even if they clearly gave a quarter of a fuck about it!) is not what should befall the playable cast who got their crest from the Elites, but what the playable cast should do now, with that power. Will they use it for "good" reason, or use it for "bad" reasons ?

Like, in Rhea's lines from Nopes to the crest bearers who descend from the Elites :

"The goddess protects those who wield the power of their crest with a righteous heart."

or in JP : 紋章の力を正しく行使する限り, 主はあなた方をお守りくださるでしょう。

Which, googlised is something like " As long as you use the power of the emblem correctly, the Lord will protect you."

Those children cannot do anything about the dead Nabateans they share some blood with, but they can at least make sure "dead Nabatean"'s power isn't used for nefarious stuff.

Tl; Dr : Humans can get crests from 4 different ways (blood transfusion, directly descending from a Nabatean, descending from someone who got a crest or killing a nabatean), and only one is really condemnable, but for the other 3?

Crest "removal" procedures deus ex machina nonsense kind of piss on those differences and is the easy way out to, again, absolve humans of their agency, we go to an easy "well they don't have power so they won't use it for stupid stuff" route instead of going to the moer common and harder "no matter how you got them, use your powers responsibly" route.

[mustainegf]

Beach Episodeee- basically you start playing volleyball with the metallica boys but they all are lowkey staring at your body and getting horny and you notice...you can choose whoever you wanna do this with, or could do something similar to that valentines day one where the audience chooses who they wanna be with!

Photo for ref

Love you Elena!!!💗

YESSS DUDE I LOVE THESE ONES WITH THE CHOICES

𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 ¹⁹⁸⁵

The sun was barely cresting, a golden glow along the beach by the time we rolled in with Cliff's old, beat up car. The saline freshness in the air and the waves crashing against the beach always comforted me. It was one of those perfect summer days, and there I was with my favorite people in the world. James, Cliff, Kirk, and Lars.

Since weeks ago we had been planning on catching time at the beach. Now that we were here, I just couldn't wait to kick back and relax a little, to enjoy some fun.

Finally, we found somewhere on the sand, and so I stepped down to my swimsuit. Nothing too fancy, a black bikini did the trick for me, at least it made me like what I saw. And I could feel their eyes on me as I took my shorts off and let them drop into the dust. I glanced up to see James watching, a suggestive look on his face, almost flustered.

He glanced away immediately when he realized that I had seen him, but with the smirk on his face, telling me that he was really not sorry.

"Nice suit," Cliff laid his towel down carelessly next to mine as he unfolded it. He was so calm, but those eyes sort of petted me, and my stomach flipped.

“Thanks,” I said, my cheeks clearly heating up. Not that they weren't ogling before but today for some reason it seemed a lot more obvious.

He started putting up the volleyball net a few feet from us. His look even flickered in my direction time and time again, softer, almost shy in a way, as he looked at me with something that just made warm creep into my cheeks.

Not so much Lars, he didn't even try. Literally, he didn't try to hide that his eyes were roving down my body with some kind of audacity that both made me want to laugh and roll my eyes.

"So you guys ready to lose?" I smiled, trying to let a little bit of tension out as I walked over to the net.

Yes, I felt their eyes on me, but I wasn't going to let that bother me. If anything, it was kind of fun knowing they were all looking. I could play along.

“Depends on what we’re playing for,” Lars shot back, winking at me as he tossed me the ball.

"Loser buys lunch?" I retorted, not so much enjoying the implication in his tone.

"How about a prize for the winner then?" he suggested, with a voice that could sometimes penetrate my bones. His eyes held a dare.

"And what prize would that be, exactly?" I said, cocking an eyebrow.

"Oh, I’m sure you know," James replied, but before I could answer, Cliff interjected.

"Alright, let's get this started," he rubbed his hands together, "Enough talking."

We ended up splitting into teams, with me and Cliff versus James, Kirk, and Lars. It wasn't exactly fair, but Cliff was the tallest, so it gave us a boost.

I had my eyes more on the boys as they kept glancing my way, watching my every move across the sand.

Every time I leaped to smack the ball, I could make out James ogling at me with those eyes. The same went for Lars, his eyes turned even more wicked, comments more daring, as we played on.

"Great spike." He beamed at me as I returned the ball to our side of the net, but his gaze was fixed upon my chest, not the ball.

"Pay attention to the game, Lars," I shot back, though I couldn't help the grin that pulled at my lips.

Not even Kirk, always so upright with things, appeared immune to being carried away by it. And even when the ball came flying near him, he missed, his eyes otherwise occupied tracking me through the sand.

"Sorry," he mumbled, his face flushed, running off to get the ball with a stupid smile on his face.

The time we finished the game, my heart was pacing and it wasn't just from how active I was. When we fell down into the sand from laughing, out of breath, I couldn't help but notice the way they looked at me, as if I were the only thing that mattered in this world.

We spread out on the beach and sprawled out, laying upon the beach with cold drinks. The sun was lower now, early evening rays warming our skin. Even with my eyes closed, I could feel their gaze upon me, their attention making my skin tingle with eyes so closed.

"Having fun?" Kirk asked, his shy voice obviously trying to be as confident as possible.

"Yeah," I answered, smiling up at the guitarist. Kirk’s eyes flicking down to my lips, then back up to my eyes.

Cliff, who was lying on his towel next to me, leaned over and whispered in my ear, “You know, you’re driving them all crazy.” The smile upon his lips belied it, but in his eyes, very serious, burnt a different narrative.

"Am I?" I managed out.

"Yeah," he said, and his voice dropped. "But I can't say I blame them."

I swallowed hard as his words settled. I knew what they all wanted, and it had turned me on. Yet I knew I had to make a decision.

I couldn't keep them all hanging like this. It was kind of a game, who was going to test the water and jump in first?

The only question: who would it be?

Now the sun had finally begun to set for no good reason at all, painting a soft orange sheen on the beach. Now I stood a few feet from them, the guys seated on the sand, now laughing and talking easy with each other.

Who do I choose?

[himegureisu]

Hello! So, l've read your mini mail series and I was wondering if you could write a oneshot where reader sends Snape a long black scarf with their initials on the first day of school as she was away when he left?

Scarves and Hearts

A/N: Yes, I'm here switching fandoms because I'm stuck on the other one. It's about time also that I did this. I hope you like it!

——————————— 🪄———————————

It was the first breakfast of the first day in Hogwarts.

Their students, sorted and seated, at their respective tables provided lively background noise in contrast to the polite conversations at the High Table. On his right, the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore has been talking but he didn’t register the words.

No, he’s been surly ever since your absence this morning.

Your side of the bed was cold, breakfast cooked, and a note on the pillow about why you were gone. There were times he hated your job more than his. This was one of those times.

“Oh,” the newest Weasley addition to Gryffindor, Ronald, or Ron, said, accompanied by the hoots of owls flying in, “The mail’s here,”

His mood quickly changes at the sight of your owls together, carrying a present in silver wrapper and silk green ribbon, a note attached, as they land in front of him, and read.

I’m sorry I missed the start of the term. I hope that this’ll keep you warm in my absence.

I love you always.

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, Dumbledore and McGonagall’s attention caught by the sound of rustling paper to see their Potion’s Professor unraveling a very soft and thick crocheted scarf in green and silver.

On one end, instead of the Slytherin House Crest, there was the shape of your shared patronus. On the other end, at the front side were his initials, on the back, surprisingly, were yours.

“That’s a lovely scarf there, Severus,” Minerva commented, from the other side of the headmaster who said, “A work of love,”

“Yes, it is,” he paused, admiring your work, “Very lovely indeed,”

From a distance, at Gryffindor Table, the Weasleys, Granger, and Potter huddle closer as Ron briefly glances at the High Table, where Severus starts to pack the scarf, and asks.

“What do you reckon of that?” he observes, his head of house, the headmaster, and his hated professor amicably talking, “Do you think it’s a woman?”

“I can’t even imagine,” Harry frowns, at the sight of Professor McGonagall giving them a look, “Someone at the Professor’s side,”

“There could be,” Hermione carefully says, as the boys suddenly look her way, “You never know. What Professor Snape may be to us could be different to any other person,”

“We honestly don’t know,” George adds their two cents on the matter, as he observes the Potions’ Master leave, “But what we do know is that whenever like that comes he’s much more tolerable to be around with,”

“Truly?” Ron turns to his brothers, and Fred nods, “Yeah, you’ll know if he reduces homework by a page, or deducts fewer house points than usual,”

“I guess we’ll find out later then,” Hermione remarks, as the bell rings throughout the castle, and ushers Harry and Ron to stand. “Time to go,”

Their second class was Potions and, in this case, the Weasley twins were right. There was less a page of parchment on their essay and he didn’t insult Hermione when she interjected to answer the question no one wanted to.

In time, when the first snowfall arrives at one of the Hogsmeade weekends’, the Potion’s Master could be seen wearing the scarf he’d received in the mail months before adding a splash of color to his usual black robes, bearing an almost happy facade. His initials on the front, and yours on the back, hidden and kept near to his heart.

[yuri-is-online]

What's with tkdb obsession with romeo and kaito always uncoveniently put together like this especially in chapter 9 😂

And then in romeo card he is dancing with kaito's ghost costume and i go 🤨

Seriously his obsession with kaito and his necklace is just so funny to me 🤣

Thought, it could be an imprtant lore with his necklace insignia matching with that rich old corpse. 🤔

I know this lowkey make me want to ship them just for fun and gigles lol

Anyway have a good day to you miss yuri~ ❤

Oh hello polite anon, I hope you are having a nice day too!

Originally, I had a silly sort of answer, but I had a semi serious thought while I was looking back over my screenshots.

I think Kaito is sort of a foil to Romeo? Kaito is everything that Romeo thinks he should be, which is why it infuriates him when he sees that Kaito isn't making anything of himself.  The fact he has a gambling problem probably makes it that much worse since he's literally ruining his life in the exact same way his family did.  He's holding onto that costume because it is the ghost of who he should be: Romeo should be the one in Frostheim, Romeo should be the one who is respected as a part of the upper class, Romeo is the one who is putting in the hard work to make something of his life and not Kaito so why is Kaito the one in Frostheim while he's stuck in Sinostra with that BTH regarded as nothing more than a common criminal? Their weapons are similar too, the main thing keep Kaito from also being a sniper is his questionable accuracy.

There's two reasons why Romeo is so fixated on Kaito.  The most obvious one is that pendant, but I think that's a bit of a red herring.  It's still very important to Kaito's character arc but it's not what started Romeo's obsession.  Kaito says Romeo didn't pay any attention to him until half a year ago.  Half a year ago is, of course, when the Clash happened.  There's no way someone as meticulous as Romeo just decides to be obsessed with someone who can do nothing for him like Kaito, therefore we can logically infer there is something Kaito can do or has done that Romeo thinks could benefit him.  Romeo clearly thinks that this thing has something to do with the pendant; Kaito clearly doesn't want to think about anything to do with the Clash.  Romeo now has access to that bracelet that has the same symbol, so he has a real opportunity to do some research about Kaito, the crest, and whatever it is that Kaito is trying to cover up. There's a lot you can do with how they mirror each other for a fic... but that'd be a different post

As a side note~ I have seen some musing about the single eye on Kaito's costume.  It could, at a glance, look very much like the eye on the Kyklos as it is settled in a flower.  I think it looks more like those single eyes that got slapped everywhere in some of those fake ads that got put out for the game.  I don't really think that means much since this game is a bit stupid about things… but it could mean Kaito has something to do with the OES murder and that's why he's so determined to lay low and not talk about the Clash.  If Romeo knows or suspects this is a separate matter entirely, but I could see him as someone who wouldn't really care about Kaito being a murderer.  Assuming he thought whatever he stood to gain from keeping that secret outweighed turning him into Darkwick.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Part Of Your World ~ 3

PART OF YOUR WORLD MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 1,357ish

Summary: You break the surface and see a face that you’ll never forget.

Notes: Finally, after two years, I had inspiration to update this. Hope y’all enjoy!

Over the next few months, you would sneak out of the confines of the palace and go to Shipwreck Cove. Natasha and Clint would join you when they could, helping you collect trinkets from the wrecks and take them to your grotto. Your grotto was filled with all sorts of objects that you could only guess what they were used for.

One night, you were out late. You knew that you were pushing it, especially because you were alone. You were in your grotto, placing new items on the rock shelves and reorganizing where some of the items were placed. The full moon was shining brightly into the calm water, allowing you to see so clearly. You looked up, longing to swim up to the surface. Not too far away, you noticed a large, dark object coming closer along the surface of the water.

“What father doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” you whispered to yourself before you swam up to the surface.

You gasped when you broke the surface, feeling a little chill due to the air. You looked over to where you had seen the dark object and noticed that there was a large ship there. Curious, you swam closer. You noticed that the ship was made out of wood, with some of the wood sticking out enough for you to grab on. There was a larger hole near the top that would allow you to see the commotion you could hear coming from the ship. You climbed the side of the ship, finding a good place to balance yourself before peering onto the deck.

There were humans talking and dancing about, men and women. They seemed happy, like they were celebrating something. There were three men playing music and an interesting four legged animal running around the people. You watched as the animal began sniffing the floorboards, heading towards you. Before you knew it, the animal was in front of you, licking your face. You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, quickly stifling it before anyone could notice.

“Alpine!” A man called. The animal looked toward the man. “Alpine, here boy!”

The animal ran to the man, jumping up and barking. Your breathe caught in your throat as you got a look at the man. He was gorgeous. His black hair was slightly shagging, but not much. His eyes were the most wonderful shade of blue, matching the ocean. He was tall and built well.

You had never see a human like this. Actually, you had never seen humans at all with your own eyes. You watched as the man stood there with the animal, who kept barking at him.

“Hey, come on, mutt,” the man joked to the animal. “What’s got into, huh, Alpine?” The animal barked again and turned toward where you were. You quickly hid from view. “Is something over there, boy?” The animal barked and went over to the opening. The man followed. “There’s nothing here, boy.”

“Silence! Silence!” A large blonde man shouted for everyone’s attention. The humans quickly grew silent. “It is now my honor and privilege to present Prince James—“

“Come on, Steve,” the man who caught your eye interrupted. “We’ve been friends since we were kids.”

“Right, sorry, Bucky. It is my privilege to present Bucky with this present from the court.” Steve motioned to a large, covered object in the center of the ship. “Happy birthday, pal.”

Steve pulled the cover from the object, revealing a large, gaudy statue of Bucky. He was holding a sword and stepping on top of what seemed to be a royal crest.

“Gee, Steve,” Bucky muttered. “It’s, err, it’s—it’s really somethin’.”

“Yeah, the court had it commissioned,” Steve stated. He seemed to not like it very much. “They had hoped it would be a wedding present, but—“

“Aw, come on, Steve, don’t start that again. It’s my birthday. You can’t still be sore because I didn’t fall for the princess of Wakanda, are you?”

“Bucky,” a woman with curly brown hair stepped up beside Steve, “the entire kingdom wants to see you happily settled down. We want to see that happen.”

Bucky sighed as he sat down on the railing of the ship, looking out to sea. “Well, she’s out there somewhere. Just haven’t found her yet.”

“Maybe you’re being too picky,” Steve suggested, only to be quickly jabbed in the side by the woman’s elbow.

“I will know her when I find her. Without a doubt. It’ll hit me, like lightning.”

Thunder sounded without warning as the winds picked up. You looked at the sky to see large, dark clouds rolling in quick. Lightning flashed through the sky before the sound of thunder. And then came the rain.

“Hurricane a’commin’!” A man frantically shouted. “Stand fast! Secure the riggin’!”

You watched as everyone raced to a place to secure the sails or down below the boat. The waves grew larger and larger, causing the boat to rock. It didn’t take long for you to lose your grip on the boat and go flying into the water. You swam back up to the surface in time to see lightning hit the sail, catching it on fire. The fire quickly spread down the large wood pole and onto the deck. Those on the boat rushed to the smaller boats attached to the side of the ship. Because the people were too worried about getting off the ship, they didn’t noticed the large rock in their path. The ship crashed into the rock, causing those not in the life boats yet to go flying off.

You were in shock, not knowing how to help or even if to help. Looking around, you tried to find the beautiful human named Bucky.

“Bucky!” Steve yelled from one of the smaller boats.

You followed where he was looking to see that Bucky was still on the boat, with the furry animal in his arms.

“Here!” Bucky shouted, tossing the animal down to Steve.

Before Bucky could jump, the ship exploded. You ducked down into the water to avoid being hit by the flying pieces of ship. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Bucky in the water, trying to swim to the top. You rushed over, not caring if he saw you.

~~~

Bucky was struggling to swim up to the surface due to how heavy his boots were. Suddenly, you were in front of him. His eyes quickly scanned you. He almost gasped because of two things: how beautiful you were and that you were a mermaid. You looped your arms around his and began swimming him up to the surface. Bucky gasped for breath as he broke the water. He looked around frantically for you but couldn’t see you. Before he knew it, Steve was pulling him out of the water and onto one of the life boats.

“She—where is she?” Bucky stammered.

“Where is who?” Steve wondered.

“The girl… The one who saved me.”

“No one saved you, Bucky.”

“Yes, someone did! She was a—“ Bucky stopped himself. He knew the implications if he said he saw a mermaid. He would either be declared as crazy or the whole kingdom would be hunting mermaids.

“She was a, what?” Peggy probed.

“Nevermind.”

Peggy and Steve eyed each other with both confusion and curiosity. Bucky’s eyes stayed glued onto the water as they began to row away.

~~~

Once you knew that Bucky was going to be okay, you had swam away to a safer distance. You watched from behind some floating pieces of the ship as Bucky was rowed away. There was something inside of you screaming to follow him. You wished that you could. You knew though that you had to get back before your father realized that you were gone.

You swam off, not realizing that someone was watching her from below. Wanda’s lips curled into a smile as a plan formed in her head. She had waited thirteen long years for a way to get to you and she was sure that she finally had it.

“Don’t worry, boys,” she whispered to herself. “Mommy’s almost fixed this.”

next chapter >

TAGLIST IS CLOSED - Taglist Information

[tobiasdrake]

Digimon Adventure 01x16 - Dark Evolution! SkullGreymon / The Arrival of SkullGreymon

Previously on Digimon Adventure: The wicked servants of Elvis gave our kids food and baths. Fleeing into a nearby cave, Taichi found the Warp Whistle and got them out of there before they could be exposed to Elvis's music any longer.

Now we join them an ambiguous length of time later, in a place that is certainly not the forested mountains we left them in.

We're back in the desert. Why are we back in the desert? Why did we go back there? IDK but Mimi's is bothered as I am.

Mimi: Ugh, how much farther do we have to talk? Jou: Until we find a place where Etemon can't reach us. Mimi: Does a place like that even exist!?!? Yamato: I hope so. We have nowhere to run if Etemon attacks us right now. Sora: This is bad. Everyone's starting to get depressed.

Wandering through the vast deserts of Server under threat that Etemon could appear at any moment naturally has a negative impact on the group's mental health. Sora's concerned for them. But Taichi's annoyed.

Taichi: What's going on here!? Get a hold of yourselves! We have a Crest with us now! Yamato: Sure, but can they really evolve with just the Crest? Taichi: Of course. Right, Agumon? Agumon: Mmm-- Taichi: Be more assertive! You're the only one right now who can evolve to the next level! You have to stand for all of us on the battlefield! Tentomon: We're counting on you! Taichi: By the way, how do we reach the next evolution? Koushiro: Well, from what we know about evolution, they need a lot of energy to evolve. They couldn't do it when they were hungry. Also, it happens when their partner is in danger. Taichi: I see.... So, about, that energy thing: To evolve to a higher level, I guess you'd need more energy than ever, right?

Taichi ties off that question with a wink at Agumon, who flinches from Taichi's exuberance. He's plotting.

As he brought up at the end of the last episode (but not in the dub), In stark contrast to the rest of the group, who are still in survival mode, Taichi feels invincible now that he has this Crest. He's confident that he has the key to Etemon's demise right there around his neck. He just needs to figure out how it works.

Over in the dub, Tai's going even harder.

Tai: Hey, come on, you guys! Why'd we stop? Why's everyone so scared? After all, we do have the Crest, you know! Matt: That's true! But do we really know the Crest will help Agumon to Digivolve? Tai: Of course! Right, Agumon? Agumon: Hmm? Tai: Listen, buddy: This is your big chance! Don't let me down! You're the only one that can Digivolve further so either you try to get to the next level and save us from Etemon or I'll go and get myself a new Digimon! Tentomon: Not much of a choice! Tai: ARGH! By the way, how are we supposed to use the Crest to Digivolve again? Izzy: Well, from what we've seen so far with the other Digivolutions, it takes a lot of energy. For example, they can't Digivolve if they're hungry. In addition, the Partner of the Digimon must be in some sort of danger. You know, like being under attack or something. Tai: But since it's a higher level of Digivolving, my theory is even more energy is needed. So we'll provide the food; Etemon will provide the danger!

Love that closing line, "We'll provide the food; Etemon will provide the danger!" That's a great way to set up the bad decision-making that's about to take place.

