#sure his accent was thoroughly strange

[david-tennant-in-chairs]

Objection!

Your honor, opposing counsel is serving an illegal amount of cunt. How can I possibly be expected to think coherently with all of that staring me in the face?

[nekrosdolly]

feline delight (18+)

albert finds you on the streets. too cute to pass up, he takes you home against your will.

a/n; sorry this took so long! hope it was worth the wait :D

cw; half-alive dove maybe eat, cat hybrid!reader, afab!reader, owner!wesker, kidnapping, captivity, stockholm syndrome, drugging, dubcon/noncon, body betrayal, leashing + collaring, reader doesn't wear underwear, manhandling, breeding kink, wesker likes seeing you in pain sorry, no prep (please prep irl), unsafe sex (p in v, clitoral stimulation, creampie, implied multiple rounds)

tags; @4inchfae @thatgirlgames @whiskers-my-beloved @icecream596

albert never had a penchant for pets, let alone a hybrid like yourself. bringing you in may have been the best thing he'd done in years. you needed a home desperately, regardless of how much you scratched and clawed at him when he'd carried you off to his research facility without so much as an introduction. you hear him rustle around in his pockets with one hand and then, the uncapping of something. before you can look at what it is, a fine needle pierces right into the muscle of your neck. your vision fades within seconds, and you stop scratching.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

you didn't know what to expect, but waking up in a cage clean and clothed hadn't been on your list. you thought you'd surely be dead. but, there you were, with a black long sleeve shirt and skirt, thigh-highs adorning the better half of your legs, and a black leather collar around your neck. looking around, a small bell attached to your collar rings. not moments later, you hear footsteps. you look up at the man who has taken you in- tall, blonde, and very intimidating.

albert crouches before the kennel you're cowering in and looks you over as if he didn't get a good enough look when he bathed you. you hiss quietly and shrink into one of the corners furthest from him, cool metal digging into your back with each attempt to get further away.

behind his shades, his hazel eyes thoroughly examine you. the fear you give off is aromatic with a faintly sweet undertone of something more. gratefulness, perhaps. he did bathe you, clothe you, and put you in a very nice kennel of your own. your collar is a perfect fit, no less, and even though you didn't ask for any of this, it's more than you know what to do with. you've no bruises, no gashes, no injuries. how strange.

he's pondering what to say to get you to calm down. to trust him a little. maybe come out of the kennel, but that would be for later.

"hello." he places a gloved hand on the kennel's top rather carefully, so as not to startle you, and leans in just a bit. his voice is nicer than you would think. a bit nasally, sure, and the accent is cheesy, but he could read you the yellow pages and you wouldn't mind.

"…" your silence makes his jaw clench by a fraction. he'll have to fix that. for now, he'll ease you into things.

"what's your name, little one?"

"haven't got one." you rasp, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your chin atop them. ears flat against your head, your tail swishing- cautious and afraid, you are, and well within your rights to be.

he nods.

"we'll have to fix that, won't we?" he forces a little smile on his lips when you nod. you're not sure why you do when, two seconds ago, you'd have run off if the kennel door was opened. he's smart, he's thought this through. you're not leaving the kennel until you trust him, unbeknownst to you. your tail is ramrod stiff on the cushioned floor of your captivity, and at least he was kind enough to furnish it for you.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

it's hard to trust him even though you know it would be smart to pretend.

he only lets you out to feed you, and from the start, he'd made it clear that if you tried to run, you'd be dead. at the same time, twice a day, he opens the cage for you to crawl out of. he extends his hand to you, looping his gloved fingers around your collar and guiding you to sit by his feet. he links a leather leash through the d-ring attached to your collar and walks you through his home, the environment sterile and hardly lived in.

it's when he puts you in his lap at the dining table and force feeds you that he fills the tense silence. the food itself is good, and you wonder if under different circumstances, you'd want him to be your owner. as you eat, he talks. you are, to some extent, grateful that he feeds you, even if he is only doing the bare minimum.

"have you been good, dear?" he asks, and you nod as per usual. it's rare that you decide to talk.

"good girl." he scratches the spot behind your ear, forcing you to lean into his hand and purr. he chuckles quietly. as he pets you, his stress melts away. you're so cute. a meek, naive little thing that he loves taking care of.

as dinner finishes, he picks you up and keeps you in his arms as he cleans up. you're silent, sedated by the drug he's put in your food, and you're bodering on falling asleep in his arms. a swell of pride of warms his chest as a little snore escapes you, followed by your tail wrapping around his arm.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

day by day, bit by bit, you miss him. he keeps you company when he's not at "work" or whatever that is, he talks to you, he pets you the way you like, and it's nice when you forget about how you got here. the only thing you've come to dislike is the lack of underwear. it's not that he can't afford some, it's that he enjoys your discomfort to a worrisome degree. he likes its easy access, even if he hasn't taken advantage of it (or you) yet.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

he comes around and you find yourself less defensive, thanks to your breeding cycle. you press your face against the bars of your enclosure.

"owner," you whine as he walks past, a spark igniting in your gut. his scent is stronger than it was this morning, and you're hyperaware of the growing warmth filling your body.

"yes, dear?" he stands at his closet, his back to you as he strips himself of his work clothes.

"can i come out?" you paw at the door of your cage, ignoring the rattling noise it causes.

he doesn't respond immediately, letting you stew in your silence for a moment as he finds something more casual to wear. you don't normally ask to come out- this is progress, proof of your trust.

"in a moment. let me get dressed, darling."

it's enough for you to stop whining. your tail swishes happily and your ears perk up when he approaches the cage in grey sweatpants and a black shirt and crouches down to undo the lock to the cage. you practically jump into his arms, purring loud when he wraps his big arms around you and pulls you into his chest.

"thank you." you murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his chest. his smell, like poison, makes you dizzy with desire. the warmth is growing uncomfortable, your ears pinned flat against your head.

he hums in response as he strokes your hair, a purr emanating from the depths of your chest. the heat spreads the more he touches you, pooling between your thighs. he tries not to notice when you rub them together and mewl pathetically.

"is something wrong?" his voice is a match to the flame in your gut.

it's your turn to be silent, trying to even out your breathing despite the overwhelming urge to lean in and take a nice, long whiff of the pheromones he gives off.

"darling, answer me. you know better." he says in a more stern tone, looking down his nose at you.

"… i'm in heat." you state quietly, avoiding his gaze. if you could see his eyes, you're sure they'd be wide and a little bit dark.

"are you, now?" he hoists you up in his arms as he stands, his forearms just under your ass. you're bent slightly over his shoulder. "we'll need to remedy that, won't we, pet?" he chuckles. a chill runs down your spine. just what have you gotten yourself into?

he's not a mean lover, just a little rough. he sets you on his bed and pushes you down with a cold hand to your chest as he moves on top of you. anxiety cools your blood, makes it like ice pushing through your veins.

"wh-what are you…?" he presses a finger to your lips, silencing you, and kisses your cheek.

"i've been waiting a long time for this, darling. it would be wise to avoid making me wait more." there's a threatening undertone to his voice, the burn of discomfort making itself known in your shoulders. he wedges his knee between yours, forcefully parting your thighs so he can trail his hand up them, pinching here and there just to see you flinch, and smooth two fingers along your weeping slit. a hint of a smile makes itself known as you shudder, thighs parting wider to accomodate his hand. his cold digits stop at the very top, feeling for your puffy clit, and rubs slow, tight circles around it.

you hate that it feels good, and you hate yourself for having a breeding cycle. a soft moan leaves you at his light touch, your eyes locked on the hand rubbing your clit. he presses down a little firmer, eliciting a whine from you.

"look, doesn't that feel much better?" he croons, his voice low with his lips so close to your ear. reluctantly, you nod, and that earns you the reward of his fingers rubbing you a little faster. you squirm a little, trying to get more than just surface-level pleasure.

"words."

"y-yes. that feels good, thank you." a hint of malice laces through your tone, but you're grateful for what he's giving you. your face is on fire as only the pathetic wet noises from your cunt fills the air, and you (try to) hide your face in your hands, only to be met with a sharp slap to your cunt. you flinch, the pain subsiding after he continues playing with your cunt. your hands come down from your face and instead grab the sheets.

your stomach tightens, twists into a coil that winds tighter with every pass over your hardened clit. but you can't cum like this, not when your breeding cycle is ongoing.

"owner- p-please, need more." you whine, and albert kisses your cheek as a response, denying you of what you need.

"such a needy thing. fine. you'll get what you want." he takes his hand from your pussy and to the waistband of his sweats, pushing them down rather impatiently, as well as his boxers. weeping, his cock is bright red at the tip from want (how long has he been hard for?) and large. you're worried.

he chuckles at your fear-stricken expression before grabbing your legs and pressing them against your chest.

"be a dear and hold these for me, hm?" he says, and you do as you're told. you hold your legs by the backs of your thighs, pressing them so your knees hit your chest. he strokes himself once, twice to the sight of you spread out for him, your cute cunt drooling. slick drips down your perineum, inviting him.

you watch him slot himself in place, the tip of his long cock dragging through your folds to bump your clit, making you gasp. your entrance clenches around nothing, a pitiful whine leaving you.

"greedy." he shakes his head softly as he lines himself up, and without warning, thrusts himself entirely inside you.

the stretch is worse than you imagined. you flinch away from him, but he grips your thighs and tugs you right back onto his cock. it hurts, and the burn is something you hadn't accounted for. tears prick at your lower lashline. he leans down, his frame practically engulfing yours, and kisses your cheeks.

"don't cry. struggling only makes it worse, you know." he coos, tapping your jaw. you nod softly and wrap your arms around his neck for support, sniffling as the tears trail down the sides of your face. to ease your discomfort, his hand works itself between the two of you again and thumbs at your clit, dulling some of the pain. another moment, and your tears have disappeared.

"y-you can move. m'okay." you mumble to albert's delight. he starts slow, mostly on your behalf, and hisses at just how tight you are around him as he thrusts shallowly into your aching cunt.

the moment you make a noise, he grips your thighs tighter and starts bullying his cock into you quite intensely. the tip of his cock kisses your cervix with every single harsh, downright mean, thrust. he's not doing this for you, and that becomes readily apparent. still, you can't deny that it feels good to be fucked.

albert's quiet, aside from small huffs and hisses of enjoyment. you're so wet, it's making a mess of his lower abdomen and thighs. the lewd slapping of skin on skin combined with your precious mewls and whimpers of pleasure spurr him on, his nails digging into your thighs. his cock brushes against the spongy spot inside you, making you cry out and arch your back off the bed.

"there- a-again, please!" you grab the hand not rubbing your clit and lace your fingers together as the pressure in the pit of your stomach builds and builds, leaving you dumb on your owner's cock. he complies with your request, if not to feel you cum then just to see your pretty face when you do.

he bullies that spot relentlessly, to the point where some of his hair falls in his face. gummy walls squeeze and suck him in more, a loud cry leaving you as you reach your peak. slick gushes from your already crying pussy, thoroughly coating the both of your lower halves. it's dripping from you as he continues pumping into your hole, the schlick noise amplified now.

"w-wait- wait-" you grab the hem of his shirt, but he ignores your protests.

"we're not finished until my precious girl has her cunt filled with cum." he moves your hand away, forcing yourself further into the mating press he's got you in. you can feel every single inch, and how the throb of his dick indicates his climax. a few more sloppy, mean thrusts and he's spilling his seed into you. decidedly, it's a good feeling, and you need much, much more. your heat ceases momentarily, however, as he keeps his cock inside to ensure that nothing leaks out. your tail wraps around his thigh, the end flicking happily.

"i mean filled in every sense of the word, darling." he gathers some of your slick that's coating his lower abdomen on two fingers and pushes them in your mouth, watching with delight as you kitten-lick them clean. a dark grin forms on his pale lips, his length twitching at the sight. it's then that you really give in, that you decide it's better to be this way- fucked full of his cum and brainless. a familiar heat flares in your gut once more.

[grippingbeskar]

warmth

ೃ⁀➷ joel miller x fem!reader

❥ content warning; forced proximity, dub!consent, somnophelia, dry humping, swearing

❥ a/n; based on this request! i've had some time off, and am still going through a bit of a strange time in my life, but your guys requests always inspire me to write and create, even if its just a lil bit of joel smut. hehe.

masterlist <3

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

“So this is fun.” You say into the dwindling light of the run down shithole you and Joel are calling home for the night. “Nice and cosy.”

“Cosy?” He parrots, and looks over to what was once a gaping hole in the side of the cabin. You shrug, and sink yourself further into the bundles of blankets you managed to secure.

“S-sure.” Your teeth chatter from the icy surroundings, defeating your point. “Are you sure we can’t start a tiny little fire in here?”

“Whole place is made of wood, darlin’. You’d be toast by mornin’.” His heavy accent floods your body with much needed heat, and you find yourself scooting closer to him on the floor you’ve made your make shift beds on.

“Toast sounds p-pretty good right now.” He laughs slightly, eyes catching your own before dropping back to his lap.

He watches you shift around, bundling yourself closer to trap any body heat you’ve managed to build up, and then takes one of the blankets off the top of his sleeping bag and throws it over you.

“Joel.” You say wistfully, but immediately snatch at the new blanket and add it to your pile. “You’ll get c-cold too.”

“I’ll live.” He says simply, and lays down about a foot away from you. “We should get some sleep.”

“Right.” Your voice is breathless, but still makes a few puffs of cold air as you move yourself down onto the floor of the cabin.

