#that’s his disguise to hide his pointy ears and he’s going to immediately go back to work and Karl is gonna sit there flustered

[cyncerity]

Okay okay look they give me brainrot but:

Sapnap noms Karl and Q as like his way of flirting (classic line of 'your just so cute I couldn't help but eat you up' or whatever-)

YES YES YES YES ABSOLUTELY

ignore the fact that I only drew Karl, i didn’t wanna draw two people and Q and Sap already have their own nom story and ignore that I can’t write flirty dialogue so i did icons instead

but YES SAPNAP DOES THIS. at first it’s kind of a joke cause they all know that Sapnap could just ask like a normal person but no, he has pickup lines now. Q and Karl think it’s funny at first cause the pickup lines also started as a joke, but then Sapnap got more serious and flirty and both of them kind of had a “shit this is hotter than it should be” moment.

Karl especially is a lot more receptive to it than he first thought he’d be

[mikauzoran]

Adrienette/Lila Fake-Dating/Emotional Blackmail: Betting Against the House: Chapter Eight

Read it on AO3: Betting Against the House: Chapter Eight: Revelation

Adrien woke a little before sunrise with strands of hair in his mouth and Marinette’s pointy collarbone probably leaving an imprint on his cheek.

He was a little too warm, despite the fact that they had fallen asleep snuggling on top of the covers, and his street clothes felt stiff and uncomfortable.

Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to move. He wanted to lie there with Marinette forever, memorizing her scent and tracing constellations out of the moles on her arm. He didn’t want to return to the rest of the world…reality…Lila.

Marinette breathed in deeply, shifting beneath him and blinking heavy eyelids open.

Reluctantly, Adrien lifted his head and smiled down at her in awe.

“Good morning, My Princess,” he whispered, his breath causing her hair to stir ever so slightly.

She grinned up at him, barely able to contain her joy at this proof that it hadn’t all been a dream.

“Good morning, Chaton,” she chuckled, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair.

He let himself float in that moment, indulging himself just a bit before he forced himself to look up at the alarm clock on the shelf above Marinette’s bed in order to confirm what he already knew.

“I should go,” he sighed, already missing her. “I need to get back before they come to wake me.”

“Okay,” she unwillingly agreed, even though if she could have had her way, they would never have to be separated.

She lifted her lips to his in a quick, bolstering kiss. “Come pick me up on your way to school. We’ll go face this together.”

“You’re not going to make me late, are you?” he snickered teasingly.

She rolled her eyes and batted him on the arm. “I’ll be early.”

“Mmhm,” he hummed with a smirk that revealed how little faith he had in her ability to get up on time.

“I will,” she insisted. “Now go, you silly cat. Don’t get caught…. I’ll be waiting for you.”

He stole another quick kiss, assuring, “I’ll look forward to it, My Lady.”

He transformed with a wink and escaped through the skylight.

 When Adrien returned a few short hours later, he didn’t expect Marinette to be ready.

He came in through the bakery and noted how slow it seemed for a Monday morning. Perhaps the first wave of the rush had already hit and this was just the lull between periods of manic chaos.

Adrien waved to Théo Barbot at the register (that man seemed to have part-time jobs everywhere) and wondered if he still had a crush on Ladybug.

Théo gave a polite nod back and bid him good morning.

Tom came out from around back just then with a fresh tray of baguettes and stopped when he spotted Adrien.

He turned to Théo, handing him the tray. “Can you man the ship alone for about ten minutes? Thanks. Call up if it gets too crazy.”

Without waiting for Théo to respond, Tom turned to Adrien and motioned for him to follow.

“Marinette is shoveling down her breakfast at the moment, but she should be finished soon,” he informed as he led Adrien through the back and up the stairs to the apartment.

“No worries,” Adrien assured with a fond chuckle. “I figured she’d be at least a little late, but I don’t mind. We’ve still got plenty of time.”

“This is actually a record for her,” Tom hummed distractedly.

It was then that Adrien noticed the lack of the usual joviality in Tom’s voice and the tension knotting up his broad shoulders.

Adrien gulped. “…So…what exactly did Marinette tell you about why we’re friends again now?”

Tom sighed, opening the apartment door for Adrien. “She told us the truth.”

“Oh,” Adrien breathed, voice tight, throat dry.

His insides twisted up when saw the tormented look in Tom’s eyes.

Adrien looked away and slunk inside of the apartment, muttering, “It’s not a big deal. I’m fine.”

He could see in Tom’s eyes that he was blaming himself, beating himself up for not knowing, not realizing something was wrong, not helping.

Adrien appreciated that Tom cared so much, but, at the same time, it was painful. It poked at the old, infected wound in Adrien’s heart that knew that his own father’s reaction would be so far divorced from Tom’s. It just reminded Adrien of what he should have…what he didn’t have…what he would never have.

“Adrien!” Marinette cried through a mouthful of granola and yogurt, scrambling up from the table and nearly upsetting her chair and her drinking chocolate as she rushed towards her boyfriend.

Adrien’s mood immediately lifted as he caught her in his arms and spun her around.

“I missed you so much,” he chuckled into her hair, squeezing her just as tightly as she was squeezing him.

She pulled back with a laugh. “You just saw me.”

He shrugged. “So what? I bet you missed me too, didn’t you?”

She averted her gaze in an attempt to hide her blush, claiming, “Lucky guess,” as she poked the tip of his nose, making him smile harder.

“Marinette?” Sabine called from the kitchen. “Why don’t you finish your breakfast, Dear? You don’t want to make Adrien late.”

“Coming,” Marinette called back, giving Adrien a quick kiss on the cheek before returning to her meal.

Sabine stepped out of the kitchen wearing a serious expression that made Adrien shudder. She was angry, and Adrien had seen her use a bread peel as a weapon before, so he was concerned for the safety of whomever she had in her sights.

“Adrien, may we talk to you?” It wasn’t so much a question as a politely disguised pronouncement. They were going to talk whether he wanted to or not.

He wondered if this was what it felt like to have a real parent, one who took an interested, hands-on approach to raising a child.

Suddenly, he wasn’t sure if he liked it or if what he had seemed better.

“Can we…not?” he pleaded through a grimace.

Sabine shook her head, closing the distance between them and pulling him into a hug.

And then Tom was there too, and they were both holding Adrien and petting his hair and his cheeks and swaying from side to side, and Adrien was trying not to cry and failing pathetically.

Silent tears dribbled down his cheeks as he sniffled and tried to protest, “I’m fine”.

“It’s all right, Son,” Tom soothed, giving Adrien’s back a supportive pat. “It’s going to be okay.”

Sabine pulled back just enough to look up at Adrien while still keeping her hands on his arms. “Adrien, Honey, what’s been happening to you isn’t okay. This is very serious. Now, have you told anyone about this? Your father? A teacher?”

Adrien shook his head, keeping his eyes averted. “No one would believe me, even if I did tell them. I mean, I told Nino last week, but I made him swear not to say anything because everyone would be on Lila’s side, and then she’d find out I told, and she’d hurt Marinette, so…”

He looked back up at Sabine with entreating eyes. “I’d really rather we just deal with this privately. I really am fine. I don’t want this to be a big deal because it’s really not.”

Tom and Sabine exchanged a look, having an entire conversation without words.

“Adrien, it really is,” Tom stressed, placing his hand on Adrien’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

Sabine nodded in resolute agreement. “I personally think this is a matter for the authorities, but we’re at least going to talk to your father.”

“Good luck getting an appointment,” Adrien snorted darkly.

“Oh, Adrien,” Sabine sighed, pulling him back into a hug. “It breaks my heart that you didn’t feel like there was a single person you could trust with this.”

“You should have told someone,” Tom added gently. “This is a problem for adults to deal with. You shouldn’t have had to go it alone for so long.”

“How could I go to an adult when the adults were initially the ones causing the problem by believing Lila over Marinette?” Adrien wondered bitterly. “There wasn’t anyone to trust.”

“It’s okay now,” Marinette cooed, sliding back in on Adrien’s left to loosely slip her arms around his waist. “We’re going to be okay, and, going forward, you know you can come to us with anything, right?”

“We’re here for you, Son,” Tom promised, giving Adrien’s shoulder another squeeze.

“Whatever you need,” Sabine insisted with a soft, affectionate look in her eyes that reminded him of when he was small and believed nothing bad could ever happen to him so long as his mother was holding his hand.

“Thanks,” Adrien hiccupped, feeling completely out of his element.

He didn’t know what to do with so much unconditional love and support, and he wasn’t exactly sure he trusted them yet.

A lot of people had let him down spectacularly over the years. He wasn’t sure that Tom and Sabine would be any different…but he was willing to give them a chance.

 “Please let me handle this,” Adrien begged after he’d cleaned his face up and he and Marinette were walking the block to school.

Marinette gave his hand a squeeze even as she snorted in discontent. “Fine, but know that I’m conscientiously objecting to this. I’d rather rip her face off and expose her as a fraud and a predator in front of the whole school.”

“Ladybug can’t go around ripping people’s faces off,” Adrien snickered softly into her ear as he pressed a grateful kiss to the side of her head.

“No, but Marinette can,” she countered.

“No,” he chuckled. “Marinette can’t either.”

“Don’t think your lawyers could get me off on the charges?” she hummed teasingly.

He rolled his eyes. “Seriously, though. I don’t want this to be a big deal. I don’t want a scene, and I don’t want her to turn into an akuma. I just want this to be over as quietly and painlessly as possible.”

“…Okay,” she agreed in earnest as they climbed the school steps. “I know. I get it. I just…want her to suffer like she’s made you suffer.”

Adrien shook his head. “Taking revenge never ends well. Besides, she’s not going to change for the better if you expose and humiliate her. Have you ever heard of ‘kill them with kindness’ or ‘malicious compliance’?”

Marinette arched an eyebrow. “I’m guessing you’re a master at both.”

“I am, indeed,” he affirmed as they went through the main entrance and began their trek across the courtyard.

Most of their classmates were gathered off to the side, clustered around one of the benches upon which Nino was standing, addressing the crowd.

“Wonder what they’re up to,” Marinette hummed.