The biggest difference between the two versions is that Tai threatens to fire Agumon in this one. Holy shit! He's being a twat either way but that's brutal.

We cut briefly to Etemon's trailer being carted through the desert. He's rambling.

Etemon: You kids just wait! When I find you, I'll knock you flat and stuff you like turkeys!

Over in the dub, he says:

Etemon: You better watch out, you DigiDestined kids! I'll find you and, when I do, you'll wish you never crossed Etemon! I'll get ya!

This may seem like a lateral move, but the "stuff you like turkeys" line is setup for a gag. We cut immediately from that line to:

The dub destroys this joke, not only changing Etemon's line but introducing a commercial break between Etemon's setup and Agumon's payoff.

Over here at a small oasis, Taichi is force-feeding Agumon as much as possible.

Agumon: I can't eat anymore! Taichi: When I say eat, you eat! No complaining! Agumon: But-- Taichi: Listen! Everyone gave you their share of food because they're looking forward to your evolution! Right, guys? Yamato: Sure. Mimi: Gave it to him? More like he took it from us. Gabumon: But we can't evolve to a higher level. Jou: (bitterly) So it's "Whoever doesn't work doesn't eat"? Tentomon: Oh no.... Taichi: Eh? What was that? I can't hear you! Isn't that right, guys? Group: (unenthusiastically) Uh-huh! Taichi: See? That's why you and I have to work hard together! We have to protect everyone!

Taichi is now preventing the rest of the group from eating so that he can force-feed Agumon far beyond his limits. Based entirely on his own speculation that Agumon will need a supreme amount of energy for a Perfect-stage evolution.

Palmon: I guess that means we're dragging everyone down. Piyomon: Even so, I feel sorry for Agumon. Sora: Yeah. Agumon looks like he's being forced into a corner. Koushiro: During club activities, Taichi-san was always nice to us younger members. Sora: Now that you mention it, back in soccer club....

While the first part of this scene is played totally straight in the dub, this bit's a little different.

Palmon: I guess there's not much else we can do to help. Biyomon: I don't know if Agumon can take much more! Sora: Yeah, Tai is really pushing him. Agumon's stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey. Izzy: Tai's personality has taken a turn for the worse lately. I remember him being friendlier even to us younger kids. Sora: Actually, now that you mention it, he was cool during soccer camp.

"Soccer camp" is an interesting choice here. Extracurricular "soccer club" isn't really a thing in the U.S. but schools do have sports teams. Not usually for elementary schools, though. Sora and Taichi are in fifth grade. In order to play soccer together, they'd have to be part of a recreational youth program like at the YMCA or, as noted, a soccer camp.

Meanwhile, Koushiro's reference to sharing "club activities" with Taichi, though the sentiment of his line remains. I guess they couldn't imagine why Izzy would play soccer.

From here, Sora flashes back on a school soccer game. Taichi's playing in the front of his team as a striker, a position notorious for arrogant and selfish play, and he has the ball. Sora is the other striker, running down the field parallel to Taichi.

We see the gears turn in Taichi's head.

Sora: Taichi, pass! Taichi: This is my chance to shoot! Here I go!

But then another player slides in front of him on an intercept course. Without missing a beat, Taichi passes the ball sideways a moment before the slide trips him up. Sora receives his pass, striking the ball with a headbutt and sending it sailing into goal.

Helping Taichi to his feet, Sora appreciates his sportsmanship.

Sora: Nice pass! I thought you'd try to take the shot yourself. Taichi: I'd never do something that crazy! Ahahahaha!

Back in the present, Sora reflects:

Sora: Taichi seems like the type to rush off on his own, but he's always taken his surroundings into consideration. Koushiro: Right. Sora: But now.... Taichi: We're the only ones who can do this! So keep going! Eat up! Agumon: No more! Sora: Ever since Taichi got that Crest, he's become a completely different person.

Again, the dub here is a bit altered.

Sora: Tai might look like he's trying to run things all by himself, but whatever crazy action he takes, he does it for the good of the team. Izzy: Mmhmm. Sora: But now all this.... Tai: We're the only ones who can help now! So you've gotta keep eating, okay, Agumon!? Agumon: I can't! Sora: Tai's personality seems to have changed ever since he got a hold of that Crest of Courage.

Sora's point is about Taichi typically having situational awareness to temper his enthusiasm. He was going to take the shot himself, but when he realized he was about to be intercepted, he quickly switched gears and passed the ball rather than stubbornly forging ahead.

"Tai makes ridiculous choices but always for good reasons!" is a bizarre takeaway for her to have from that anecdote.

Also, she name-drops Crest of Courage before any of the kids know that the Crests mean things. That's a straight-up continuity error right there.

Suddenly, the conversation's broken up a ringing pulse shining inside Jou's shirt.

Jou: I'm starving... Hmm? What the...? (Jou pulls his Tag out of his shirt and sees it pulsing blue) Jou: (standing up suddenly) Hey, look! My Tag! Yamato: It's reacting to something. Koushiro: Your Crest must be nearby! Taichi: Really!?

Taichi whips out his mini-telescope, scanning the nearby surroundings until he spots a set of ruins in the distance. Ecstatic, Jou races down the dune they're resting on, tripping over something buried in the sand.

Gomamon: What's a cable doing here?

His question doesn't get answered, but we know these cables. Far off, Etemon orders the Monochromon dragging his trailer to halt.

Etemon: STOP!!! Gazimon: What's wrong, Etemon-sama? Etemon: Ehehehehehe!!! Something's stuck in my network! L-7 Area... Let's see... Where was that? L over, 7 down, and... There it is! Gazimon: Where is it? Etemon: YIIIIIII!!! It's near the Coliseum! Remember? The place I hold my yearly concert! (angrily) They fled to such a place.... Gazimon: Geh. It's pretty far. Etemon: Yep. However, I have an interesting show set up there. Ahaha!

In the dub:

Etemon: WHOA!!! Gazimon: What is it, Lord Etemon? Etemon: Ahaha! Something's caught in my network, uh-huh-huh! The intruder's in the L-7 sector. Let's see, L-7, L-7... How's this thing work? Oh, here it is! Gazimon: Where is it? Etemon: Hahaha, it's near the Coliseum! That's where I hold my annual Tribute to Me show; I wonder what they're doing all the way over there? You got any idea? Gazimon: Well, maybe they want to get good seats, boss. Etemon: Oh, they'll have a perfect view for the surprise show I planted for 'em! Hahahaha!

Small change: Etemon seems miffed that the kids are at the Coliseum in the original. It's a subtle moment, but it almost seems like he's offended that they're hiding out in a place that has sentimental value to him personally.

"Maybe they want to get good seats" is a great quip. We lose Gazimon expositing that it's far off, but Etemon covered that with "all the way over there" so the information is still conveyed.

The big shift here is the "show" waiting for the kids. Etemon in the original suggests that what's about to happen is part of his annual concert setup. He's repurposing resources already in place for another reason. Dub Etemon seems to have set this all up as a trap on purpose? Though given the events to follow, that's still a believable interpretation.

Etemon calls another Gazimon over in L-7 to arrange his plan.

Gazimon: Yeah? This is the L-7 area. Etemon: It's me. Gazimon: (leaps to his feet) Y-Yes!? Etemon: Some guests will be arriving soon. Prepare a welcome party. Gazimon: W-Welcome party!? You don't mean that thing? Etemon: I mean that thing. Gazimon: U-UNDERSTOOD!!!

This Gazimon races off into the Coliseum to prepare for the children's arrival.

Inside, the Coliseum is a bit different from what one might expect of ancient Roman architecture.

Koushiro: It looks like the Roman Coliseum! Tentomon: What is that? Taichi: An ancient stadium. Mimi: Look! A widescreen TV! Sora: And a goal post! This is a soccer field! Taichi: Well, let's split up and look for the Crest!

Neat. You know those ancient Romans and their love for giant stadium monitors and soccer.

We've been in Digimon World/Digital World for so long that no one even cares about out-of-place modern shit anymore. That's just life.

Unfortunately, all that overfeeding is taking a toll on Agumon, who falls to the ground abruptly.

Agumon: I can't move... Let me sleep.... Taichi: What's wrong with you!? Get up! Agumon: Sorry.... Jou: Let him rest. The only clue we have is this Tag. Gomamon and I will go look, so the rest of you take a break. Taichi: I'll go with you!

Jou-senpai stepping up to be the responsible one again, but as usual, Taichi can't be still for five seconds.

While Taichi and Jou race off to search for Jou's Crest, something interesting rolls out onto the soccer field.

Sora: (excited gasp) Soccer ball! Hey, want to play soccer!? Takeru: That sounds like fun! Yamato: Let's make it Human Team vs. Digimon Team. Tentomon: What's soccer? Sora: It's where you use your legs to kick this ball into a goal. You can also use your head or chest.

She demonstrates by popping the ball up and passing it with her head to Gabumon. He delivers a powerful kick, sending it up in an arc. Piyomon tries to catch it with her wings, but the ball hits her in the face and knocks her flat. It then bounces into Palmon's hands behind her.

Sora: You can't use your hands. Palmon: Don't you think that's really unfair to me? Takeru: The goalkeeper can use their hands, right? Yamato: Yeah. You'd be perfect for goalkeeper, Palmon.

In the dub, Palmon's objection is removed. After Biyomon gets clonked, Palmon's line and Sora's are switched.

Palmon: Oh! That's really using your head! Sora: Oh, and I forgot to tell you: You can't use your hands. T.K.: Unless you're the goalkeeper; Then you can touch the ball with your hands! Matt: Yeah! You should be the goalie for your team, Palmon!

It's a minor difference, but the bit doesn't flow quite as well without the point being raised that Palmon, more than anyone here, is a very grabby Digimon. She has a much higher hands-to-other-stuff ratio than the rest of the group.

With Palmon's role sorted out, she gives the ball a toss to put it back in play. Suddenly, noticing the others having fun, Tai races in and gives the ball a heavy kick, sending it hurtling to the upper audience stands.

By comical coincidence, he scores a direct hit on Gazimon way up there. Even when he's being a shit, Taichi has amazing soccer instincts. The shot sends Gazimon tumbling down the stairs into the Coliseum's inner chambers.

Taichi: How the hell can you guys be playing soccer at a time like this!?!? Stop and think about what we're dealing with! We're leaving as soon as Jou finds his Crest!

(This is Taichi's "How you season your eggs is causing the decline of Japanese culture" moment. Like Jou way back when, Taichi is cracking under the pressure of being at war with an invulnerable foe.)

Before anyone can say anything to Taichi, the stadium's filled with sports music and the screen turns on.

Etemon: WAHAHAHAHAHA!!! I am the greatest!

Screaming in terror, the kids flee for their lives, inexplicably choosing to take cover inside a soccer net. (Why?) This bizarre choice proves to be part of the trap; The net closes around them, sealing them in. Everyone but Agumon; He tripped and didn't make it to the net because his belly's still too full to move.

Etemon: GOOOOOOOOOAL!!! Now I've got you! Taichi: It was a trap! Tentomon: You think you can keep us in here with just this!?

Tentomon tries to break through the net, but it's electrified. It gives him a discouraging shock the moment he touches it.

Etemon: You're going to injure yourself if you do that. The net's wires are electrified! I've love to be there and do this face-to-face but unfortunately I'm too far away for that. Stars have busy schedules, y'know. But don't worry! A special guest is going to take my place! Who do you think it will be? Taichi: Who cares!? Etemon: I bet he's going to surprise you! YEAH YEAH YEAH!!!

Etemon's guest star arrives: A Greymon with a black "collar" made up of what seems to be a Dark Network cable wrapped around their neck. They stomp into the Coliseum, wrecking everything in their path.

Taichi: G-Greymon!? Etemon: See? You're so surprised! I'm such a fabulous show producer. Now, let's get started! (English) IT'S SHOWTIME!!!

In the dub, we get:

Tai: It's a different Greymon! Etemon: See? I knew you'd be surprised! I'm so evil! ~Let's get started / It's time to go / Okay! / Here's the show!

That might be the funniest change in the series. I wonder which show producer objected to having Etemon proclaim, "I'm such a fabulous show producer"? XD

Agumon evolves to fight the other Greymon. As they're fighting, Takeru drops this banger.

Gabumon: You can do this, Greymon! Takeru: Don't lose to a fake!

Those are some bold words when that one over there is a natural Greymon and our guy can only hit that stage temporarily thanks to Digivice magic.

Sadly, natural Greymon proves to be superior in brawling with a temp. They land a horn bash to our Greymon's chin, sending him backwards into the electrified net.

Conceding that our Greymon can't beat Etemon's, Taichi sees only one avenue left.

Taichi: Evolve, Greymon! Koushiro: He can't keep this up. Tentomon: He can't win if he doesn't evolve!

Greymon gets back up and keeps fighting, but the other Greymon tosses him to the ground and stomps on his head. Taichi screams at him to evolve.

Taichi: Evolve! Evolve, Greymon! Koushiro: It's useless, Taichi-san. Your Crest isn't reacting at all. Yamato: Evolution is impossible. Taichi: I don't accept that. Greymon, I know you can do it! Believe in your ability to evolve!

Greymon does not evolve. He bashes the other Greymon off with a tail whip, then attempts to fire off a Mega Flame.

However, all that comes out is a belch. This is what tips off the group as to why he's having so much trouble.

Mimi: How can you burp at a time like this? Yamato: Do his movements look slower than usual? Koushiro: I get it. His body is heavy from overeating! Tentomon: You're right!

Tentomon's so excited by this revelation, he takes to the air and electrocutes himself on the net again. Smooth.

Meanwhile, Gazimon takes another call from Etemon.

Etemon: Don't just stand around! Start the ending celebration! Prepare the fireworks and step on it!

Gazimon takes up a position up on top of a set of three statue heads, raising sparklers for the ceremony.

While our Greymon continues to get worked over, Gomamon desperately calls his Marching Fishes to lend a fin.

Water pours out of the statues' mouths, with Gomamon's fish flying from the water. They mug Gazimon for his sparklers and make their way over to the enemy Greymon, baiting them away from our Greymon.

Meanwhile, the kids discuss the massive WTF of this occurrence.

Jou: How were fishes able to come out of there!? Gomamon: Don't look at me. I don't understand complex stuff. Koushiro: There's probably a rift to another dimension over there. Gomamon: What he said. Jou: I see....

It's as good an explanation as any.

The dub dialogue is similar, but Izzy's more condescending about it.

Joe: Where did those fish come from!? How could they just come out of there like that!? Gomamon: I dunno, but if it's not broken, don't fix it! Izzy: It's really elementary, Joe. There's probably just a dimensional vortex rift in the water. Gomamon: Ditto! Joe: Oh.

Imagine not knowing about aquatic dimensional vortex rifts. That's baby stuff. You're kinda dim, Joe.

Once the conversation's finished, the Marching Fishes drop their sparklers at Greymon's feet and then fly off into the sky, visibly fading out of existence. (I guess they Dimensional Vortex Rifted away.)

Koushiro comes up with the idea of tunneling to safety. The kids peel back the tiles to find another black cable, but also a large stone bearing a symbol like the one that formed Taichi's Crest. The stone begins to pulse, as does Jou's Tag.

Assuming it works the same, Jou rests his Tag on the stone.

Crest received!

Just in time for the ground beneath them, no longer braced by the Crest stone, to give way and dump the kids. into a deep hole. But it's a deep hole with an exit, so they're free. We briefly cut to Etemon furiously watching them make their escape.

Etemon: Those damn children! Not only did they escape, but they have another Crest! UNFORGIVABLE!!!

It's here that Taichi makes terrible choices.

Taichi: He'd win if he evolved. If he could only evolve! GREYMON!!! Sora: Stop! Taichi: Don't stop me! This is my chance to get Greymon to evolve! Please just stay out of the way! Sora: But your Crest isn't reacting at all! It's impossible for him to evolve! Taichi: He will evolve. No, I'll make him!

Taichi hops down into the stadium and races out onto the field, towards where the two Greymon are fighting.

(This is where Sora's anecdote from earlier comes into play. Taichi isn't being situationally aware. He's not paying attention to the factors on the field; Specifically, his Crest. He's stubbornly, arrogantly trying to take the shot himself and not paying attention to the very real fact that his angle is too well-guarded.)

Yamato: What is he trying to do!? Koushiro: The other condition needed for evolution is for the Partner to be in danger. Sora: Taichi-san wouldn't....

He would. He does.

Etemon calls for a Mega Flame to finish Taichi's Greymon, but Taichi interrupts the shot by pelting Etemon's Greymon with a rock expertly flung straight into their eye.

Taichi: STOP!!! I'm not scared of you! Come and get me! Etemon: Trying to act tough, are we? Very well. We'll deal with you first, just like you wanted!

Sora and Yamato send Birdramon and Garurumon in there to keep Taichi from getting himself stupidly killed. But Taichi keeps screaming at Greymon to evolve until finally, his Crest reacts. In an eerie way.

An unpleasant green light emanates from Taichi's Digivice, unlike the typical white of evolution. And his Crest turns black as pitch before it releases its energy. Greymon ankoku shinka.

The evolution for ankoku shinka or "Dark Evolution" is completely unlike the typical evolution. The transformation sequence is corrupted with unpleasant colors and a dark cloud appearing in the sky. Black energy with orange spirals pour into Greymon, causing him to take this new shape without the usual spinny stock footage and cry of "SHINKAAAAAAA!!!"

Even Tai seems to realize he's screwed up here, as his initial excitement quickly fades into an expression of horror.

Sora: T-That's.... Yamato: What's going on here? Tentomon: It can't be. That's SkullGreymon! Sora: SkullGreymon!?

The narrator chimes in here to give the rundown. SkullGreymon is a Perfect-stage Virus-type Skeleton Digimon.

Narrator: SkullGreymon. His menacing appearance reduces many Digimon to a quaking heap. Naturally, he has immense destructive power. He is a Perfect-stage Digimon who attacks persistently in battle.

Here, the dub has everything it needs for a seamless diegetic rundown. Tentomon is present on-hand, recognizes this Digimon, and has people to talk to when delivering the rundown.

Sora: What in the world!? Matt: What do you think that is? Tentomon: Oh my, is that what I think it is? Sora: What do you call that thing!? Tentomon: SkullGreymon. The sight of him makes other Digimon tremble! He is a fully Digivolved Digimon whose explosive power causes him to constantly search for battle!

"Fully". It's cute that you think that, Tentomon. To be fair to him, Perfect was the final stage until Ultimate was added later down the line. But it was already there by the time the anime was made and dubbed.

But yeah, this is basically a perfect diegetic rundown. Good work.

Koushiro's immediately convinced that this is wrong.

Koushiro: Th-This is bad! It looks like something went wrong and he evolved into something unbelievable!

But it's too late now. SkullGreymon begins to act, swatting the enemy Greymon into the air and launching them into Etemon's monitor. Then he fires the missile from his back.

SkullGreymon's signature move Ground Zero flies from his back, slamming into the monitor and exploding. The blast erases both the monitor and the opposing Greymon.

(RIP Other Greymon. Etemon said they were part of his annual show so I sure hope that means they were like a bandmate of his and not some sort of gladiator slave or something. Because they're stone dead now.)

Taichi, meanwhile, stares up at his "Partner" in disbelief.

Taichi: SkullGreymon! Did you really evolve from Greymon!?

In the dub, Tai more bluntly yells:

Tai: Listen to me, SkullGreymon! If you're really the Digivolved form of Greymon then you can't hurt me!

SkullGreymon responds by trying to smash him, provoking Garurumon and Birdramon to leap to his defense. Tentomon evolves as well to join the defense.

Three Adult-stage Digimon against a battle-hungry Perfect. While their battle tears up the landscape and shreds the black cables littered around.

Etemon: WAUGH!!! The Network! My network is ruined!

Over in the dub, Etemon hilariously tries to play this for sympathy.

Etemon: Oh no, my poor network! They're destroyin' everything that I worked so hard to create!

XD Sure, my dude. You're the victim here.

Back at the fight, SkullGreymon's as savage as we were promised. Birdramon, Kabuterimon, and Garurumon converge attacks on him, but he doesn't even flinch. Swatting them away as easily as the giant Devimon did before, SkullGreymon flees the Coliseum and races out into the desert beyond.

There, the dark evolution energy from Taichi's mistake finally runs out. He finally regresses, not just to Agumon but all the way down to Koromon.

As the group reaches Koromon, Taichi scoops him up in his arms.

Taichi: Are you okay!? Koromon: Yeah... But it looks like I did something terrible to you guys... I couldn't stop myself! Piyomon: Don't worry about it. Gabumon: That's right. Tentomon: We completely understand. Koromon: I'm sorry I couldn't rise to your expectations. Yamato: No! It's not your fault, it's.... Taichi: I know. It's mine. Yamato: That's not what I meant. Taichi: That's okay. It's true. Isn't it, Sora? Sora: Yes-- I-I mean-- Taichi: I was rushing ahead without even realizing it. Because I had the Crest, I felt like I had to fight the battles on my own. I'm sorry, everyone. (to Koromon) I'm sorry. Narrator: Although the next evolution stage was reached, it proved to be a mistake. Will they ever learn to evolve the right way?