You’re calling it a cabin, but it’s more like a barn the way it’s laid out. It’s smack bang in the middle of a dense forest, with hay everywhere, even in a pile that crunches underneath every time you or Joel shift. It also doesn’t help the fact you are covertly trying to get closer to him— both wanting to steal his body heat and just be close to him.

Joel is a hard man to read. At first you thought he hated you, with all his prolonged silences and gruff remarks. Then, you thought he saw you as a somewhat annoying distant cousin. One that you’d socialise with for a few hours, but then quickly get sick of and look for an excuse to leave them until the next gathering. Once the family bond idea was thoroughly stamped out in a few of his secret heated gazes, or the way his hands would linger on your hips when he unnecessarily lifted you up onto your horse, it was just confusing.

But, you were determined to figure the man out. It’s not like he wouldn’t have your undivided attention anyways. He was a freaking cowboy— straight out of a romance novel. Thick accent, gentlemanly charm and an ass to die for. You were only human.

Still, the hay crunched as you tested your boundaries little by little, as you have been over the past few weeks. Getting closer, lingering longer, smiling sweeter. And it had… well, it affected him in some way, you were sure. But you just don’t know what way. God forbid you go back to the distant cousin stage—

A blast of wind slips through a crack in the walls, and you shudder and ball yourself up.

If Joel hears you, he says nothing, so you just drag the blanket he gave you off the top of your pile and down into the middle so it pressed against you. It smelt just like him— pine and wood and… maybe a little dirt. You two had been travelling for days, and he refused to let you get your hands dirty, so it would make sense.

You buried your face in it, warming the cold tip of your nose and trying to muffle your chattering teeth. It’s a good thing you were covering you mouth, because you nearly squeal when Joel whips around, his chocolate eyes staring right into yours.

“You alright?” He asks, his voice heavy with sleep, and you’d feel bad if his voice didn’t sound so goddamn sexy like that. Right out of a romance novel, you swear.

“Mhmm.” You manage to squeak out, your face covered up to your eyes.

“You lyin’?” He asks, and you repeat yourself. “C’mere.”

At first you’re confused, scrunched eyebrows giving you away. Then Joel pulls back the covers a little, physically inviting you into his chest, and you take the hint embarrassingly fast.

All of a sudden, you’re tucked into Joel’s warmth, surrounded by the smell the blanket only gave you a hint of. You stay face to face, enjoying the ease at which his body warms your hands and nose, and one of his arms drape over your side, keeping itself respectfully in the middle of your body.

Respectfully, you wouldn’t mind if he wandered a little lower, but you tried to keep those feelings at bay.

“Warmer?” He asks tightly as you cling to him, nodding quickly. He mumbles something else, a rough sound only discernible by the way his chest rumbles with it, your cold hands slowly thawing out against it.

"T-thanks." His arm wraps around you tighter when you bury your face in the crook of his neck, the cord of your strange relationship tangling ever so slightly just like your legs do under the covers. "Nice and cosy."

You giggle at your own joke, and he scoffs. "Christ. Go to sleep."

Your laughter fades off as your breathing evens out, and pretty soon you're drifting off into sleep, Joel's arms keeping you warmer than ever.

*you can stop reading here if you aren't a whore. however, i am, so i will continue*

It must be a few hours before your eyes open again. Joel is fast asleep, soft puffs of hair warming the top of your head as your eyes flutter open to complete darkness. You've tangled even more in your sleep, unconsciously wanting to be closer, not just for warmth.

His strong leg nestled between your thighs has nothing to do with body warmth.

When you start to gain a little more of yourself from the cover of sleep, theres a mess between your legs you can't deny. Joel moves slightly as you stir, a choked little whimper escaping your throat as he pushes against you just right. Theres no part of you effected by the cold wind outside— your whole body floods white hot, two strong arms trapping you to feel nothing but the way he's against you.

It's wrong. You should pull away, or wake him up, or do something to drive a wedge between you and Joel. You hardly know for sure if he likes you, let alone wants you like...this.

Then he shifts again, a little roll of his body sending sparks up your stomach, and you make a small sound again.

"You enjoyin' yourself?" You freeze, eyes squeezing shut as you try to deny your body the sleepy pleasure it's taking from him.

"J-joel—" You squeak, a noise embarrassingly high pitched, but his hand tightens on your hip and alleviates some of the nerves.

"It's alright, darlin'. You take what you need." He murmurs, and dips his head, pressing a light kiss underneath your ear. Your hips roll experimentally, and he hums in approval. “That’s it. That’s it.”

"I... oh god, Joel." His hand guides you forward and back, setting a slow but intense fire in your tummy that licks higher and higher every shift.

"How's it feel? Good?" He kisses you again, this time on your cheek.

"S-so good."

"You got no idea how many times I wanted to wake up like this..." You think of all the times you've slept mere inches away from him, but never having the guts to make the move. "Can feel how wet you are f'me."

You shiver, getting more restless as he starts to grind you against his thigh a little faster than before, rocking into you as you slump against his chest again. His free hand grabs your jaw harsher than you expect, bringing your face to his to kiss you hungrily. It's messy and consuming, teeth bashing together as the two of you attempt to find a rhythm that doesn't stop the sweetness of your bodies colliding together.

It shouldn't feel as good as it does, the way your clit runs easily along his now slick thigh, your heart stuttering in your chest as you hear him groan into your mouth, clearly feeling as pent up as you are. The hand on your hip locks under your thigh then, hitching it up higher on his side, the new angle making it all the more intense and having you whine into the kiss.

Joel's tongue dominates your mouth, fills you with the taste of him you've imagined in countless nights alone but never quite perfected. He's overwhelming— pulling you up and on top of him all while keeping your mouth tightly sealed to his own. He swallows your little noises, covering them with his own groans and sighs of your name as you ride him, your mind racing with images of how he'd feel under all these layers.

"Fuck, darlin' I'm not gonna last if you keep..." He breathes out, hands travelling down your back to cup your ass. You lean down and kiss him messily, and move your hips at your own pace, chasing your high.

"It's okay— please, Joel." He grumbles something against your lips, and you just shake your head. "We can do whatever… whatever you want later. Just keep going."

He shudders, your hint of permission enough to send him over the edge. You manage to open you eyes and look at him when he cums, his eyelashes fluttering and his tight jaw going slack with pleasure. That paired with the feeling of his muscles going tight and the way he says your name, you cum with him, your hands gripping tight on his curls and you muffle yourself once again into the crook of his neck.

Neither of you have the energy to move, your overwrought nerves and exhausted body collapsing on top of him. He keeps kissing you lazily, the way your tongues tangle together indulgent of each others tastes. His arms move around you, tucking you in to the blankets so that no part is exposed to the cold, and when your body is covered he gives his hands free reign to roam your skin.

Rough pads of his fingers trail up your spine, pushing up under the layers of clothes to feel your skin against his. As you settle into his soothing touches, the reality that the two of you just came on each other like teenagers has you all hot in the face and shut your eyes tight. He pulls away, his nose nudging your face to look at him.

“You okay, baby?” He says softly, a little smirk on his face when you manage to sneak a look at him. You nod shyly, and his hands drop lower and settle on your ass again before trailing up. “That was… unexpected.”

You look down. “I’m really sorry if I just—“

“No, baby no. Not bad. Good… fucking perfect. Wish I could wake up to that every morning.” He grins, and it takes years off his usual scowling face. “Just thought I’d maybe… take you out first. I got no problem skippin’ straight to dessert though, if that’s what you want.”

“Dinners good.” You smile, and he seems a little relived at that, like maybe he might enjoy it just as much as what comes after. “Desserts good, too.”

He laughs, the sound bouncing off the wooden box of a cabin you’re stuck in, but with Joel holding you like this, the cabin is quickly becoming one of your favourite places in Jackson.

[babyhatesreality]

hello hello! i absolutely adore your writing!! ^^

question for you and a little thinker if you’re up for it.

what do you think would happen if little!reader/katie started going through a “forties phase?” dressing up like little girls did back then and trying to use an accent “like they do in the movies,” the whole gimmick.😭

i feel like one day katie would just be scrolling through videos on her ipad, stumbles upon steve’s old war movies and just gets hooked😭💀

part of me thinks stucky would like it and entertain it for a good minute haha. another part of me though feels like it would kinda be a little strange to see their modern little one trying to act like a kid from back then.

i don’t know if katie would be more interested in getting into makeup or just the fashion bit but i’d really love to see this from your perspective! :D

My love. You have been so incredibly patient and I thank you. I hope I do your absolutely brilliant idea justice. Enjoy <3

The Good Ol' Days

Pairing: Daddy!Stucky x little! f reader

Warnings: DDLG (SSC), f! reader, reader is named but name scarcely used, language, tiny bit of angst from daddies, fluffity fluff fluff fluff.

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. THIS STORY IS SFW- THE REST OF MY BLOG IS NOT NECESSARILY SO. MINORS DNI. I DO NOT CONSENT FOR MY WORK TO BE STOLEN, COPIED, OR TRANSLATED ONTO ANY OTHER SITE BUT MY OWN. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated.

Steve's head shot up when he heard you shriek. He knew you well enough to know that you were fine, just excited about whatever you'd just found. Sure enough, three seconds later, he heard your little feet tearing your way towards him, and he grinned to himself. As much as he was always worried about you falling while you were running, he couldn't help but love how excited you got when you were running to share something special with him.

You flung yourself into the office, and just as he was turning his head to look at you, you suddenly shrieked again.

"WAIT!"

You tore back out of the office, then knocked with a furious flurry at the door, remembering that you were always supposed to knock before just coming into the office. Steve bit back the laughter and barely got out "Come in."

Hurtling yourself into the office once more, you looked like you'd just won the lottery. Wondering what on earth you were up to, he decided to praise you on remembering your rules first.

"Good job remembering to knock, Katie Cat," he said, noting the iPad in your hand with curiosity. You scrambled onto his lap without so much as a how-do-you-do, and shoved the iPad under his nose with a look of wonder on your face. "What did you find?" he asked you, amused.

"You was in da movies, Papa!!" you shrieked, so excited.

"Inside voices, please, kitten. What do you mean, I was-" Before he could finish the statement, you yanked the iPad back down to your lap and jabbed your finger on it. The screen filled with Steve's old WW2 victory tour footage. Even though it had been years since he'd seen any of this- honestly, he'd forgotten that old film reels of this even existed- it all came rushing back to him. He forgot where he was in time for five seconds, just watching the past all over again, before your wiggling and giggling brought him back to the present.

"You was a STAR in the old times!! A'fore the 'Vengers!!" you squealed excitedly. "Was you in the Broadway??"

Steve laughed. They'd recently taken you to a Broadway show for the first time and it was your current obsession. "No, angel, I wasn't on Broadway. This was when I was in Europe during the big war."

"Ohhhh. The big war had people dancing in tights?" you asked, thoroughly confused by his answer. That made him nearly choke laughing. After he collected himself, he carefully explained to you all about the USO tour and how it was designed to help morale. He didn't mention the heckling that happened on the daily- not something he was keen to relive. He also steered clear of how he happened to find Daddy during one of those tours- that wasn't something that would go over well without Bucky being present, and you being able to hold his hand to know that he was okay now.

The tales of the tour, the costumes, the spotlight was enough to keep you captivated. And started you thinking.

***********************************************

The next morning, while Steve was at work, Bucky was beyond surprised when you followed him around all day, asking questions about the "old times", as you put it. You grilled him non-stop about what he wore, what kind of music he listened to, what was on his iPad during that time (the answer here made you absolutely gobsmacked and took at least an hour to make you understand), how people talked. Then, seeing how excited you were and how interested it was making you, Bucky started telling you stories of all the happy times that he and Steve went to Coney Island before the war.

This gave you a FANTASTIC idea.

*************************************************

It took a long time, with a LOT of help from your extended Avenger family members, and promises of 5 exclusive crayon drawings to Nick Fury, to pull it off. But finally...FINALLY...you got an entire day off for your daddies, a super secret way of getting them there (basically Uncle Clint lied, got them in the car, drove them there, and cheerfully dumped them at the entrance where you were patiently waiting with Aunt Natasha), and a wad of cash (courtesy of a delighted Uncle Tony)...to take your daddies to Coney Island.

When they got out of the car and saw you standing there, their jaws dropped. You were decked out in the cutest pink baby doll romper that could have come straight from a vintage clothing shop, complete with shiny Mary Janes. Your hair was styled into two low pigtails with little pink ribbons, and you were holding Natasha's hand, twisting in excitement and ready to explode with joy.

"Well, well, well! Look at these two DREAMBOATS!" you said, overemphasizing the words so they'd hear you clearly.

Steve's eyebrows shot into his hairline and an amused grin spread across his face. "Dreamboats?" he repeated, getting a good look at you and slowly starting to realize what was happening. "Coming from a cookie like you, that's quite the compliment, missy."

You laughed and squealed with joy, seeing your beloved Papa start to play along. Bucky, however, was throughly confused, wondering what in the hell they were doing at the entrance to an amusement park and why you were there when Clint had said there was a last minute meeting off campus...

"What is happening?" he asked, looking as if you'd all grown three heads. Giggling, you let go of Natasha's hand and skipped to his side. He instantly snatched your hand up, unwilling to let you take any chances, but it just made you smile bigger.

"Dis DAME had a BRAIN CHILD and is gonna take her SUGAR DADDIES to-"

"Nope, not using that one right," Steve interjected with a grin. You ignored him.

"-to Coney Island! I gots all da CLAMS we need and we gonna have a KILLER DILLER time!" you finished triumphantly, thoroughly pleased with yourself. It was the longest 40s speech you'd ever made (you'd been practicing with Auntie Nat and Auntie Yelena on the daily in secret) and you were so proud of yourself you could bust.