Chloé was the first to spot them, and, when she did, she made a mad dash for Adrien, leaping through the air so that he had to let go of Marinette’s hand and catch her.

“Adri-chou!!!” she cried. “Why did you never tell me?!”

“Tell you what?” Adrien responded, totally perplexed.

“I can’t believe this,” Alya declared, shaking her head.

Others were shaking their heads too, and their faces all showed anger, distress, or shellshocked expressions.

“That doesn’t sound like something Lila would do at all,” Kim agreed, looking around at the others for confirmation.

“I always knew I hated that witch,” Chloé seethed as Adrien put her down. “I’m going to have Daddy throw her in prison for this. She’s not going to get away with it.”

All the blood drained from Adrien’s face as he turned a look of befuddled, betrayed disbelief on his best friend. “Ninoooo! How could you?! You promised not to say anything!”

“Mec, I just couldn’t stay silent and watch anymore. I’m sorry.” He shrugged his shoulders helplessly, his eyes pleading for forgiveness.

“I told you they wouldn’t believe me,” Adrien groaned, looking to Marinette who took his hand back in hers and gave it a squeeze in solidarity.

“Adrien,” Alya begged, “is Nino for real? Tell me that this is a joke.”

“Of course it’s real!” Chloé snapped, stepping protectively in front of Adrien. “How could you doubt Adrien like that?! I’ve been trying to tell you all along that Lila was garbage, but you all didn’t listen. Now just look what she’s done to Adrien.”

Marinette stepped in to back Chloé up and add some credibility to her outburst of temper. “It’s all true. Lila’s been a liar from the very beginning. All the things she’s said she’s done, all the people she says she knows…it’s all a lie.”

The class stared, dumbstruck, and then, as one, they turned to Adrien.

He took a deep breath. “I know it’s my word against hers, but what Nino told you is true. Lila’s been blackmailing me for years so that I’d be friendly with her in exchange for her not trying to hurt Marinette or spreading malicious rumors about her. Lila’s latest price increase was for me to pretend to date her.”

Confused whispers began to buzz amongst the class as they each grappled with this perspective-warping information.

“There you have it,” Chloé snorted as if the matter was settled. “Now, what are we going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” Adrien objected, moving in closer to address his classmates.

“Nothing?” Nino demanded incredulously. “Adrien, I’m not gonna let Lila continue to walk all over you. I’m done. I can’t take anymore.”

“Look. I have a plan, but you’re all going to have to play along, okay?” Adrien motioned for them to gather in closer.

Some remained skeptical but did as asked, hearing Adrien out and reserving judgment for later when their heads weren’t spinning.

“I just want this to be over,” Adrien explained. “Lila’s not going to magically become a better person if we all turn on her and treat her like crap. She’s only going to change when she finds that her old tactics no longer work, so what we’re going to do is pretend that nothing is wrong.”

“How is this going to help?” Chloé huffed, pursing her lips like a duck and crossing her arms sullenly.

“One, it hopefully won’t get Lila akumatized,” Adrien pointed out. “You all know she’s a manipulative liar now, so you can be on the lookout when she tries to deceive you in the future.”

“So…we what? Keep being friends with her?” Rose sought to clarify, feeling utterly lost.

Adrien nodded. “Just keep acting like nothing’s changed. Only, when she says something, take it with a grain of salt. Fact-check her. Maybe when her lies stop having the desired effect, she’ll stop lying all the time. Maybe she’ll learn that she doesn’t have to lie to get people to be friends with her.”

“Maybe she’ll turn into even more of monster than she is now if we let her get away with this,” Juleka grumbled.

Adrien winced. “Maybe. You’re right. This plan could totally backfire, but I’d much rather try it and give her a chance to get her act together than back her into a corner and ensure that she becomes a monster,” he stressed, trying desperately to convince them. “There has got to be something salvageable inside of her. I don’t think she’s actually a bad person.”

Chloé snorted. “I think she’s a bad person. I’m an excellent judge of character. I can tell these things.”

“She’s definitely a bad person,” Marinette muttered, reluctantly agreeing with her rival.

“Marinette,” Adrien whined. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side,” she assured. “I don’t have to subscribe to your ideology in order to go along with your plan and support you. That menace has been threatening me and giving me grey hair for years now. I’m allowed to think she’s a bad person.”

“Hold up,” Alya growled. “She’s been threatening you?”

Sadly, Marinette nodded.

“Oh, Girl,” Alya breathed mournfully as she pushed through the crowd to wrap her best friend in a fierce hug. “Marinette, why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“You believed Lila’s lies,” Marinette whispered. “You wouldn’t have believed me.”

Alya pulled back with a stricken look on her face. She opened her mouth to insist that she would have believed her best friend…but then a little tendril of doubt wriggled into her mind.

Would she have believed Marinette? She was having trouble believing what Adrien was telling her to be true, and she knew that Adrien had no reason to lie.

How deluded had Alya been over the years? She liked to think of herself as a good judge of character, but…she considered Lila a close friend. If all of that was a lie…what else had she been missing?

It was clear that some serious reflection would be necessary once she got home that evening where she could sit and think things through.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” Alya whispered, knowing that it wasn’t enough but hoping that it was a good start.

Marinette’s lips pulled into a weak smile, and she rested a hand on Alya’s arm. “It’s…okay.” The words were difficult for her after everything she’d suffered, but she wanted to say them. She wanted to start to heal the rift between her and her best friend. “You’re a victim of Lila’s lies too.”

“Adrien, I’m pretty sure Lila is evil,” Juleka jumped in, putting them back on task as she tucked her bangs back out of her eyes.

Adrien groaned in defeat. “Okay. Fine. Maybe, but maybe she’s not, and, if she’s not, the right thing to do would be to help her realize her potential to be a good, functioning member of society, right?”

The class seemed unsure.

Nino stepped in and slid an arm supportively around Adrien’s shoulders. “Come on, guys. Adrien’s the biggest victim in all of this. Let’s do him a favor and live in his optimistic fairytale world for a bit, yeah? Happily ever after and all that.”

With a chorus of shrugs and grumbles, they all seemed to agree.

“I’m only doing this for Adrien,” Chloé loudly informed them.

“You and me both,” Marinette snorted.

“Guys, I don’t think Lila has ever had friends before,” Adrien tried to appeal to them once more. “I kind of know what that’s like, and I also know how intimidating it can be meeting new people, hoping that they’ll like you. Maybe lying was her way of trying to get people to like her, but it got completely out of control. Maybe she just needs to see that people can like her even without all the lies.”

“Or maybe she’s just evil,” Chloé hissed. “I don’t know how you can defend someone who’s put you through so much.”

“It’s because he has a truly good heart,” Marinette informed as she sidled up beside Adrien, wrapping her arms around his waist. “He’s a hero. Our Everyday Chat Noir.”

“I try,” Adrien chuckled, blushing as Marinette placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“Whoa!” Alya exclaimed. “Hold on! When did this happen?!”

“Last night when I found out what he’d been doing for me all this time,” Marinette hummed happily.

“Oh my gosh!” Rose trilled. “Details! Details!”

“Details later,” Adrien assured, separating from Marinette with a gulp. “Lila’s here. I’m going to go break up with her, and I need you all to act like you feel really sorry for her and to comfort her so that she doesn’t get akumatized and kill me and Marinette. Okay?”

“Oh, we’re going to comfort the tar out of her,” Juleka promised, slipping her hand into Rose’s and giving it a squeeze.

“On it!” Rose cheered. “For the sake of friendship and true love!”

“She’s not getting through us,” Alya assured, looking like she was ready to fight a pack of wild bears with her bare hands.

“Wish me luck,” Adrien sighed, striding forward to meet Lila halfway for the final showdown.

“Good luck, Man,” Nino encouraged, giving Adrien a pat on the shoulder as he passed.

[redevenir]

living alike (pt. i)

joshua x reader

wc : ~ 3800

a/n : It all started with @tearsofsyrup ‘s suggestion for the made-up title fic game and here i am... So thank you! I took the liberty to use the title again, hopefully it’s ok with you? Otherwise just tell me! I have said it before, but I think  shua and dark au... it is the thing, you know. Which is why I strongly encourage you to read paradigm shift (apocalypse au) as well as you hide; i’ll seek (both sexy titles by the way) and to check on these two writers’ other work because they’re excellent.

« I feel entirely dehumanised by the sun now and wish for fog, snow, rain, humanity. » from a letter to Edward Sackville-West, Virginia Woolf.

The soft clunks of water droping from the leaking sink behind you make your hair stand on end. You should be used to it by now, but you aren’t. Like everything else, it makes you uncomfortable. You wanted nothing more than to be buried deep in the swamps of the Administration. Hidden. Except you were a little frog on a desert, except everyone has seen you, and will remember your face. Hiding is no longer an option for you, the only way out is to disappear.

You take one last look at your ransacked room. You break a window for good measure, and head out, living the door open.

The soft thuds of rain against the cars’ glasses. Tight heart, empty lungs, he is the silent audience of an artificial show. A shadow wandering around the streets, the ghost of a ghost. Counting his footsteps. Counting the people on the sidewalk. Counting the cars. Counting the officials around the Prefecture. Thirty more steps to go. Joshua takes a deep breathe into his scarf. It seems no one is paying attention to him. Grey car, blue car. His hands are soaked, buried deep inside the pockets of his rain coat. Nothing can protect him from the summer rains. He takes a brief look above the ground, checks out the position of the sun, goes back to his feet. He needs to move faster. He cannot afford to be out during office hours. Twenty steps. He spots the door to his place and restrains himself from going faster. One excruciating step at a time. All around him, people move, people go from places to places. They listen to the speeches, they read the speeches, they learn the speeches, they believe the speeches. It is already hard for Joshua to breathe, let alone act. A small field mouse trapped in a gigantic machine. There is no room here for him, he feels it, fears because of it. Knows that in an instant everything could spin around him. Field mice are preys. There are so many predators around him, it is only a matter of time. Light turns green, the cars stop. He goes his way. Unsure, uneasy. Five steps. He reaches his door, doesn’t look back, and goes down the stair to his tiny underground studio.