We close on this somber moment, reflecting on Taichi's mistake. Neither forgiveness nor condemnation offered to him. Only a lesson learned and a hope to do better in the future.

The dub plays this all straight, including the narrator's closing dialogue. Of course, per usual, that's done diegetically.

Tai: You were finally able to Digivolve but it was a huge mistake. I wonder if our Digimon will ever be able to Digivolve the right way? One thing's for sure, I learned my lesson.

However what blows my mind in this final scene is that Koromon's voice is wrong. They have Mimi's actress playing Koromon and it's extremely noticeable. A huge departure from the usual performer who's been playing Koromon as recently as one episode ago. I have no idea why that happened.

Assessment: Here, at last, we're introduced to branching evolution paths and very specifically the concept of dark evolution, a rare occurrence in Digimon media but always a big deal when it comes up. Try to avoid putting your Digimon through that, yeah?

The dub for this episode has a couple of flaws in it, but I'd describe it as almost perfect. Like 95% of the dub for this episode was seamless adaptation, with some of the dub particulars like the diegetic rundowns fitting in perfectly. My biggest complaint here is that they messed up Sora's soccer anecdote, but that's small potatoes compared to some of the other episodes out there.

[blackfeatherdragon]

YGO Zexal Keyswap AU (AKA an excuse for me to engage in Aztecshipping) (I only thought this out through the WDC arc and even then there's still gaps-)(thanks to my friend usagi for helping me fill in some of these gaps)

(This is a long infodump, look out-)

-While looking for the interdimensional portal, but before adding Kazuma to the team, Byron and Faker made a trip out to a hypothetical location where they thought it would be. Faker didn't find what he was looking for, but Byron did get the Emperor's Key, so that's neat.

-Upon returning home briefly to see his younger sons, Byron gave the Key to Michael, figuring he'd love this kind of artifact.

-(Michael did in fact love it. Little nerd.)

-Byron then returned to his research, and then vanished. Michael and Thomas then end up in the orphanage, with Michael safeguarding what items he has left to remember his father (The Aztec Mask Golem card and the Key).

-Flash forward a few years, Michael is thirteen now, and due to a chain of events I have not worked out yet, the Key is activated and Michael meets Astral.

-(Michael is overjoyed at the interdimensional alien tied to the Key, if a bit annoyed that Astral's amnesiac state means he can't tell him much.)

-Michael also already knows how to play Duel Monsters already, but Astral still tries to backseat duel.

-Insert some Number hunting at the orphanage here. Michael's 'starter' Number is Chronomaly Machu Mech, and the first one he gets off someone else is Shark Drake.

-Eventually, when Michael is fourteen, Christopher/V finally comes back to collect Michael and Thomas from the orphanage. After everyone is reunited at Heartland, Tron performs the rituals to place the crests on Thomas and Michael, then requests that Michael return the Key to him.

-Michael refuses, not willing to sacrifice Astral, and Thomas, realizing that his baby brother and his invisible alien friend aren't safe in this situation, creates an opportunity for Michael to flee by picking a fight with V.

-Michael flees with the Key, only to end up breaking down later because he's now completely separated from his family, so soon after he'd thought he'd have them all back.

-Enter the Tsukumos, who let Michael stay with them for a while while he sorts himself out. He and Yuma start making friends.

-Michael is also encouraged to start attending school due to his age, and he tests into the first year of junior high despite being old enough for second year. This means he's now in the same year as Shark and Rio. This won't be awkward-

--Oh, wait, the whole situation with Shark, Rio, and IV happens. Things get awkward with Shark and Michael having to share a class, especially since Michael can't ask his brother what happened.

-Michael also continues Number hunting, though he's now racing his own brothers and Kaito for Numbers.

-Meanwhile, Yuma has also been getting inexplicably better at duelling? Despite not having Astral to help him? Odd, but okay.

-We finally catch up to where the series would have started. Michael is now fifteen and in second year of junior high, and Yuma has started at junior high as a first year. Finally, Michael and Yuma can be at the same school-

-Yuma also starts getting a bit concerned about the Key and Astral, but doesn't say much about why.

-Number hunting continues. Kaito has a WTF moment when he realizes that the guy scrambling for Numbers is Chris's younger brother

-WDC starts! Michael gets himself entered just fine, Yuma is also remarkably on the ball with entering!

-Michael and IV have at least one run in, then late on the second day Yuma and Michael witness V kidnapping Haruto. Michael only admits that the kidnapper was Christopher before he uses his crest to warp back to the Arclight family hideout in hopes of talking them down.

-But...Yuma is here. Wasn't he with Kaito a moment ago?

-Yeah. About that. Tron didn't like losing a pawn when Michael fled, and decided to just manipulate a new pawn instead of deal with an unwilling participant. And wouldn't you know it, Yuma happened to lose his father to Faker's betrayal, desperately wants to duel, and is kind of gullible, so Tron decided he'd make a good enough target, so long as he doesn't find out about the depths of the plan.

-Yuma got to learn to duel, is promised he'd find out more about what happened to his father, pretty much everything he wanted. Tron also convinces Yuma that the Key is influencing Michael like what the Numbers do to most people, so Yuma is convinced that he needs to help Michael by getting the Key.

-(The only thing keeping Yuma from just grabbing the Key sooner is the fact that Michael keeps it physically on his person as much as humanly possible, a habit picked up in the orphanage since leaving your stuff laying around there was a good way to get your stuff stolen.)

-How did Yuma get there before Michael did? Turns out, Tron decided to crest Yuma too, on the promise that it would let him control Numbers safely and protect him from having his soul taken by people like Kaito. Which was true, but conveniently left out what would happen if he lost while controlling a Number.

-In any case, Yuma, IV, and Michael all spend several minutes trying to convince each other to leave and back down before Kaito finally shows up via Orbital hangglider and forces a duel

-Insert Michael and Kaito VS IV and Yuma duel here. Yuma's signature Number is, of course, Hope.

-Duel ends, IV and Yuma flee, Haruto is returned with Yuma never being told what Tron wanted with Haruto in the first place. Tron claims his plan was simply to try and lure in Faker.

-Michael and Astral are horrified at finding out about Yuma, and end up sheltering with Shark for the night instead of returning to the Tsukumos. It's a good opportunity for Michael to talk to his classmate about what's happening/ask Shark about his interactions with IV and Yuma.

-(Shark got Leviathan Dragon instead of Shark Drake BTW. Michael still has Shark Drake, and IV was tasked with delivering Leviathan Dragon since Yuma wouldn't have wanted to hurt Shark.)

-The next day, Yuma contacts Michael and asks to talk. Talking turns into Yuma trying to get the Key in an attempt to save Michael from its assumed influence, which leads to a duel.

-Yuma finally tells Michael what Tron's been telling him and how he just wants to help/find out what happened to his father, Michael in turn tells Yuma the truth about what Tron wants/what the crest will do if Yuma loses while powerful Numbers are in play.

-They then find a way to loophole the duel's end so no one goes comatose, probably by having Yuma replace Hope with a Number not powerful enough to trip the crest.

-Flash forward a bit to the finals! Michael ends up having to face IV during the course of the finals, during which Tron taunts both of them at once. Michael wins, but is upset knowing his brother will go comatose.

-IV's last message to Michael before leaving is to tell him to keep going.

-IV: "Give Tron hell, Michael, Astral."

-Yuma saves Shark from Tron's influence as per canon, thus revealing that he's defected from Tron's side and knows what's truly up. (Tron's intention was for Shark to beat Yuma and let Yuma be cast aside once his role was done.)

-Michael and Yuma end up facing off one more time before the final. No playing around or loopholes this time, winner faces Tron and they both know it.

-Michael wins, and ends up crying as Yuma goes comatose as a result. However, Yuma does give Michael two new cards before slipping under: his signature monster, Hope, and Chronomaly Atlandis.

-Finally, Michael faces Tron and he's not happy. His brothers and Yuma are in comas, so many people have been hurt by Tron's scheming, and all Michael ever wanted was to have his family back.

-They duel. It's a mess, with Tron and Michael both giving their all, and culminates with Michael and Astral going Zexal.

-(Their Zexal form takes a lot of visual cues from Michael's gladiator outfit from the canon Yuma vs Michael duel, btw.)

-Michael wins, and when Faker takes all the Numbers, Michael attempts to save his father from being dragged in.

-Tron, realizing how far he's gone, releases all the affected souls and lets go of Michael, letting himself be dragged in to at least let Michael live.

-Seeing his father be taken away by Faker for a second time utterly breaks Michael. He decides to enact vengeance on Faker himself, storming off to the tower in a fit of rage, only to be intercepted by Yuma.

-After the breakdown plays out, the two decide to go in together to face Faker.

-Shark and Kaito end up turning up too, with the four all tag teaming against Faker.

-The gang wins, enter the second half of the series with the Barians. The only thing I have planned for the back half so far is Alito shows up and starts trying to flirt with Yuma, resulting in Michael getting jealous for 'some reason'. (He is oblivious to just how he feels about Yuma.)

[pagesfromthevoid]

Cowboy Like Me | d.d. | Bonus I

Din Djarin x princess!reader

Word Count: 2.0k

Warnings: Nada

Author’s Note: Thriving on the idea of defending Din’s honor against the Armorer <3

Series Masterlist | Talk to Me!

The Apostate

“Is there a reason why your covert decided to live on a planet with such violent creatures?” She asked as she piloted the Crest over the waters.

Din was manning the blasters, taking aim to put a stop to the reptilian creature that had interrupted the ceremony of the foundling. It would be his first time returning to the covert since they married –since saving Grogu –and he knew that his arrival was going to be less than exciting. While it wasn’t necessarily unusual for Mandalorians to marry outside their clan, she was not a Mandalorian herself and he wasn’t sure how the rest would feel. More importantly, he knew he would be facing consequences for the things he had done in the last several months.

“I’m not sure,” he answered truthfully, having blasted a hole through the creature and watching pieces of it explode across the beach. “Land over there.”

He pulled back from the guns, making his way back to the passenger seat. Grogu sat there, and he lifted the child into his arms as he peered out the window down at the covert who watched her land the ship. He had been teaching her how to navigate –her and Grogu, really –and how to pilot the ship. If anything because he liked seeing her behind the controls. But because she insisted she learn, in the very possible chance that they needed another getaway.

Shutting off the engines, she stood and held her hand out to him with a reassuring smile. “All will be well,” she promised as he stood, taking her hand in his.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t quite sure about that.

The Armorer stood beside Paz Vizsla, and the remainder of the tribe were scattered behind them as Din and his princess, with Grogu floating behind them, set foot on the beaches. Din greeted the Armorer with a nod, ignoring Paz who was staring him down. And Din knew he was. Because that's what Paz always did when Din was around: size him up.

“Din Djarin, you have returned with the foundling,” the Armorer greeted, motioning towards an opening in the mountains. “And the Princess of Senex.”

“Yes; the child chose to leave with me instead of remaining with his own kind.” He nodded as she stood up a bit straighter beside him. “And we married a short time ago.”

“So I have been told,” the Armorer murmured as they made their way into the forge. “Alas, there is nothing I can do for you here, Din Djarin. You are no longer Mandalorian.”

Even knowing that this was coming, Din’s chest constricted as the Armorer confirmed his transgressions. However, his princess seemed confused and almost offended as she cocked her head to the side.

“What do you mean? He has followed the Creed –he did not show his face until after we were married,” she argued, taking half a step forward. “We exchanged the Mandalorian vows; I am his riduur. You must recognize that –,”

“You are his riduur, princess,” the Armorer stated. “However, he has removed his helmet willingly. Had I known when he came to me, I would not have smithed your dagger, as he is an apostate.”

His princess and the Armorer stared each other down for several moments before she finally turned to him. She was searching for answers in his visor, as if trying to find his gaze. Waiting for some sort of explanation. And there were several –many of which involved her.

“When I saved Grogu,” he explained. While it killed him to detail his transgressions against the Creed, she deserved to know. But he didn’t want her to know how deeply he broke it for her. “I had to remove my helmet, and allow several people to see my face.”

She didn’t look convinced, however. Turning back to the Armorer, Din could see that the diplomatic side of his wife was coming out. He wondered if she knew she was using that royal ability of hers to speak, or if it simply came naturally to her.

“He removed his helmet to save a foundling. Is that not the highest honor of the Creed? To save a child?” The Armorer did nod once, but said nothing. “Should that not, then, outweigh the removal of his helmet, as it was necessary to fulfill the Creed?”

As if Din couldn’t fall even more in love with her, she had to go and fight for him in a battle of words. But he didn’t deserve her defense, as he knew what he had done. He knew why he was truly being excommunicated from his people. 

“He is not exiled for saving the foundling,” the Armorer continued. “You are aware of the Creed, princess. Which suggests you are aware that he cannot remove his helmet in the presence of any living being.”

Her brow furrowed as she considered what was being said. The Armorer stood, watching them both carefully, as the princess slowly turned back to Din, realizing what any living being meant.

“Din,” she murmured, her eyes searching his visor for any sign of misunderstanding. “Din, you said –if I didn’t see you –,”

“I know what I did,” he admitted, looking down at her. And he did know. He knew that removing his helmet –for any reason –would break his Creed. He knew the entire time; there were no loopholes. No way around it. He knew. “I know what I did, and I do not regret it.”

The Armorer watched them as his princess’s eyes welled with tears. And Din wanted to comfort her; wanted to draw her in, promise that it was not her fault. He knew what he was doing when he agreed to cover her eyes that first night on Sorgan. He knew what it meant when he removed his helmet and allowed himself to kiss her. It was not her fault; it never would be. 

He turned to the Armorer, holding his head high. “Were I to bathe in the Living Waters of Mandalore, would I not then be redeemed?”

“It is impossible; Mandalore has been lost.”

“But I would be redeemed, would I not?” He pressed, and the Armorer stared at him for a long time. “If I were to bathe in the waters and bring proof –would I be Mandalorian once more?”

“You would.”

“Then you will see us again.”

Their return to the ship was silent, with the only sound being the crunching on sand beneath their boots. She was angry; Din knew she was. She was easy to read on a good day, and even easier to read on a bad one. It was one of the many things he liked about her –she wore her heart on her sleeve and protected it deeply. 

“I think this is our first argument,” Din joked as he sat in the pilot’s seat, flipping the switches of the control panel.

“Is it an argument if I haven’t scolded you for being so careless?” She countered, and her tone was nowhere close to how joking he was. 

“I told you,” he reiterated, turning to face her. The teasing was gone, and he sat in front of her, posture straight as he turned serious. “You did not force my hand, you did not make me remove my helmet. I knew what I was doing. I knew what I was doing long before I even did it.”

She watched him for several moments, leaning back in her seat with her arms crossed over her chest. Din took her silence as a sign to continue his side. “The day I found you –when you pulled me through the market on Nevarro –I knew I would not deliver you to your mother. I did not know I would marry you –but I knew that, when you protected me, the one hunting you, from the droids your mother sent after you, that I was done for. When you pressed against me in that alleyway; that moment.

“I broke my Creed,” he continued, reaching out to take her hands in his. “I broke my Creed because for the first time in my life, I wanted to be selfish and I was. And now, I am married to you and I will be redeemed.”

She stared at him for a long time, her eyes brimming with tears. But she leaned forward soon enough, pressing her forehead against the steel of his helmet. “I wish you would have told me,” she scolded still, but her voice was soft and trembling. Guilt ridden. And that killed Din, because he knew she was going to feel bad for his choices regardless of what he told her. “If I had known…I could have waited, Din. I would have waited to kiss you, if it meant not breaking your Creed.”

“You could have waited, perhaps,” he reminded her, bringing his hand up to rest against her cheek. His thumb ran over her cheekbone. “But I could not have waited any longer.”

———

Taglist (CLOSED): @r4iner @sgt-morgan @mingeniee @darling1darling @teriolan-blog @venusfalling @double—take @sunshine96 @lovelessprick @mxtokko @ellepascal @waddafaknik @c-ms1ut @kokoirne @sl-ut @munsons-queen @intense-sneezing @geekrenaissance @dilf-din @tizylish @ruleroftides @aheadfullofsteverogers

[ask-elland-n-will]

For the boys! 28, 29, 30 for the ask game! 💙💖☺️

28. Does your mc have a favourite childhood toy? If so, what was it? Do they still have it with them?

I think both 🌙 Elland and 🧨 Cyrus had some sort of a Phoenix toy growing up, since the bird is on their family crest and they loved listening to stories about Firebirds as kids. Elland probably ended up giving his toy to Cyrus, who absolutely still keeps it somewhere in his room. Not at Hogwarts, but back home. At Hogwarts Cyrus tries to either transfigure things into Phoenixes / find the real bird / create an automaton of one (transfigure little metal pieces like cogs and such and make it come to life with magic — idea taken from his artificer class in DnD). Elland was a brave boy giving up his toys: he's an older brother and he has to lead by example!

☀️ William grew up a spoiled baby with a loooot of toys. Mostly plushies of animals and magical beasts. I want to give him some something cliché, like a bear, or perhaps a puffskein toy — the biggest fluffiest toy he has! He would turn his toys into a court of plushies, having tea ceremonies, talking gossip, unloading his grand nobleman plans onto them. Don't tempt me to turn his first display of magic into 5-year-old Will, making all his toys come to life ("About time you rose up, my warriors!") and march down to the main living room to parade them in front of his parents. Will doesn't have a canon "first magic" moment, and now my brain is hitting me with this. You are welcome. And yes, he still has all his toys at home!

🌸 Lilith — I really want her to have some traditional-style carving, maybe a bear figurine. She has it with her at Hogwarts, too: age doesn't matter. It's her spirit, and she honours it appropriately. It was a big help in Durmstrang, emotionally, helped her toughen up.

Before her parents became successful merchants, they were rather poor and lived in a village. Of course, she had some simple toys, like dolls made out of hay and dry grass, adorned with some pretty red ribbons Lilith's mother managed to exchange for come good they grew. But when her magic manifested, the villagers started fearing her. Even before then, she's been the kid coming up with crazy stories but it was not taken seriously until that moment. It got to the point that her parents seriously thought of moving, and at the time it was the worst thing possible cause they'd have to rebuild from scratch.

The villagers' memories were obliviated when the local magic enforcement finally located Lilith, and she got accepted to Koldovstoretz. Her parents took to selling things seriously since they didn't have money to afford education for Lilith, so the first couple of years were tough. But with her being at school for most of the year, they were able to travel, and eventually made some good money, took opportunities they otherwise couldn't have.

She was gifted a small carved figurine of a bear sometime between the villagers starting to push Lilith and her family away and Lilith leaving for school. It came from an old hag living on the outskirts of the forest: she was ostracized for magical reasons as well, and although she didn't have the kind of magic we are used to in HLHP, she had some older magic, letting her brew potions from most regular ingredients, influencing weather to some degree, communicating with animals, and so on. Lilith didn't have much contact with her since she was warned to never come near, but nobody can tell Lilith what to do, right? The bear gift was meant to protect her and guide her, and it did, imbued with some forgotten folk magic.

Lilith unknowingly put a lot of herself into the bear, magically and otherwise. The fact that she seems to be stronger than she should be now, at Hogwarts, it's not a coincidence. The figurine affected Lilith most when she spent a year in Durmstrang, enhancing her wish to become stronger after all the bullying at school. This bond shall only grow. Lilith has the most potential to be an MC, and yes, she'd take the power in the repository for herself. Sorry, cute question about childhood toys *wheeeze* 🤣

29. What kind of music would your MC like? Is there a reason?

🌙 Elland is used to instrumental music because he's been taught to play a few instruments since he was a kid. He never gave the piano a go, but some of his favourite compositions are by Frederic Chopin, followed closely by Franz Liszt and Claude Debussy. In addition, in modern AU he leans towards indie and rock, and he does homework while listening to chill-hop, lo-fi, dark ambience and such.

☀️ William appreciates some really complicated pieces of music. He wanted to play the piano when he was a kid but his hands don't have the range, they are rather small, so he ended up giving it up in favour of art. But he still loves classical music. The amount of times he and his parents snuck into the muggle world for some life performances! He's a frequent opera-ballet-goer in both HL and modern time, and loves musicals in modern AU. He'd be into 1950s-90s music of all kinds. Doesn't like anything harsh sounding, like metal. He likes fun pieces, too, since he enjoys dancing, and those don't have to be ballroom classics: he can very well dance to some folk music at Three Broomsticks and have a blast.

🧨 Cyrus and 🌸 Lilith are all in on the fun stuff, music in pubs, street performers, smaller and amateur artists — they love the honesty and uniqueness. The faster the rhythm, the better! Give them drums and loud unhinged fiddling!

30. Tell us something you love about your MCs!

Answered here. In short, I love the way they overcome hardships. For Elland — overstepping his morals and living with his choice, for Will — pushing past his fear.

For Lilith and Cyrus — they are unapologetically themselves, with all their flaws: they turn those into their strengths. I can say the same about Will as well.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

Tijuana sunrise | kinktober 2024 | day xvi.: “‘til tel aviv “

pairing: eric peterson x chuck schuldiner | lars ulrich x eric peterson

prompt: nipple play

word count: 3806

song: “weapon of choice” by black rebel motorcycle club

It was a pleasure to burn.