Bucky's eyes widened- there was no way that you.... that you had...his eyes shot to Natasha, who was barely holding in her laughter. "We've been IN CAHOOTS for a while about this," she explained, mimicking your speech pattern, her face glowing. "Look, we even had these specially made." Natasha turned to you. "Show 'em, princess."

With glee, you stomped hard on your Mary Janes, and the very edges of the soles lit up. It was obviously the same technology that was in all the Avengers' littles' shoes, just put into a pair of 40s slip ons. "That one took a little convincing, otherwise this would have happened about two weeks ago," Natasha whispered to the both of them.

Steve leaned down to your level. "Did you do all this for us, baby?" he asked, his voice rough with emotion at your display of affection.

"Yup!"

"You...how did you do all this?" Bucky asked in wonder, his heart bursting. You looked smug.

"I gots friends in high places."

And with that burst of laughter, Natasha kissed your forehead, gave your daddies a quick shoulder squeeze, and jumped into the car with Clint, promising that they were just a call away for whenever you all were ready to leave.

One of the most delightful days you'd ever spent together passed. You insisted on your daddies showing you ever square inch of the park that they knew, pointing out where specific stories and funny things had happened, as you squealed in delight and clapped your hands at all the memories. Although there were some initial reservations on Steve's part, the three of you rode the Cyclone until he declared he was going to get sick, then moved on to the Ferris Wheel and even the new Thunderbolt. You tried all the new rides together, ate Nathan's hot dogs and cotton candy, and you even managed to convince them to get stars painted on their faces (while you got a tiger done- it was awesome). You used all your best forties words and terms, making them laugh uproariously.

One memory stirred another and another, and you were mesmerized as they told you story after story, laughing and remembering and falling in love all over again. And they had you with them this time- their love story was finally where it was supposed to be.

Family trips to Coney Island to remember the good ol' days became a once-a-month thing (although they paid for themselves, no more "mooching" off Tony) and they were always some of the best days ever.

[catboymettaton]

burning, burning

my gift for @pyreneese for this year’s @dnsecretsanta!! five times Light thought about how much he hated L, and one time he didn’t.

Lawlight enemies to lovers! Featuring: hatesex, light’s praise kink, L’s Kira kink, and a good old fashioned rain scene.

rated E, 3k words

ao3 link

1.

“Kill me now, Kira! Do it! Kill me!”

Light gaped at the TV. How dare he taunt Kira! How dare he make Kira look weak!

“So now I know there are people you can’t kill… I really didn’t expect my plan to go so well. Kira, it’s not long until I catch you.”

No. Light was not going to let L catch him. Light was going to catch L first!

L would pay for this trick. Light would find him and Light would stop him! Light would show the world that Kira, not L, was truly justice!

He thought of the dead man, the sacrificial lamb, except lambs were innocent and that man already deserved to die. Lind L. Tailor had been an attractive man, who looked every bit the image of a brilliant detective. How funny, the way appearances could deceive.

Did L know that Kira needed a face to kill? Had he purposefully chosen a stand-in who looked different from him, or had he barely given it a second thought? L’s voice was thoroughly obscured by his distortion, masking any accent that may have given Light a hint about his location or origins. Was he Japanese as well? Or American, perhaps? Was his hair dark and shiny, or blond and sunny, or a fiery red?

Light would find a way to learn the truth. L was cautious, but no security system was without its faults. Light had access to the NPA’s system, and he could hack into Interpol with enough time and practice. He would find the detective’s name and face, and he would finish him. His heart burned with righteous anger.

2.

Light slammed his desk. “Dammit! He played me like a fool!”

He had never imagined that L would just come out and introduce himself like that. He was backed into a corner now. There was no way “Hideki Ryuga” was his real name, and he couldn’t try to kill him without either killing the actor or raising suspicion.

Was that even the real L at all? He looked nothing like what Light had imagined. His only resemblance to Lind L. Tailor was in his hair color. He lacked any of the smoothness, any of the grace that had made Lind L. Tailor look so competent. He looked like a stray cat that someone had picked up off the street and turned into a man. He looked like a sentient pipe cleaner. He looked like the personification of insomnia in a horror manga. He did not look at all like a brilliant detective.

It would be just like L to send a decoy. He’d already tried it once before, after all. But why would he send a decoy so repulsive and so strange? Why wouldn’t he send someone attractive? No, there would be nothing to gain from sending a false L who looked like that. Light could only conclude this was the real detective.

So now he had met his rival face to face. He had looked into the eyes of the man he had to kill. The rage in his chest burned brighter and stronger.

What next? Would L follow him to class? Ask him to study together? Appear at his door? He had to act fast, he had to come up with a plan.

No, it wasn’t enough just to kill L. He had to defeat L, bring him to his knees, make him beg for mercy, only to deny him. He needed the world to know that Kira reigned supreme, that Kira alone served justice. He needed to dominate L through and through.

3.

Light gasped as L slid another finger inside him.

“Relax, Light-kun. You’re doing an excellent job.”

L’s hands moved surely, confident. He had evidently done this many times before. Light hoped his own lack of experience was not equally obvious.

He still hated L. He hated L’s fixation with his supposed guilt, when he knew for a fact that he was innocent. He hated the way L chewed messily and spoke with his mouth full. He hated the way L’s beady eyes never seemed to blink. He hated the stupid way L held paper in his limp wrists.

L’s fingers brushed his prostate and Light let out a pathetic whine.

“Good boy, Light-kun. You’re being so well behaved for me.”

He hated, hated the way L’s smooth voice praised him! It made him shiver, it made him twitch against his will.

He hoped this was enough to prove his innocence. Surely Kira would never have approached L and suggested a sexual encounter. Surely Kira would never have agreed to be penetrated. Kira wanted to be in control, Kira wanted all the power, so why would Kira ever agree to be vulnerable like this?

Kira would not be whimpering and moaning as L stretched him wide open.

With his free hand, L stroked Light’s face. “Still feeling okay?” Light nodded, swallowing another moan. He looked up at L.

“You’re taking my fingers so well. Such a good student, such a good bottom. You’ll be ready for my dick in no time at all.”

“I’m ready now, Ryuzaki!” Yes, yes, this would make him seem even less suspicious. Kira would never blurt out something like that! Kira would remain nonchalant, Kira would remain in control.

L smiled. “Don’t be so impatient, Light-kun. I’m a lot bigger than two fingers.”

He leaned down and planted a kiss on Light’s forehead. How patronizing. Light was perfectly capable of taking a dick up his ass! He didn’t need to be pampered! Light reached up and pulled L’s face back down to his and kissed him, hard, on the mouth.

After a few seconds, L kissed back, tongue probing every crevice of Light’s mouth as his fingers continued to explore Light’s hole. Light felt his body shake against the dual sensations. It wasn’t fair that L was this good at sex as well as being so smart and hot.

Wait, what? L wasn’t hot. He was ugly and weird. He was too pale and his eye bags were too dark and he never -

“Getting distracted, Light-kun?” L’s breath kissed Light’s cheek. “Are you thinking about who you should kill off next?”

“I am not. I am not a murderer, I have never killed anyone in my life!”

“Mmm. If you say so.” L brought his lips back over Light’s before he could think of a retort. Light shut his eyes and did his best to focus on the moment. He had to look like he was enjoying it. He had to focus on being the best bottom L had ever had the pleasure of meeting.

Afterwards, as they cleaned up, he wondered what on earth had come over him.

4.

“Ryuzaki, check this out! Look at how much Yotsuba has grown compared to its competitors.”

L rested his hand on Light’s shoulder, bringing his face in close. Too close. Light could feel his hot, sugary breath on his cheek.

“Light-kun…”

“Are you feeling less depressed now?”

L watched in rapt fascination as Light showed off the list of Yotsuba’s victims. His hand creeped across Light’s shoulder till it spanned to the other side and their faces were nearly touching. Light felt extremely grateful that his dad was not in the building.

“This is excellent work, Light-kun. I’m so proud of you for figuring all of this out.”

Light’s face grew hot. “Thank you, Ryuzaki. I started by looking at all the heart attack victims in recent months, and I noticed the pattern pretty fast.”

“How clever. I dare say your powers of deduction outpace some grown men I’ve worked with before.”

His spine was beginning to tingle traitorously. He had to stay focused on the data.

L’s hand wandered upwards, tangling Light’s hair. Ugh, now he would have to fix it. L had no respect for his morning routine of gelling and styling. Just another reason to hate him. Even if he did think Light was doing a good job, and even if he did know how to hit all of Light’s most sensitive spots. None of that mattered. He still thought Light was a murderer, he was still Light’s biggest enemy.

L stood, tugging Light up by his hair. “Come, let’s share your findings with the rest of the team. Print out your charts.”

Light and L settled in on a sofa opposite Matsuda and Aizawa.

“We have a new lead to investigate. It appears that Kira is connected to the Yotsuba group. I must thank Yagami-kun for his keen eye and investigative diligence. He did a very good job organizing all of this data.”

His stomach ached. He could feel the blood pooling. What twisted game was L playing now?

Light smiled brightly. “Of course, Ryuzaki!”

“We will have to be very careful moving forwards. Even without Kira, Yotsuba is highly powerful and dangerous. But I have no doubt that Yagami-kun and his sharp mind will be able to help me with overcoming their defenses. He really is quite clever.”

Light crossed his legs cautiously. Surely the others had noticed how oddly Ryuzaki was speaking. He could not let them guess the effect it was having.

Aizawa nodded. “I understand. I can look into how Yotsuba is organized.”

“Excellent. Yagami-kun, do you believe you could hack into Yotsuba’s computer system? It is my impression that you are also very talented when it comes to computers.”

“Yeah, I can try my best!” It was becoming unbearable. What more could L possibly have to say?

“Let’s get to work. Yagami-san will be back soon.”

Light stood a bit too eagerly, the chain growing taut for a moment before L caught up. He absolutely had to stay ahead of the others.

As they peeled away from Aizawa, Light asked, “Ryuzaki, could I stop by the bathroom?”

“Of course, Light-kun.” It was a short walk. As Light reached for the doorknob, L added, “I really am impressed with your hard work on this case. You’ve done a very, very good job.”

His hand brushed Light’s lower back and Light yelped and turned around. “What are you playing at, Ryuzaki? Why sing my praises to the rest of the Task Force?”

L leaned in, brushing a wet fingertip across Light’s chin. “I simply think it’s important to make sure Light-kun knows he’s being a good boy.”

Light’s face burned brighter than ever. He stumbled backwards, scrabbling for the handle. He needed to get away from L, right now.

“What seems to be the matter, Light-kun? Is there something I could do to help improve your focus?”

Light slammed the door open, stumbling further. “Do whatever you want. You’re the boss.”

He leaned back against the cold, hard bathroom wall as L’s fingers worked his fly open. What was the matter with him? Why did he care if L thought he was doing a good job? He hated L. He hated the way the detective’s words squirmed into his brain.

He hated how good L’s mouth felt around his cock.

5.

For a man who had spent the past two months pounding Light into the mattress, L was a shockingly eager bottom. Light had him naked and pinned to the bed in minutes.

It felt good to be in control. It felt good to have his mind and body realigned. It felt good to finally get retribution for all those nights he’d let L make a fool out of him in bed.

He hadn’t even taken his clothes off, and already L was hard. Light smirked. “So you spend all that time in charge, and all you really want is for someone else to tell you what to do?”

“It’s a nice change of pace, yes.”

Light glared. “Did I ask for you to respond?” He shoved L’s wrists harder against the bed.

“You asked a direct question, so I simply assumed-”

“Stop it. I should’ve known you’d be such a brat.”

L obliged, puffing out his cheeks to show how closed his mouth was. His cock twitched against Light’s pants.

“If you can’t control yourself, I guess I’ll just have to shut you up.” Light released L’s hands and moved to unzip his pants.

“Can I-”

“No.” Light freed his cock, let it hang above L. He watched his huge dark eyes travel up and down the shaft. His first time viewing from this angle. “Open wide.”

Light’s cock fit perfectly into L’s mouth, as always. L instinctively began to suck, began to roll his tongue around on the head, and for a moment Light forgot himself.

All that cherry stem tying had certainly paid off.

Light was not here to let L take over again. Light was here to put L in his place. He began thrusting deep into L’s throat, pounding out some soft whimpers.

“You like that, huh? You like how it feels to be totally at my mercy?”

L mumbled something completely incoherent. Light ignored him and sped up. It felt good to be using L, to be the one setting the pace. L’s mouth was a vessel for Light’s arousal, his tongue just a toy to rut against. He may as well have been a mindless doll for all Light cared.

Finally, Light reached his peak. His cock twitched, spilling down L’s throat. He grabbed L’s hair, kept his face fixed firmly in place, high on the euphoria of control. It didn’t matter whether L wanted to swallow. Light was giving him no choice.

L swallowed eagerly, cleaning Light’s tip with his tongue. As Light pulled back, he murmured, “You taste good, Kira.”

Light started. He wanted to be mad, he wanted to punish L, but he felt his breath catch in his throat, his spine beginning to tingle. He glanced down L’s body, confirming his suspicions.

He rested his hand around L’s neck. “What was that?”

L blinked up at him, eyes wide and innocent. “I said, you taste good, Kira.”

Light applied a gentle pleasure. “All this time, and you still think so lowly of me? You still think I can kill?”

“I don’t just think so, I know it. I am 100% certain that you were the first Kira, and what’s more, that you are again.”