Once he’s inside, finally, he lets out an exhale he didn’t notice he was holding. Double locks his door, puts the chair against it, and turns the light on. Here, underground, there is no sun light to warm up the air. He crosses the only room as he gets undressed, leaving his soggy coat for the clamminess of his quarter, and rummages through his clothes to find a change, replaying his stroll of the day. Nothing new. They are still agitated. Until they calm down there is no need to contact anyone, he decides. He reheats some unsavory stew for the fifth time this week, cleans up his plate, and crashes on the single bed, hoping for time to pass quickly.

He spends an agitated day, running after sleep, running from his thoughts. Even though he never sleeps well, there is always a part of him which foolishly hopes for a good rest. Remembering the kind of sleep he relished as kid, when he didn’t have to think about falling asleep. When laying down in bed was enough to dive deep in a warm unconsciousness, full of foolproof dreams. No matter where his drowsy mind takes him, he feels overwhelmed, on the edge of being assaulted. Faceless and formless assailants gathering in the dark to slaughter him.

Rising up, he picks a bottle of drinking water, ignores the remnants of the garbage stew, plans his wandering for tonight. He never follows the same path twice, in case someone might notice him. He puts on his parka which hasn’t dried, shivers when it brushes against his neck. There is nothing to do about it. Most of the time, Joshua tries to ignore his apartment. It is a disgusting place, filthy the minute he finishes to clean up. It is never warm, nor dry, nor hot. He never sees the light of day, never feels a breeze, for there are no windows down there. It is the best he can afford this close of the Great Palace. A miserable rat hole, nothing close to a nice burrow. It is the price to pay for a night cashier to get involved in bigger schemes. His eyes are priceless now that he has sold their sight. It is the only comfort he has found in doing so. The thrill of being useful – for whom? He has no right to know. But every morning after his shift, he goes out for his stroll, looking for anything out of the ordinary, and when there is, he reports it. One of them comes to the shop every week. Usually, though, Joshua tells nothing to his contact. Things do not change that often. But recently there has been movement. Why, he does not know, but they’ve been agitated, walking faster. Even though no one, of course, will tell him why, he knows something has happened. Something bad enough to be noticeable, bad enough that there has been no announcement on TV.

This is life now, he knows. Waiting and waiting and waiting for something which might never come. Joshua hesitates, then goes out without looking back. Maybe today, he’ll see something worth reporting. It’s raining as usual, but the sun is still up, somewhere behind the gray sky. The street lamps are not lighten yet. As usual, he goes right, then waits for the traffic lights to let him cross. He could not live closer to the supermarket, yet the path still bothers him – the ugliness of the streets, the noises of the city, the sickening smell of corruption and silent violence. He goes his way to the store, spends his night registering meaningless shop lists for night owls craving sugar or salt. His curved lips draw an empty smile to every customer while his mind goes through various scenarios of what might bother the authorities. He has no clue. What could indeed bother them? He is as ignorant when his shift ends as he was when it began. It is not a life. He could find out more, if he were a bit more audacious. But any step out of his supposed way is a risk he might pay with his life. Maybe, walking around the Palace’s streets is enough for now.

He puts his hands deeper in his pockets and waits for the lights to turn green. From the corner of his eyes, he notices a figure running in his direction. They storm before him, and throw themselves on the road. The sound of the car hitting your body is horrifying.

You spend an eternity drowning. Lungs full of mud, every living minute is a suffocation. The crushing weight of an undisturbed blackwater river is grinding your bones into mush, entangled between the roots of indifferent trees. You barely see the light, on the rare moments you emerge from your drowning, vision blurred by silt burning your eyes. You fight and you fight, and every new moon, every new tide brings you a new death.

In flashes you see faces, and you try to remember who pushed you into the river. A thin string of lost rooms and half forgotten conversations torments you, sending you in every direction. You lose yourself into a labyrinth of bewildered and electrifying memories. You try to scream for help but the dark water suffocates you more.

You cease to fight.

You let yourself flow, descending quietly in the abyss, a faint contentment when you touch the ground. An unusual corpse for shellfish and crustaceans to feast on. The soft pulse of your heart clawing his way out of your defeated chest. Far above you, you feel the lazy current going its way, ignoring you. There, cocooned in a silence older than a lifetime, it is easier for memories to come back to you. Faint lights above the school’s playground, burnt smells from the overcooked plum jam, a terrifying voice on the intercom freezing you to the core. You remember the pointy hat of the master, the piles of administrative sheets in his warm office, its walls painted of a deep, ancient red. You remember his whispers in your ears, which you tried so hard to ignore. His discreet threats disguised as indecent offers. Your remember going for his grocery shopping every four days, in the late hours of the quiet city. You remember knocking one of the piles over, and reading them against your best will. A pale breeze of rage brushes your cheek, unable to harm you.

You remember taking it with you, the vivid proof of the crime, on a hasty decision. You remember destroying your dorm. You remember the streets.

The moment you wake up you immediately regret it.

Every inch of your body is aching a thousand burn. You cannot open your eyes, the throb in your head makes you nauseous. Your throat is parched, and the feeble whine you manage to cry out is a pain in itself. Miles away you feel movement, in the distance you hear a voice filled with concerned, asking you words which you can’t separate from each other. It seems a worried litany of disquiet. Suddenly you feel cold and wet on you forehead, a divine relief to the pounding. The voice comes closer and takes your hand. You feel your hand. You have a hand. Panic rushes through your body like it never felt it, you try to move away, to get out, how can it touch you, what is touching you when you can’t even feel yourself?

Weirdly the voice seems to understand. It becomes quieter, soothing almost, ushering things you don’t understand, but it appeases you nonetheless. You feel it close to your hear, you feel its breathe against you. You’re sensitive and it has you tensed immediately, but it doesn’t last for long. A few seconds, the promise of safety. You pass out again.

The next time you wake up, everything is much clearer. You manage to open your eyes despite the soreness of your head. What you see when you do has you freezing up again, afraid you might have lost part of your sight. It is all black and gray. Gray ceiling above your head, a worrisome pattern of cracks. Gray walls, empty of any embellishment. Even the duvet cover is a dirty white. You try to straighten yourself, leaning on your elbow. It has you wincing but it is worth it. You take in your surrounding, even in the darkness of the unlit room. Someone has put your right leg into a splint of fortune, and did the same to your right elbow. You hold your breathe a minute, until you are assured to be alone. Nothing about it is familiar. There is a strong smell of menthol ointment that might come from you – the scent is overwhelming, and you cannot be sure. Your attempt to sit properly ends up worsening the piercing pain in your brain, and you resolve to wait until someone brings you water or food. Without any indication of the passing of time, you lose all notion of it, examining each clue of the room. You have never come here, and it makes you uneasy. You are facing the door and it reassures you a bit, whoever comes here will not have you at their mercy. At last, you hear the creaking of a key into its hole, which makes your heart racing. The door opens behind you in a squeak.

The man is tall, his shoulders wide as he bends a bit to come inside. The youth of his face strikes you the most. He might not be older than you are – and you are rare. The both of you belong to the last generation of children – it is also why, now that all of you are grown-ups, the officials are monitoring each and every one of you carefully. The last trace of unpredictability in the country. And, well, looking at the current situation, maybe they are right. It takes him a while to notice you, and you quietly observe him locking the door, putting a chair against it. Breathing, eyes closed, he relaxes before you. When he turns around, you see him immediately checking on the mattress – checking on you. And his face lightens up when he sees you facing him, rushing to you.

« Oh! You’re up! Are you okay? Do you need anything? Water? Hungry? Space? He chuckles. Take your time, he adds with a smile. » He exudes relief. Your throat hurts too much, so you mimic drinking and he’s on it, handing you a full glass of water. Then you point at him.

It is not going well. Your convalescence is endless. Your are weak and shattered to unclean pieces and every morning he comes back from work wondering if you will still be in this coma or if he’ll have to dispose of your body. In retrospect, it was a mistake, but even though he thinks it over again and again he does not see any other outcome. He would never have left you there to rot. What if you weren’t doomed to die? Suicide is forbidden by law. You are suffering enough as it is, despite Joshua’s best efforts to take care of you, he cannot even imagine the tortures the officials would have given you, had they been the ones to find you.

Yet here you are, at the end of a frustrating shift and a lousy stroll. Sitting up in his bed, watching him coming back. An unmatched joy floods through his body as he comes to you, taking a good look at your conscious face. A belligerent stranger, eyes empty and circled of mauve. Clearly distressed and looking weak. Joshua thinks that you being awake is a wonder, he remembers the poor bag of raggedy bones and torn flesh you were when you arrived. When he brought you to his basement. The clothes he has given you hide most of your skin, but he knows your body looks just like your face. A battlefield of bruises and scars and a timestamp to the day you met. For weeks, he has imagined what your first words would be, were you to wake up. What you would do, what your voice would sound like. He would fall asleep to the sound of your haunting rattles next to him, praying they wouldn’t stop before his wake. Nonetheless he has outdone himself. He has brought you back to life. You look bad, but you’re looking at him and he can’ t help but smile in satisfaction. When you point your finger at him, two things hit him.

You can’t talk and you haven’t lived with him for the past week. You know nothing. You don’t know him. He feels foolish to realize it just now. He sits down by your side, filling up an another glass for you. Ponders a bit – in your place, what would be his priorities ? But you’ve thrown yourself under a car and he never has, so he has no fucking clue.

« All right then I’m Joshua. I live here, obviously. Alone. Well, not anymore, since you’ve been there for a while now – the surprise in your eyes aggrieves him. I work at a supermarket down the grand avenue. I brought you here after you… You know. Wait, do you remember what happened to you? You answer him a simple nod. Okay, then, this car hit you, and, well, I brought you back here. You forget your soar throat but he doesn’t need to hear you to read the only word on your lips.

«Well… I know, I know, we are not supposed to interfere but… His eyes roam you, looking for all the mending he has done you. His voice is only a whisper when he finishes his sentence. How could I leave you there? » You clear your throat with pain. Clearly, the water did you do good. Joshua looks up eagerly, to see what you might say first.

«Who else knows I’m here? » Your words are a cold shower. You don’t trust him one bit. He tries to reassure himself, of course you don’t, you’ve just met him.