That was the last thing he heard when I had stopped. He lay on his back and gazed up at me with beads of sweat collected on his left temple; the little curls clung to his forehead as if he had a bit more sweat there, but there wasn’t. I had no idea as to how I pulled it off in one fell swoop with him and Lars, but I did. I lifted myself off the bed, and I rested my feet down on the floor.

He cleared his throat and let out a low whistle.

“I needed that…” he groaned out to me. “God, I needed that so much.” I peered over my shoulder to his agape mouth and his hands rested down on either side of his head. I had left his shirt lifted up over his chest to show off his nipples, which were as red as cherry tomatoes, and I showed him a little smirk as a result.

“You wanna know something?” I asked him with a clearing of my throat. “I needed that, too.”

I shifted around to better face him. The candelabra in the hallway shone on the leather of my vest, such that I wondered what I looked like to him.

“I needed that, too, Chuck,” I repeated, and I leaned forth and gave him one final kiss on the crest of his forehead before I lay back down next to him.

It all began about literally not even the afternoon from before, when Alex and I were making bets with one another in how much we could have one of those groupies with the teased up hair over in the line going into the Anthrax show. The two of us had our sunglasses on, and he had a beer in one hand. I had warned him to keep it out of sight, not just because he was barely eighteen, but because he and I were out in the open on the street.

“There’s a piece of tin foil over the base, Eric,” he insisted. “I’ve got it blocked out of sight. It’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, and then one of the girls over there asks you your age and smells the hops on your breath. I promise you, Lex, it won’t be fine.” I shook my head at that and folded my arms over my chest. I looked on across the street and yet none of those girls were jumping out at me. He took a sip from the can, and then he returned to me.

“I’ve got my eye on this little brunette over here,” he said with a gesture to the little goth girl on the street corner. Her hair was fine and jet-black, much like my hair, and she had on a face full of white foundation with rich dark red lipstick.

“Have dark red lipstick all over your dick like an ice cream sundae,” I joked, and he laughed at that, and then he took another sip.

“It would be like a christening of sorts,” he added. “You know, she could lead me in with a little bit of ‘Bela Lugosi’s Dead’ and have me hanging upside down like a bat in torpor.”

I smiled at that, and I kept my eye on the blonde ones near the front of the line.

“Hey, you know what ‘fine’ stands for?” he asked me.

“What’s that?”

“‘Fucked up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional,’” he joked, and that brought a laugh out of me. He took another sip, and then he set the can down on the brick wall right next to him, and he gave his hair a little toss with the shake of his head. “I’ll be right back.”

I watched him walk on over to her to go and talk to her, complete with a quick glimpse up and down the street first. It wasn’t that long ago he was a lonely little Jewish boy with the yarmulke on his head walking to the bus stop by himself. 

That was what happened when you get exposed to booze from a young age.

I kept looking long and hard at the blondes, but I had another thought cross my mind. I ran my fingers through my hair, and I walked on up the street to the next corner, away from the line.

I remembered that Metallica were playing at the next venue up the street, and I decided to give Lars a ring.

None of us had seen Lars since Cliff was killed, but all I knew was he had been going through sort of a difficult time in Cliff’s wake. Of the three of them, he was the one whom I was most concerned about.

With a quick glimpse up and down the street, I padded across the pavement to the other sidewalk. There was another line forming right outside the door, but then I realized that they were all going to the venue behind me.

I turned around and looked on down the block.

I had no idea where Metallica had posted up at, but all I could remember was that they had camped out at the building next door specifically to be away from the tabloids and the groupies. But I wondered on the truth of that.

I decided to look anyway, and I rounded the far corner of the brick building next door, and there, I spotted the back door to the backstage area standing wide open.

I peeked in through the doorway, and I could smell Lars’ powdery cologne from down the hallway. I stepped inside and walked along the tops of the hardwood floor in search of him. The place was dark, and I wondered where they would be in there. That is, until I heard Lars’ laughter from around the left hand corner before me. I peeked around the corner to find a narrow rectangle of light on the wall night to me. I could smell his cologne as well as the strong smell of vodka coming out from the room before me.

Lars giggled at something, and then I caught the sound of a man’s voice in there as well.

I crept up to the door and gently knocked on the panel right in front of my face.

“Who is it?” Lars called out.

“It’s Eric,” I replied.

“Eric?” the man echoed me.

“Eric Peterson,” I heard Lars explain to him. “From Testament. Their bassist nearly became our bassist before you showed up.”

“Oh!”

“Yeah, come on in, duder,” Lars called out. I bowed inside to see him sitting on the desk on the left side of the room with his hair tousled over his shoulder like a schoolgirl; he sat right across from the other guy, this wiry kid with long dishwater blond curls down past his waist and a squarish face that looked as though it came off a mannequin’s body. He showed me a dimpled smile.

“Eric, this is Jason,” Lars introduced me, and I extended a hand to him. His long fingers curled around my own, and then he brought my hand closer to his chest, and I nearly lost my balance.

“Whoa, easy there!” he chuckled.

“Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down,” I joked to him, and he laughed again. I then turned to Lars, and I opened my arms for him.

“How have you been?” I greeted him. “I haven’t seen you since Alex’s birthday. I’ve just been thinking about you lately.” I held him and he held my body close to him: it was there I could feel something between the two of us, something that I never thought I would feel before with anyone, let alone a guy, let alone a guy like Lars.

“I have been doing better than most,” he confessed once I let go of him. “Having him around helps.” He nodded to Jason behind me, and I was taken aback by that.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I can’t really explain it but… James and Kirk aren’t really the affectionate types,” he confessed.

“You say ‘affectionate’ like we’re a couple, Lars,” Jason cracked.

“In a way, we are!” And I couldn’t help but smile at that. And then I rubbed my hands together.

“What do we have on tap?” I asked Lars, who then held up the bottle of vodka for me. He offered me a small cup from off to the side, and he poured me a shot. He poured himself a shot and raised it to me.

“Cheers,” he said.

“Cheers all around,” I echoed him, and Jason raised a cup to us as well. We all took a shot at the same time, and then I leaned against the edge of the dresser next to Lars’ crossed legs. The vodka hit me like a fistful of solvent but once I had swallowed it down, I felt something sip through me.

“You know, I have always thought of you as like a big teddy bear, Eric,” he remarked.

“I am a big teddy bear,” I retorted with a straight face.

“Yeah, I would think that he is,” Jason joined in. “Soft round face but he dances with the shadows at night.”

“I have felt somewhat of a dragon or a demonic force inside me,” I told him with a gesture to myself.

“A dragon?”

“A dragon complete with the fire and the claws and everything,” I declared, and I raised a hand up before me with my fingers curled to imitate a dragon’s foot.

“Will Testament do anything of that nature on their upcoming album?” Lars asked me.

“I’m afraid not,” I replied, “but I would love to, though. If nothing else, I would love to do something on the side that involves that.”

“An on the side venture,” Lars decreed with a flash of his eyebrows. “Kind of like how you’re an on-the-side venture, Jace.”

“Nah, you’re the one on the side, Lars,” Jason cracked back at him, and he took another sip from his cup. “On the side with a nice beef sirloin.”

“You think you’re a sirloin?” I teased him.

“Hell yeah,” Jason insisted. “But it’s James and Kirk we can’t seem to figure out from the cow, though.” Lars giggled at that, and he poured himself another shot of vodka. He guzzled it down and turned to me with a slight drop to his eyes.

“I mean it, Eric, you are a big teddy bear,” he told me, and then he stifled down a burp in his throat. “I want you to fuck around with my nipples and then blow me.”

There was a small part of me that missed Alex right then, but the most of me wanted to see where this was going with Lars, however, especially when I felt something with him when we hugged each other there. I licked my lips and held the cup to my lips, but I refrained from taking another sip of the little bit at the bottom of the cup.

“You wanna do that in front of Jason or do you wanna go where it’s quiet and private?” I asked him.

“He will be quiet, I promise,” Lars insisted.

“Besides, I like watching people,” Jason assured us with a straight face. I almost lost it from laughing so hard, but I set my cup down on the floor by my feet, and then Lars did the same with the bottle of vodka. He lay down on the dresser next to me; I stood up to give him some room, but then I returned to the top of the dresser to tend to him. With a rubbing of my hands together and a toss of my hair back over my shoulder, I lifted up his shirt and revealed his bare torso to myself and Jason.

I knew I wasn’t going to have all that much of a move on him from the side, and so I climbed back up onto the dresser. I straddled his hips, and then I rubbed my hands together again.

“Run those thick sausages around my nipples and then kiss me there,” he commanded me with a slight hiccup. I rubbed my fingertips together and I did just that. I started with my index fingers around the rims of those little dark nipples at the same time. Lars closed his eyes and rolled his head to the side from the feeling of my fingertips there. Either he was tipsy or his nipples really were sensitive because he was already breathing hard from the feeling.

“You should put on a dress and let Eric motorboat your chest like he would with one of those blonde women outside the venue,” Jason suggested in a single breath, and I couldn’t help but laugh at that. In fact, I bowed forward and lay my head down on Lars’ chest. We both laughed our heads off at the feeling, and I could feel Lars’ hands clasping onto the back of my head.

I lifted my head up to see him looking up at me with a twinkle in his eye and those little apple cheeks pillowed out with the smile.

“Let’s try this again,” he told me with another hiccup. “From the top.”

“I touch your nipples,” I started again with another rubbing of my hands together, “and then we fuck around together in front of Jace here. We don’t tell James or Kirk about it.”

“Thumbs up their asses,” Jason quipped.

“Thumbs right up their asses,” Lars added to round out the echo in the room.

I ran my fingertips around his areolas again, and then I brought my head down to his chest again, that time to put my lips on his chest. My hair cascaded down onto his bare chest, and he breathed even harder from the feeling. I moved my lips down the crest of his chest, down onto his stomach and his belly button and the waist of his pants. I inched back along his legs so I could have more room.

Carefully, I opened his pants for him, and I tugged them down his legs a bit just so I could have some room for him. I tugged down his shorts and showed off his thighs and his dick to both myself and Jason. In fact, I completely forgot Jason was there, especially when I brought my mouth down to Lars’ dick, which was already beginning to firm up from the feeling that I gave unto him with his nipples already.

I started with the tip first, with my tongue slithered around the head. His skin was smooth and silken and oddly sweet against the pad of my tongue.

I opened my lips and moved my head in closer to his body. I suckled on him, part of the way down his shaft.

I then reached up to his chest to finger his nipples again. He gasped from the feeling, and then he groaned a bit. He groaned louder as I moved in deeper on his dick. He groaned even more when I fingered his nipples with both my index and middle fingers. I closed my eyes and moved in extra deep; I deepthroated him, the first person I ever deepthroated.

Very carefully, I sank the edges of my teeth down into the taut skin.

Lars let out a soft cry from the back of his throat, but he hadn’t come in my mouth. And he didn’t come when I lifted my head off him and I slid my hands down his chest to his stomach all the while.

But he had hit his apex, however. His chest heaved from the feeling, and he rested one hand on his chest. His other hand dangled down over the edge of the dresser down to the floor.

I ran my fingers through my hair, and a little bit spread down over my head and shoulder.

“Dude, you made that look so effortless,” Jason told me, and he extended a hand to me. I shook his head, and a wave of warmth spread over me. Lars sat up on the dresser, and he ran his fingers through his hair. He poured us more shots of vodka, and we downed them in unison.

At some point I had fallen asleep, and I woke up with a dry, parched feeling on my tongue as well as flat on my back on the couch where Jason had been sitting before. The two of them had gone and I had no memory of what had happened between then and when Lars gave us more drinks all around.

It was here when I came across Chuck.

Metallica, or rather Lars and Jason if James and Kirk were over there to begin with, had gone into the venue next door to perform and to settle down in their respective dressing rooms together, which meant I woke up there in that dressing room alone. Or so I believed I was alone.

I stepped into the hallway, which was lit up with nothing more than candlelight. I was met with the peppery smell of incense from the wings of the backstage area. Death had rolled into town, and I had no idea about the time, either.

My head was spinning, but I needed to get back home, get back to Alex because as far as I knew, he was out there by himself. I was a little hungover so there was no way I could drive. But I needed to find him.

I headed out to the hallway, and I brought a hand to my head. I had only been hungover once before out drinking with Lou, and this was my second time.

“Eric?”

I turned my attention to that next dressing room there at the very end of the hallway. Amber light from the candles washed out from inside there. I pushed the door open, only to find Chuck there on the edge of the sofa bed with an acoustic guitar plunked across his lap.

I had only met him once before, and through Jeff Becerra no less, but I liked him as well. He had that head full of curls, those bright eyes, and that mouth full of crooked teeth. I swore that he and Alex were brothers in another life.

“I thought that was you,” he greeted me as he lightly strummed the nylon strings with the side of his thumb. “May I ask what you are doing here?”

“I came over here to see Lars,” I explained with a rubbing of my temple. “We had a few drinks, and then I woke up to find it’s nighttime. That was at like… three. Do you know what time it is?”

“It’s about ten to one,” Chuck calmly replied. “I was just about ready to call it a night and then I saw you outside the door.” He then sniffed in my direction. “Have you been drinking?”

“Just a couple of shots of vodka,” I replied. “But, you know. It’s Lars. Straight vodka and I was out like a light right then.”

“Don’t choke,” he advised me.

“You ‘choke’ like you were playing around with me just then,” I teased him, and then I shook my head at that. “Why did I just say that.”

“Why did you?” he asked me.

“I went to sleep for nine hours,” I told him. “Lars and Jason left me here, and I don’t know where they went. I also can’t really get home because I’m hungover and I still smell like vodka.”

“You can always spend the night with me,” he offered me. “I have this sofa bed here and we can post up for the night. Tomorrow, we can get breakfast.”

“That sounds excellent,” I told him. “And it’s interesting you offered me that after we only met once before.”

“I dunno, it’s after midnight,” he confessed. “I’m feeling kind of sexy.”

I raised my eyebrows at that. And then I realized what he was going from there, especially with that candelabra over our heads, intimately lit up with those little candles to give us a bit of amber light. Through the dim light and the darkness, I caught the view of the sparkle in Chuck’s eyes.

He needed a bit of punishing. He needed more of a punishment than Lars and Jason did.

I squinted my eyes at him.

“You wanna see what I shared with Lars and Jason earlier?” I asked him.

“Is it… tantalizing?” he asked me, and his voice was low and silken, much like how Alex’s voice grew low, whispery, and silken whenever he was turned on.

“It requires you to lay flat on your back,” I told him. “Back there, it was atop a dresser. At least here you have a bed.”

Chuck took his guitar off and leaned it against the edge of the bed. He lay down flat on his back; the bottom of his shirt lifted up over his waist to show me the thin sliver of skin. I was surprised to find that his skin was slightly amber, kissed by the Florida sun and made even more silken in appearance by the candlelight.

“Play with me from here ‘til Tel Aviv?” he asked me with a crooked smile and a giggle.

“You know it,” I assured him, and I rubbed my hands together. Just like with Lars from before, I straddled his body and lifted up his shirt to show off his nipples. But that time, he and I were alone.

I also stayed below his knees so I could have room to blow him and finger his nipples at the same time. I was stretching myself a bit more than usual, but I wanted to do it. My hands up on his chest, my mouth down on his dick. As I moved in closer to his body, I gently sank my teeth into his tightening skin. That brought a slight yelp followed by laughter.

I smiled to myself. But then I pinched his nipples, and he yelped out again.

That time, I could taste him. A fine pearl of liquid on the pad of my tongue. And I smiled to myself once again.

I lifted my head off of him for a moment, only to bring my head down to his dick again for another suckling. I was going to blow him again and again if it meant giving him multiple orgasms, one right after the other. And I gave him multiple. I gave him multiple orgasms to make him sweat and make my mouth grow tired.

I definitely played with him from there ‘til Tel Aviv, and it was something that I could never do with Lars and especially not with Jason sitting there and watching us.

It was a pleasure to burn.

[kiawren]

Okay I wanted to study math but I got so distracted by important kiawren thoughts..

You know how some time ago I posted this about the fire-crested wren's story making me think about kiawren (I realised there was a typo, I didn't type out the 'wren' after 'fire-crested' woops.)

Today I realised I didn't dwell on the other part of the chapter I read this at. One of the hawaiian stories of Maui finding fire relates to him learning from birds who could make fire. (you can read the full thing here, it's cool I found it online after reading this in person but my new phone doesn't have the pics of the pages)

And like..... ... I was thinking how it is birds that first alight fire in this folklore. And Kiawe... Maybe his fire burns passionately becuz of Wren. Yes he's always had the drive in him, but a new sort of fire was kindled after he met Wren. It's a new sort of love and passion. Especially becuz he talks about feeling down and unsure about the future until but he says talking to (the player) helps.

Similar to this Pokemon Masters storyline:

He can and does feel burnt out (haha) sometimes and it really helps to know the people and pokemon around him care for him and want to achieve their goals together. So, I think with Wren around he'd have a new sort of motivation and looking forward to show them his progress. (Becuz he does all this for pokemon and people in the first place, to learn about the connections between the natural world and people through this cultural art.)

Wow ok I'm going off tangent. Uhm basically he needs a bird to keep his fire alive. (The bird meaning me)

Something else,

I find it comforting that he'd also know Banyan trees becuz they also have stories where I'm from: (there are more apart from these)

I think Kiawe would like that the former myth relates to music (the kompang drum) since he's a traditional dancer that also appreciates traditional music.

This is the same sccreenshot as the second picture on this post but I was quite glad to read they were baking bananas. Becuz I love goreng pisang that you can find in my region🤤🤤🤤 (fried banana)

Like! We could tell each other these stories and remark about their similarities (also, the snake in the Banyan was killed and Maui broke a neck and burned the head of the birds in the earlier story, but I didn't screenshot that part. Interestingly they have the animals on the losing end lol) and find parts of it that relates to us, even though these stories were shaped in different places.

The main thing I wanted to say is that Kiawren is so special to me for relating our love to the stories and symbols of the world, so that it goes past just "haha us" to wow I'm learning a lot of things because of you, and it's a larger than life feeling.

Also I remembered this silly drawing I did last time. If you asked Kiawe about loving Wren he'd probably remark that he loves them simply, becuz he cares for them and likes learning with and spending time with them. And if you ask me about loving him, I'd tell you about the fire-crested wren, the birds that made fire on trees that led Maui to bring fire to people, the way the Pacific Ring of Fire and the way tectonic plates subduct to form volcanoes reminds me of him and us. The Dragon and Phoenix in Chinese myth are celestial beings and when paired together represent marriage and prosperity. (He reminds me of reptilians, hardy and seemingly fierce but can be gentle. The dragon is formidable. He also has dragon, charizard, that used to be his grandfather's, the ex island kahuna and yes I'm following the pokeani story here cuz i like incorporating it with his game character. So yes I associate him with the dragon. And I'm the phoenix becuz bird. And also he loves fire. The dragon and the fire-bird. ) Chalk it up to age-old mythologies and natural phenomena that is a symbol of us before we even met, and even if we part.

[burnwater13]

A giant ice spider on Maldo Kries. Image from The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 2, The Passenger. Calendar by DateWorks.

Grogu loved a good scary story. A story that was filled with atmosphere. Creepy characters. Scary locations. Strange and wondrous actions. The very heart beat of doom setting the tempo of the tale, with people huddled next to each other, worried and impressed at the same time. The sort of story his dad was completely incapable of telling. 

Fennec had asked Grogu why his dad shied away from the spider/mechs that carried around the brains of the Monks of B’omarr. Grogu had laughed and told her it was a long story and he’d need to eat a full meal before he told it. She seemed satisfied with that answer, but then went and asked his dad as soon as she saw them both speaking with the Daimyo. The fink. 

His dad of course made a hash of the whole thing by saying, “We ran into some spiders on Maldo Kreis. They made a mess in the Razor Crest.”

What?! That wasn’t the story! The story was much creepier and far more terrifying than that. Typical of his dad to down play the danger. Mandalorians didn’t think something was dangerous unless it had leveled other planets and even then they would kind of shrug and mutter, ‘didn't happen to Mandalore’. Uff. They were so frustrating.

“Okay, kid. How would you tell the story?”

His dad was just humoring him, but Din Djarin forgot that as a former Jedi youngling Grogu had spent a lot of his time dealing with Jedi Knights and Masters who did the exact same thing to him. He knew it for what it was and no Mandalorian was going to trick him into not telling the real, accurate, truthful account of the horror story they had barely survived. 

He waited for just a moment and began the story at the beginning. His sign language had improved with practice and thought this was a great opportunity to show off what he’d learned.

‘It was a dark and stormy night. The only sound was the crackling of ice crystals forming on the husk of the Razor Crest. Even the few water droplets from our breath froze instantly as a biting wind began to swirl through the breached panels of a ship that could have become our silent tomb…”

“Grogu. Buddy. Stick to the facts. It wasn’t night. We were just underneath the ice shelf on that ice planet. Of course it was cold. The planet is covered with ice. You can find that in the galactic encyclopedia entry for it.”