“Really.” He rubbed a leg against L’s erection, eliciting a delicious whimper. “And yet you’ve given me total control. Do you like being in danger, Ryuzaki?”

“It certainly makes things more interesting.”

Light pressed harder. “Are there still no cameras in this room?”

“That’s correct.”

“I could kill you here, right now, and no one would ever know. I could kill you and take the Death Note and no one could stop me. How does that make you feel, Ryuzaki?”

L’s cock twitched against Light’s leg. He needed to take his pants off to feel it fully, but he couldn’t stop now.

“L,” he gasped. “Call me L.”

“Answer the question, L.”

L closed his eyes, struggling for breath against Light’s hand. Light pushed even harder. He felt his erection already starting to return, much, much faster than it ever had before.

“I feel… extremely pleased, Kira.”

6.

“What are you doing, Ryuzaki?” Light held up his hand in an attempt to keep the rain off his face. He felt his shirt growing saturated and heavy.

“Oh, nothing in particular. It’s just… the sound of the bell has been awfully loud today.” L glanced off into the distance. Light could see nothing through the layers of rain, and he couldn’t hear any bells at all.

“I don’t hear anything.”

“Really? You can’t hear it? It’s been ringing non-stop all day. I find it very distracting. I wonder if it’s a church. Maybe a wedding, or perhaps a…” He trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.

A wedding. Something L would never live to see, if Light got his way. The next time L entered a church, it would be in a casket.

A heart attack wouldn’t leave lasting marks on his face. He would look as though he was simply sleeping, though he never slept that long. Light imagined what it would be like to look down upon his corpse, to feel victory singing through his veins.

He had been fighting for this moment for so long. He was so close, he could practically taste it.

And his mind began to wander. His vision of L’s corpse was replaced by L’s naked body stretched out below him, L moaning Kira! over and over as Light fucked him. L lying there, exhausted, gasping for breath. L smiling up at Light, watching him leave without a goodbye.

Light could see the bruises around his neck, peeking out from his collar. The mortician would cover them with concealer, he was sure.

Would his eyebags be allowed to remain on his corpse? Or would those be brushed away as well? He imagined L with clear skin and shuddered. It was wrong.

What was he thinking? He had spent the past year on this journey, and now he was at victory’s doorstep.

L spoke. “Tell me, Light, from the moment you were born, has there ever been a point where you’ve actually told the truth?”

The rain roared against the roof. It cast a curtain over L’s face. One might even say a funeral shroud.

Light hesitated, looked away. Thought of a million ways to report. No one is honest all the time, of course. Everyone lies. Maybe Light lied more than others, but always in self defense.

That wasn’t what L meant. They both knew that.

L’s body collapsing to the floor. The life draining from his eyes. L’s body in a casket. A headstone - what would the name say?

L falling to his knees. L writhing in pleasure. L begging Light to hurt him more.

“This is excellent work, Light-kun. I’m so proud of you for figuring all of this out.”

L’s casual touches, hand on his shoulder, hand on his thigh. L’s breath in his ear. The warmth of L’s body in their shared bed.

Light looked up. Met L’s eyes. Stepped closer, moved his hand from his face, rain be damned, to cup L’s chin.

L had fucked Light until he was completely drained, hardly able to move, staggering around the next day. Light had strangled L till he was wheezing, gasping, practically dead already. They had taken each other’s flesh between their teeth. They had dashed their tongues together like a ship wrecking itself on a rocky shore.

They had never shared a gentle kiss.

L tasted like sugar and strawberries.

“Of course I’ve lied. I’m a liar just like you.” He stared into L’s eyes. “That’s why you love me more than you fear me. And that’s why I love you more than winning this game.”

[autisticrosewilson]

Thinking about the JayGrant married in Vegas au again

Jason wakes up slowly, a delicious ache in his lower body and far less pleasant throbbing in his head. His mouth tastes like cheap vodka and he can still feel the burn of Everclear in his throat. Before he even cracks his sleep crusted eyes open he knows the bed beside him is empty, strange that he doesn't recall them waking him up when they left.

Regardless he peaks out from the nest of blankets at the hotel room, bathed in the barely there light of dawn. It's maybe seven or eight, far earlier than he cares to be up. The room is more or less as he remembers it, sans the trail of clothes from the door to the bed. The real miracle is that they'd even made it to the room. He fully intends to go back to sleep when he feels it. Something constricting the bend of one of his fingers, warm metal he certainly doesn't recall leaving with.

Sluggish and sleep addled, he slowly unswathes his hand from the blankets to move it into his line of sight. A ring with a metal band and a faux diamond he knows immediately will turn his skin green when he starts sweating. He blinks at it a few times but it doesn't disappear.

Sitting up slowly he scans the room a little more thoroughly. The shirt on the ground isn't his, longer in the torso and slimmer in the shoulders, and he's never heard of the band on the front. There's aspirin on the bedside table his back was toward and a bottle of undoubtedly room temperature water. He starts reaching for the folded up note next to it when something on the dresser catches his eye. A piece of paper, innocuous if not for the clearly printed CERTIFICATE OF MARRIAGE proclaimed boldly at the top.

Scrambling out of bed gracelessly he ignores the pulsing in his skull in favor of getting a closer look. The signature is definitely his, the same practiced calligraphy drilled into him by the teachers at Gotham Prep and encouraged by Alfred, spelling out his name. His given name, not even an alias. Maybe it would be worse if it was an alias actually, considering he's legally still dead.

The other name is one he's sure he's never heard before last night and while the last name gives him pause he brushes it off quickly. While it would be just his luck, he's sure Grant Wilson doesn't have any affiliation Jason might know. The poor bastard is probably just a random civilian, who is now, at least by law, unfortunately bound to a dead boy. His condolences really.

Going back for the note doesn't tell him as much as he'd like. The paper is a folded up receipt for cigarettes and honey barbecue beef jerky from a gas station somewhere in the Midwest and the handwriting on the back is done in half dead pen, the scrawl clearly rushed with several places where words or phrases were crossed off, the script slowly tilting downwards like Grant was writing at an angle.

So I guess we're married. *Scribble.* Probably an asshole move to leave before you woke up but I had something to do that really couldn't wait. We can meet up later if you're still here *scribble* I already put my number in your phone *scribble*.

P.s. keep the shirt ;)

Jason re-reads the note, more out of instinct than anything, all the little detective gears in his brain analyzing the handwriting and looking for double meaning behind the words but it's all background to the growing thought that it's too early to deal with this.

He ignores the aspirin in favor of just flopping back over into the bed, crawling under the sheets still warm from the night before. He falls asleep again staring at the ring on his finger, half formed daydreams and fractured memories of warm hands and sharp teeth and an accented drawl slowly pull him back into the haze of slumber, and he pretends he doesn't notice the scent of someone else's sweat and Cologne lingering on the pillows, or the warmth still clinging to this side of the bed.

[ihaveatheoryonthat]

The Vocabulary of Loss

This is actually the main piece that this was scrapped from. I wasn't going to put it here initially, but decided it was hanging over my head and I wanted to get out from under it. While it's definitely more coherent than some of the others I've posted lately, it's not finished by any means, so expect the usual placeholders and such.

-

Nobori’s first memories were marked by hurt, panic and confusion. He vaguely remembered a chill so bone-deep he feared it would snuff the flame at his heart, but even that [memory] was woefully incomplete. Between one blink and the next, the expanse of white was gone and there was a person talking to him with words he didn’t recognize.

Nobori’s present was also marked with hurt, panic and confusion. He wasn’t sure where this was or how he’d gotten here, just as with the Pearl Clan, but the sense of danger lingered in the back of his mind.

Yet again, he… didn’t recognize the words being directed at him.

He bit back a frustrated whine-- loathe to muddy the waters any further when this person hadn’t done anything to warrant his [ire]-- and shook his head, willing them to realize that he couldn’t understand them. They started again and, resigned, he repeated the gesture. When they motioned to him instead, urging him to speak, he sighed and raised a hand to his throat; again, he shook his head.

Mercifully, their eyes lit up in comprehension, and the person with them disappeared for a moment, returning with a sheet of paper and a strange writing implement. Nobori took neither, but awkwardly mimed holding a charcoal and, regretfully, shook his head once more.

The second person moved their hands in a [specific] way, and Nobori watched, trying figure out what they were motioning for, but even when he followed their arcs and where they pointed, it didn’t make any more sense. When he didn’t respond-- busy working out what that was about-- the two people exchanged worried looks.

One by one, other people shuffled in, tried to speak with him, and then left again; the words were different every time, enunciation variable and accents shifting. Nobori could do nothing but wrap his arms around himself and shake his head, over and over and over.

It was reminiscent of his first waking moments in the Pearl Settlement, staring helplessly at anyone and everyone who tried to make him understand. At least this time he was saved the frustration of trying to respond; where, before, he’d been so thoroughly blanked out that he’d forgotten his inability to speak, he stayed purposefully quiet today. There was no sense trying to force words that wouldn’t come-- words he’d only ever been taught to hear, and never to use.

With little else to remember about those who filed in and then out, he found that he recognized their faces well-- and the expressions of pity and horror that played out over each in turn-- so he knew that the person offering him a tentative smile had been in here before.

And, to his bewilderment, he found that her words clicked in a way he’d never known prior.

“You… understand Unova?”

They were hesitant and didn’t flow together very well, but he knew each of the words individually, and recognized that she was asking him a question. He could piece things together from there.

Haltingly-- confused, himself-- he inclined his head, and the woman clapped her hands, lighting up. She chattered excitedly to the other person present, the one who’d been here the entire time, and then turned back to him.

“Write?” She asked, and any tentative hope was dashed when he was forced to shake his head again. Nobori wished he could say yes, but reading and writing hadn’t been essential to his duties on Mount Coronet, and so the consensus had been that it wasn’t worth it.

“Sign Unova?” The woman tried, sounding worried, and Nobori could only stare blankly. He thought that, perhaps, that word meant something else, but if it did, he’d forgotten.

He wanted to draw his legs up, protecting himself from the rush of shame that followed, but even if nobody could tell him he’d broken a limb, he knew the facts. Nobori had no idea what he’d been doing before he woke up here, but clearly it hadn’t gone well for him.

While dissatisfied, the woman straightened back up and, assertively, repeated, “You understand Unova.”

He nodded, and she smiled at him.

“Yes. We’ll make better.” She said, and reached out to pat the bed reassuringly.

Nobori looked between her and the first man, then [haltingly] gestured to the paper and-- pen! That was it. It was just a strange pen. Both looked confused, but the man held them out to him, and with a little bit of fiddling, he figured out how to make the ink come out. While he couldn’t write words, there was one thing Nobori could do to make himself understood to some small extent, and an urgent question at the forefront of his mind-- he drew two concentric circles, and then two lines to connect them. Without thinking it through, he turned the paper over-- as if orientation would have any bearing on his drawing-- and hummed a question: where were his Pokemon?

To his relief, the question seemed to make it through the language barrier.

“Pokemon here are not allowed. Pokeballs are downstairs.” Said the woman, pointing down as she spoke as if to demonstrate.

That wasn’t quite what he’d been hoping for, but Nobori decided it was acceptable. He wanted to know more-- to make sure they were in a better state than he was-- but he had no earthly idea how he might ask her that, and so he nodded. It might take a day or so, but he’d be able to go down and check for himself.

(This, as it would turn out, was an incredibly optimistic estimate.)

The two stayed for a while longer; the woman gave him both of their names before asking more questions, none of which he had the capacity to address. Nobori was getting sick of shaking his head, but he couldn’t provide her any true answers.

The two left shortly thereafter-- once it became clear he could offer nothing to help them-- and, not for the first time in living memory, Nobori was left alone: hurt, confused, and wholly out of his element.

--------

Nobori knew better than to cause a fuss while under a healer’s care. He hated the hands on him, but he stayed still and pliant every time he was looked over, hoping it would end sooner rather than later. He dutifully took the medicines he was given-- less bitter than what he was used to, having been compressed into small tablets, and far easier to swallow because of it-- and did his best to thank his carers when given meals. The foods were a little strange, but not unrecognizable; their choice of rice instead of barley was a puzzling one, but perhaps he’d found himself somewhere where it was more readily available.

Once a full day had passed, he tested his ability to stand. It hurt-- less than he’d expected, actually-- but Nobori was relatively certain he could walk on it.

Or, at least, he was certain until he took a step and the world lurched around him.

He reached frantically behind himself and managed to get a handful of the bed; while he was unable to keep from tipping over, he at least slowed the fall, and landed on the floor with an undignified thump. Before he could put himself right, one of the people he recognized-- but didn’t have a name for-- poked their head in to look at him, and, upon processing the sight, hurried in to help him up. While he didn’t understand the words, Nobori recognized that her tone was asking if he was okay, and he did his best to reassure her; once he was back in bed, it took a turn as she began to scold him.

He ducked his head apologetically and weathered it, unable to argue his case-- but, before she left, tried to ask outright. He placed a hand on his chest and then pointed downstairs. She looked at him like he was being ridiculous and refused. Again, he pointed down, this time reaching for the piece of paper he’d drawn a pokeball on, and her expression softened, but she still told him no.

Anxious, he scratched lightly at his first knuckle, and while he didn’t notice it in the moment, the nurse’s eyes dropped to the motion. He did notice when she crossed the room to write something down on the papers that stayed at his bedside, but was disinclined to afford it any further attention; even if it was meant for his eyes, he wouldn’t have any way to interpret it, so there was no point.