« Only this one guy – you scoff. I’m serious! There was barely anyone that day and, the driver died, I believe. I didn’t stay to check on him. But, turns out, something else happened that day and we managed to… slip through the cracks, I guess. »

«What? What happened? » He picks his words carefully.

« Someone bombed the Blue Palace. » You remain silent at first. Eyes closed, you take a deep breathe, then another one, until you look at him again, your facial expressions are still too knew you for him to read them. So he asks you. «What? What? »

« You’re saying someone fired a bomb on the Blue Palace? Quick, the shadow of a smile crosses your face. You close your eyes once again, licking your lips as if it’ll help you collect your thoughts. A bomb. On a palace. A bomb. On the exact day I had an accident? He hums in agreement. You lay back on the wall – he hadn’t even noticed how you had bent yourself closer to him, eager for news. Who did it? »

« I don’t know. »

«Wait, you’re saying someone attacked the blues and they haven’t been caught? »

« I don’t know, that’s what I’m saying. You may have not noticed yet, he gives a brief look around him. But I have no TV here. All I know is that they haven’t made any announcement about it. But if you ask me… » He bites his lips, unsure how much he can tell you yet. You give him a short moment, expecting him to go on. You let out a sigh when he doesn’t.

« Listen, Joshua – that’s it, right? From what I see, you could be sentenced to death as much as I do. I have spent hours in the dark, waiting for someone to show up. I don’t care if you did it, I don’t care if you work for the Palace, but please give me something. I need to know. » He comes closer to you.

« I think they have no idea who did it. They’ve been on the lookout for weeks. If they knew, there is no way someone could hide from them that long. He stays quiet, letting you register the information. And I didn’t do it, I swear. »

« I’ve been there... for weeks? » There is no use in lying to you but he hears the miserable realization in your tone and his heart aches too.

« Seven, to be precise. You’ve been really sick, you know. I patched you up as good as I could, and goodness! That DK guy knows a thing or two but even he can’t put a splint on your ribs. You say nothing. You don’t have to tell me everything, but I think it’s better to tell you right now. You… Said things when you were sick, he says. You work, hm, worked for the governor. You were his maid or something. You did his groceries. I have seen you before. » He is not asking.

« That’s right. » You ignore the elephant in the room that is the question on the tip of Joshua’s tongue. Maybe it is too soon. Maybe he doesn’t need to know now. Maybe your action was self-explanatory enough, and the details don’t matter. For today, Joshua decides he won’t push you.

« Who’s that guy you mentioned? » The way you don’t miss a word he says reassures Joshua – at least your head is fine.

« DK? He’s… Well, I don’t know much about him, I give him my reports. » You frown.

« What reports? You need to make report at a grocery shop? »

« I… Joshua shifts. It is going too fast to his liking. You should take it slow, and so should he. He wished to get to know you, and to make both of your comfortable before diving into such matters. He takes a deep breathe. I… Watch the Palace. Well, no, he stutters, I, hm, well, I go for walks around the Palace. Every day. Well, I work night shifts, so, after that, I go for walks. Every morning. And, hm, once a week, more or less, someone comes to the supermarket, and if I’ve seen something interesting I tell them. Usually it’s DK but sometimes someone else comes. I asked him for help when I saw how sick you were. » You chew the inside of your lips for a while and just when you’re about to speak again you close your mouth right away. This goes on for a few minutes, until you hum in acknowledgment. The silence between the two of you is only broken when Joshua hears your stomach grumble and jumps on his feet. « You should have said something! Of course you’re hungry! » He walks the few steps separating him from the cooking area of his quarter – he decided long ago he could not give the name kitchen to it. Kitchens were warm and full of promises. This was neither, just enough to eat some tasteless soups. He swears to himself he feels you watching him as he fumbles in his cupboard. When he turns back to ask if the soup is indeed fine for you, he notices the life back on your cheeks.

You eat dinner together for the first time. It is not quite lively but it is comforting and Joshua pretends he doesn’t notice the few quiet tears on your cheeks as you savor it. You fall asleep shortly after and as usual he lies down by your side, replaying his day.

No one can ever find out about you, he realizes. Not the officials, not his contact. He is playing a wild card which could backfire in so many wrong ways. The easiest way out would be to run away from the city, but it would involve so many people just to get you out, not to mention he has no idea of what he might find there. Joshua is dubious, but even he somehow believes the Palace’s tales. Maybe it is just a desert outside. Then what? What good would it do to them, to die of ignorance on foreign lands ? How much better would it be, to make all this vain efforts, when you might as well be sentenced to a much quicker death, without the discomfort of plotting an escape? Even if it is miserable, and he has even less room that before, Joshua still finds it better to sleep in his own bed. He is good at keeping secrets anyway.

Times passes slowly.

[gnoodle-studios]

The Grim; Chapter 4

“Agnes!” said Edith, with the enthusiasm of someone recently told they have to eat a slug. “How… pleasant to see you again.”

“Of course,” replied Agnes. “Haven’t seen you around much though, I must admit. You aren’t sequestering yourself in that house of yours, are you? I would be devastated to learn the loneliness of an empty home is catching up to you.”

“I so appreciate your concern for my health, my dear, but I assure you I am faring just fine! I have simply been spending quite a lot of time on my latest crochet project!”

Agnes narrowed her eyes, almost imperceptibly. “A crochet project? Of what kind?”

“Oh, haven’t you heard already? The milliner is having another child! I’ve been crafting a blanket, I’m sure it will be ready by the time they give birth. I had no idea you were so far out of the loop, dear Agnes, or I would have informed you myself!”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all,” Agnes replied cooly. “It is so unfortunate you haven’t the time to keep up with old friends, but I suppose I haven’t put much effort in on my end. Perhaps I could bring over my recipe for raspberry scones one of these days! You never could get them quite right, from what I remember.”

Horse looked back and forth between the two women, feeling a bit scared. As he glanced back to Edith, He had to rescind one of his earliest discoveries about this place. While it was true that many things in this world were not Rock or Fire, it turned out that sometimes the Rock and Fire disguised itself. And now, it appeared they may have been disguising themselves as humans. 

Which, in retrospect, explained why Horse had liked Edith so much. She was very much made of Fire, even if she didn’t look it. She was nice, and warm, and sort of soft, in a strange, intangible way. Fire never hurt Horse, and neither did Edith, but Fire always had a preference for hellhounds, and then went on to burn humans and wood and sometimes even demons indiscriminately. A part of the world clicked into place, and things made just a little more sense, in Horse’s book.

But the other, the one standing across from Edith and smiling sharply, was undeniably Rock. There were angles to her, her face and her joints, like the Rock was barely trying to hide itself underneath stretched skin and pointy grins. 

Despite being thin, she seemed unmovable and steady, an element that told you exactly what it was and what it was going to do before it even did anything. 

And so Rock and Fire faced off. 

Fire is always unpredictable, and changes direction at the slightest move. Fire is hungry, and bright, and quick, and leaps on anything it can.

 But Rock does not burn. It stands, unaffected, and attacks methodically, patiently, or sometimes unexpectedly, like a rockslide, burying the opponent. But Fire cannot be crushed in such a way. 

So they are at an impasse, as attacks and blocks and retaliations are made over Horse’s head, as bloody and ruthless as any battle.

Rock and Fire walk away, and Horse has no idea who won. 

----------------

The baker knew something was going to happen as soon as Agnes and Edith locked eyes across the street. 

They had traded their barbed compliments and faked concern meant to harm instead of heal, and then had gone their separate ways, but she could tell Edith was still out for blood. As much as an old woman wearing a lace cardigan could be out for blood. 

The baker shuddered, imagining the potential destruction.

Which is why, when Edith ran into Peter, she finished the sale she was making and put the ‘on break’ sign up, before leaning back against the counter to watch the ensuing annihilation. 

Peter was not the brightest man in town. He had always been kind of an ass, even when they were all kids, and now he ran the general store, which gave him some kind of false idea of power. Knowing how to run a business, and a necessary one had gone straight to his head, and knocked out a good deal of the common sense while it was there. 

Common sense, such as ‘don’t mess with Edith, or risk being burned’.

Peter had taken a good look at the grim- er- Horse, and started to walk purposefully across the square, before coming to a stop in front of Edith.

The brave (and stupid) stared, the ignorant continued on as though nothing was about to happen, and the smart watched, but in a way that made it clear they were absolutely not watching and indeed keeping their noses in their own business, thank you very much. 

The baker, knowing which group she was a part of, carefully positioned herself in a convenient shadow near one side of the stall underneath the awning, where Edith’s back would be turned to her.

Normally, she wouldn’t have bothered (or risked) being an onlooker, but it had been a good while since she had seen Edith exchanging pleasantries with anyone, and Peter had recently raised the price of flour despite there being no good reason (he claimed ‘shipping prices’ had gone up but she had checked with the man who delivered goods to their town from the nearest port, who had said shipping was cheaper than ever), and she figured she should keep an eye on that dog of Edith’s and how it was going to react to a git like Peter. And who knows? Maybe she would learn something. 

“Hello there Edith,” said Peter, walking somewhere between a saunter and a strut. 

“Peter, so nice to see you again,” replied Edith, who looked and sounded very sincere about this statement, except for how much she didn’t.

“I see you picked up a mutt!” Peter laughed loudly and obnoxiously, throwing his head back.

Edith did not join him.

Peter, demonstrating all the intelligence of a brick wall, barreled on. 

“My gods, woman, where did you find that thing? A gutter? I didn’t know the boogeyman was moving in next door, much less that he had a dog!”

In an amazing display of restraint, Edith neglected to throttle the man. Not that she could if she tried, though. Peter wasn’t a very large man, but he also had a bit of height and weight over Edith. Still, the baker found that retirees had quite a lot of time to sit and think, which could be a dangerous thing, especially where people as sharp as Edith, and surrounded by as many idiots as Edith, are concerned, and so she figured the old lady could probably have figured something out. 

However, as it stood, Edith found a good deal of her weapons in words, and as she straightened up and cleared her throat, it was clear she was skipping past all of the pretty little daggers in front and some of the smaller swords, even the larger swords, perhaps a spear or two, and heading directly for the morningstar.