Grogu gave his dad a look. A sharp, angry, I’m going to pout at you for the rest of eternity look that he hoped would sear his ice cold dad to his very core.

“Fine. It’s your story. You tell it.”

Ha! He knew the Mandalorian couldn’t hold up under a look like that. If there was one thing Grogu had learned since the bounty hunter had collected him on Arvala-7, was that Din Djarin had no stomach for pouting. It was his secret weakness and Grogu planned to exploit as much as he needed to in order to tell the story of their near demise. 

“Our passenger, a Queen frog, from a long line of royal frogs…”

“Grogu…”

Huff.

“Our passenger, a lovely lady frog, who had a desperate need to reunite with her husband for the sake of their children, was so cold her teeth plates were chattering.”

Grogu looked over at his dad and the Mandalorian nodded his head. Good. Fine. Whatever. 

“I must protect my offspring Mandalorian. We must escape from this place. My prince of a husband will pay you handsomely.”

“Grogu, she wasn’t married to a prince. He was just a regular frog person. Plus, this has nothing to do with the spiders that Fennec was talking about.”

Grogu folded his arms over his chest and sat on the floor and pouted. He aimed his pout at his dad, hoping it would cause the Mandalorian to reflect on how rude he was being. 

“Buddy, just start the story at the point it really began, with you eating that baby spider because I stopped you from eating more the the frog eggs.”

This was ridiculous! How was Grogu supposed to tell the tale of the spider who crept up on them if his dad just kept interrupting and adding in details that didn’t make a difference? 

“You mean he actually ate one of those spiders on Maldo Kreis?” Fennec seemed impressed, disgusted, and amazed all at the same time. 

“He sure did. After the about fifty thousand of those damn things came after us and almost destroyed the Razor Crest.”

“You have no idea how lucky you are. Those critters are venomous!” Fennec was giving Grogu a very strange look. 

“We know that. That’s why we got the heck out of there.”

“Mando, I mean he could have died when he ate one. He was very lucky. He must not have eaten the outer wrapping.”

What! “What!” What?

Grogu stayed where he was sitting. He wasn’t sure he wanted to tell the rest of that story now. It was too terrifying.

[randomnameless]

Imagine a world where Jeralt wasn't an idiot and he didn't kidnap Billy away from Rhea. Supreme Leader's war would have ended before it could begin because Billy would have known Eggy was spewing bs.

It's all his fault Fodlan didn't immediately improve. Great job, racist dumbass.

Anon,

in that AU, Billy would have told Rhea about the gremlin in their head, and the plot would have been radically different lol

More seriously,

Billy, despite being raised as a... well, how Jerry raised them, knows that this "crusts put a value on people's worth" spiel is shit, because Billy themselves have the rarest crust ever, and they're not immediately promoted to "ruler of the world", hell, they must still listen to people and can't do whatever they want.

The leader of the KoS is Jerry through Rhea's favoritism, but before that? Who had that role? Alois, a crestless random, was Catherine's superior.

When Hanneman discovers Billy has a crest? Well, they're still a teacher, just like Crestless!Manu.

"but the church promotes the crust system"

"wtf are you taking about"

But since we can't have that, or have Billy appreciate what they are supposed to appreciate as seen through Heroes/Engage aka some sort of peace, sense of belonging and guiding/teaching stuff to people instead of being a sword for hire, the plot happens.

Also, given how Billy'n'Jerry must have travelled around during their time as mercs, or were at least in Remire where people weren't that preoccupied about crusts and what not, but as randoms, about what they're going to eat tonight or if they weren't going to be attacked by bandits or mad scientists who will turn them in guinea pigs, the "Sacrifices must be made, I'm killing people for their sake" would fall hollow, especially given what happens to Remire which is located, again, in Arundel...

@fantasyinvader wrote recently a post about Billy's status as a character/avatar hybrid and how the focus on one status... neutralises the other, but that's what we have with this character (and everyone in Fodlan tbh, save for the Lions thanks to Nopes and the Nabateans) : Billy being the player's avatar must bend to the player's will, so they will be able to join Tru Piss and feel sad uwus about fighting the red Emperor, that's how the game was designed.

This fucks over Billy as a character, especially in Tru Piss, but also, partly in Winds - assuming they did the "help Seteth" quests, his paralogue or just talked to the various students/NPCs in the monastery - and yet, allows for the artificial "route split" or "pick your lord" choice.

TS' Serenor did the thing better with "have a character + let the player pick which character they want to follow", without scrubbing Serenor's personnality.

[chickenparm]

Eventide (Dottore/f!Reader)

oh hey what's up. how ya doin. we holdin up after that scara demo? are you remembering to drink water?

AO3 LINK SCARAMOUCHE OFFSHOOT HERE

But there’s something about the way you marvel at him without truly knowing who you were talking to. A sort of honesty that he’s never tasted from another - at least not willingly, and forcing the truth does tend to spoil it enough to be unpalatable. Dottore savors how you blatantly confess your willingness to consume such knowledge if it weren’t for your obligation to it. 

Then you spit in his face with your pride.

Dottore/f!Reader, extremely mild Scaramouche/f!Reader 12,568 Words - NSFW One-Sided pining, unrequited feelings, slight stalking, FWB, slight coercion, mild Yandere themes but it's not that bad, Desk Sex, f!Receiving Oral, mild use of Dottore's suspected name, Dottore is Old™

---

Just like that old children’s story of Barbatos flying too high and needing to be pulled back to earth by Rex Lapis, so too do you feel as if you’ve crossed a threshold that you’re incapable of returning from on your own. 

A simple job, Azar had attempted to placate you as you all but shrank under his gaze. With the freedom to continue the research as you see fit outside of what’s required of you.

And you’d lifted your head from where it was propped on your hand, staring at the Grand Sage with a look that veered on overly suspicious. You understand what you’re implying, don’t you?

I’m well aware. Here is your terminal, your permissions will be updated for your new station. Don’t waste any more time - we’re on a strict schedule.

With a lingering sense of dread, you’re left alone in the cobbled-together makeshift lab you’d founded after you’d all but scurried from the Akademiya post-graduation. While you hadn’t moved around much since, you hadn’t expected Azar to keep tabs on you so closely - though you suppose being awarded multiple Pir Kavkavus prizes during your time there would keep you on their radar. 

They never told you that when you join the Akademiya, you never truly leave unless they want you to. Azar’s unannounced presence in your lab today - speaking things that had been loudly preached as one of the Akademiya’s greatest sins - told you leagues about how deeply they’ve sunk their hooks into you. 

But you supposed perhaps there’s a silver lining to it. Azar’s conviction that he understood exactly what he was offering was too tempting a prospect for you to have denied even on your strongest days. Now you’re left in the dark with an inert Akasha terminal, the dim lights of your lab that emanate from bioluminescence and low-burning lanterns, and your thoughts about what happened since you’d taken your leave. 

A God, you mused as you packed your notes. Your supplies could stay - they were merely tools, and certainly the facilities that Azar promised would be more than sufficient to work with. The real value lay in the tomes and sheaves of paper that you meticulously placed in your bag. This is the culmination of your work. 

A new God, you hummed over as you began the trek on foot back to Sumeru, your remote lab in the hills of Liyue firmly secured behind you. While you held no real reverence for neither the Greater nor Lesser Lords, you were certain Lesser Lord Kusanali was still alive and well. Where would a new one have come from?

The Ley Lines hadn’t fluctuated, at least not to the degree that something as monumental as that would cause. 

A new, manmade God, you pieced together as you crested the walkways to the Akademiya’s glittering entrance. Azar stood at the front doors, hands folded behind his back and a look of serenity that never felt like it was at home on his face. All you received was a nod - a gesture for you to follow. 

And that left you with one final trek beneath the city, down-down-down into the depths of the earth where no civilian would ever be allowed to set foot. You’re certain that the knowledge of this place has been blocked to everyone without the proper clearance - one of whom you happen to be, now. 

The tasks were laid out as if they were simple - yet immediately you realized the hubris at play here, by both yourself and the man whose notes that spread out before you. They’re well-worded, precise… and gazing at his handwriting, you wouldn’t be out of line to describe them as beautiful. More than once, you found your fingers tracing over a particular word when the pen strokes came together just so.

But the contents are what give you pause. Once you’ve gone through the introductory theses and pieced together the major points, you realize that your hunch was correct. Not only are the Sages entirely uninterested in revering Lesser Lord Kusanali, but they seek to replace her with a god of their own creation using the culmination of mankind’s knowledge. 

Yet is it truly the epitome of mankind’s knowledge? Or is one man whose work lay before you in neat rows. Is their God one made by the hands of humanity, or is it simply born from the hands of a single man’s drive and ambition? 

It’s hard to say, but as you begin to truly delve deep into his thoughts and piece together a plan of action, you wonder if perhaps such blasphemy is from hubris, or simply a broad stroke of genius. 

—

“It’s not so simple. You speak like it is.”

“Of course it’s not, or it would have been capitalized a long time ago.” The joints of your fingers hurt as you twist the ends of wires together, zapping them with the tool tucked behind your ear before wrapping them in insulation. “I speak like it’s simple because I’ve dedicated my life to it. I’m sure with a lifespan like yours, there’s plenty that you find trivial that others would lose their heads over.”

At first, you think the answer to your statements is the quiet scoff that he lets out, his shoulders jumping with the movement and delaying your work on fusing sockets into his skin. It would be far more unsettling if he bled, but peeling away skin and revealing bone was a rather dry affair in the company of someone like The Balladeer.

Then, as you seat the base and begin pulling skin taut around it for his healing factor to take effect, he finally murmurs, “You really have no idea.”

“Give me an idea then.”

“No.”

“Then don’t bring it up.” Maybe you were a little too rough with how you tug on the socket, ensuring it holds fast enough that there’s no chance of it slipping free. Despite knowing his capacity to feel pain has been dulled to nearly nothing, he hisses through his teeth at your treatment. 

Lavender eyes burn into your back as you turn away to ready the equipment to load a second port into his skin. And they burn, and burn, and burn until he finally snaps with, “Where is Dottore? You’re hardly qualified to be running a vegetable stand, much less creating a God.”

“Ask the Sages. I was just brought here to follow directions and make sure this… thing doesn’t blow itself up the first time you try to mix Pyro and Electro.”

With your back to him, your view is instead turned to the looming metal construct. It’s barely more than internal components and framework now - a project for you to continue once you’ve finished with the installation of The Balladeer’s tubing ports. Only one left for the day, then you have the next few days to work before you’re forced into his presence once more to check their integrity. 

“That thing is my body. Find some respect, or I’ll show you.”

“What are you gonna do? Kill me?” Meeting eyes over your shoulder, you can’t deny that he looks absolutely vicious as he all but bristles at your impertinence. He may be on his way to becoming a God, but he isn’t yours. “No one else knows how to do what I can.”

“Dottore will figure it out-”

“Dottore, whoever that is, isn’t here. So you can kill me, and be left with a half-finished body and raw ports in your skin until he decides to show up again. Or you can sit there and keep your mouth shut so we can both get away from each other.”

The metal table he sits on bends with the force of his grip on the edge. But he says nothing, does nothing, and even though it doesn’t feel like it, you know you’ve won the exchange. Certainly you’ll pay for it later, but you’ve come to terms with your own death a long time ago. Work like yours doesn’t come without some threat of liability, and that’s something you’ve grown to accept.

And finally, after all but tearing holes in the table, his hands relax and he turns to face forward. His expression becomes a mystery, even as you approach again with an entirely new set of machinery to augment him with. The Balladeer’s voice is frighteningly quiet as you set to work with a scalpel and forceps. 

“I can’t tell if you’re brave or stupid.”

Humming, you peel back skin and synthetic muscle until you’re left looking at a new hole in his back, just to the right of his spine. “Could be both.”

“Maybe not stupid, if you’re willing to admit you’re an idiot.”

“This idiot is digging around in your insides. You should try being a little nicer - ever heard that flies like honey more than vinegar?”

“Insects are worthless to me. You’re the equivalent of a gnat.” 

And you laugh. For the first time in who knows how long, you let out a peal of laughter that causes you to stop your tinkering and lean your hands on the table. Certainly he’s unamused, even as you wipe your eyes with the side of your wrist and reach behind his ribs once more. “Wouldn’t I be more like a cockroach? Resilient and somehow managing to live for too long?”

The Balladeer takes a moment to think it over, one hand coming to pinch at his chin and move the muscles you’re working around. Patiently, you stop and wait for him to finish his pondering - it doesn’t take long. “You’re right. A cockroach that’s starting to grow too big for her shell. Shall I let you go until you inevitably die on your own, or should I put you out of your misery first?”

“The only misery I have is having to be in your presence. You should start with remedying that, first.”

“Consider your wish granted, so long as you hurry up.”

—

The Balladeer comes and goes. You hate him just the same, no matter how he pokes and prods at your ego in ways that make you both bristle with anger and gleeful with the audacity of it all. Thankfully, with Dottore’s absence, you’re barred from truly hooking the Balladeer into the metal monstrosity, and with little to do with him until the time comes, you find yourself all alone once more. 

The peace is blissful. It’s always you, the stack of paperwork that serves as your guide through both the inner mechanisms of this machine and the mind of the mysterious benefactor, and the looming metal body of a gestating god. Cradled in its helmet, surrounded by wires and panels and empty capsules waiting to be loaded with something you’ve yet to know about, you almost feel as if you’re the god.

In the midst of your musing, your Akasha whirs to life with a notification at the corner of your vision - a visitor in your self-proclaimed sanctum. The serenity is interrupted by the steady clicking of footsteps. Metal and leather on polished marble floors make for a cacophony of noise that drags your attention from the notes in your lap to the newcomer that approaches. 

He’s very ostentatious - all fine fabric and feathers and fur. Bits of his getup glow blue, distracting your eyes for only a moment before they zero in on the mask he wears. It’s effective in hiding his expression beyond the simple, neutral smile he wears. “Well, well. Look at you up there. You must feel like royalty, sitting so far above the world.”

“We’re underneath the city, if we’re being technical.” And your gaze turns back to your lap, flipping a page and bringing your pen down to scratch in the margins. Despite his appearance and subtle bravado, the man holds none of your interest. If he has a purpose here, he’ll make it known soon enough. 

He stares at you with an unsettling amount of serenity, almost as if he’s planning on unnerving you. But with something to focus on, you’re not so easily swayed and you allow him to wade through his own ego before he finally relents first. “Pardon my… intrusion. The Grand Sage told me of your progress, and I’ll admit that I didn’t believe him until just now.” 

“And now?” You ask, half-hearted yet giving him your attention again. Your pen goes behind your ear, and you can feel his eyes follow the movement. The smile on his lips lessens by just a fraction. 

“One can only wonder how you’ve managed it in such a short span of time.”

The Grand Sage wouldn’t have let him down here if there was any reason to hide your methods from him. It’s with that thought in mind that you gather your papers and begin your descent, using the scaffolding you’d created to make your life just a little easier. The man is patient enough to not even shift between his feet as you waft the sheaf of papers in the air as a gesture of indication. 

“A mysterious benefactor’s notes.”

“And they were sufficient?” The man sounds terribly interested now, taking a step closer and reaching for the papers. You’re almost ready to tug them out of his reach, yet the air that he carries suddenly has some new form of authority that leaves you breathless for all but a moment. 

Swallowing, you answer with unintended truthfulness. “More than sufficient. It would be wrong of me if I didn’t use the term genius. His thought processes are astounding. Even if I weren’t on this project, I’d find them interesting to read…”

“But?”

Ah, he caught that. With hawk-like eyes, you watch as he begins to flip through the notes and see your own changes and annotations - corrections to formulas and theories that come from your own tried and true experience. If you could see his eyes, you’re almost certain they’d have narrowed by now. 

“But some changes needed to be made for things to run more smoothly. See here? There’s an assumption made about the use of Electro to facilitate the cycling of power through the master processing unit, based entirely on hyperbole and conjecture. It was a simple fix to manufacture stronger tubing that would reduce the latent power loss by-”

“You’re rather presumptuous, aren’t you?”

The air runs cold. Glancing up from the papers that you pointed at, you’re struck by how he looms over you now. The faux friendly demeanor is gone, and in its place is something frigid and unforgiving. Opening your mouth to speak, you’re immediately silenced by the feel of his hand snapping around your jaw. His fingers dig into your cheeks, pressing them against your opened teeth until you can taste copper on your tongue. 

“You were meant to follow the instructions as they were written. This could set things back weeks.”

Your words come out slurred and muffled from his treatment, but they strike at him enough to lessen his grip but a fraction. “I saved us weeks. You wanted to know how I accomplished so much?”

Tearing yourself away at the cost of a sore jaw and the soft insides of your cheeks torn, you absently rub where he’d been mistreating you. The man - Dottore, you realize now - leaves his hand hovering in the air as if to reach out and snatch you up once more. Thankfully, he doesn’t move yet, waiting for you to finish your statement with seething impatience.

“The Grand Sage brought me in to cover for you for a reason. All of this? Mixing elements without triggering reactions? Maintaining stability when they’re in their most volatile state? Child’s play to me. This is what I’ve dedicated my life to researching.” Your skin burns where he’d touched you - but not in pain. It’s a novel feeling that you tuck away for further examination when you’re not in imminent danger.

“So if making necessary changes to the efficiency and stability of the construct is presumptuous, then you must be right calling me that. But it doesn’t make me wrong.”

His cheek shifts as he pokes his tongue along it, obviously stewing over your rather bold claims. The hovering hand curls into a fist before it drops to his side, then disappears behind his back with the other. Papers shuffle out of your view. His chest expands, then contracts, then he breathes in before relenting. “No. I suppose it does not.”

—

Zandik has lived for a very long time. 

First as a scholar. Then, as an outcast. A Fatui Harbinger. The Doctor. Every one of those lives has been carefully slotted away, placed in its own segment of his little reality so he could observe the world from every pair of eyes he’s ever worn. 

While it’s been indescribably useful, there’s one eventuality that he’d never foreseen - not until it lands in his lap with all the brilliance of a meteorite. Its rarity is on par with something so unique, and he’s well aware of what he’s been gifted despite his unhappiness at its initial arrival. 

At first, he seethes at your impudence. Calling him a genius, then demeaning his work in the same breath. Never before had he cared about the musings of others on that which they don’t understand - calling him reckless, insane, a fool. At least once, he’s heard each before. Fewer times had he been praised for his intellect, at least not while it wasn’t tinged with begrudging disgust. 

Dottore couldn’t fault them for that. Not everyone has the stomach to slip between the cracks of the world and drag its secrets to the surface in a writhing mass. It begs to be dissected, and he’s more than willing to be the one to do so. 

But there’s something about the way you marvel at him without truly knowing who you were talking to. A sort of honesty that he’s never tasted from another - at least not willingly, and forcing the truth does tend to spoil it enough to be unpalatable. Dottore savors how you blatantly confess your willingness to consume such knowledge if it weren’t for your obligation to it. 

Then you spit in his face with your pride. Hyperbole and conjecture… Even now, as he watches you working as yet another new day dawns after a handful already in your presence, Dottore’s fingers itch to wrap around your throat until your haughtiness has turned to ash on your tongue. Desperately, he wants to watch you choke on it. 

And on the flip side, he spends that morning flipping through the notes, taking point of your comments and musings. Your corrections. Dottore is far from the belief that he’s beyond making errors, yes something about the way you’d been so matter-of-fact about it made his blood rush in his veins. His heartbeat thrums in his ears even now, filling him with something white-hot that is not so different from the blazing sun of the Hypostyle Desert.

You grate at him, just as the sands once did, and he can’t help but chew his own tongue as you pay him no mind. Absorbed in your own little world of wires and tubes and metal that’s begun to truly take shape under hands that had only needed the slightest guidance, you don’t even know that he hates you.

Then again… he does not. Not in the way one would normally despise another. Dottore doesn’t want you dead. Far from it - and plans were whirling in his mind from the very moment he received word from the Grand Sage that someone had been selected to temporarily take his place in the project. Plans that involved sweeping away a self-imposed outcast to toil under him instead.

That was before you’d gone and made yourself interesting. No longer were you just a nameless, faceless ex-scholar who somehow maintained a position of high regard in the very Akademiya you’d scorned. Now you’ve proved your mettle, laid out your hand without truly knowing that you were holding every winning card. 

While Zandik as a whole was a myriad of names, faces, perspectives, personalities… the one that covets you now is undeniably selfish. With no sense of restraint, his mind whirls with thoughts of what exactly he could do with someone of your expertise under his wing. Wishful thinking, as he’s also well aware you’d never agree to stand in his shadow. 

Experiments that would flourish with two bright minds instead of one. Projects long-discarded that could be picked up once more. Someone of caliber to truly exchange knowledge with. A body at his side to beat back the creeping sense of dread that comes with a loneliness long discarded. 

At the bottom of the pit he’d dug for something so useless, it still wails to be acknowledged. He’s never given it the attention it demands until this very moment, when you look over your shoulder at him and let your confusion at his attention be known. 

Soon enough, you’ll understand. 

“Is something wrong?”