Before she left, she approached the black tablet against the far wall and pressed something on its side, then escaped while Nobori was distracted by the shapes that played across it.

They were humans, real humans and not drawings-- like the photographs in the village, but more realistic. More than that, though, they moved. Nobori… Nobori hadn’t known that was possible, but now that he was seeing it, it seemed completely normal. It should have been shocking, but he barely even wondered how it worked. He knew that the people on the screen wouldn’t respond to him-- that he was watching something that had already happened-- and, instead, focused on what they were doing and the sounds they made. It wasn’t as good as being sat down to reach an understanding with a native speaker, but by the time someone came to see him again, he had picked up a few repeating words and phrases. He didn’t know what they meant yet, but he knew they were common parts of speech. With more time and context, he could figure it out, and once he’d gotten those basics down, he might be able to understand a little bit of what was going on around him.

The next time he was given medicine, though, it made him incredibly tired. He could do little more than watch the increasingly-blurry people move about in real life and on the screen before, inevitably, he fell asleep.

---

In retrospect, Nobori would realize that his mind stayed fuzzy after that, until such a time that he would finally be released from the hospital. In the moment, however, he was frustrated with himself. What had been a good start coasted to a halt as he found himself both unable to focus on individual words and struggling to remember what he’d already figured out.

In a bout of [frustration] he tuned the screen out entirely and tried to keep himself engaged in drawing out a map of the Coronet Highlands. He’d long since gathered that, wherever he was, it wasn’t Hisui. The language didn’t resemble Hisuian in the slightest, the foods were not the norm, the expectations on him as a patient were different, and what little he’d been able to make out from the window didn’t resemble the village at all.

If he could barely understand them, and they couldn’t understand him, the best he could do was try to use visual cues to get a response. Nobori’s first thought had been for Mount Coronet, Hisui’s central feature, but groggily dismissed it. Short of the temple on top, there weren’t any distinguishing features for non-residents to recognize; it would just look like any other mountain. He didn’t use maps in his daily life-- couldn’t read what they said, anyway-- but Nobori knew the terrain he patrolled and could lay the broad strokes out well enough.

He felt pain begin to creep in again, but he did his best to ignore it; if anything, it was a jolt of lucidity that helped him to focus on his work. His progress only halted when the daylight nurse came in to see him-- along with the woman who knew Unovan words.

Reluctantly, he set his pen and paper to the side, mirroring the tray that was set on the stand to his right, and then afforded them his full-- faltering-- attention. The first part of the afternoon routine was his pills, and he obediently downed them, then rolled the water cup between his hands as he waited for someone to speak.

“Your name!” The woman said, excited, and Nobori bit back the urge to sigh. This had happened before, too. They had to call him something, and he had no way to communicate what he’d already been given-- he would just have to remember what they decided on and try to respond to it for the time being. He suspected it would be more difficult now, since he’d already learned to answer to “Nobori”, but he could adjust. With any luck, he would only need it while he was in this facility.

To his surprise, however, he wasn’t given a foreign set of syllables. The woman called him by the single word his snow-blank mind had managed to hold onto-- the name he knew was originally his, before he’d been Nobori.

How… how could she know that?

Numbly, he nodded-- lowering his head just once-- and watched how she’d respond.

Her eyes lit up and she tapped her fingertips together in a muted clapping. It was followed by “Good!” and a number of words that… that Nobori recognized, but was having a difficult time parsing. There was something about blood-- he knew that much-- but it was nuanced, and he wasn’t sure how, exactly. He took another drink of water to give himself a small break from it.

When he looked back up, the woman’s expression was sympathetic.

“Will be alright, now.” She promised, “Call your brother.”

…huh?

Nobori blinked at her. She wanted him to call with his Celestica flute? Call who? He only knew a handful of viable songs…

Without meaning to, he felt his head list to the side, confused, but all she did was repeat, “Be alright, now.”

Physically, he couldn’t press for more information, and mentally, he was beginning to go foggy again, so he did nothing to stop her from departing. Left with an evening meal and the people on the screen, he devoted all of his attention to the former, applying a disproportionate focus to plucking every single mushroom out of his miso soup before making any move to drink it. By the time he’d forced himself to finish the waterlogged mushrooms, his head was too heavy to keep upright, and with a rueful thought for his incomplete map, he dropped into unconsciousness.

-------

Nobori was so tired. It clung to him throughout the day, and by the time he slowly realized its grasp was lessening, it was too late, because a new fatigue was digging its claws into him.

There was another person today. He’d said his name, but for the life of him, Nobori couldn’t remember it. It felt terrible; even if he couldn’t share the information with anyone, he’d always had the solace of knowing that he knew, and now it was as if his mind couldn’t hold onto anything at all. How much longer before he forgot that there had been a place before this? Before he lost his friends waiting for him downstairs? The only thing he was good for was working with Pokemon, and it had been days since he’d been able to do his job. How long would the staff here tolerate him?

Their patience stretched further than he expected, if what the newcomer said was any metric. Nobori didn’t know where the man had come from, but the man spoke fluently in the language he’d forgotten, explaining that they’d found him, hurt, beneath a shrine in the deep woods and brought him here to heal. Even in his [diminished] state, Nobori already thought it must have been something to that effect, but he nodded along, not about to take this for granted.

Eventually, the man asked for his input. Was there anything else they should know, that he could communicate? Did anywhere else hurt?

Tentatively, unsure why he was bothering, Nobori reached up and lightly knocked against his head.

The man’s eyes widened for a moment, and then narrowed as he leaned in. “You hit your head?”

On an instinct he’d never been fully able to beat back-- especially not now, when his mind was swimming just trying to sit up straight-- Nobori opened his mouth, as if to respond. He snapped it shut as soon as he realized what he’d done, and turned a palm upward, gradually bobbing his head back and forth in something inconclusive.

He knew he’d been injured, but no one could say for sure what had happened. It was just as likely that he’d hit his head as it was something had attacked him-- he’d been incredibly naive in his earliest days, seemingly unaware of just how dangerous Pokemon could be. No one would have been surprised if he’d gotten hurt because he’d been neglecting his safety checks.

“You don’t know, but your head hurts?” The man asked, and this time Nobori had a solid response.

Very slowly, so he didn’t make himself any dizzier, he shook his head, then moved to push his hair back. It had been cropped short-- down to the skin-- while the Pearl Clan’s healers looked after the wound beneath, but since started growing out again. He hoped they wouldn’t have to cut it this time; it had been unbearably prickly for weeks after the fact.

For several long minutes, the man and the doctor spoke to one another using words Nobori couldn’t comprehend.

“Can Dr. [?] take a look?” He eventually asked, gesturing to the spot Nobori had indicated.

Knowing better than to refuse, he bowed his head for easier access, and tried not to let his muscles tense up at the gloved fingers that investigated the scar. While the doctor investigated, the translator probed for more information.

“Do you know when you got this? Months ago? Years?”

An unhelpful part of Nobori wanted to point out that both of those could be measured in months, but he had no idea how he’d say that, even if he’d intended to do so. What he actually did was hold up two fingers and hope the point got across.

“Years ago?” The man asked, and he nodded. “How many?”

...how long had it been? He knew he’d seen a full turn of the seasons in the Coronet Highlands, but he’d spent a substantial amount of time under the Pearl Clan’s collective eye, too; he just didn’t know what season he’d started in, because the differences were so subtle in the Icelands, and he’d been horribly unaccustomed to the unrelenting cold.

He wasn’t sure how long he spent staring at his hands, lost to this train of thought, before the translator said, “That’s alright, we’ll say at least a year. If you allow the staff here to run some more tests, they might be able to tell you. Can they do that for you?”

Only halfway there, Nobori nodded. For several minutes, he drifted again, until the man called his other name. It took another few seconds to remember that that was him, and that he was supposed to respond.

“Did you come here from Unova? Could you point to home on a map?” The man asked, taking a completely different track. His eyes raked over Nobori with an uncomfortably familiar sort of pity.

Nobori gently shook his head to the first, and then cast a look about the room, searching for the map he’d left unfinished. He didn’t think he could find it on anyone else’s chart-- he didn’t know the other territories that well, and hadn’t visited them frequently enough to put them into a larger perspective-- but if they were referring to maps, his work had to be some small help, didn’t it?

Unseen in the midst of his bleary search, the other man blinked, taken aback.

“You didn’t come from Unova?” He asked, a note of urgency drawing Nobori’s attention.

Another [gentle] shake of the head. Part of Nobori wondered what that was about, but the rest was too upset about his missing map to afford it much more thought.

Again, the translator called his original name, and only continued when he had the scraps that passed for Nobori’s undivided attention. “Is there any way you can tell us where you were before you woke up here?”

Frustrated, Nobori nodded this time, and went back to looking for his map-- but, before he could get far at all, the other man cut back in.

“It’s okay! It’s okay. Why don’t we try this another time, when you’re feeling a little better? We’ll let the doctors see how they can help, and maybe it’ll be easier with a clear head, how about that?”

That wouldn’t help at all, but it seemed the question hadn’t actually been a question; the people around him moved on [swiftly], regardless of what his actual answer would have been. Nobori felt the dismissal for what it was, familiar with the way people turned their backs in favor of someone who could answer in kind. It wasn��t personal, he’d always tried to remind himself; it was just practical.

Without anything to hold his focus, Nobori found himself lapsing back into a mental fog.

---

As much as Nobori hated the film over his thoughts, it was somewhat useful for a while. He was distantly aware that he would have hated being handled as doctors and nurses conducted their tests, and that the scans would have been unbearable with [a clear head]-- but that knowledge floated an arm’s length away, just like everything else.

The translator kept stopping by to ask him questions, and though he was only semi-conscious at any given time, Nobori was horribly aware of the fact that he could barely offer any information. Oftentimes, the answer was too complicated to act out, and if that wasn’t the case, then he couldn’t condense his drifting thoughts down far enough, or simply didn’t know to begin with.

At some point, the people around him started using new words with his other name, and to his surprise, he knew all of them. Most were upended directly onto it: the first a title he dimly recognized-- the domain he was responsible for, though he couldn’t quite articulate what a subway was-- and another a secondary name that hadn’t survived the Icelands. He thought that was strange. Barring honorifics, the only people he’d met who had more than one name were from the village.

...was that strange, actually? He knew he wasn’t from the village, but even though the Pearl Clan had given him his name, he wasn’t theirs, either. Nobori thought that might make sense, now that he’d reflected on it; the villagers came from somewhere else, just like him.

The last was also a name, but he knew this one wasn’t his. In spite of the care he’d been taking to avoid sudden moves, his head snapped up the first time he’d heard it, and he’d begun to frantically search the room, as if its owner might have been lurking in the corners of his vision.

He hadn’t been there, of course. The room was small and sparse with nowhere to hide, unless one was a wayward map; it was obvious at a glance that there was no one else with him, but Nobori still felt his heart pang at the realization that he was alone, save for the nurse’s company.

For a few minutes, the sudden panic cut through everything else. Where was he, where was his--

--and then there was a Pokemon in his space. It was a Poliwhirl, he noted with a distant sort of detachment, as its markings began to turn.

The world went still and silent.

Nobori woke back up in stages. His hearing returned first-- a survival instinct he hadn’t managed to forget yet-- and then the hospital’s sharp antiseptic filtered in.

There was something else, he realized, that he couldn’t remember feeling ever before; it kept him calm and his heart steady, even when the rest of his senses proved reluctant to find him. He didn’t know how, but he did know that he was safe, even if he had no basis to think that.

Weak from fear and sedation, Nobori’s instincts trusted it. They welcomed it, even. Though he hadn’t even woken up yet, Nobori found himself exhausted-- so if someone was offering the kindness to watch out for him, to let him rest…

It wasn’t just his [weary] senses, he realized. That was the difference. Someone was there.

He forced an eye open and tried [desperately] to focus-- and when he did, something deep in his heart lurched to the surface.

With a sudden urgency-- on a wellspring of energy he hadn’t possessed seconds prior-- Nobori pushed himself upright using numb, shaking hands. That was him. That was the name’s owner, the person whose absence he’d become so acutely aware of, the person who--

“Ingo.” Whispered the man who shared his face.

That was Emmet. That was his brother.

The hands that reached out to meet him trembled too, like both of them were suffering the same debilitating [numbness], and even though his brain couldn’t make the connection to sensation when they touched, it still resonated.

With the rest of his senses suspended, Ingo found that finally, for the first time in years, he felt whole.

-------

Short of medical treatments, no one in the Pearl Clan had touched him as long as he’d stayed with them. Space and physical contact were concepts held in such high regard that they were only to be shared by one’s direct family, and even then, it was a privilege that could be revoked. As the foreign man whose origins were unknown, nobody had felt comfortable [sharing] their [space] with him. It was one of many, many things he’d been able to comprehend, but hadn’t understood.

Now, with a familiar, warm weight in his arms, Nobo—Ingo realized why physical touch was considered just shy of sacred. If it had been up to him, they would have stayed wrapped around each other indefinitely, and he felt the air flee his lungs in a [disappointed] wheeze when Emmet pulled back. His brother hadn’t let go-- had a hand clutching either one of Ingo’s arms, as if to keep him right where he had him-- but it wasn’t the closeness he’d only just realized he craved so desperately. He leaned back in, insistent, and Emmet temporarily abandoned whatever he’d been about to say in favor of a breathy laugh as he resumed his hold.

Ingo set his head down on his twin’s shoulder and felt himself relax-- wholly and voluntarily-- for the first time since he could remember.

A hand released him long enough to raise up and pet blindly through his hair.