“I suppose it would be hard for you to keep track of new residents these days, what with how often I’ve seen you visiting the doctors.” Edith shook her head sadly. “Are you sick, dear? I’m sure many in the town would be happy to help you out.”

Peter flushed from his fingertips to the top of his ears. 

To anyone outside the gossip chain in town, it would have sounded like a fairly innocuous statement, even like Edith was perhaps concerned about his general wellbeing. However, the baker had a friend who worked at the doctor’s office as a nurse, and had it on fairly good authority that the receptionist and Peter had been… sharing several intimate moments together, sometimes even while the receptionist was on duty. The baker wasn’t about to judge two adults entering a consensual relationship, even if the nature of the relationship may be considered a bit ‘scandalous’, but for the love of someone, do it on your own time, not on the clock! A house was a house, and a business was a business, and the actions of the two shouldn’t get mixed, in the baker’s firm opinion.

“What are you trying to imply?” asked Peter defensively. 

He had never been good at playing the game. 

The back and forth insults disguised as compliments and simple comments that people such as Edith and Agnes spent their time with, trading cutting remarks back and forth until both women were satisfied with their jabs, and sore with their losses.

Many of the townspeople stayed out of it, and the ones who did were heavily persuaded not to try it again (Edith and Agnes combining forces was a rare thing, but a thing to be feared. It was like two natural disasters turning to smite the same person). 

Then, there were the people like Peter who didn’t realize there was a game being played in the first place, and so blundered into traps without even knowing there had been one set in the first place. 

“Imply, my dear? What could I possibly have been implying? I was simply questioning if you were poorly.” She laughed easily. “It’s not like I said you were up to anything illicit.”

Peter looked like his skin was attempting to color-match a tomato.

For the first time, the baker noticed how uneasy Horse looked. She couldn’t blame him. Being in the middle of a battle of wits (even if this one wasn’t so much a battle as a destruction) happens to be very unnerving. 

One of the first times the baker saw such a battle, it had been between Edith and one of her school teachers, the latter of which had dragged the baker into it for some reason or another.

 The whole experience made her vow to stay as far away as those types of situations as possible, and it looked like Horse was considering doing the same.

In an un-earned and potentially life-saving act of mercy, Jerald, the blacksmith, stepped in.

“Hullo, hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I finished that collar you wanted.”

“Oh, really?” Edith asks, any trace of hostility disappearing immediately. “So soon?”

“Didn’t take too long. And I had a delay on one of my other projects.”

“Well, thank you very much.” Edith took the collar from Jerald and fastened it around Horse’s neck. Horse froze like it was going to bite him, and looked to Edith for help. 

“You look very nice,” She told him, and patted his head. He settled a little, but still seemed apprehensive.

“Wellmustbegoingtalklater” Peter rushed out, turning quickly.

The baker watched as Peter all but tucked tail and ran. Edith looked around, smiling politely.

She shivered.

“PUPPY!” 

From across the street, there was a loud yell from a tiny child who looked intent on pulling her mother’s arm off. 

“Now, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Sarah,” the mother protested, trying to hold her child back. 

The child threw her weight forward with renewed force and broke free of her mother’s grasp before running up to Edith and Horse.

“Can I pet your dog, miss?” She asked, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. 

Edith gave her an approving smile. “Of course.”

Sarah, seemingly vibrating with excitement, started to scratch the dog’s ears and pet along his back. To her delight, her hand sunk into his fur until it almost disappeared.

Grims are apparently built for insulation, the baker noted absently.

“He’s so soft!” the child exclaimed. ”What’s his name?”

“Horse,” replied Edith, still smiling indulgently. 

The child contemplated this for a long moment, taking on on an air of seriousness and sincerity that only children of that age can properly manage without looking uptight. 

She nodded, just as seriously. “Horse is a good name.”

Edith produced a piece of candy from thin air, (or so it seemed to the baker) and offered it to the child, who took it and went bounding off back to her mother, who looked very tired, and a bit relieved.

“Goodbye Horse!” Sarah said, waving, before dragging her mother in a different direction. 

-------------

The small human was different from what Horse had seen before. It was much… bouncier. 

And louder. 

And stickier. 

Despite all of these things, it had given very good ear scratches, and Edith had seemed pleased with it, so Horse figured it wasn't so bad. 

The ‘collar’ was new, and not very pleasant, but more pleasant than some of the factors that came with existing in the afterlife (most of which, such as the fire, had little to no effect on hellhounds, but there were still the rocks, which could be very sharp, and there were a lot of very large, very angry, and very loud things that were also not very nice), so Horse figured it was an okay trade-off.

With this particular train of thought, Horse discovered that without realizing it, he had made the decision to stay in the town. 

On closer inspection, it made sense. Horse had a place that was Not-Rocks to sleep and live, and had found many good smells and things to eat, and an Old human who seemed very nice but also a little dangerous (like Fire!) and he came to the conclusion that this place was much better than the afterlife, and therefore he would be staying right where he was, thank you very much. 

Horse nodded with the finality and followed Edith as she led the way through the streets.

The afterlife could always send someone else to collect the soul he had been after. They wouldn’t even notice he was gone!

------------------

The demon was starting to wonder if he could function without a head. 

However, even if he could, he doubted it would help anything, as this seemed to be a very determined headache, and he suspected the lack of a head wouldn’t really even slow it down.

[blame-canada]

On-Call Sinner, Full-Time Lover - Creek

The plot twist that was falling in love with the imp that stole him away from eternal damnation was something Craig couldn't say he would've ever expected out of life, but here he was, deep in the throes of twitterpated existence with an otherworldly creature that made his heart pound. Damning souls together paid the bills alright, but being on-call sucks regardless of your occupation- unless your assignment happens to be an old 'friend.'

Hello friends and welcome to the Tweekquel you’ve all been waiting for (or it was probably just me, really) to Tempt A Demon, Pay The Price! These two are just too fun to write. Read it on AO3 here. On with the show!

Waking up always felt a bit odd now, Craig had noticed. Sleep didn’t quite feel the same, and he wondered if perhaps the pillows were too flat, or the black-out canopy too stifling. It was probably the fire though. Everything was always a little on fire.

Everything was so on fire, in fact, that when he blinked awake slowly to the sound of noisily flapping wings, he looked down at his feet to find the edge of his sheets ablaze. He stomped at it lazily and it fizzled out, and the sheets regenerated to their normal, pristine condition. It was kind of really great to live in a magical Hell apartment. Well, besides all the fire.

“Babe,” Craig croaked, taking his time cracking his eyes open fully and squirming around in their king-sized bed while he stretched. “Babe, why are you up?” The canopy did a pretty good job of blocking out the flames and their light, but he could still see the shadow of his lover flitting about the room haphazardly. The shadow grew in size until a head of wild hair with pretty little horns popped in between the opening of the canopy to greet him, wide eyes and all.

“We’re on-call today, remember?” He shivered a bit, and Craig slow-blinked at him.

“Yeah, but we never actually get called. Come back to bed, honey, come on,” he begged lazily, reaching his hand out to scratch under his chin, and Tweek, the darling little thing, began to make the little rumbling sound that echoed from his throat like a cat’s purr. Nevermind the distant screeching of the damned souls that wavered beneath it. He relaxed into his scratches for a few seconds before coming to his senses, and he swatted Craig’s hand away.

“Y-you know that’s my weakness! That’s mean!” Tweek whined, and Craig groaned as his shifting about let more of the fire-light into his dark safe haven. “You come on. You know if you don’t take this job seriously, Satan will be seriously pissed off!”

“I know but Tweek,” Craig yawned again and Tweek looked marginally more mad, “we never get calls. Just come back to bed and we can turn the alarm up.”

“Well, if you’re sure…” Tweek trailed off, and Craig could see his tail swinging behind him nervously, the spade tip twitching along with his usual tics.

“I’m the surest sure. C’mere.” He grappled at nothing in the air lazily, and Tweek giggled at him, his pointy teeth poking through his smile. He folded and tucked his wings, making them small for convenience’s sake with his fancy dark magicks, and crawled in to meet him. Craig ruffled his hair and kissed the crook of his neck.

Perhaps he should explain.

If the memory of the beginning of their passionate but sweet relationship escapes you, it’s likely you either read the tale too long ago, or never did in the first place. Here is a convenient link, so that Craig won’t feel the need to start at the very beginning. That would be annoying when the chronicle is right there, for your ease of access.

Anyway.

Immediately after having been teleported away from his false church through the infinite wormholes of Hell, Tweek had begun his training on how to keep a human being. Namely, learning that they frequently needed food and water, different from the usual sustenance he needed every few days that dripped menacingly from Hell’s stalactites. He found it annoying how much Craig needed to consume to stay alive, and though he’d tried to skimp out for convenience’s sake before, Craig was very good at being annoying about being hungry. He had begun to regret deserting for him.

Then of course, they began their very important and serious studies of Sodom and Gomorrah, and as they hopped from town to town to avoid the eye of Satan that wished to punish Tweek, they became very well-learned scholars. So well-learned, in fact, that their expertise were something to be quite proud of, and Tweek would never regret deserting Hell for him ever again. It had taken Craig a minute to get used to the, well, fur, and all, but the wings and horns and pointy teeth kind of made up for it. It wasn’t like he wasn’t already going to Hell or anything.

Fast-forward to when Satan did finally get ahold of them, and while Tweek groveled, Craig hung back, hiding behind his splayed, fearful wings. Tweek began to cry, his twitching and shivering increasingly distracting and difficult to speak through, and Craig watched Satan’s eyes grow soft as Tweek told their story. Lucky for them, Satan was a sensitive man and a sucker for young gay love stories, and they’d been granted their own Hell-apartment as long as they continued to collect souls of the damned. The rest was Sodom and Gomorrah-flavored history, and now they lied together in their luxurious canopy bed, on their day off but on-call, and it felt startlingly comparable to a regular life on Earth. Craig didn’t miss home much.

The warmth of Tweek’s unnaturally high body temperature easily lulled Craig into the beginnings of a light sleep, and he could feel Tweek’s body relax as it began to rest as well. He sighed lightly and wrapped an arm around Tweek’s middle, his head curled into his bare chest, and let his body sink into the incredible plush softness of their mattress.