Your voice rings through the large room, bouncing off soaring rafters and lilting through the air. So much like the meandering, musical tones that filtered through the Grand Bazaar in an unknowing mockery of a song he might have known once, as a child. Dottore’s stomach turns in an uncharacteristic show of utter discomfort.

“No. I lost myself in thought for a moment - unfortunately, you were in the way.”

The expression on your face shifts from one of genuine curiosity to a sort of irritation that soothes him. It looked far better on you - at least, that’s what he tells himself as you blow a disbelieving breath from your nose and turn away once more. The massive hand before you is on its side, the fingers curled around loosely as if it were moments away from grabbing you. 

Would you struggle? Dottore can’t help but lower his head and keep his eye on you. There’s no wariness about you, no inherent fear at being in the presence of a Harbinger. Perhaps you didn’t know, but Dottore is almost certain that your ease stems simply from the fact that you do not care. As loath as he is to admit it, it’s refreshing. 

But in the same breath, as you bend over to look at the space between its third and fourth fingers, Dottore feels something rise in him. Whipping, vicious, uncontrollable in the way it makes his fists clench on the desk’s surface and his throat close around nothing at all. You’re far too vulnerable - too open - and it’s akin to watching a prey animal wander too close to the den of its predator.

Dottore wants to label the gestating God as the predator. If Scaramouche were piloting it as he was meant to, it would have snapped shut around your body the moment you entered its reach. And while that’s accurate, there’s another, more pressing inaccuracy that argues against such a thought. Because despite Scaramouche’s proclivity for doing exactly as he pleases and nothing more, Dottore is certain that the only true threat to you here and now… is him. 

Him, and this cloying sensation of desire that’s creeping in. The unfamiliarity of it is almost akin to bile behind his teeth, and he runs his tongue around the inside of his mouth as if to savor it. You’re crouching now, making yourself smaller as if that would assist in your endeavor, and all it serves to do is drive home the fact that you have no idea what’s truly lurking at your back, straining at its tightly-wound leash. 

His chair doesn’t have time to rock back on two legs and hit the floor before he’s vacated the room, unbothered by the disgruntled sound of your distress as you jumped from the noise and smacked your head on something or other. All he can manage is the singular thought to get away, and a sense of panic that originates from what he was attempting to convince himself was unfiltered disgust. 

Dottore hates you. Unquestioningly, without peer. If you weren’t so useful, if you weren’t so interesting, you’d be in pieces already. The sum of your parts is far greater than their worth as piecemeal, and that’s not as much of a tragedy as he desperately wants it to be. 

—

It takes naught but a few casual thoughts to tamper with your Akasha. 

Not enough for you to notice. It functions as it normally would, perhaps with a few more permissions because despite his distaste for your existence, Dottore is well aware that your usefulness far exceeds the threshold of his ire. Giving your leash a little more slack is well within his power, though you’ve yet to utilize it. 

Beyond that, he simply deactivates the trigger that alerts you when someone arrives in the workshop. It leaves you none the wiser about him looming above in the catwalks, his hands curled around the metal railing as he takes in the sight of you sitting on his desk, elbow on your knee and chin planted on your fist as you flip through his notes for the nth time. 

There are no writing utensils in your vicinity, and Dottore finds himself thankful for it. After your first taste of his displeasure, Dottore was rather surprised to see that you never made an attempt to adjust his instructions again. That doesn’t mean you followed them, but you at least respected them enough to no longer jot your little notes in the margins. 

Instead - and Dottore has to really squint to understand exactly what you’re doing - you reach out with a single fingertip to drag along the paper. At first he wants to scoff at your actions. They’re that of a child that struggles to follow where they are in their reading. But then, the pattern changes, and nausea settles in his stomach when he finally realizes you’re not even reading.

You’re tracing the letters of his handwriting. The loops and curls that made up the cursive that he really only used because it was faster than lifting his pen off the paper. Thoughts in his mind whirl quickly, and it’s imperative that he get them down as soon as possible. If he were less disciplined, it would likely be chicken scratch at best, yet you seem to follow it along without trouble. 

Rather than trouble, it almost seems as if there’s a reverence to how you regard what amounts to the inner workings of his mind about this particular experiment. The paper doesn’t even shift under your touch, the featherlight brushing of your fingertips moves with such delicacy that it lends an uncharacteristic air of tenderness. 

That’s enough to snap him from his reverie and stand a little straighter. He hadn’t even realized he’d begun to lean over the railing. 

There’s nothing tender about you. Not that he’s seen, and Dottore can say with confidence that he’s watched enough of you - learned enough - that unless you’ve hidden any sentimentality under an impenetrable barrier of frigid distance, you’ve allowed no space for softer feelings. Especially not toward him.

Dottore slowly blows a breath through his nose, languid enough that it doesn’t make a sound despite the drawn out sigh. There is no room for you to regard him as anything other than another fixture in the world that you’re obligated to work alongside. But if there’s anything that Dottore has learned in all his years traversing Teyvat and the secrets it tries in vain to keep from him; it’s that all it truly takes to get what you want is the right angle. 

It all comes down to determining what that might be. And as your gaze turns from the papers to instead stare into the distance as your thoughts begin to wander, Dottore is already planning his attack. 

If there is no space for him, then he’ll simply have to elbow his way in. 

His conviction barely has time to come to light before his own Akasha hums with the notification of an impending arrival. It’s simple to project that to your own, scrambling the source to seem as if it comes from the sensors he’s disconnected you from, rather than himself. Your head lifts just as the doors groan open - Scaramouche, dressed in loose clothing to allow the healing ports on his back to breathe as he adjusts to their newfound residency. 

“Is something wrong?”

The tone and inflection is the same as when you’d asked him that same question far too long ago. Perhaps a few days, pushing a week. It feels as if it’s been an eternity since he’s truly spent time in your presence, rather than observing from afar as one would passively watch an experiment unfold. But isn't that what you are? As all things are, in one way or another. 

Scaramouche draws closer to you, to Dottore’s experiment, and his hands come up to scratch at his collarbone that his hanging shirt reveals. There’s a series of marks and bruises there. One might assume they come from a lover, if Dottore wasn’t already aware that they stem from the injections you’ve been giving him to lessen the pain he’s likely feeling acutely once more. 

“Did you forget you told me to come here today? How can someone as thoughtless as you be trusted to handle a task like this?”

“Perhaps I’m just so busy that your troubles are insignificant and meaningless to me.”

Scaramouche is close enough to you now that doubtless you could reach out and touch him if you chose - and it’s to Dottore’s chagrin that you do. Your hand stretches to prod at the bruising against his skin, humming at the sight of it and Scaramouche’s instinctual reaction to flinch away from it. Whether it’s from pain, or an aversion to your contact, Dottore isn’t sure but he hopes it’s the latter. 

The thought of Scaramouche enjoying your touch makes his skin crawl, his teeth grind. The familiarity that’s bloomed between yourself and the Balladeer doesn’t sit well with him. If he were less than he was, he’d pin the feeling on jealousy. As it stands, he’s not quite sure what to categorize it as except for nausea. 

“You would know all about being insignificant and meaningless, wouldn’t you?” Scaramouche sneers as you retract your hand and swing your legs over the side of the desk. Your palm hits the papers, crumpling them just enough to make a sound, and the sudden loss of your attention and respect feels akin to a knife being driven between his ribs. One of his hands nearly uncurls from the railing to touch at his side, if only to confirm that there isn’t a wound there. 

With all his willpower, he refrains. Scaramouche is right - it’s meaningless, you’re insignificant, and the reactions he unwittingly suffers through due to your careless actions are nothing but a hindrance.

“Well, oh mighty god, Scaramouche the Prodigal. Sit on the exam table, show me what’s bothering you.”

“Do you have a mirror? It’d be easier to show you your own face that way.”

And you laugh. 

Dottore unwittingly leans forward again, as if closing the distance would make the sound taste sweeter on his tongue. It lingers even as the sound trails off, its only remnants being the faint echoes off the workshop’s looming rafters. Even in the darkness where he hides, Dottore feels the echo in his bones. 

Pushing off the railing, Dottore steps further back into the darkness with a resolution stronger than any he’s held before. No one should hear that sound - no one but him. With pride, he’d label himself as greedy and selfish. In the correct amounts and with care, those can be a virtue, not necessarily bad. 

But with you, Dottore is beginning to find himself standing on a precipice that begs him to simply jump if he wants to claim what teases him just out of reach. 

Dottore slips away, turning your Akasha’s sensor function back on once he’s out of range, and decides perhaps it’s well beyond time to step over the edge.

—

“Looks like it’s all functioning properly. How’s it feel?”

“Doesn’t feel like anything.”

“Yeah, deadening your pain receptors will do that, I suppose.” And for good measure, you pinch at the bone of his shoulder blade that sits far too close to the surface of his skin. The Balladeer winces, and that’s all the confirmation you need to understand he’s putting on a brave face. 

Through grit teeth, he backtracks as he sits upright. It puts him closer to you, enough that you can feel the way his coldness saps your body heat. “They’re seated in my bones. They don’t feel good.”

Your palm presses to his back, fingers splayed in a way that one of the ports you’d installed sits snugly in the space between your thumb and forefinger. Subtly, he leans back into it. Against your usual antagonism when it comes to The Balladeer, you decline to goad him for something so ridiculous and instead let him leech whatever it is that he’s looking for from you right now. 

As ill-equipped as you are to offer it, if this is his odd way of seeking out comfort, you’ll let him do something so harmless. 

“Until you’re seated in the machine, it’s going to feel unnerving. If there’s pain, we can manage it further. Otherwise I’d be loading you with chemicals that would be superfluous.”

“You mean it’s better to just suffer.” Not a question - a statement. 

Humming, you pull your hand away and push the knuckle of your forefinger into the space between his top vertebrae, then absently drag it down while counting. When you get to four, you pause and glance at the way his head has fallen forward, the hair at the nape of his neck shifting enough that you can see the electro symbol branded on his skin. 

“Are you suffering?”

“...I’m not sure.”

“Well, let me know when you figure it out. In the meantime-” your Akasha buzzes. Dottore has arrived after days of absence. Not that you needed him around with how he’d send his orders through various Fatui agents. The singular entrance is behind you, and so is the Doctor with unnerving silence. 

You’re unsure of exactly how far away he’s stopped, but it feels as if he’s pressing into your back. Dottore looms over you even from across the room, using only his presence and the eyes that you cannot see. Palm to The Balladeer’s back, you turn a half-step to look at Dottore and note that you weren’t too far off the mark. All it would take is for you to reach a hand out to touch him. 

“Am I interrupting?”

“Would it matter if you were?” If your attitude phases him, it doesn’t show. Your thumb finds the space between spine and shoulder blade, pushing just enough that it eases the smallest bit of strain on The Balladeer’s muscles caused by the intrusions. “Get dressed. Come back if you need me, otherwise give it a few days and we’ll check again.”

His answer is to lean back enough for your thumb to dig in again before he’s sliding off the table and tugging his loose shirt over his head. The air is so stifling, it’s no wonder he doesn’t give you a single glance as he leaves the room. Leaves you - with Dottore. Alone.

“That’s unwise of you. I thought you were better than that.”

“Better than following your orders and doing exactly what you laid out to be done? What’s that say about you?”

Tense is the only way to describe the lull between your question and his answer. Reading Dottore is unlike anyone you’ve met before, and it’s next to impossible to understand what he might be feeling when you push him so callously. There are no tells, there is no tightening of muscles or straightening of posture. His head doesn’t even tilt as he simply regards you in the moment that hangs between.

Finally, he inhales, and you wonder if perhaps that should sound as much as it does to a headsman’s axe slicing through the air. There’s no mistaking that it’s aimed for your neck.

“Come with me.” Dottore’s hand comes from behind his back, palm up as if to beckon you to take it. A bit of derision seeps into your gaze as you stare at his offering, everything screaming inside of you that this must be a trap. The quick jerk of his fingers beckoning you is the final warning - and with hesitation, you heed it. 

The gloves are impersonal, keeping your bare skin from his own and serving as a more than sufficient barrier between the two of you. If only they were thicker, if only the wall between was just a little higher. Dottore steps backward - once, twice, then turns and guides you to the table where the notes you’d been looking over for The Balladeer’s visit today are laid out. 

The attempt you make to pull your hand away is thwarted with how his fingers lace with your own. Gently at first, almost tender, but that air of tranquility changes swiftly as he loses the calm he’d been wearing as a mask. Tighter and tighter, he grips until your knuckles ache and your teeth grind together to keep from crying out. 

“Show me the instructions I left that detail how familiar you’re meant to become with Scaramouche. Take your time - I’ve cleared my schedule just now.”

There’s the trap you knew was coming. Yet Dottore had left you no room to even avoid it. The room itself is a trap, one you’d stepped into long before he’d even shown his face - or what’s visible of it. Accepting your misstep, you dig the palm of your free hand into the space between your eyebrows and sigh, “You’re looking too far into it.”

“On the contrary, I could look further. For example, I took the liberty of looking at you. Graduated from the Akademiya in near-record time, winner of the Pir Kavkavus award three times. One of Sumeru’s brightest - Azar himself told me that one. So answer me this,” his presence is smothering, close enough that his chest presses into the back of your shoulder as he speaks directly in your ear with all the ease of a cat stretching out in a dust-filled sunbeam, “are you usually so invested in your test subjects? Or is Scaramouche a special case?”

The tickling sensation at the shell of your ear - you’re certain it’s his lips. But you refuse to react in a way that lets him think he’s won this little one-man argument that’s been crafted. Instead of rising to the occasion, you simply shrug. One shouldered, with so much nonchalance that the quiet sound of his breathing hitches. Carefully steady, you answer, “I guess he is. We all have our vices, Dottore. Mine must be so obvious.”

“As if there’s only one.”

And just like that, you slip and fall into his clutches. The sensation of your stomach dropping accompanies your foolish question. “Tell me about them, then.”

The desk rattles - steel legs against metal flooring - and the edge digs into your back under the force that he’s whipped you around with. In only a single move, Dottore cages you in with unexpected ease. He’s left you no room to even fight it. 

“Well,” his head tilts, the strand of hair that frames his face brushes along your cheek. You’re hit with the scent of something cool and clinical - like mint and snow and something unplaceable that makes your blood hum, “Your ego is most prevalent. Glaring, even.”

“Says the man trying to build a God.”

“We all have our vices.” Dottore parrots your own words back to you shamelessly. Even as you lean further back to put distance between yourself and him, Dottore follows you until your back strains from the angle. “Impertinence is so important to you that it might as well be a virtue.”

“Respect is given when it’s earned-”

“Or dragged from you with force.” It goes unsaid - he could do both. “To think one regarded so highly by the Akademiya would be little more than a fool. I expected better.”

A fool that made your work better, you want to rally against him, jamming your finger into his cravat until you’re digging it into his sternum, pushing him awayawayaway-

“But the most damning of all is how oblivious you seem to be.”

Oblivious? Your movement ceases, your hands stop scrambling for purchase on the table that’s still wallpapered with his instructions, your entire being grinds to a halt as you piece together what you’re apparently so unaware of. 

Hair dusting across your cheek, sharp teeth pulled tightly into something that might be a grimace, hips pressed against yours so tightly that the pressure there leaves no room for mistaking his insistent arousal digging into you. And just like realization dawns over your face, so too does a sick sort of grin begin to take the place of his irritation. 

“We’ll strike that one from the record, then. Better late than never.”

“Are you serious?” It comes out with far more disbelief woven into it than you’d intended, but it does nothing to lessen the all-consuming nature of the snare he’s carefully crafted for you. “This is just… you looking for some relief? This isn’t some misguided attempt to confess your love, is it?”

The smile on his face - wicked as it is - loses its lustre for only a moment before it finds its way back once more. “Nothing of the sort. I’m not above little indulgences, dear, and I think we’re both in agreement that there’s no one else that can quite scratch that itch for ourselves.”

You’re in no such agreement to that. If you were just a little more spiteful, you can think of someone in particular that could see it through well enough, and it would send Dottore into a fury at the same time. But there’s no way out for you - not from this, at least. All you can do is chew on your tongue and watch as he leans closer, closer, closer.

“We got off on the wrong foot. I think we would make quite a pair, you and me. Imagine the things we could do with each other. To each other.”

And isn’t that a thought to get stuck in one’s head? 

In the city above, where you venture just rarely enough that each visit is novel, there’s a musician that often busks on the corners where the local enforcement’s presence is thinnest. No one seems to pay them much mind, but during your infrequent walks you find yourself entranced at the sounds that thrum through the air. 

You’ve never been strong enough to avoid the siren song of something that interests you, even in the slightest. Rarely do you even try - the gratification is often too sweet for you to expend effort in denying it to yourself. 

But as Dottore leans closer, the sharpness of his mask dangerously close to pressing against the skin of your cheek, you find yourself scrabbling for any amount of self control you may have left after a life of ignoring its cultivation. The table groans as your head jolts back, effectively bringing yourself out of range for only a moment longer. 

Dottore is - extremely unfortunately - an irresistible song so much like the one that’s undoubtedly trilling far, far above you. It takes an outside force to get you to walk away, but there’s no such thing available to you here. All you’re capable of doing is watching with bated breath as he chases after what he’s shamelessly looking for. 

And just before he steps over the line that you’re certain you’d be unable to draw once more, he stops short and pulls away just enough for you to feel the sudden lack of his body heat. When had you grown so accustomed to it?

“If you truly don’t want this, then go.” Enough space is made for you to slip from his grasp, the hands that had caged you in now loosen their grip, their placement at the edge of the table a fragile formality you could easily break. “I won’t stop you, nor will I approach the topic again. One of us must be prudent enough to understand nuance.”

There’s not enough willpower in you to be upset at his dig. Perhaps he’s got a point, but you don’t want him to necessarily know that he does. In your short span of time with him, you’ve come to understand that when Dottore is right, he’s insufferably right. 

So you could leave - prove him right in the simplest way possible. That’s easy enough to do, easy to live through if he truly doesn’t intend to broach the topic of something like this that seems so far beneath him. Or, and your skin crawls at this, you could simply stay and prove him right in the worst way possible. Compliance on either front results in a net loss on your end, in a multitude of ways you’re not willing to come to terms with. 

Kissing Dottore is nothing like whittling time away listening to that performer playing his Oud. That’s soft, soothing, enticing you in and encouraging you to stay for as long as you’d like. There’s no pressure to it, no expectations that you’ll stay. Just before he leans forward, Dottore’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, a flash of pink that seems almost disgustingly human from him. It softens your resistance minutely. 

With Dottore, immediately you’re swept in by the expectation of more. More pressure, more passion, more of the heat licks at the edges of your sanity like unrestrained wildfire. There’s nothing calm about it - not while he all but throws you onto the desk itself, then pulls you to the edge until he’s seated between your legs with far too much ease. It’s almost as if he were meant to be there, and that thought is almost enough to snap you from your poor decisions. 

Then he tilts his head just so, slots his lips against yours in a way that he can push past any defense you might have, be it shut lips or grit teeth, and you lose your bearings all over again. 

A sound leaves him - quiet, breathy, almost like relief - and it curls in your ear like the whispering of a snake that tempts you to chase it further. Perhaps you could, and you very well might, if not for the way his tongue curls against your own and he makes another. This one is from the back of his throat, filled with all the gravity and desire one could ever want. 

If the first was a temptation, then this one is purely addictive - and your penchant for self-indulgence shines with how you seem to bloom under his attention. Tasting the verbal confirmation of his pleasure is sweeter than you could imagine, and in search of more your hands fly to his shoulders, then slide around to the back of his neck where you tug insistently at the soft blue strands you catch there. 

Instead of another pleased sound, it’s quiet laughter that you earn with your eagerness. If you were in your right mind, you’d have the decency to feel embarrassed over it - yet he was the one moaning from a simple kiss. If anyone should feel anxious over their behavior, certainly it must be Dottore. After all, he’s the one that sought you out, not the other way around. 

A pressure at your waist, one of his hands leaving the table to instead grasp at you. The material of your shirt bunches between his greedy fingers, the fabric of his glove catching against the sliver of your skin that is revealed. Even through the fabric covering his palm, you can feel the searing heat of his hand as it finally dips beneath your clothing to travel up your ribs. His hand pauses just shy of your breast, thumb barely brushing underneath with the ghost of a touch. 

Desperately, you want more. 

It’s a deliberate choice to arch into him, to give him a signal that despite how you spat and hissed at the thought of this, you’ve come to the conclusion that it’s both welcomed and wanted. You want him, as chilling as the thought may become when this is all finished. The space between now and the inevitable next mistake will undoubtedly be filled with derision toward yourself for falling apart so easily. 

But for now, you let him regard the cracks in your facade before he digs his fingers into them, prying you apart as surely as he lifts you onto the desk and pulls your knees from one another to settle between them. 

Dottore’s quiet pants fill the silence as he pulls away. A thick swallow precedes a sly smile that reveals rows of pointed teeth; ones that part as he readies his taunts. But that’s not what you get, and his head cocks to the side to watch as your pupils dilate in response. “Have your doubts been assuaged? Are you going to fight me the rest of the way, or have you finally given in?”