“It’s been explained to me that you cannot speak.” Emmet said over his shoulder. It was completely level, betraying none of his deeper feelings, but, somehow, Ingo found that he could read the distress in it. “I’m sorry. That must be verrrry difficult on you.”

Unable to communicate by any other means-- not without letting go, a thought he refused to humor-- he lifted the opposite shoulder. It was inconvenient, but it was his life, and he did his best to work with what little he had.

“We will see what treatments might help. I will be your voice until then.” Emmet said, and then buried his face into his brother’s shoulder.

A single, breathy laugh escaped in response to the declaration. It was a nice idea, but Ingo wasn’t sure how viable that would be;

-----

[These are misc snippets without context]

[…] That was around the point Emmet noticed something of unprecedented importance. Ingo caught onto the interruption right away, head tilted minutely and hands already lifting, no doubt to ask after him, but Emmet was already in motion.

He caught his twin by either side of the face. “You’re smiling!”

It was a tiny, shallow thing, barely more than a twitch of the lips, but it couldn’t be called anything less than a smile. [more about how that’s been a struggle/insecurity]

“You were never able to do that, before.” He explained, for Ingo’s benefit. When the grace period was winding down, he let go, “We thought it was muscular. Maybe neurological instead? Can head trauma fix facial paralysis?”

He was still watching as the faint smile dimmed into confusion, and then a true frown. Sensing he’d said something wrong, he cocked his head, trying to elicit a response, but Ingo just looked away. When it became clear that his brother had no intention of pursuing the matter, Emmet took it up instead; he reached over and took a hand, leading it to signing height, and asked, “Was it the information itself, or that you just learned about it again?”

Ingo looked at him for several seconds and shook his head. He didn’t make any move to say what he was thinking and, in fact, dropped his hand back to his side. His line of sight wandered slightly thereafter, unable to maintain the eye contact out of… what? Disappointment? Awkwardness?

This time, Emmet didn’t physically move his twin’s hand; he reached out and brushed his fingertips down the back of it. “Please [talk to] me. I want to understand.”

It was abundantly clear that the only reason Ingo looked up was to sign properly as he said, “You’re saying I’ve always had brain damage?”

For moment, Emmet regretted asking-- not because he didn’t want to hear, but because he didn’t know how to answer. To give a definitive yes would only make his brother feel like he’d deserved the mistreatment brought on by his disability, but to say no would imply that he was different now and wrong for it-- never mind the fact that there wasn’t a foolproof answer, just the hypothesis Emmet had carelessly thrown out there.

[...]

“’Nobori’,” He echoed, and there was a twitch of the cheek that suggested he’d pronounced it incorrectly, but he had nothing for that. “Why? Does it mean something?”

Ingo hesitated for a fraction of a second, eyes flicking to the side in a way that suggested Emmet wouldn’t like the answer, and that he was very well aware of that fact. He had the [gall/nerve] to shake his head, a blatant lie that earned him a look of flat disbelief.

His twin sighed and relented, closing his eyes so he didn’t have to see a reaction as he signed, “Upside-down, for my [counterintuitive] instincts.”

Of course. Of course even the name he’d been saddled with was a reminder that he was wrong. A complete inability to communicate, an incompatible worldview and insufficient [instincts]. Dragons above, how had he survived it all? Not only the inhospitable landscape that he’d had no [reference] to [survive], but being reminded at every turn that he didn’t belong.

[leggerefiore]

👀👀👀 Could we get some Colress nsfw hcs please and thank you. 🙏🙏🙏

🛸Colress NSFW HCs🥼

cw: 18+ content, Minors DNI

🧪 He does actually have a pretty normal sex drive. The thing is, he doesn't really like to make the time to indulge himself in that way. It's a part of him, yes, but there are many other things he would rather be doing than having to figure out how to get himself off. When you enter his life, he becomes aware that it likely will have to change. Not that it bothers him that much, admittedly.

🧪 He has no personal preference to topping or bottoming, but you'll find him viewing sex in an interesting manner no matter what. Sex is more of an experience he wants to document. Everything from the changes it may bring in your relationship to how it simply makes you both aware of things about each other. If he's bottoming, he'll murmur to himself about everything happening and make notes to himself. It's a bit strange, but it does eventually tether out into him moaning and grabbing at the sheets desperately. Science mind has turned off for now.

🧪 When he's on top, things are a bit similar, with him muttering observations to himself. Though, when he finds a sensitive area on you, you may find he lightly teases you about it while messing with it more. That spot has committed to his memory completely. Any and every erogenous area is abused by him as he works to set you off into climax. He's fascinated by your body's reaction. Even as his brain chugging through thoughts while he thrust into you, he's still careful to observe you. This is a special kind of private research for him.

🧪 Really, really into sex toys. He's making his own new ones constantly and using them on you. He has made a sex machine, likely just to document your reactions more as a third party. There's nothing he enjoys more than watching you fall apart on the vibrating dildo he made for you himself. You will often find yourself having at least one involved during sex with him, as he just enjoys amplifying the feeling to the best of his abilities. The toys come extra handy when he goes away for a while on research, too.

🧪 Another kink he quite enjoys is a bit a lab role-play. He does admit there was a bit of a high being among the top rank of Team Plasma at a time. Authority isn't typically thrown around in your relations, but it does come up during these sessions. Colress falls into a role of a researcher wanting to do more research into sex stimulation, which results in many of the aforementioned toys being involved alongside him driving you crazy with just his fingers. It's one of his favourite scenarios to mess around with, and he does actually collect information.

🧪 His oral sex is interesting, to say the least. It's wonderful, don't misunderstand. All his memorisation of your sensitive spots come together as he lies between your legs. His mind is rushing with your stunning reactions and how much your flavour sets him off. He focuses entirely on getting you off. Colress desperately needs to see more of your reactions. It also becomes a game for him. He wants to see how quickly he can bring you to orgasm and how easily. As for receiving, he becomes surprisingly flustered quite easily. Anything you do to his cock leaves him a moaning mess as he begs you for more. It's quite different from how he treats you.

🧪 If you would like to try something with him, you'll have it thoroughly vetted. There are certain things he simply has no interest in doing, and others he would gladly engage with. Do you want to bind and gag him? Sure, he'll let you go a round. He wants to do something similar to you, too. Something like choking? He's not a fan of that. Physically touching you like kills his mood quickly. Just ask him before trying anything and see how he feels about it.

🧪 His dirty talk is odd. He'll compliment how your body tenses or the way your face twists and accent it with a kiss. Your features themselves are complimented and teased by him. Sometimes, he praises your body like it is the most interesting thing he has ever seen. Colress does always find something to say, and it varies from weirdly hot to a bit of a mood killer. He may also start explaining the physical processes your body is doing throughout, which can definitely kill the mood or be weirdly hot depending on your mood. The best things he does say, though, are about your bond with him. Sex is a bonding activity with you in the foremost of his mind.

🧪 His aftercare is analytical yet caring. He almost does a miniature checkup on you before offering water and a bath. Colress may even try to hold the water to your lips for you. He'll entirely forget cuddling unless you bring it up, which he then eagerly holds you. The scientist knows it's an important bonding ritual, so he doesn't dare ignore your request. And, he'll admit, he does quite enjoy it himself. Eventually, you both do settle down after it and admit you are a bit tired from all the sex you just had. Colress notes that you are often the one asleep first, so he takes his time observing your post-coital reactions. A light kiss comes to your cheek from him before he realises just how exhausted he is himself. You both comfortably fall asleep against each other.

[throughtheswamp]

Fall 1 - Morning ☼ Ruins of the Fallen Soldiers

The morning was chilly. Fall was settling over the Swamp and giving the good people there a reprieve from the humid heat of summer. Nyssa's morning began slow, and after her morning coffee, she gathered up her supplies and set out for the day.

Today, Nyssa would visit the Ruins. She had not been there since Mother had departed and she wondered if it was still barren of spirits and if the barrier between this world and the next was still calloused over with inky black magic.

Nyssa arrived to find the ruins much as it had been the last time she'd come; the marshy land was an off-putting gray, and each step through the ruins was one of risk, with the remains of the weaponry and armor of those that fell there occasionally poking through the mud and making themselves dangerous obstacles.

Nyssa was careful, remaining on the paths that Mother taught her, heading across to the area she knew best in order to listen to the whispers of those who once fought there.

On her way, a strange object poked out of the pathway. Unlike many of the other things embedded in the mud, this still held a sheen, promising a reflective surface if only the grime and moss were wiped away.

Nyssa picked up the object, holding it between two fingers and inspecting it. Whatever the object was, it was sharp and it sliced neatly into Nyssa's palm. She let out a loud yelp of pain, dropping the object back into the muck.

Nyssa wiped away at her wound, grabbing her water bottle and pouring fresh, cool water over the gash in her hand.

From a distance, Nyssa heard a clean accent cut through the morning fog.

"Is all alright over there?"

It was Merle, she recognized, and from behind a tree, the thin old man made his way over quickly.

"I'm fine, Mister Merle, just a little cut is all," Nyssa reassured as she wrapped her hand in a handkerchief and went to more carefully pick the object back up.

"Found yourself a nasty cut, I see," Merle commented with a playful tone as he too inspected the object in Nyssa's hand.

"Any idea what this could be?" Nyssa asked, holding the object out.

"No idea, there, missy!" Merle grinned, wagging his finger. "But I reckon you can figure that out."

"I think I'll take it home and research it some more. I'm not sure if it belongs here or not—it doesn't fit in with any of the other items I've seen here before." Nyssa commented, going to stick the object in her bag.

At this, Merle seemed to blanch, shaking his head at Nyssa. "You would take away from the ruins, missy? I thought your mother taught you better!"

"Oh." Nyssa hesitated, Merle's disapproval cutting as deep as the object had her palm.

"Now, I understand you want to find out what it is, but you'll just have to do your research here." Despite his disapproval, Merle reached into his back pocket. "I'll lend you this—it's a log of all the items found here before. Check it thoroughly!—if you find it in there, add the information to the log. If not, well, head to the end of the book and add in a new entry—and don't muck it up!"

Merle gave her one last stern look before folding his hands behind his back and meandering back the way he came.

Nyssa, heading Merle's words, found a comfortable and safe spot to sit and opened the little field notes to look for the item she found.

After about an hour of scouring the notes and carefully inspecting the item, Nyssa found it in the journal. It appeared to be an old-fashioned rocking knife, made of a strange metal that didn't seem to rust. The notes in the book said that they were a popular tool among the camp cooks at the time, as it was a job often handed down to those who had previously sustained an injury in battle and it was easier on their bodies to use.

Nyssa added neat notes to the end of the section on the knife.

Despite Merle's warning, she slipped the knife into her bag, keeping the book in hand as she went to find Merle to give it back.

Rolls & Stats

Components: 4 Location: 19. Archeological Site - Ruins of the Fallen Soldiers - Interaction Success: 1. Terribly Neighbor: 10. Human who runs a Location - Merle - Additional roll for Location: 15. Makeshift Shrine - Name TBD - Interaction Success: 1. Terribly Item: 12. Item you're unsure what it's for Event: 9. Someone lends you a book

Next

Diary Entries

[dreadlord-mr-son]

Dracula Daily | May 7th

My poor constitution and fits of sleeplessness continue to leave me with little energy to respond to my dear friend's letter in a timely fashion. And still, I cannot simply ignore Jonathan's correspondence. So I am rallying as best I can here to read the latest two letters that have reached me.

It seems in the light of the day -- even if it is already coming on to evening when he awakes -- my dear friend is feeling much better after his strange fight of the night before.

Awakening in such a rich and quiet space is surely quite relaxing after a long and stressful journey.

The lack of mirrors seems odd. Surely they're not to great an expense for a Count to populate his castle with? Possibly they're very delicate to transport through the winding and rough mountain roads? But I can't imagine that being such an obstacle as to completely prevent them from reaching that place. So there must be some other reason the Count has decided not to display any. Perhaps some anxiety, or superstition of the area? If Jonathan learns the answer, I'm sure he will share if it's not too personal.

It brings a smile to the face, to think of my friend's joy seeing that the Count had some interest in English Law. To get to know a person and discover they share some interest that is dear to your heart? It is a pleasure with no match.

I feel almost... sad? Hearing that the Count wishes to ease his language to sound so thoroughly English that no one would take note of him. I find something lovely in hearing that bit of accent to a person's speaking. While not every accent lands comfortingly on my ears, to cause all accent to vanish feels like it takes away some of the color of speech. I suppose it is the Count's choice, but to me, it feels a loss.

The contrast between the way my friend describes the Count's actions, and the Counts own words, seems odd. Jonathan speaks as if the Count is bounding with energy and excitement. Almost as a child looking forward to a treat he's been promised all year. Yet the Count speaks of himself as if he is worn thin by the years. A murky and gloomy individual. Surely the Count knows himself best, but I would not call my friend an unobservant fellow. Perhaps it could be ascribed to cultural differences, but if the Count sees himself as so aged and taken by weary years... where does the energy my friend describes spring from?

=== === ===

"I long to go through the crowded streets of your mighty London, to be in the midst of the whirl and rush of humanity, to share its life, its change, its death, and all that makes it what it is."

I can't really imagine at this point that Dracula isn't talking like this on purpose.

To share its life and its death, indeed.

Playing with his food.

---

"I am content if I am like the rest, so that no man stops if he see me, or pause in his speaking if he hear my words, 'Ha, ha! a stranger!' "

Dracula: I want to raise my Speech level to 100 and synergize it with my stealth, so I can slip around without anyone paying notice.