Then the alarm went off.

Tweek had certainly turned up the volume, and from just outside the canopy blared something straight out of a shitty Halloween soundscapes CD. Seriously, Craig was pretty sure that was what it was. Tweek groaned from beside him and crawled out of their bed to slap the off button just as a fake wolf howl began its crescendo, and the little scroll that appeared out of thin air with their assignment arrived in a puff of black smoke under his clawed hand. He yawned loudly, the action appearing not unlike a cat, and rubbed his eyes awake. Craig did the same as he fumbled to get out from under the sheets and face the noise of their unfortunate paging.

“We never get calls,” Tweek mimicked, clearly irritated with Craig, as he collected the essentials. Craig rolled his eyes while he pulled on real pants.

“What do we have to do?”

“It says it’s another routine damnation, s-so it should be quick,” Tweek muttered, his speech impaired by the hair pin sticking out of his mouth. He pulled it out and stabbed it into his hair right around his left horn, disguised in its placement but effectively forming another sharp spike in his hair. Craig made fun of him for weeks for bothering to style his hair like that.

Craig yawned one more time as he buttoned up his black dress shirt, shifting the collar and shoulders forward and tucking it into his pants. It was annoying that he had to wait until they were at the surface to put on his collar, but it completed the aesthetic, and Craig cared about the aesthetic. He quite liked the routine he and Tweek had invented for their work.

“Ready?” Tweek asked, blinking over at him while he finished smudging some eyeliner under his eyes, and Craig nodded at him once.

“Ready. Fuck it up, babe.”

Tweek snorted, and with a wave of his hand, a portal appeared and screeched at them from their feet. They clasped hands, and together they stepped through, the whooshing sound of their descent whipping past Craig’s ears along with the screams of the damned. “I’m so glad we upgraded to the sound-proof fire,” Craig said, conversationally, and Tweek hummed his agreement. “I’m sick of all the goddamn screaming.”

“Yeah well, t-try thousands of years of it,” Tweek said, and then they were just below the surface, and Tweek got to work on his demolition.

This was probably the hottest part of the ritual. It was a bit archaic that they still had to claw through the ground to get out in the first place, but it also meant Craig got to watch Tweek’s back muscles and arms work their enhanced strength and magic to make a terrifying entrance. He still remembered the horrible cracks in the earth Tweek had made when he came to collect him, and he nearly sighed aloud at the fondness of their first moments together, so full of fear and also thinly repressed sexual attraction. God, he loved him.

The first sight of the Earth’s surface greeted them and it was night time, as was typical, and Tweek glanced back at Craig with a smirk before dramatically plunging his hand into the floorboards of their entrance portal. He took another quick look at his assignment scroll, suddenly hovering in his hand, and then hoisted himself into the land of the living. The high-pitched squeal from above was so satisfying.

Tweek let out a terrifying growl as Craig clambered out behind him, hiding behind his gigantic wings spread wide across what looked like a church. He would make his own entrance once he got his bearings and finished placing his collar. The pews were shoved back and crooked and at least one stained-glass window had blown out from the force. Craig tsked in his head at how cheap it all looked, like the church equivalent of a secondhand shop, but then he caught one of the programs tucked in a little caddy glued on the side of one of the pews.

Wait.

He snatched the scroll from Tweek’s side, exhilaration filling his chest, and then exploding when he finally read the name. He didn’t bother to make a super dramatic entrance, too high on the incredible irony of it all. He laughed, loud and unrestrained, and gently pushed his way forward to step in front of his darling imp.

“Oh my god. No way. No fuckin’ way.” He continued to chuckle as he ran a hand through his hair, the confidence of his position of power running through him like a poison. Sweet, sweet poison.

“W-what the fuh- Craig?!” their victim shrieked, and Craig laughed louder, practically giddy with the pleasure of what he was about to do. “We thought you fucking died!”

“Oh, I think you’ll find me very much alive,” Craig said, lowering his gaze so that he knew the fire surrounding him would reflect in them, forever an experienced showman even on the other side. He stepped forward, the clacking of his shoes reverberating through the room over the distant screams and hissing Tweek was adding to the background, for the atmosphere. A lovely touch, really. “What are the goddamn odds though, right?” He pulled out the scroll and his thick framed reading glasses, and read from it slowly.

“Imp Tweek, Fear Incarnate, Manifest 48: you are hereby summoned per your duties as on-call board-certified Damnation Technician to elicit justice upon the following sinner, predetermined to be damned to Hell under circumstances unnatural and premature: Mr. Eric Theodore Cartman, false prophet and solicitor of unmarked, unrecognized religion invented for-profit at the expense of compromised souls other than one’s own. This violates the code of conduct produced for directors of houses of worship, and sentences you to eternal damnation to Hell for your crimes against humanity.” He let the scroll snap shut and Cartman made a delicious flinch. “Do you have objections to this ruling?”

Cartman gawked, stuttering on a consonant and blinking wildly as his eyes darted all over the imp who shadowed him like a nightmarish silhouette. Tweek’s growling rose in volume and Craig smirked, hushing him with a harshly uttered “Heel,” a command that always pissed Tweek off later but proved effective in the moment. The more inhuman Tweek seemed, the better. Tweek, true to character, stopped with a vicious snarl, and flapped his wings once to force Cartman back in a gale force wind into the podium, much like Craig had once stood on his own failed Death Day.

“P-p-p-please, Craig, we were coworkers! Y-you must understand, we were all so worried for you, I’m seriously! Remember that one time when we, um,” he faltered, obviously unable to find a time Craig might be grateful for, his voice the high whine he reserved for when he begged his mother when they were young. Craig winced in disgust, and took off his glasses to tuck them in his breast pocket.

“Tweek,” Craig said, and that was all the command Tweek needed to leap over Craig’s head and land with a thunderous bang that broke the floor beneath him, leaving a puncture wound with the end of his pitchfork and his tail swinging wildly back and forth with excitement in Craig’s face.

“What is that thing?” Cartman asked shrilly, squeaking when Tweek took a tiny step forward in his crouched predator position.

“An imp,” Tweek and Craig corrected at the same time, and Craig swooned for him before continuing. “He's the creature sent to damn you to Hell for your sins. He’s also my lover, and we live together in an apartment in Hell.” The look on Cartman’s face made it all so worth it.

“You’re fucking kidding me. What the hell?” Cartman said, and Tweek snarled at him again, the gnashing of his teeth audible from behind him. He was probably intentionally salivating too, to get the full drooling-massive-sharp-teeth effect going to terrify him. His wings were tilted forward, a sign of aggression Craig had come to understand by observation, and with teeth bared he knew he looked like an absolute terror. It was delectable, the fear in Cartman’s eyes right now. He wished he could take a picture.

“No objections then? Okay,” Craig said with a shrug, and Tweek gripped his pitchfork tighter, pointing it at Cartman’s heart. “We hereby banish you-”

“Wait!” His eyes were wide and watery, and he finally dropped to his knees off his fat, wobbly little legs.“W-wait, Craig, buddy,” he tried, a nervous laugh in his throat, “you know I’m doing this to help them. They’re lost souls, and I’m giving them a God to believe in! What’s so wrong about that? Everyone needs a place to turn when they’re hurting, Craig, come on. You know it’s true. I’m giving them purpose!”

“All you’re doing is making them pay for some bullshit special effects and your fast food intake.” Craig yawned and blinked slowly, looking forward to crawling back in bed to nap once this was all over. “Take him away, baby.”

Tweek hummed, the sound especially supernatural above the surface, and stabbed the end of his pitchfork into the floor. From its entry point, a new crack traveled forward, splitting right between Cartman’s knees and glowing that terrifying fiery orange. It began to break in half and Cartman began to scream again, girlish and wailing, and Craig couldn’t help but laugh. “Really, the odds! Am I right?” he yelled over the screams of the damned, and Tweek took his chance to lurch forward and plunge the pointed ends of his pitchfork directly into Cartman’s chest. His screaming hitched and he coughed once, and Tweek howled blissfully into the night before using his cloven hoof to shove Cartman’s body off his murder weapon and into the crack that swallowed him whole. He flapped his wings slowly and powerfully as he watched him descend from the high ceiling, and Craig smiled, pride consuming him as the floor sealed itself shut. “Nice job, honey.”

“Thanks,” Tweek said as he dropped down to the ground, the screams having dulled to a distant thrumming so that they felt as quiet as they ever could be. “You were great”—he shuddered with a twitch—“mm, too!”

“Let’s go home,” Craig said through another big yawn, and it spread to his lover, his teeth glinting in the fire surrounding them while he stretched his mouth wide. God, it was hot. Maybe he wouldn’t go back to sleep.

Tweek smiled and took his hand, planting a kiss on his cheek, before walking him back to the hole from whence they came. “So you knew him? Do you feel bad?”

Craig scoffed. “Nah. He was an asshole. I have no reason to forgive him or care. Peru was enough bullshit for a lifetime.”

“Peru?” Tweek asked, but Craig just smiled and faced forward, and they stepped into the portal that would lead them home and back to bed where they would decidedly, most definitely, not be sleeping.

[symboloflegacy-blog]

What Makes Us Stronger Ch. 3: with pride in his eyes

next installment of my fanfic. This is where the plot begins to thicken:o. 

http://ar Also posted on AO3

Not too far from the Agreste Manor, Nino and Alya patrolled the streets of Paris under the disguise of their super heroes masks, Jade Turtle and Vixen. After Chat’s death, they had agreed, along with Chloe, better known as Queen Bee, to give Mari a break, to heal -if that’s even possible- until she felt ready to return to their patrols. With Hawkmoth’s sudden disappearance, they thought things would get back to normal.

“Have you talked to Ladybug?” Jade Turtle asked as he put his feet on the ground to rest for a moment after almost half an hour of patrolling. “She doesn’t answer my calls nor my messages. Even Sabine is concerned about her sanity… It’s been a week,” Vixen whispered the last bit of her sentence, aware of how it might sound. Yes, it might have been a week, but they weren’t there, they arrived at the scene just to witness a broken Lady holding the lifeless body of her partner.