The underlying smugness feels like the sting of a wasp - shocking, irritating, yet somehow bearable enough for you to push it to the side. With a curl of your lip, one that he spots immediately and his grin grows ever wider, you dig your fingers into the feathers of his pauldron and yank him back to you. 

Before you can snap the delicate rachis’ between insistent fingers, Dottore captures your hand and guides it to the table where he presses your palm flat to the surface. His own covers it for a moment, pressing just as surely as he presses another kiss to your lips, and he lingers for a beat almost long enough to be concerning. 

Then those sly fingers find the waist of your pants, and thoughts beyond the immediate situation become muddled and slippery. 

Without your help, Dottore tugs the fabric from beneath you and off of one leg, forgoing the other in favor of lowering to a knee. The chilled brush of his mask against your inner thigh gives you pause, and your gaze snaps down in disbelief. There’s absolutely no way for him to go about this with the mask on, at least not without defeating the entire purpose of the action. 

Your fingers reach toward it, and you fully expect him to put up some sort of fight. In the time you’ve known of him, not once have you seen him without his familiar hallmark. Certainly he must be hiding something strange or grotesque beneath, though you wouldn’t necessarily care if he was. His physical appearance matters little to you - only what he’s providing at this second piques any of your interest. 

But he doesn’t move to stop you. In fact, as your fingers curl around the bottom edge, brushing against the sharpness of a high cheekbone and surprisingly warm skin, his face tilts upward to give you a better angle. It takes a tug to release it from whatever he’s attached it to, and you’re left with what lies beneath. 

It clatters to the floor as your fingers grow lax. There is no scarring, no injury. Only a glowing disc beneath the skin of each temple as the singular imperfection on an otherwise flawless face. Not even a blemish interrupts the pale skin that he kept covered, two crimson eyes blink up at you with no small amount of amusement as you take in the sight of Dottore’s bare face. 

Only when a lock of his hair slips across his forehead do you come to your senses. It’s too late to save face, not when he’s already realized that you find him attractive in a superficial sense. Any hope of glossing over that is lost when he opens that mouth of his for entirely selfish reasons. 

“Speechless? What a compliment, you’re going to make me blush.”

“Shut up.”

The waves of his hair are soft between your fingers as you use them as a harsh leash that pulls him in exactly where you want him. A mouth like his is best kept silent, though his defiance comes even as he descends on you with teeth and tongue, nipping and biting and groaning in appreciation through it all. The tightening of your fingers against his scalp isn’t a deterrent in the slightest, though he wouldn’t be able to back away even if he tried. 

Instead of chafing remarks and irritating quips, you get the feeling of his tongue running along you with all the leisure of a man savoring his favorite meal. The half-lidded stare, the sound he makes as his swallows thickly, the dig of his fingers into the outsides of your thighs - they all paint a picture that clearly displays just how much he’s enjoying this. 

That should bother you. It does, at least a little. This was meant to scratch an itch, in his words, yet it seems far too similar to a man indulging a little too much. Dottore is not a selfless man, and that lends credence to the inklings of suspicion that perhaps there’s a little more going on here than you first expected. 

Dottore’s lips draw your clit between them with a harsh suck, and you’ve forgotten any qualms you might have had. None of that continues to matter when his eyelids flutter momentarily, a vague sense of euphoria visibly washing over him as your hips buck against his mouth. Even your nails scratching at his scalp brings him a sick sense of pleasure, the harsh treatment seems to bring a sense of urgency to otherwise unhurried movements. 

Your first sound leaves you. A choked, quiet little thing that could be waved off in any other situation, yet Dottore latches onto it with greedy hands and far too much excitement in his eyes. His words are muffled against you, barely understandable as he urges you, “Be as loud as you like. No one’s coming, no one can hear you but me.”

“No one can hear me scream?” You grind out through your teeth, unwilling to give him another indication that he’s making you feel good. Just good - anything more than that feels like a crushing defeat. Your choice of words gives him pause, something knowing in his eyes as he looks at you through his lashes. 

“Scream if you must. Of all your faults, that would be the least damning.”

Anything that could have come next is muffled by you yanking him closer once more, only to have him laugh as you do so. The sound rumbles through you to your very bones, and you can’t seem to shake off the unsteadiness that comes with it. Internally, you thank his foresight to seat you on this desk rather than have you stand for this - your legs feel impossibly weak. 

Especially as you hook them over his shoulders, your thighs clamping around him tightly as his tongue works in slow lines and concentric circles. Dottore could break free if he wanted, but as he groans in a low rumble against you, eyes focused on the expressions you make before your head tips back, you’re convinced there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than between your legs. 

Release comes quickly and he draws it out in a way that couldn’t be described as anything other than sadistic. It starts slow and easy, your grip on his hair loosening to something almost tender as your fingers run through the strands appreciatively. But he doesn’t stop, rather he begins to devour you in a way that’s nothing short of ravenous. Your muscles tense uncomfortably, your back bows, and an unbidden plea rips from your throat for him to stop.

Dottore only does so when he feels like it - not any sooner. 

The far-off lights from above catch on his face, casting your arousal on his cheeks and chin in a lewd shine that leaves saliva pooling on your tongue at the sight of him looking so debauched. You’re not allowed to take the sight in for very long; Dottore surges to his feet and you’re met with a new sight. His cock in his own hand, hard and smeared with precum, the signs all pointing to Dottore touching himself in the throes of your climax. 

“Seriously? You were getting off to that?” It doesn’t sound as confident as you wanted it to, but you’re certain his reaction would have been the same if it had.

A self-satisfied smirk, a pump of his hand before he presses himself against your entrance with little care for how easily you part for him. It’d be embarrassing if he wasn’t still wearing the damning evidence of his willingness to please you on his lips. 

“You think I was doing that for you? Please, don’t be dense. As if I’d debase myself for solely your pleasure.”

“No, you did it for your own, and that tells me a lot about you, Dottore.”

He hums, low and thoughtful as he rocks teasingly. If he stopped now, it wouldn’t be the end of the world for you - you’d found your release, even if it’d come from someone like him. But you’re certain that nothing short of a resounding rejection would stop him now, and the thought of your almost-helplessness in the face of him makes your knees spread just a little wider to invite him to do as he pleases.

“Tell me,” Dottore pauses his movements to bring his hands together, pulling off one glove, then the other, “what conclusions have you come to?”

“That… you have an ulterior motive for all this. Beyond the obvious.” 

“And you wonder what consequences that motive is going to bring down upon you? Nothing too heinous, you can relax.” The last word is punctuated with his entry, the head slipping past a ring of muscles lubricated by his saliva and the remnants of your pleasure. “You’ll find out soon enough, whether either of us wills it or otherwise.”

That’s… not comforting. At all. But Dottore has a way of making your head spin with anxiety, then soothing it all away with overwhelming feelings. Whether it be fury or pleasure, both leave your throat tight and your nerves firing to the point of the line between becoming too blurred for your liking. The firm boundaries are becoming nebulous, and that should be what makes you tell him to stop. 

Instead, your heels dig into his lower back and his palms catch your knees. With three short thrusts, Dottore’s hips meet your own with a quiet exhale from him. The sound you make is far less quiet, something pleased and wavering at the sensation of just how perfectly he seems to fill you. If you were one to wax poetic, and if you hated him a little less, you’d be tempted to say the two of you were made to fit one another. 

But on a regular day, and maybe even a little bit right now, you despise this man too much to ever admit that somehow the two of you were inevitable. 

There are no taunts. No laughter, no pinching and prodding both verbal and physical. The amusement in his eyes is gone, and left in its staggering absence is what he’d been masking all along - raw, unfiltered hunger. An animal starved, though not so much that it loses its composure. You’re under no illusions that you hold any control here, and Dottore makes it known by staring you in the eye as he presses impossibly close. 

One of his hands leaves your knee, gliding up your thigh momentarily before skipping up to your cheek. The skin of his palm is surprisingly smooth, warm enough to prompt you to lean into it, and something changes. In the set of his shoulders, the angle of his brow, the very air around you shifts as you instinctively respond to his touch. Fear spikes at you for a mere heartbeat before it’s smoothed away with the motion of his thumb along the apple of your cheek. 

Soft. Uncharacteristically so, like one would touch something precious. Like a lover. Reflex begs you to kick him away, to tear him out of you at the root and refuse his return even if he were to beg. Because you’re certain he would, with how his head tilts and he regards you with that same hunger, its edges softened for easy consumption. 

And you consume. Rather than bask in the way he seems to revere you, you grip his shoulders and pull him into a kiss that’s far harsher than any you’ve ever felt before. You want the edges back, you crave them, because it convinces you that you’re unsafe in his clutches. Safety with Dottore is a frightening thing, one that you’re entirely unwilling to become familiar with. 

The kiss comes with his first thrust, followed by more at an increasing pace until you’ve convinced the moment was a fluke. Dottore treats you less as a porcelain doll and more like a simple plaything. As he pulls away to brace one hand on the table, the other on your hip to keep you from sliding away, Dottore looks over your shoulder rather than at the way your face twists in pleasure. 

With that little bit of privacy, you’re more willing to let your mask slip, and you no longer bother to stem the sounds he drags from you. You’re infinitely grateful that you seem to cease existing beyond an outlet for him to seek pleasure from, because he becomes just the same for you. When his chin finds your shoulder and his teeth drag along your neck, you can nearly convince yourself that it’s not Dottore fucking you here at all. 

It’s a nameless, faceless being that lives only behind your eyelids on nights that you feel alone. Nevermind the cool scent of him, nevermind the way his hair brushes your cheek with his softness. Ignore the quiet sounds of his exhales in your ear, the infrequent groan when you clench around him at the perfect angle. 

There isn’t you and Dottore here, but two featureless beings that happened across one another in a time of weakness. The sharpened edges of him keep you at arm’s length, exactly where you want to be even if he curls around you as he seeks his pleasure between your legs. Dottore keeps you close, keeps you distance, keeps his teeth worrying at the tendons of your neck until he bites down hard enough you’re certain he’s drawn blood. 

A warning isn’t given for his release. Dottore simply buries himself as far as he can, tugs you close with a bruising grip, shakes against you as he bites and bites and bites down into your skin so hard that it feels like agony. And you love it, because it reduces you even further to something he cares little for, and truly that’s the best place you could find yourself. 

It doesn’t take any effort at all to convince your racing heart that it’s the truth. 

—

Eyes are on you, always. 

It doesn’t take the God of Wisdom to extrapolate the evidence about the identity of your voyeur. Dottore doesn’t necessarily make it a secret, not when his gaze is glued to you every moment. From the times you spend alone in the workshop putting the finishing touches on the God - Shouki no Kami, the Balladeer had murmured under his breath - to when you’d walk the streets above in a futile attempt to clear your head.

All the way to the moments Dottore would wrap around you so tightly that you could barely breathe, his hands cradling your jaw as if he were holding you up to the light akin to a diamond whose facets he was inspecting. Certainly, he treated you like something precious, but only in between instances that he’d hold you down and forcefully turn your head to keep from looking you in the eye. 

And then, just as sweetly as it started, he’d smooth his hands along your skin in complete silence, neither of you willing to speak aloud about what his plans are for you. The ulterior motive lingers so close to the surface, skimming just beneath the water, and all you’d need to do is reach out and retrieve it. 

It stays submerged. 

Above you, looming and terrible, Shouki no Kami rests in fitful slumber. The limbs shift minutely as the Balladeer dreams. Even inert, his body attempts to become one with the metal creation inch by inch. It takes a toll on his mind, as great as he claimed it to be. Even a God needs to recharge, especially in the face of what’s beginning to stir above. 

You’re no fool. Even without the Balladeer’s information, without the Grand Sage’s growing anxieties, you could have figured out that there’s tension between all parties involved with this. It took a startlingly short amount of time for you to find your own side, the one that you would stand by without question. 

Dottore thinks it’s him. He’d told you so himself, on the rare occasion that you didn’t pull away from his embrace immediately. Dottore’s lips had been so close to your ear as he murmured his plans to shuttle you away, to bring you with him back to Snezhnaya for the time being. Partner, he’d called you in a way that was full of uncharacteristic worship. 

The thought made your stomach turn. No attempt had been made to correct him, and perhaps that was a mistake of the grave sort, but how could you deny him when he’d pulled back and gave you a look that bordered on madness? 

The arm of the machine moves only inches, but it’s enough to break you from your reverie. You’d only wanted to stop by, to glean one last look at what amounted to your greatest project despite it not being your own. And perhaps you’re feeling sentimental at the prospect of never seeing the Balladeer again. 

“That’s it, then?”

His voice is deceptively calm. Though the Knowledge Capsules haven’t been uploaded to his consciousness, there’s something to be said about the divinity he carries with him now. This is the closest to a God he’s come to, and he carries it heavily on his shoulders as he looks down at you with a guarded expression. 

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Before you left, you mean?”

Precisely. He doesn’t need you to confirm that, though. The machine lowers enough that you can see him more clearly, bent down and leaning on its hands as if it were a child staring down at an ant crawling through the earth. If you had a little more self-preservation, that’s how you’d feel.

“Is it fear that drives you away? Of me?”

“Of course not. I’m no more scared of you than I would be of a kitten.” From anyone else, that declaration would likely meet their end. Instead, it makes the Balladeer’s expression crumple. A metal hand swings toward you, a threat to take you to your end. Instead, it stops just short, curling around you as if it were a barricade against the world at your back. 

“Whatever it is, I will protect you. As one of my followers-”

“I’m not one of your followers.” Laughter tinges your voice as you watch the wide-eyed desperation flicker on his face. “For someone all-knowing, you should know why it’s better if I leave sooner rather than later.”

“I won’t let you leave.” It’s said as simply as one would state the weather. It lacks any sort of conviction a statement like that should’ve held.

The Balladeer doesn’t stop you as you slip from the circle of his hand. He could easily grab you again - he does not. Your fingers trail across metal plates you’d put together with crimson eyes burning into your back under the guise of supervising your work. They catch on rivets and seams until you’re too far for your hand to reach. 

With distance comes the beginnings of your voice echoing through the hall, and it rings similarly to the tolling of a bell that beckons either the ending or the beginning. Which one, you’re unsure. “I’m sure you can find me if you need me. I won’t exactly be hiding from you.”

The Balladeer says nothing. He doesn’t even ask where you might go, who you might go with. You’re certain on the surface it must be obvious - you’re going to Snezhnaya with Dottore. But the Balladeer isn’t a fool, certainly he’s picked up on why you’re here alone. This goodbye was meant to be clandestine and quick, the precursor to your abrupt and unannounced departure. 

Alone.

It’s surprisingly easy. No guards are stationed near the workshop in an effort to keep its contents a secret. The few Fatui that linger are easily ignored, just as they do for you. You hold no allegiance to their order or their Tsaritsa, and thus hold no interest to them beyond your clearance to simply be here. 

They don’t even look twice at you and the bag swung over your shoulder. 

Truthfully, you wouldn’t either. Everyone knows what’s beginning to happen, that a newborn God lurks among them, and it doesn’t sit well with everyone who knows of it. But it’s none of your business, just as it isn’t any of theirs, and you relish the taste of Sumeru’s humidity on your tongue as you slip from the hidden side entrance and into the gorge that winds beneath Sumeru City. 

Just outside the entrance, Dottore waits as if he were always meant to be there. Like you were to be expecting him; maybe you were. It all felt too easy, too clean. Just as he hadn’t avoided allowing you to notice his gaze, he never bothered to truly conceal that little motive you’d conveniently ignored up until this very moment. 

Now it’s plain before you - bright, shining, burning your retinas to the point of closing your eyes and inhaling deeply. 

“Did you have fun? Did it make you feel powerful? Making such a poor decision, I mean. You must understand it never would have happened that way.”

Dottore accuses you like one would speak to a child. If he bent enough to plant his hands on his knees, spoke to you as if you were a foot tall, cocked his head to the side and smiled gently… it would still feel just as condescending. None of that was required when his tone did the job surely enough to make you feel chastened. 

Lifting your chin in a futile effort to regain your lost ground, you meet him head-on. “I’m the one who decides when, where, how I leave. I’m going home.”

“To the hole in the wall that Azar found you in? Are you content to crawl back in the dirt, to fade into obscurity where your passions and skill mean nothing?”

Something bitter leaves your throat. It almost sounds like a laugh, if you had the capability to do so around the anxiety you’re choking on. “My purpose has always been for myself. Everything else is a means to an end. I did my job here, what else do you want from me?”

“I think you know. Don’t you? I’ve given enough practical demonstrations, I’d rather not have to spell it out.” Dottore’s boots splash through the water as he approaches, closer and closer until he could reach out and touch you if he wished. There is no attempt to do so. “I assumed putting a name to it would turn you skittish. You’re like a cornered animal when faced with even a hint of it.”

“Don’t-”

“I lo-”

“Don’t.” Quick as a whip, your hand strikes out, palm against his chest and pushing sharply to put distance between you. Before any force can be put behind the blow, Dottore catches your wrist with easy dexterity. Lifting it before his face, he holds it for a moment before bringing it forward to press his lips against the soft skin just beneath your palm. 

Your fingers twitch, then wrap around the nearest edge of his mask and tug it away with a move so practiced it makes you physically ill. Dottore doesn’t stop you, doesn’t even try to catch the mask as you drop it to the ground at your side into the mud. It ceases to matter once it leaves the immediate bubble of your shared space. 

Dottore’s eyes are always wandering, always observing. You’ve seen them enough, felt them enough, that you understand the intricacies of the language they speak. And now, they’re painfully familiar, even with newfound light being cast on them. Stars fill his gaze, a deep-seated yearning that both unsettles you, and warms you from the inside out. 

The word for what’s going on here never needed to be said. Maybe you understood it from the beginning, even as you turned away from it with stubbornness in your heart. There’s no room for it, no room for him. Physically perhaps, but what he’s offering and what he expects are two things you’re incapable of giving him. 

“I don’t want this.”

And he laughs at you. Long, laced with excitement at the prospect of the challenge you continue to provide. A sick little thought taunts you with the idea that if you’d been compliant from the beginning, he would have lost interest. It might not be too late, but he doesn’t give you the chance to backtrack as he steps closer until he shares body heat in the sticky air of the jungle. It’s as stifling as the feelings he’s forcing you to examine now. 

“Give it time.”

“I’ll just fake it. I hope that isn’t lost on you. It won’t be true.”

A flash of teeth as his smile grows. The proclamation hasn’t deterred him, only spurred him into curling his hands around your shoulders, your biceps, beneath your elbows in a disarming show of softness despite the way his voice curls maliciously around carefully formed words. “You think that will change things. It won’t.”

That could be true. But you see the way his shoulders change the way they’re set, the hardening of his body language. You’ve given yourself insurance for the future, sown the seeds of something you know you’ll be unable to harvest for quite some time. Doubt will take root. Paranoia as he second-guesses everything from this moment forward. 

Even if you fail, even if you fall into his shadow where he wants you to exist, he’ll always wonder if it’s a farce. Even if he were to drag a declaration of love from you, it would always be tainted by this one moment. And that’s the only satisfaction you foresee on this path that Dottore has pushed you down. 

The kiss is slow, a nonverbal attempt to convince you of what you denied him proclaiming, and with sick satisfaction you return it with the same fervor. Dottore’s fingers curl tighter at the bend of your elbow, and you know you’ve already won. 

[omnivorousshipper]

Hey Omni

If you still do request Friday them I have this interesting request you can write. Where Jonas Taylor from The Meg meets Davis Okoye from Rampage.

So first off, sorry for taking so long to get around to this. I didn't even realize it was in my inbox until a while ago

Second off, I had to go watch Rampage cuz I had never seen it before

And I actually enjoyed it??

Like, Davis is so sweet????