---

"The Count smiled, and as his lips ran back over his gums, the long, sharp, canine teeth showed out strangely"

It's interesting, trying to view this story from the angle of *not knowing* that Dracula is a vampire.

Vampires were invoked earlier. And Werewolves. And the devil. And witches. And the wolves keep howling. And the Count first appeared on the night that all evil spirits have 'unchecked sway'. And Jon keeps observing these sinister-seeming, inhuman traits...

We're clearly supposed to know the Count is *a* monster, just not what kind. In this tense state where we can SEE the threat coming, but not what shape the threat takes. The dual anxieties of uncertainly, and impending doom.

The readers of the day surely felt that creeping dread.

---

"Whilst I was placing them in order I heard a rattling of china and silver in the next room,"

Okay and conversely to the horror mentioned above, Dracula turns into an absolute comedy once you're familiar with it. XD

Dracula hurriedly clearing the silverware away and then throwing himself onto the sofa with whichever book was easiest to grab.

[damnedserenity]

My most favourite character in the female fighter au of all time Empress Wu Zetian has arrived

Intro, R1, R3, R4

In history

•She is the only female emperor of China and the path was definitely paved with blood

•Her reign lasted 15 years and she rose from commoner to concubine to emperess and then emperor regent

•She was a ruthless rular to the nobles and used religion to her advantage while also being a brilliant tactician and I may sound like I am simping but I am being real

•She is allegedly said fo have killed her own infant daughter to frame a fellow concubine just to show how far she was willing to go

In ror

Oh boy

•The fight starts with her going on one knee and once again embarrassing poor Alvitr.

"I'll be in your care then! Please take good care of me!"

•Afterwards she take a good look of her opponent and exclaims "Youe coat looks nice" Hades' thinks this is some weied attempt to gain favor or throw him off guard so to establish dominance in response he drops off his coat and takes on a fighting stance.

•Their fight is long winded with both side unrelenting I won't go in specifics as I am still developing this au but expect some additions (ofc if anyone wants I'll answer any questions on this fight)

•They have a conversation mid battle about how much of a throne is "earned" with hints towards Wu Zetian's backstory. She expresses her ire towards the gods stating that beings who think themselves inherently superior, rarely are which prompts Hades' to aks if she considers herself inferior

•In a scene where Hades' has delivered a truly deadly combination of blows that even his blood has been reduced to steam covering the arena in a fight that seems to have ended Heimdall's voice rings and he looks back to find Wu Zetian alive and aiming directly for his neck, her body thoroughly covered in the rising steam even if he was sure she was dead a few feet away from him

•Turns out she had removed her clothing and some of her hair to give the illusion of a body. She was however fighting mostly naked now covered on blood.

•Her backstory includes being the low ranking concubine of Emperor Gaozong and on the path to become a Buddhist nun ofter death. However she caught the eye of the crown prince and was saved into his harem instead where determined to not be as hopeless as she was and motivated by the strange (now) Emperor she climbed the ranks through manipulation, bribery and threats

•She did manage to be who she is after only having to kill her daughter, husband and son/heir altho the last was in self defense as he tried a coup against her and with having taken opium to help her exhaustion her clouded mind jumped on reflex and ended up killing her son. This led her to spiral even more behind the scenes of he rcourt and die with alcohol and drug overdose

•"Is it a ruler from birth who is meant to rule or one who made themselves one? Neither. It is one who can claim the throne, and keep it ."

•Just before a final blow could be dealt on Hades' We Zetian tells him to surrender and live having grown repsect for him through their fight but even before asking she already knew the answer and is not suprised when he laughs at her face. He then tells her to not take the fight personally and bids her farewell.

•After the fight she takes his coat and wears it walking away. She stops mid way from her retreat only to turn and look at the gods side of the arena specifically the greeks' and flips them off before continuing, after leaving the arena on her way to the med bay she laments how a pretty face like Hades' was wasted on a dumb mind

•She is well built but more on the skinnier side, she wears traditional chinese makeup with huadian on the forehead, ends of her lips and cheekbones, she also has red connaber lining her eyes and colouring her lips

•Similar to Qin shi Huang she has red and black tattoos that cover her neck and both her arms down fo her fingers.

•Her Volund is a Shuangyue with gold accents

•She is a very eccentric person similar to her og counterpart, however she can be very driven and seems to be verging on a breakdown sooner or later which sets people off.

•She meets Hermes and Area by skipping over the balcony window to sit on the railing for the view during the last moments of the previous round, only to be dissapointed when the fight ended only 2 minutes after her arrival.

Ragnarok AU Round 7 Winner: Wu Zetian

[aletheialed]

It's the first time Barok has heard Kazuma speak.

And it's difficult not to recoil at the question. Hearing such a raw, raspy voice from his apprentice's lips... it's not unsettling, but the faint hint of an accent that's awfully familiar is, and there's something even underneath all that that has Barok feeling on edge.

It's not a feeling he can make sense of... but it's thoroughly unpleasant, and for a moment, it feels as if his sins have come back to haunt him. Which is a ridiculous thought. There may indeed come a time when Barok must receive punishment, for all that he has done and all that he has failed to do, but... why would it be at the hands of this man? No, he can't accept that his fate would come from the hands of a loathsome Nipponese.

...But there's also the question his apprentice asked, that strangely, he doesn't know how to respond to immediately. Because... in Barok's experience, everyone has always known what it means for him to be the Reaper. The people of London look at him with fear and scorn in equal balance, and Barok can't deny that it's a painful, lonely existence - but never one he's had to explain to another before. The Reaper is a shadow he can't escape. He's used to accusations, both spoken and unspoken, but a question like this... why does it feel different?

"Did Stronghart not tell you?" he asks, first. He feels no need to scold his apprentice for speaking and breaking Stronghart's orders - as much as he's sure that Stronghart must have his reasons, Barok's sure that he must've also known that this particular command of his could ever last.

"The Reaper is... a title. One given to me a long time ago." Unconsciously, his hand drifts to his badge, and he clutches it gently. "Are you familiar with the history of the defendants whose trials I prosecuted? Particularly, those who escaped justice through their own conniving schemes."

@howthesleeplesswander ( continued from here! )

[somnambulent-directives]

Sophie blinked hard, trying to wake herself up. As if becoming an old woman isn't bad enough, she thought to herself. Now I have to deal with this nonsense? This must be a nightmare. The nonsense was unfortunately quite real, and it took the form of a strange, small room filled with odd objects and dim lights. The most attention-grabbing thing in the room was the muffled music flowing from a closed door. Sophie strained her ear and could just barely pick out some of the words. "...how do you feel right after all? I'd like for you and I to go romancing, say the word, your wish is my command…" Two voices sang in unison; one was very refined, if a bit raspy, and the other was—well, if Sophie was quite honest with herself, it was horrible. It sounded squeaky, out of tune, and altogether overblown. Suddenly the second voice began making even worse noises, as if it was attempting to mimic the strange, grating instrument that accompanied the singing. Sophie decided that the door must lead to some sort of concert hall. She had never been to one herself, but she had heard tales of accomplished musicians playing on the grand stage in Kingsbury. How this musician ended up making it to a stage, she had no idea.

Before Sophie had time to marvel at the oddities littering the room, the door swung open. The music was suddenly much louder, but instead of a concert hall like Sophie had expected, the door seemed to lead into a white room that was even smaller than the one she was standing in. Not that she noticed this, however, because she was too busy being horrified at the sight of what was in the doorway. It was a tall, brawny man who was wearing nothing but a frayed, stained towel and looking quite as horrified as Sophie was herself. His singing (as he appeared to have been the source of the awful second voice) ceased immediately, but all of the other musicians played on.

The man shouted a word that Sophie had never even dared to use herself, then spoke in a frantic and angry manner. "That's it, I'm reporting this to the dean! It's an invasion of privacy, I tell you! A downright invasion! I'm tired of your lot assuming you can walk in and do whatever you please whenever you please!" The man spoke in a strange accent that Sophie had never heard before, his dripping blond hair quivering with every wild word that spat from his mouth. Sophie's own mouth opened and closed several times, but she was at a loss for what to say. Finally, she settled on "calm down." This was a mistake. The man's eyes bulged so large that Sophie imagined they were about to pop out of his red face. The imagery led her to giggle. This was another mistake.

"You'll lose your job! I'll be sure of it!" He cried with a passionate gesture.

"I'm not sure what job you refer to; I seem to find myself unemployed as of late. But I shall be sure to pass the message on to any future employers."

The man attempted to say something else, but no words came out of his flapping mouth. The only sound that did escape was a flabbergasted whimper as his (heretofore wildly moving) arms fell limp to his sides.

"You're not from the housekeeping department?" He finally managed to squeak out defeatedly.

"Not the last I checked." Sophie found she was surprisingly calm in this situation. Perhaps it was that she still wasn't totally convinced it was real, or it could have been that being old made her not care about situations that would have sent her younger-looking self into a panic.

"How did you get into my dormitory? And why?" A mortified expression passed onto his face. "Bloody hell, you're someone's mother come to visit, aren't you? I'm terribly sorry, but you have the wrong room…as I'm sure you've ascertained by now."

"No, I'm not that either," Sophie scoffed. "I'm just…well, I'm just a woman."

"Fine." He was thoroughly exasperated by now. "Why are you here?"

"I'm really not sure." Sophie looked around the strange room. "Some sort of magic, I suppose."

"Magic?" The man's eyes widened again and his stance stiffened. "Well, I suppose this must be the right place, then…but do be warned that I'm not really…practicing at the moment. I think I can figure out a spell or two, though."

Now it was Sophie's turn to be baffled. "No, I mean magic brought me here. I needed to escape, I started running, I stumbled, and then I was…here."

"Oh." His expression moved through concern, shock, and finally settled on awe. In that moment, he seemed to remember the state he was in and his face became red, this time with embarrassment rather than anger. "Please, pardon me for a moment." he began to rifle through piles of clothing on the floor, nervously glancing at Sophie every few seconds. Sophie avoided looking at him entirely, worried that the towel would shift. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him gather up a few loose clothes in his arms and bow his head apologetically before disappearing into the small white room, shutting the door behind him and muffling the music once more. I don't think this is a dream, Sophie lamented internally. I'm not that lucky.

AU where Howl never finds his way to Ingary but Sophie is so desperate to escape after being cursed into an old woman that she accidentally talks a portal to his dorm room into existence

[azzys-secret-kink-blog]

Abduction

CW: tmpreg, impregnation, alien pregnancy, birth

WC:

Jesse awoke in a strange, unfamiliar room. There were bright white lights in the ceiling that had an ever so slight greenish hue to them. Glowing green markings covered the black tile walls and the floor appeared to be made out of the same black tile. He looked down and saw that he was on a sort of hospital-bed-like apparatus in the middle of the room. His wrists, ankles, and chest all had straps anchoring him to the bed. They were tight, but no so much that it was uncomfortable. The room was fairly warm, a relief, as Jesse was completely naked save for his boxers.

He sat there for a few minutes before he heard a whirring and a portion of the wall slid open and a person walked in. Well, not a person exactly. They were about six feet tall and vaguely humanoid, but that's where the similarities ended.

The being had bluish-green skin, five eyes on its head, and a large v-shaped mouth. Tentacle-like strands hung from their head like hair. They had a wide chest and muscular frame, but instead of hands they appeared to have a myriad of tentacles branching off from their forearms. They wore black clothing with green accents, a uniform maybe, and held a glowing tablet in one of their tentacle-hands.

A similarly tentacled tail reached around from behind them and tucked the tablet into a pocket in the back of their shirt. They walked up to Jesse and stared into their face with an almost curious look. Their eyes were a bright yellow with green slit pupils. Their lips parted ever so slightly to reveal gleaming sharp teeth, at which point Jesse began to panic. He had been fascinated at first, thought that maybe he was dreaming even, but now having seen this thing's teeth, he was afraid they were going to eat him. The being shut their mouth after seeing his reaction, and said something that sounded soft and reassuring, thought Jesse couldn't have been entirely sure, as the language was as unfamiliar as the room. The being walked around to the foot of the bed and undid the straps on Jesse's ankles and wrists, but left the one on his chest. He wondered what they would do to him. Would they eat him? Experiment on him? . . .

. . . Breed him?

The being worked off Jesse's boxers, much to his surprise, but he didn't want to resist. Once they had them off, they spread his legs and used one tentacle to gently stroke his inner thigh, working their way up to his dripping pussy. Once he was nice and wet, they gently pushed in a tentacle, exploring his hole thoroughly, Jesse moaning softly all the while, until it reached his cervix. It pushed in a few more tentacles and a thin one forced itself into his womb. It hurt for a second, but the pain subsided quickly and Jesse felt nothing but pleasure as the being probed deeper into his womb.

After a few minutes of them feeling around gently, they pulled their tentacles out of him, amd he looked up whimpering, begging the creature for more of their gentle touch. They stood and began to work their pants, opening a flap to reveal a long, prehensile tentacle below their waist that Jesse figured must have been a penis. The being climbed onto the table over him and gently put their dick into his pussy. They thrust slowly into him as he moaned in pleasure. A long yellow tongue slithered out of their mouth and into Jesse's, kissing him as they tenderly fucked him. Jesse came again and again as the being sped up, and for over an hour they fucked him silly, until finally the being came, releasing gushes of warm fluid into Jesse's aching womb. It spilled out of him, and the creature looked pleased with their work, until another look came over their face. Jesse couldn't quite figure out what this look was until he felt their dick shift as something pushed his hole a little wider. A round object plopped into his womb, but the bliss he felt took up more space than the concern for his growing belly.