“I know, babe, but they were together for years. She saw him dying, and couldn’t heal him.” Jade Turtle pulled the Vixen into a hug, resting his chin above her head, feeling the stress leaving her body. “I can’t believe my boy is gone for good,” he said against her hair, as an uncomfortable knot formed in his throat. “I was supposed to be there, you know, by his side, but instead.-”

“Please, don’t say it,” Vixen cut him off, turning around to hug him back, “I don’t know what I would do without you.” The confession brought something like a sad smile to the hero’s lips, shaking his head, he lifted her by the chin to make her look at him. “Don’t worry, babe, I’m not going anywhere. Besides, I promised my boy to look after you.”

“Yeah? And what brought up that?” She asked him, but was silenced by a soft press of his lips against hers, as he remembered the small, black box that was safely hidden between his clothes. The perfect engagement ring rested there, and no other but Adrien had been the one to help him choosing it.

Their moment was harshly broken by Jade Turtle, whose ability to sense an incoming threat caused him to change his posture, retracting from Vixen and pulling her along to hide behind the nearest wall.

“What’s wrong?” She questioned him with an odd look, used by now to him and his weird skills, but annoyed nevertheless, that he had to break their atmosphere.

“Sshhh. Something is coming. It’s not an akuma, and certainly not Hawkmoth, but it’s definitely here, watching us.” The hero looked at his partner and found her taking a defensive stance, very much like a fox would do while feeling threatened. The pointy ears in her head twitched, and she started going to the opposite side of the roof. “It’s coming this way,” she alerted the Turtle, and in sync, both jumped down and into an alley, as a purplish light almost blinded them. And then, before their eyes, a silhouette appeared, menacing.

The figure smirked at them, almost wild, but it didn’t attempt to hurt them, instead, it ran away, heading towards the place it had known for all its life. The Agreste Manor.

—-

Marinette released her transformation and stood by the window. Gabriel kept staring at her until he found his voice again. “I’m certain that you know yours and the Black Cat miraculous are the most powerful jewels, and combined, they grant a power very god-like. They balance one another, the power of life and destruction. But when they’re mixed with a different miraculous, the balance is lost and it can potentially trigger the worst side of them.” Gabriel cleared his throat and waited for Marinette to say something, but was met with only a silent nod. “When the Moth miraculous is destined for evil purposes, the only other miraculous that can potentially purify it it’s yours.” That brought a frown to her lips, but immediately, Gabriel raised his hand as a sign that he wasn’t done talking yet.

“But if the Moth brooch were combined with the Black Cat ring, the holder would lost their mind, and they would be consumed by rage and anger and the purity of their heart would be suppressed by their hate.”

She tried to understand what he was saying. How could this information bring his son back? “But you wanted mine and Adrien’s miraculous.”

“I know, Marinette, but there’s something else. The holders cannot be akumatized, either for good or evil while transformed. That doesn’t mean their stones can’t be possessed by an akuma while they aren’t in use, and the negative or positive effect would be activated when they get in contact with their owner. And if the holder and the kwamii spent as much time as Nooroo and Plagg did with me and Adrien, this combination can potentially….” He trailed off, setting his gaze on Marinette, gauging her reaction. She stared at him, impatient, but he could notice that the gears of her head were turning. “… can potentially reanimate their holder’s heart.”

Marinette stared at Gabriel in shock, and he approached her slowly, without the intention of startling her. “A moth walks in the dark and is driven by the light. And the bad luck of a cat means that they have to come back only to die again. If I’m correct, if the magic works, our Adrien will return to us.” His tone took a weird optimistic tone that made her stomach hurt. “B-but he could be a monster.” She snapped at the old man, feeling the anger bubbling up again.

“What did you do with your miraculous?” Marinette didn’t want to know the answer, because she remembered that day. They had buried Adrien with his, assured by Master Fu that he could make another copy of the ring and call back Plagg if needed. But she also remembered the image of Gabriel standing by the coffin, and hiding something inside Adrien’s jacket.

“You need to understand that I couldn’t live with the guilt, Marinette. If the magic works, he will be with us, but I couldn’t just do nothing.” He sounded so sincere that it almost broke her heart, but what he didn’t seem to see was that he had practically condemned his own son.

“You did enough as Hawkmoth, Gabriel. You can’t play God and decide who lives and who doesn’t. That’s selfish and .-”

The power of the house turned off, and the only light that illuminated the office came from the chimney. “Stay here. I’ll see what caused the blackout.” Marinette was about to protest when the window that she had used to get inside crashed into tiny pieces of glass. Instinctively, she moved aside and covered her face, but was grabbed by something. Or better said, someone.

“Where do you think you’re going, Princess?” A voice asked, a voice that she got to know too well over the past years. Marinette couldn’t describe what she felt. A wave of terror and panic invaded her body as she stared at two purplish orbits that were staring back at her. In the darkness, she could make out the lines of his face. He was Adrien, but he wasn’t her partner. Something else had taken his place.

She pulled back to try to break his hold, but he tightened his hold, drawing blood from where he had dug his claws in her wrist. Terrified, Marinette decided to call her transformation, but seeming to read her mind, Adrien pulled her into an embrace of sorts, sneaking an arm to hold her by the waist and using his other hand to cover her mouth, agile and quick as a cat would corner its prey.

“Easy now, Princess. I came back for you. Ladybug can wait.” He purred in her ear, gaining a shiver from her. She struggled against him, and the hand on her waist moved up to her neck. For the first time in her life, Marinette was scared of him, of Adrien and as he put pressure over her pulse, and the lack of oxygen brought blackness to her vision, she wondered if perhaps, he had come back to kill her.

Gabriel returned to the office and found them in the edge of the balcony. With Adrien about to jump down and an unconscious Marinette in his arms. Adrien looked over his shoulder and winked as he jumped off. Before they hit the ground, a swarm of butterflies caught them, taking them to his lair.

Gabriel’s legs gave up and he fell to the floor, for once happy that Cecilia couldn’t see what her son had become.

[f-i-n-d-4]