This takes place after Rampage and a year before Meg 2

~~~

Davis tried to keep from muttering under his breath as Kate chatted with their driver, she was by far more excited than him to visit one of Zhang Oceanic's research facilities. Apparently, since they were one of the only ones to ever encounter a larger than life creature, they wanted to compare notes with Davis and his team.

He had no idea why an oceanic research facility thought that since they had a giant shark and they had a giant ape that they should compare notes.

Especially since their giant shark was natural.

Meanwhile, George was an accidental science experiment gone wrong.

Either way, they had been invited to come talk about their experiences working with such a large animal and the difficulties that came with it.

Davis would have rather had a whiskey drinking contest with Agent Russel. At least that would've been far more entertaining.

"Oh my gosh, look!" Kate suddenly exclaimed as the golf cart they had been picked up in finally came over the crest of a large hill.

Even Davis felt his mouth drop open at the sight.

They were looking down at a giant bay, where they could see a fin trailing in the water.

A huge fin.

"Ah, so you've spotted Haiqi!" Their driver laughed. "Apparently she's still young and is supposed to get even bigger!"

"Even bigger?" Kate's eyes became calculating and Davis suppress a shiver. She better not be getting any ideas of stealing a sample of megalodon DNA to add to her serum.

Shaking his head at the idea of yet another giant animal, Davis wanted this whole trip to be over.

They finally arrived at the facility to be met with Jiuming Zhang.

"Dr. Caldwell, Mr. Okoye, it's so nice to meet you," Jiuming smiled warmly at them.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," Kate gushed. "I've been following your father and sister's research closely. I'm so excited to hear you'll be taking their efforts over."

"It's an honor to continue their work. Would you be interested in a tour of the facility?"

"Of course!"

Davis would rather do anything else.

Now, don't get him wrong. He wasn't against visiting any labs or listening to the kind of research Zhang Oceanic was doing. But.

He was a primatologist. He didn't study sea creatures. Maybe Kate had studied many different kinds of animals in her life, but he had stuck to animals that didn't live in the water.

So, he respectfully followed behind Kate and Jiuming, while letting their conversation become white noise as he looked around the facility.

They were passing by what looked to be a lab of sorts. It had many different kinds of tanks, all of which had seahorses in different stages of maturity.

However, it wasn't the seahorses that caught his attention.

It was the very attractive man that looked to be hiding beside the door.

Glancing up ahead at Kate and Jiuming, Davis had a feeling they wouldn't miss him if he stepped away.

"You good?" Davis asked, scanning the man over.

He was at least a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter than Davis himself. The smaller man was wearing a hoodie with the Zhang logo and what to be a wet suit underneath.

"Shh! Can't you see I'm busy?" The man snapped back.

Davis raised an eyebrow.

"Busy with what?"

"Hiding."

"From...?"

The man rolled his eyes before peeking his head out into the hallway and glancing up and down it. Once he was satisfied, he stepped out.

Davis had to tilt his head down to stare at him.

"Look, my... daughter and I are playing hide and sneak. We agreed that if she found me, we'd go diving."

Davis blinked.

He was half expecting the man to say he had infiltrated the facility to steal research and sell it to the highest bidder. Instead, the man looked nearly bashful as he mentioned his daughter and playing with her.

Smiling, Davis looked him over one more time.

"I'm guessing you want her to win?"

For his part, the man's scowl wasn't as fearsome with the light blush on his cheeks.

"Who are you anyway?" He huffed in response.

"Davis Okoye, head primatologist at the San Diego Wildlife Sanctuary. And currently the leading expert on genetically modified apes."

"You're the one who helped stop the giant ape and other animals in Chicago," the man's eyebrows raised. "I'm Jonas Taylor. I mainly help with the submarine dives. And you could say I'm the leading expert in hunting Megs."

Davis had heard of the megalodons being killed, but he would never have guessed to have met the guy who had done the killing.

"Looks like we're some of the only ones to have really fought giant animals and come out alive."

"That's one way of putting it," Jonas chuckled. "Only difference is I wasn't friends with the Megs before they tried to kill me."

"Yeah, George and I had a long talk about his rampage in Chicago."

"Do you actually talk with an ape?" Jonas squinted his eyes.

"In a way," Davis said while signing.

"Smart," Jonas said, signing back.

"You can sign?" Davis was shocked. It wasn't a common skill outside of certain circles. Not to mention, it looked as if Jonas was using ASL.

"It helps when you're under the water and can't talk. I picked it up when working with the US navy."

"Impressive," Davis said. Not only was the man drop dead gorgeous, but he was skilled in many different ways.

In the last few years, Davis had been approached by many different people. They had all flirted and offered him their numbers, but he had refused. He had been burned far too many times in the past. From bad relationships to seeing the worst in humanity.

But, as he talked with Jonas, he felt a connection he hadn't felt in a long time.

Here was a man that had worked in special services, fought against giant animals, and was definitely Davis' type.

How could he not want to ask the man out?

Before he could even open his mouth to ask, he was interrupted by a shout.

"Jonas!"

Heads turning, Davis stared as a young, tween girl came rushing towards Jonas. She had on a similar outfit to him and she didn't hesitate in the least to slam full force into him, nearly sending them to the floor.

"I found you! That means we can go dive! Look, I have my suit on and everything! C'mon, let's go--who are you?"

Suddenly, the girl's bubbly expression turned suspicious as she turned to Davis, her arms wrapped protectively around one of Jonas' arms. She looked oddly familiar.

"Meiying, this is Davis Okoye--"

"He's supposed to meeting with Uncle," Meiying butted in, narrowing her eyes.

"Uncle?"

"Jiuming is her uncle," Jonas explained. Davis' eyes went wide as the words processed.

Shit!

He was flirting with the boss’s brother-in-law.

"I got a little lost," Davis coughed, looking at Meiying.

"A lot lost," she snapped back.

"Mei," Jonas warned gentle before turning back to Davis with a smile. It was breathtaking. "Would you like to come with us for our dive? I know there's no monkeys here, but it'll be fun."

"I'd love to." Davis tried to remember the last time he had even swam. It had been a long time.

Jonas motioned with his head as he began leading them down the hallway, Meiying shoving herself into his side.

Davis kept his eyes firmly on the beautiful man next to him rather than the tween glaring up at him for flirting with her adoptive father.

Looked like this whole trip was going to be a lot more exciting.

[sallownights]

miss americana and the heartbreak prince

word count: 3.2k

CW: fluff, pining, leander prewett, sexual scenes?, ilvermorny mention lol

A/N: sorry i literally disappeared LMAO, i had the worst writer's block ever. made me want to cry. lol. anyways, hope im back. i hope my brain works. lol. plz send requests so i don't have to think about what to write next. ily. kisses <3. my girlfriend proofread this 😐

pairing: sebastian sallow x female!Y/N

The move from America to London wasn’t entirely awful. Moving my portkey wasn’t entirely what Y/N had in mind when she found out she was going to Hogwarts. 

Moving from Massachusetts to London was certainly different. It certainly wasn’t something that Y/N minded. She missed her friends back at Ilvermorny but she was excited to start school at Hogwarts. Especially since her uncle was a professor there. 

“Uncle Eleazar,” Y/N walked into her uncle’s office. His classroom was beautiful with trinkets around the place, his office the same way. It was full of different things Miriam and him had bought together or collected. 

“Y/N,” Professor Fig smiled, he stood and hugged his niece. His embrace was as warm as a summer day. “How have you been settling in? Are you excited to be sorted tonight?”

“Yeah, but we both know where I’m going to be sorted.” They both nodded and said,

“Slytherin.” The pair laughed softly. 

“Thunderbirds are just too similar. There’s no way that’s not what I’m getting sorted into.” Y/N smiles. She was wearing her old Thunderbird robes that looked fairly similar to Ravenclaw if someone wasn’t paying attention. Fig nodded. 

“Nothing wrong with Slytherin. There’s some talented wizards in there. Did you have a chance to explore the castle yet or were you just talking with Professor Weasley this whole time?” Y/N smiles brightly at the mention of Professor Weasley. 

“Her and I had some tea and discussed what I would be learning here this year and the difference in curriculum. I haven’t had much chance to explore yet.” Fig nods and walks out his office. 

“C’mon, I can show you around before the ceremony tonight.” Y/N followed behind her uncle. Walking around the school was like walking into a fantasy book for Y/N. It wasn’t too different from Ilvermorny but the history was clear. It was palpable. 

“So did you decide if you were to be sorted in front of everyone or in private?” Fig broke the silence as they walk through the Viaduct Courtyard. 

“I was thinking private. I’m not wanting to take away from the first years. The sorting ceremony from my understanding is different than the Ilvermorny one, yes? You get sorted by… a hat?" Y/N's voice was certainly confused. Fig chuckles softly. 

“Yes, the sorting hat. You were sorted by crests?” Y/N nods. 

“Well, that’s one way to do it, I suppose.”

—

Y/N was right. Slytherin. Her uncle was prepared and put some Slytherin robes in her trunk before she moved in earlier. Fig walks Y/N to the Slytherin common room. She hugs her uncle before saying the password and entering the newly revealed doorway. 

She steps in and walks downstairs. The dungeon was cool compared to the heat outside from the summer air. She took a deep breath as she reached the bottom. 

‘This is my year. It’ll be fine.’ Y/N nodded to herself before walking to her dorm room to go to sleep. 

“Hey!” A voice rang out. Y/N whipped her head around to the voice. It was a taller boy, freckles, nice build. He was holding a large tome and was walking over to her. 

“Uh… hello," Y/N said awkwardly. 

“Is there a reason you’re here?” Y/N tilted her head at the boy. 

“I was going to bed.” Her voice was confused but her American accent was clear as day. The boy’s eyes widen. 

“Oh, Merlin. You’re the new transfer. Apologies. I thought you were a Ravenclaw,” the boy stuck his hand out, “Sebastian Sallow.” Y/N shook his hand. 

“Y/N Fig.” She smiles at the boy. His freckled face was blushing, no doubt from the embarrassment of almost harassing a new student. 

“Fig, eh?” Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “You’re related to the professor?” Y/N nodded.

“Uncle.” Sebastian nods. 

“Ah…" There’s an awkward silence between the two before Sebastian speaks up again. 

“Well, let me know if you need help with anything.” Y/N nods. 

“Goodnight, Sebastian.” Y/N turned on her heel, her face heating up from the awkward interaction. 

“Night, Y/N.”

Sebastian dropped his head and walked to his dorm where his best friend is. 

“Ominis, I’m a fool.”

“Well, I’m surprised it took you this long to notice. 

—

Y/N

The next morning, I woke up with a start. ‘New school, new friends, same… same me.’ I go through my new trunk to find where my uncle put Slytherin robes for me. 

I walk out into the common room, seeing my roommates who wave to me and… Sebastian Sallow. He was reading a tome. I was planning on slipping out, but I heard the common room quiet as I walked in. Loud voices turned to whispers and I felt my face burn. I’m not used to this attention. I’m not used to any of this. 

“You alright?” A sudden voice says behind me. I jump at the sound and turn around.

“I’m… yeah, I’m okay.” Sebastian was so tall. Merlin, he had to be at least 6’ 2… and he’s fit. Wait, isn’t that a term for hot? Oh my gods, am I staring at him? What do I say, I’m just looking at him. My face burns. 

“H-How are you?” I try to not make a face at the stuttering words that leave my mouth. Sebastian smirks slightly. God, now he just looks like an asshole… but… but so fine. 

“I’m good. I… wanted to apologize again. For yesterday.” Was he blushing? Oh, I think he is. He has really nice freckles. Oh, Jesus, I’m staring again. 

“It’s okay! It’s alright. I can understand the confusion.” I smile at him. God, I hope I don’t look foolish right now. “Thunderbirds… and… all.” Yep. Foolish. 

“Was that your house at… Ilvermorny?” Sebastian’s voice was so rich. It’s really nice actually. 

“It was! We have different houses based on Native American folklore.” I love my old school. I don’t think I’ll ever stop, but being here now is good. It’s new. I need new. Sebastian has a smirk on his face… did I say too much?

“That’s interesting… is ‘Thunderbird’ like Slytherin then? Cunning, ambitious, and all those other bits?” He took a step closer to me and I felt my face heat up again. I must look like a fucking tomato. So, I just nod.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll fit in great.” Sebastian smiles broadly. It was infectious. No, more than infectious. What’s more than infectious? Viral? Contagious? No, those are just synonyms. 

“Thank you,” I smile back at him. Someone appears from behind him. His eyes were like pearls. They were the most beautiful foggy eyes I’d ever seen. 

“Hello, my apologies for interrupting. I’m Ominis, Ominis Gaunt.”

–

Sebastian

Potions class. Not exactly a dreadful subject, but certainly not my favorite. The new transfer was seated next to Garreth, For what reason? Garreth is rather annoying. With his… red hair… stupid jokes… and affinity for explosives, she would be better off sitting next to anyone else. Maybe even me. 

…

… 

She’s rather stunning. She tucks her hair back behind her ears whenever she was focused. Her lips were slightly parted. I bet her lips are so soft. She constantly has chapstick on her. I wonder what flavor she’s using today. Maybe pineapple…

After class, I walk with her to herbology. 

“So, how did your Wiggenweld turn out?” I try to exude confidence when I feel like my heart is thundering out of my chest. I felt like my ribs were cracking under the pressure of the pulse.

“Oh, I think it turned out well. It was something we made back at Ilvermorny, so I had a bit of an edge.” She smiles. God that smile could kill me. Her teeth were perfect. Is that a weird thing to notice?

We walk in silence to herbology. God, she smells so good. Orange? Tangerine? I have no idea. Some kind of citrus. She’s like sunshine. She’s like my sunshine. And my moon. Maybe my stars too. 

Oh Merlín, I sound like a lovesick puppy. She’s just my friend. She’s a pretty cool friend too. Like… sure, she’s really pretty, funny, smart, stunning, talented, and just positively radiant. She’s just a friend though. Yeah. 

—

Y/N

“Did you want to go to Tomes & Scrolls?” I looked over at Sebastian. 

“Ha! Like you need to ask.” Sebastian offered his hand to me. He… mmm… he offered his hand. I took it. They were calloused, big… warm. The soft smile that graced my lips was involuntary but not unwelcome. 

Sebastian smiled down at me and squeezed my hand. God, I hate him. These stupid butterflies that fill my stomach. The way his idiotic smile makes his eyes crinkle. His dumb laugh that makes my heart beat faster

Watching his fingers trace the spines of the books. I wonder what it feels like. The soft touch. Am I getting turned on in a bookstore? What the fuck is wrong with me? 

Oh Merlin, am I sweating? I feel like I’m sweating. Can he feel my hand sweating? My hands are so fucking clammy.

“You okay?” Sebastian’s voice broke my thoughts. He could break so much more- what… the fuck am i thinking about.

“O-Of course!” I smiled brightly, in hopes he doesn’t notice the red on my face and ears. He put his hand to my forehead and frowned slightly.

“You sure? You’re a bit flush.” I nodded weakly. His touch sent sparks to every nerve in my body. It always did. Merlin, I hate him so fucking much. Why is he so pretty? why?

“I’m sure! Just a little warm,” I felt my face flare up with embarrassment. Sebastian just nods. I’m glad he doesn’t press, but I know he wants to. 

We continue to shop and walk around Hogsmeade. Every bag I’ve gotten Sebastian has taken from me. He hasn’t let me carry any. 

“Seb, cmon, I can take them. I feel like you’re struggling.” His arms were straining a bit in his jacket. My eyes shoot over to look before going back to his face. I will not be caught staring. Not if it’s the last thing I do. 

“I’m fine, love,” My eyes widened at the pet name. My face got immensely hotter. Is… is he blushing too? No… oh my god, Y/N… say something. 

“O-Okay.” We begin walking back to the castle. The sun was setting, the sky was a beautiful mix of pinks, oranges and yellows. I took a moment to look out. I could feel Sebastian behind me. His cologne was so… stupidly attractive. 

The silence was so comfortable. The night was beginning to cool down and I moved my hands to my arms to warm them. Sebastian was rustling behind me and I felt his jacket get draped over my shoulders. Merlin, if he makes me blush one more time… I will… do something. Sebastian’s arms wrap around my waist and his head moves to my shoulder. Against my better judgment, I lean against him.

“There’s something just so peaceful about sunsets. Sure, the sun goes away, but it always comes back the next day. Even if we can’t see it. It’s there.” His voice was low and husky in my ear. I couldn’t do anything else but nod. Staring out at the sky, I felt myself getting lost in it. Felt myself get lost in Sebastian. I hold myself in his arms. 

What I would give to freeze this moment. To just… be here with him. Is this foolish? I’ve only known him for three months and I’m already putty in his arms. I feel more helpless than I have in years. 

I feel his hands slide across my stomach to my waist and I turn around before he pulls back fully. 

“Sebastian…” My voice came out quieter than I wanted it to. His eyes were so beautiful, especially in this light. His freckles danced across his face and gave him the boyish charm I’ve grown to adore. 

“Y/N…” I felt him move closer. Our bodies were pressed against one another’s. My heart was practically beating out of my chest. Can he feel it? I lean in and shut my eyes. Oh Merlin, his lips look so soft. 

“Y/N!” Sebastian and I jump back from each other. Amit was waving from a bit away. I put my head in my hands and look back up.

“Amit, hello,” My heart was pounding. I felt like my nerve endings were on fire. I took a small step toward him. 

“Hello! I’m headed to an astronomy table, are either of you wanting to join?” I closed my eyes. I wasn’t upset with Amit. It’s probably a good thing that he stopped us from… kissing. 

“Oh, uhm… no, I’m alright…” I look over at Sebastian. Sebastian shakes his head. “Yeah…. We’re uhm… we’re alight, Amit. Thank you, though.”

Amit nods and walks off. Sebastian and I don’t look at each other as we get my bags and walk back to the castle.

…

…

…

Fuck. 

—

Sebastian

I was outside watching Y/N and Natty play summoner’s court. Things had been a bit awkward for a while after… uh… you know. 

Leander kept walking by and talking to the girls. Something about him just made my blood boil. I don’t know if it was his bad hair or his even worse personality. Natty and Y/N had parted ways after they finished playing again. I began to stand off the grass, collecting my things. I saw Leander walk up to Y/N. 

‘Mmmm. Interesting.’ My thoughts were already running wild. What if she liked him? What if she liked his shitty hair? Or his bad dueling skills? What if she didn’t want to be around me anymore because she dates him? I shake my head, trying to clear these thoughts from me. 

I try to keep my distance as they talk. I try not to look at them. Y/N is her own person. She can do what she wants… and I’ll be there. I’ll be whatever she needs me to be. Friend, dueling partner… something more. Gods above, I wish to be something more. 

I was snapped out of my thoughts as Leander put his hand on her arm. She moves away from him and Leander steps closer to her. I try to keep my cool, I feel myself moving toward the two.

“There a problem?” I heard my voice. I felt like I wasn’t controlling myself anymore. Y/N is a perfectly capable witch. She’s strong. She’s smart. She’s… stunning. Y/N  can take care of herself, but everything in me was screaming to protect her.

“Nah, Sallow, just having a chat with Y/N.” Leander stepped closer to her and she stepped back again.

“Doesn’t look like she wants to talk.” My voice was low and a bit strained. 

“This doesn’t concern you, Sallow. Her and I are fine.” Leander takes another step toward Y/N before I put myself between them. My hand goes to Leander’s chest, pushing him away.

“Back off, she obviously doesn’t want to talk.” My heart was pounding, I was too nervous about her being hurt. About what he would do to her. 

“Oh? Playing protector? Never took you to stoop so low just to get laid-” Before Prewett can finish his sentence, I throw a punch against his jaw. I watch him stumble backwards and onto his back.

“Leave her alone. She’ll talk to you when she wants.” I was towering over him. There was something almost satisfying about protecting Y/N. She’s capable, sure, but… I want her to feel safe. I turn back to her and check to make sure she’s alright. I know he didn’t do much but… who knows. 

“Are… are you alright, love? Mentally, physically… emotionally?” She nods softly and I hold her face to make sure I didn’t miss anything. Maybe to feel her skin against mine. Maybe both. 

“Seb, I’m okay. Are you?” Her hands moved to mine. I held onto her face softly. I couldn’t bear to think of her being hurt. I nod. 

“I thought… I just… I don’t know. I… I got worried.” She nods. 

“I know, but I can handle myself.” I close my eyes and breathe deeply.

“I know, I just… want to… protect you sometimes.” She nods again and moves my hands from her face. She intertwines our fingers and leads me to the Undercroft. When we get there, she holds my hand softly, examining my knuckle.

“I’m okay, Y/N. Promise.” She sighs softly and stands up straight. Her fingers brush back and forth on my skin. I could feel heat rising through me. She moves closer to me and wraps her arms around me into a hug. I hug her back gently. She’s too precious to me to hurt. 

“Seb?” Her voice was quiet. I could listen to her all day. I don’t care about what, but I would just listen. 

“Yes?” My voice matched her’s. I moved my hands back to her face softly. I ran my thumb softly over her cheek. Her skin was so perfect, so smooth. 

“Why do you want to protect me?” Her voice gets quieter, almost to the point where I can’t hear it. 

“I- well- uhm…” I stutter, the familiar heat rising through me again. “Can I… show you something?” Y/N tilts her head before nodding. I take a deep breath. 

…

…

My lips meet hers. Her lips were covered in some kind of chapstick but I didn’t care. I wanted more. Needed more. I held her face softly as we deepened the kiss, my hands moving toward the back of her head. I felt her arms wrap around me as her body gets closer to mine. I moved my hands down her body, savoring every moment. This is all I’ve wanted for so long. For six agonizing months. I hear her gasp softly as my tongue finds hers. 

I don’t know how long we stay there for, in all honesty, I don’t care. I was with her. She was with me. That’s all that mattered. We pull back after what seems like hours. Our breathing heavy from the lack of oxygen. 

“Y/N… I like you. I’ve liked you for so long.” I kiss her cheek gently before moving to her jawline and down her neck. I hear her sigh softly and her hand moves to my hair.

“Seb- I-I like you too.” I smile against her skin before kissing the nape of her neck. I move back to look in her eyes. I kiss her gently.

“So beautiful. You’re mine, yeah?” I murmur against her lips in between kisses. I feel her nod and whisper. 

“All yours. Always been yours.” I smile and kiss her sweetly again. I pull her down onto the lounge and kiss her deeper. I move her hands above her head as I get on top of her. I kiss down her neck and bite softly, eliciting moans from her. 

“I’m… going to go.” Y/N and I flinch as a voice calls out from the gate. 

“Ominis?!”