The creature pumped egg after egg into him, until he couldn't hold any more in his distended belly. The creature dismounted him, a jet of fluid escaping Jesse's pussy. The being tucked away their dick and pulled out the tablet once again. Jesse was a big as someone six months pregnant, though his belly was somewhat lumpy and shifted with every move as the dozens of eggs inside slid against his walls and each other. He rubbed his belly, feeling the eggs inside, each about the size of a chicken egg.

The being rubbed his pregnant belly along with him, a soft smile on their face, as they tapped away at their tablet. From their back pocket they pulled a syringe full of orange liquid and poked it into Jesse's belly. He winced slightly, but he was used to needles, so he didn't really mind. As soon as the liquid was injected, he felt the eggs shift inside him again. The being disposed of the needle somewhere under the bed and put away the tablet again, using both hands to stroke Jesse's swollen belly. The feeling of the plethora of tentacles rubbing him so gently was soothing to him, and he almost fell asleep right there, if only something hadn't started in his womb.

He felt the eggs begin to expand inside him, his belly inching outward slowly. The being seemed excited, their eyes wide and focused on the growing belly before them. The eggs stretched Jesse's belly even further than he thought possible, until he looked well overdue, possibly with twins. He groaned as his belly surged forward and he felt the eggs inside shake. They were now about the size of baseballs.

Finally the eggs seemed to stop growing and Jesse breathed a sigh of relief. The expansion had felt absolutely amazing, but he wasn't sure how much more his poor belly could take. The eggs kept shifting and shaking, until he heard a crack inside of him. The creature, tentacled hands still on his belly, looked about ready to jump for joy at hearing the crack inside Jesse's belly. They looked on in awe as more cracks began, and the eggs inside of him hatched one by one.

Once all the eggs had hatched, the babies inside him began to squirm and writhe violently, and the creature let out a little squeal. The movement made Jesse dripping wet once again as he imagined all the babies inside him, and the alien creature that had put them there. He moaned as they kicked inside him, making his skin jump as it struggled to stretch over the squirming spawn in his womb. The being pulled a bin out from under the bed and placed it near Jesse's feet.

Suddenly, Jesse felt a tightness flash through his massive belly. But he wasn't ready to give birth yet, he was still enjoying the babies moving inside him!

Unfortunately the babies weren't having as much fun as he was, and they began kicking even harder as another contraction hit him. He had no water to break, but if he did, it would have broken by now. He felt his cervix widen as the being positioned themselves between his legs, ready to catch the babies once they emerged from his birth canal.

The first baby exited his womb, and Jesse cried out in pleasure as it spread him. Another quickly followed as the first one plopped out of his gaping pussy and into the tentacles of the creature. The baby had a body similar to that of a human baby, pudgy and round, but much smaller, and had tentacles and a tail just like its alien parent. They placed it gingerly into the bin as Jesse pushed out the next wriggling baby, and the next, and the next.

He labored and pushed for hours, cumming over and over as he gave birth to the alien spawn. It would slow down at times and give him a break from pushing, at which point he would whimper and rub his loosened pussy, begging for more.

Eventually, after giving birth to nearly fifty alien babies, the last one was placed into the bin as the creature that had sired them beamed. Jesse laid there in bliss for a moment before the being tapped him on the shoulder and held up the bin. All of the babies were inside, crawling around and climbing over each other as they wriggled and cooed. A tear fell from Jesse's eye. He had made those babies inside of him, and enjoyed every minute of it.

The being then took them out of the room, much to Jesse's disappointment, and returned a moment later with a robe, and undid the chest strap that held Jesse to the table. They handed him his boxers and helped him get into the robe. His body appeared to have completely recovered from the alien pregnancy, not even a stretch mark on his previously massive belly.

The being took him to another room, passing by a glass wall where the babies were being taken care of by machines, being washed and dressed in similar black clothes to the being that they came from, albeit much smaller. They guided him past the room after a few minutes of gazing at their babies and into another room with a disk in the middle of the floor. There was what looked to be a control panel in front of it, and the being motioned for Jesse to step onto the disk. He did, and a glow surrounded him, and the creature waved as he felt a rush of air and a strange sensation all over his body.

He blacked out, and woke up in his bed once again, with only the memory of his alien children and the being that had put them inside him.

He hoped that one day, they would take him again. And maybe this time they would keep him.

[supernatural-bias]

━"Hitting It Off"

━Tw: None!

━Notes: I had an idea, didn't want to wait for anyone to write it, so here we are.

━Song: "Call Me Little Sunshine" By Ghost

You would never get tired of this.

Places like this is where you thrived. Being able to toss aside all your thoughts about unpaid bills and the empty contents of your fridge. Instead the only things you were able to focus on was the music bleeding into your eardrums.

Bright neon lights shone above, some directly down onto the band playing their heart out on a stage somewhere a couple yards from you. To your delight this place had always differed from the so called "new" and "sexy" clubs that littered cities everywhere nowadays. You would take a live band over stripper poles anyday, as would the surrounding people pressed against your sides.

This pub had been your rock ever since moving to England. Being dropped off in a strange place filled with cold weather and people that couldn't give a shit about you was a bit disheartening to say the least. But the moment you had stepped foot into this place all those months ago, you had known things would solve themselves out. You'd always been drawn to grunge style pubs like these anyways.

Shuffling slightly through the pit of metal heads that were thoroughly enjoying themselves, you made your way with a smile to the bar. A large mahogany counter made a small c shape in the back corner, a lot of the seats empty in favor for everyone dancing their way onto the main floor behind you. In fact only one other person was sitting at the table top.

From behind all you could see was his tall figure. Leather jacket resting on their shoulders and a flannel wrapped around their torso. A head of brown hair barely helped to conceal the black earrings that sat snugly in his earlobes, along with what you assumed to be the begnings of a black tattoo peaking out from the cuff of his sleeve.

You carefully took your place an odd few seats away from him, trying not to seem like a creep while still observing them.

He seemed nice enough. Just sitting there swirling around his glass of wiskey, feet tapping to the beat of the band playing. Simply enjoying himself and occasionally doodling on a napkin below his grip with a distant smile.

"Ya gonna talk ta me or jus' keep starin?"

It wasn't uncommon in this part of England for you to come in contact with multiple types of accents. British, Scottish, American-

But you havnt had the chance to hear a lot of Irish ones. Maybe that was the reason you scooted a bit closer to him after your inital startle; or at least that what you told yourself.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to stare. It's just that I don't normally see any other quiet types in this place." You offered your hands out while speaking, one for him to shake and the other to order your usual from the bartender currently playing what sounded like candy crush on his phone.

The stranger chuckled and took your hand in his. It was then that you got a good look of him. Normal grunge style, nothing much that you didnt already expect. Pierced ears, leather attire, a band shirt. (you think it real TOOL although you weren't sure in such lame lighting) Just the usual.

Expect for the fact that he had one green eye and one blue.

"S okay. Ya didn look like ya meant any harm anyways."

Practically preening at his warm grip and infectious smile, you laughed back. His multicolored eyes had thrown you off initially, but who were you to judge. You were a grown ass adult living off Ramen and microwavable meals. You had seen cockroaches stranger than this if anything.

"Yeah sorry again." Another chuckle and deflection of your apology, the guy claiming there was no need to. "Names (Y/n). What about you?"

At the question his grip tensed a bit before loosening. It happened so quick you would have missed it any other day.

"Just call me Jack." He sent you a toothy grin. His expression helped to ease your split second worry anyways, so who were you to complain. The bartender chose that exact moment to come back with your drink, offering a nod to the both of you before setting off to the other side of the bar.

"So-" Jack dropped your hand. "-wanna tell me a bit about yourself?"

At his words, the emerald hue in his left eye brightened significantly, as well as his canines sharpening and elongation slightly. But you were so blinded with the premise of a new friend that you completely missed it.

"Sure Jack. I'd love to."

Basically Anti lives in Jack's body and he can't control when the demon comes in and out. Jack had gone to the pub for some relaxation and met you. The both of them took and interest in you in different ways, Jack hoping to make a friends and Anti a victim. You can decide what happened next.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

day 1: "bound"

Essek cannot, in honesty, say that he is paying attentiong to anything being said right now. He should be—this is his trial, after all, his death sentence, the axe finally starting to fall—but he isn’t. He’s made his confession, did all he could to exonerate anyone who might be caught in the crossfire, offered the names of his co-conspirators. There is no defense to offer that the Bright Queen would consider worth hearing.

Indeed, laying it all out again has reminded Essek that I am a selfish and overcurious man, and thought nothing of it is not exactly an exculpatory defense, even if she did hear it.

So, Essek feels that his involvement here is complete, is the truth. All he has left to do at this trial is still be sitting bound and compliant in the accused’s seat when they sentence him to die, and he can do that without listening.

On a strictly professional level, he finds that he’s impressed with the efficiency of his arrest. He estimates that it’s probably no later than five hours past noon. He was called to an emergency meeting at the palace perhaps six hours ago. In that time, he has been accused of treason, thoroughly countered in an escape attempt, stripped of all spell components or possible weapons, and brought to the throne room to face the Bright Queen’s justice. Quana Kryn, the Dusk Captain of so many lifetimes, is no fool—she did all her work in secret, and only arranged for his arrest when she was sure that her case was beyond reproach.

She did her work well, Essek is obliged to admit, if only in the privacy of his own thoughts. And anything that she didn’t already know, he told them himself, under the strongest truth magic the clerics of the Luxon could muster. He had worked alone, after all. His confession meant that Verin, that the Nein, could walk free, and he freely admitted as much when his willingness to talk became the subject of question.

The Bright Queen had given him a look of cool, weary disappointment, and remarked that it was a shame he had come to loyalty so late. He had said frankly that he agreed, and that was the last they had asked of him.

And since then, he hasn’t been listening.

Instead, he is thinking. Not about magic, nor even really about saving himself. Essek has been living on borrowed time since the moment he walked out with a Beacon in hand, and he’s known it. He wants to live, but this feels—inevitable. This feels like it’s already over, and Essek is only dreaming this trial, these chains, and this sentence. So his mind wanders, and he’s surprised to find that there are more fond places in his memory than others, these days.

He’s thinking about the new cat that Caleb recently adopted, a scrawny gray-and-black kitten that Caleb coaxed with scraps for a week until it trusted him enough to be touched and taken inside off the street.

He’s thinking about how Caleb promised Luc that he could name it, next time the Brenattos visited Rexxentrum.

He’s thinking about Fjord and Jester making port in Nicodranas in a month, and Beau breaking into their study to sit on Caleb’s desk with Urana, the dainty black cat Essek brought Caleb two years ago, in her lap, just to tell them that they were going to teleport everyone to the Chateau for dinner.

He’s thinking about sunlight, strangely, and the way it glows on Caleb’s hair, makes the freckles on his eternally windburned cheeks bright on his skin, turns his blue eyes piercing and warm. Sunlight speaks with a Zemnian accent, in Essek’s life, and he might be the first drow in a long time to wish he was going to see it again before he dies.

Essek is so absorbed in his own thoughts, in refusing to listen to the voices deciding on the method of his death in favor of the memories of other voices, full of joy and exasperation and playful outrage and affection, that at first he assumes he’s imagining the words in his ear.

“Heeeeeeey, Essek, it’s me,” Jester chirps, and he can picture her sitting on the rail of the ship, kicking her feet and making Fjord count for her. “Just wanted to say hi, ummmm, we saw a whale yesterday that could have swallowed us whole! Let me know how—”

Essek almost curses himself aloud for not having thought of this.

Jester doesn’t Send to him every day, not all the time. Maybe one in three, on average. Sometimes she’ll go a week without Sending at all, and other times—usually when they’re becalmed somewhere and she’s bored—he’ll get three messages a day. She’s charmingly blasé about relative times, between the Lucidian and their landbound homes, or at least, Essek reminds himself that it’s charming when she wakes him up from a deep sleep. He had no way of knowing that she would Send to him here, now, and now she has, and he has no idea what to do.

Essek needs to answer her, though.

The reality of his situation—it doesn’t set in, all at once, abruptly. He’s been well aware of the reality of his situation for some time now. But the reality of this aspect, this unforeseen complication, comes home immediately.

If Essek doesn’t answer her, Jester will assume something is wrong. If she assumes something is wrong, she will either hammer him with Sendings until he responds, or, more likely, go directly to Caleb and demand his help in reaching Essek. He loves his friends desperately, but they have never encountered the idea of a half-measure, and he doubts the feeble protection offered by his confession will keep them from being apprehended as traitors if they actually come and try to rescue him.

If Essek had more time to think, he might take a moment to bask in the warmth of being a person whose friends might try to rescue him. But he doesn’t have time, and he doesn’t have the luxury of letting this slide.

He can’t risk them.

Essek raises both his bound hands and scratches at his brow, hiding his mouth.

“I’m sorry, Jester, I’m in a meeting,” he murmurs, so quietly he can barely hear himself. He keeps his voice as calm and matter-of-fact as possible, just like the times when she really has interrupted a council meeting or the like. “I may be quite busy for a week or so. I will Send to you when I can.”

There’s a pause, and then her voice comes back, dramatically forlorn.

“But Essek, we miss youuuuu,” she whines, and then bursts into giggles. “We really do! Send when you have time, and stay out of trouble! Love you!” She pauses again, and then hums tunelessly until the spell runs out.

“Essek Thelyss,” the Bright Queen says, her voice ringing across the throne room like struck crystal. “Rise, and receive your judgement.”

“I will,” Essek whispers, and then lowers his hands, and stands to face his sentence.