A Masquerade

Masquerade: a false show or pretense. That was the definition of a masquerade Fiona had learned via her studies, and how fitting a definition it was, for the way she was to pick a husband? A masquerade ball, her father had said and basically forced upon her. She was unable to complain, unfortunately; that had been part of the deal, along with the promise not to hurt any of her friends and their respective kingdoms. In exchange, she had gone back to her solemn life as princess of Nyssia. It had been the right thing, she knew; she had saved her most precious friend's life in exchange for hers, and she knew in her head that it had been the right thing to do. So then why did her heart ache with such pain and regret? In the back of the fairy's mind, she knew why: she would never be able to see him again, ever. Her heart continued to ache as she thought about him: his ruby-red eyes, his ash-black hair, his red-tipped black horns, his irritated attitude, and the aspect that allured her the most, his warm heart under his cold shell. A strike of pain ran through Fiona's heart at the thought of never being able to see that side of him again, but it had either been that or for everyone to never see him ever again, and she knew that although she would no longer be able to see him again, he lived, And that was better than anything she could ever ask for, despite her selfish feelings. So now here she stood under the shadows of the grand stairwell of the castle she was forced to call home, a party brewing amongst the castle's lobby while she, she of all people, stayed against the sidelines with a mask in the shape of a green and pink butterfly hiding her emerald-green eyes. Her hair, which had once been disguised as a hazel brown, was now a sakura pink, curled, and tied into an elegant side ponytail near the top of her head, which was adorned with a golden crown, while her pointy ears adorned a rose earring each. Her body was covered by a large, fluffy light green dress that hid the pair of pink glittering shoes she had on. Her sparkly pink wings were aligned with each other and made to be as unseeable as possible so as to not attract attention. The fairy had her hands clasped together as she stood as straight as possible with a plastered smile on her face to greet fellow masked fairy folk with a nod, smile, and wave. Nothing different from her usual life as princess, which pained her to no end. Some boys who wanted her hand in marriage came to meet her, and Fiona politely but immediately declined. Though she knew she was going to have to marry someone by the end of the night, she was going to deny it as much as possible. Some time had passed, and she had not moved a single inch from her spot. Her feet was starting to ache from standing in high heels for so long and she was about to go look for a place to sit when the music that had been flowing about suddenly changed to a more romantic mood. Her face paled and she quickly tried to blend herself with the shadows cast by the stairwell more as she knew that more boys were probably going to ask for her to dance with them. She had been right, unfortunately, as some boys with masks adorned on their face asked for her hand to dance, to which she declined them all. However, there was one boy that immediately caught her interest. "What a lovely sight laid before me." After rejecting yet another boy, those were the first words that caught her attention. Fiona whipped her head to face the owner of the voice, who was another boy who approached her, but this one was different. He had on a dark red princely suit with the edges of his coats and sleeves brimmed with a golden color. His hair was a chocolate brown, almost charcoal black color, and his eyes were hidden behind a mask decorated with small roses the color of a warm fire. Almost immediately Fiona's eyes lit up and she was about to tackle the boy with a hug when she realized something. There was no way this boy could be who she was hoping for, for he had no horns and adorned pointy ears just like all other fairy folk. He was, although taller than her, still not as tall as he was, as the height difference between the two of them was probably a mere 2 inches while her and him had been a large 11. What also separated the two of them was that the boy had such a princely aura; his back was purely straight and his steps were elegant and soft as he walked towards her. "What is the matter?" Even the way he talked showed no signs of the slang she knew nor the sarcasm or cockiness, and that saddened her. It was even a higher and more polite tone that the person she was thinking about could probably never achieve. Nonetheless, she looked upon the boy and plastered on a polite smile. "What ever do you mean?" she asked, her own voice in a fake "royal" tone. "I am quite fine." The boy softly smiled. "Well, you seemed so happy upon the sight of me, only for you eyes to dim a mere second later," the boy explained. Fiona's smile twitched, but she kept it on and chuckled off his statement. "Hahaha, I just mistook you for someone, is all," she waved her hand at him, which was covered by light pink silk gloves that went up to the middle of her forearm. "Ah, that must have been a letdown," the boy nodded, his face still adorned with a charming smile. "Though I do admit, I find myself jealous for that person." Fiona found herself tilting her head. "And why is that?" she asked. The boy smiled at her. "Because such a person has you beaming such a beautiful expression when you have sight of him," he responded. She didn't know why, but the boy's words made her blush in embarrassment. She was taken off guard when the boy suddenly but gently took ahold of one of her hands with his own, which were covered by white gloves. "If I may dare to ask, may I request a dance with you?" the boy asked. "I wish to see that expression of yours, even if it is not I who makes it." She could have declined his offer, just as she did to all the others, but something about him made her respond differently. "Alright," she had answered without actually realizing it, but the boy smiled at her response and whisked her out of the shadows of her hiding spot. He then placed her under the lights of the large chandelier hanging on the roof. He continued to grip her one hand and slipped his other to her back, Fiona realizing that he was making sure to not touch the delicate wings on her back. She didn't know why, but she blushed as she felt his hand pressed on her back and felt herself be swayed by his steps to the music. She glanced up right at his eyes, but they were under a veil of black due to the mask he had on. 'Does Drake know how to dance like this?' she wondered. 'Would this be what it feels like to dance with him?' Her immediate answer to her latter question was no, as she would probably have to look way higher than she was now to look him straight in the eyes; she only had to tilt her head slightly up to see the boy she was dancing with now and his eyes. The boy noticed her stare and merely smiled at her. "Do you see me?" the boy asked, "or perhaps you imagine another boy behind my eyes?" Fiona's own eyes grew wide under the mask and her face grew hot with both embarrassment and guilt. "I-I am so sorry," she stammered. "I do not mean any insult to you..." The boy just chuckled. "It is alright," the boy replied. "I understand what it is like to see the person you wish to see the most under the light of another." His response made Fiona grow curious. "What is your name?" she asked, realizing that she had never gotten an introduction from him. The boy merely smiled. "Would that mean you decree me as your choice?" the boy asked, making Fiona's eyes grow wide. "W-what?!" she squeaked, her voice losing its tone of maturity. She shook her head to regain her composure and said, "I-I do not see why a name has to mean that you are my choice for marriage." The boy continued to smile his mysterious grin. "Well, this is a masquerade, is it not?" the masked boy explained. "One is not supposed to know another's identity unless he or she has won your hand in marriage, correct?" Fiona pursed her lips, but she could not argue for he was right. That had been the rules set by her father and agreed to by herself. "What is your answer, then, my lady?" the boy asked as he continued to lead her to the rhythm of the music. "Will you give me your hand in marriage?" Fiona bit her lip as she allows herself to follow his lead. She couldn't help but be unable to contain her curiosity for this mysterious boy who had caught her attention. Thoughts rushed through her head as she tried to make a decision. On one hand, this boy did not seem to be looking for power as most of the other candidates were, and she did have to choose someone by the end of the night, but on the other hand, she knew that she had to love the person she married, and she could only see herself doing that in the most sincere way with... Fiona shook her head towards the boy. "I'm sorry," she apologized, dropping her mature act. "Though you are a very worthy candidate, I feel that it's wrong to you to let you have my hand in marriage when I do not love you." The boy's smile fell for a second but then returned as he stopped dancing and kneeled in front of her. He then took he back of her gloved hand and gently kissed it. "What if I could slowly make you love me, milady?" he inquired. "I would not force it; rather, I would hope to earn your love the right way." Fiona blushed at his bold gesture, but she smiled apologetically and shook her head again. By now the lobby had been silenced as all attention turned to the two of them. "I'm sorry," she repeated once more, gulping as she realized all the gazes that were upon her. "I..." She trailed off, wondering if she meant the words she was going to say next. She contemplated it for a bit, but then nodded more to herself and spoke with conviction. "My heart belongs to someone else." The whole room was suddenly filled with gasps and Fiona took another deep breath. "I, I am really sorry," she apologized softly to the boy in front of her, who gazed upon her with a blank expression. All of a sudden, however, the boy grinned, but it wasn't the mysterious grin he had on, no, it was a warm smile, one that Fiona recognized right away. The fairy gasped and put her gloved hands over her mouth in shock as the boy used one of his hands to stand up. "And what, I do so wonder, is this boy's name?" the boy said, his voice slightly deeper and more casual than earlier, which only continued to convince Fiona. Her gaze followed his own, her hands still covering her mouth in utter surprise. However, she immediately cast them away when she realized that he was waiting for her to answer. "It's yours, isn't it?" she whispered softly, quietly, afraid that if she spoke it any louder, it would be a lie. The boy shrugged. "That depends," he answered. "Like I said, knowing my name means I win your hand in marriage." The girl's eyes widened, and so did the crowd that was watching, which included both her father, the king, and her little sister. The entire crowd held their breath until Fiona's hands slowly took off her mask, revealing her teary green eyes. "Tell me," she murmured softly, trying to hold back tears that she didn't even know were of happiness or sadness. "Tell me your name." The boy gave a lopsided smirk and walked up closer to her. He gently caressed her cheek as he looked down at her, and Fiona let him as she felt his warmth leave an impression on her skin until his hand grasped her chin. He tilted it up before he spoke to her. "All your life, you've been called Faera," the boy said quietly. "You gave me the chance to call you a name that you hold dear to you, so I will do the same." His gaze upon her didn't move as he lifted his other hand and grasped his rosy mask. "My name.." He started to say as he started to pull off his mask. He didn't even have to take it off all the way for tears to start streaming down Fiona's face as the boy's masquerade... "is Draco." ...came to an end.

[yukiwrites]

Hi Yuki! I have a nsfw (Valentine's Day style?) request for you where Kamui discovers chocolate paint and decides to experiment with it on Xander. Xander might find it amusing and in return, use it on her.

I GOT SO MANY REQUESTS FOR CORRIANDER SIN, HECK YEAH! YES YES I CAN DO THIS, I CAN Thank you all for the requests ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Let’s get to business, shall we?(also thanks for the nice compliments, nonies! I live for you guys >v

The town was lively – the underground one especially.Bright flags decorated the streets, all between a red and pink color scheme alongside love tunes that could be heard at every corner. 

It was in commemoration of a commoner’sevent: The Lovers Day. It has been dwindled during the war, reason why theRoyal Family hadn’t heard of the event until the fighting was a thing of thepast.

“Look, Xander!” Kamui twirled around thestreets, pulling her husband with one hand, “even the heralds aredelivering speeches about love!” The Queen mused, a wide smile on her face.

They were disguised – after hearingabout the event, Kamui wouldn’t rest until her King complied in going into townwith her – the Queen styled her hair with a braid around her head so as to hideher pointy ears and wore a shawl to cover most of her silver locks.

Xander wore farmer clothes, but theydidn’t sit well on his body – his muscles were being outlined by the cheapfabrics – so they found a need to hide his head and part of his face with amuffin hat. He couldn’t help but smile fondly at his wife.

“It is indeed a curious event,” helooked around, finding couples declaring their love as well as women handingsweets to their loved ones. Kamui squeezed his hand and pulled him towards ashop with a cauldron as a sign – it contained hearts carved onto the wood: it’s been modified just for the duration of the event.

“Did you know? This event consists onthe woman giving her loved one some kind of sweet – usually chocolate – and, ifher feelings are reciprocated, they’ll start dating!” She entered the store,its door opening with a ring.

It was full of people bustling inside. Husband and wife had to stick their bodies close to one another so theycould browse, his chin over her head. “Ah, yes. And the receiver must givea present back one month later, on another lover-related event.” He added asshe picked a small pot filled with chocolate syrup.

“Excuse me, may I sample this?” Sheraised the pot, but was too far away from the counter for the store clerk tohear it – and her small height didn’t help. Xander picked it up and raised itabove the crowd.

“Of course, dear! Take your time!” Theold woman behind the counter replied, overwhelmed by the amount of customers. Kamuiimmediately asked for the pot back and opened it.

“Hmm!” She smiled after licking herchocolate-filled finger. “I think you’re gonna like this one, Xander. It’s nottoo sweet and it’s easy to swallow.” She raised said finger to her husband, whowrapped his arms around her waist and tasted it.

“Indeed,” he rested his chin on hershoulder, “it does taste wonderful. However, you needn’t give me a chocolatefor today’s occasion – we are already together, after all.”

“Oh, don’t be a party pooper.” Sheretracted her finger, closing the pot’s lid, deciding to take it. “Besides, it’snot much of a gift to you if I’m gonna be the plate, right?”

Xander almost coughed, squeezing hiswife and looking around. “Kamui!” He scoldedwith a whisper, a side smirk betraying his serious frown.

The Queen giggled, resting her head onhis chest. “But it’s true! I was the only one who got to lick something out of—“

“That is enough, my love.” He put onehand over her mouth, “we are surrounded by people; let us not divulge ournightly routine any longer, hm?”

“Alright, alright,” she looked around, “thoughno one is listening to us; they’re too busy with themselves. Look!”

Xander was one of those ‘too busy withhis beloved’ to check their surroundings. Every couple only looked at eachother (even when they were paying for the goods), the same look in their eyesand the same blush in their faces. The King smiled fondly, feeling a bitbashful.

“Do we also look like that?” He asked byher ear, making her bit her lip – she oh so loved when he whispered so close toher.

“Nope. We look even worse.” Shechuckled. “Let’s go pay for this already; I can’t wait until we get home.” Shelicked her lips and heard as he gulped while they were still on each other’sarms. He let go of her so she could open way and head to the store’s clerk.

“Oh my!” The old lady said, bringing onehand to her face. “If you pard’n me sayin’, lassie, but you look a lot like theQueen.”

Kamui felt Xander’s hand flinching onhers and laughed out loud, throwing her head back. “Really?” She asked as shetook the money pouch out of her waist after placing the chocolate syrup on thecounter. “Well, that’s reassuring.”

Xander’s jaw hardened and he looked awayfrom the lady, missing his opportunity to insist on paying. The woman simplylaughed, not thinking too much about it and liking Kamui’s sense of humor.

“Here you are, darlin’.” The woman said,giving Kamui her change. Before the Queen could grab her purchase, however, thelady nudged her with a funny smirk on her face. “You got yerself quite a catch,lassie; he can’t take ‘is hands ‘way from you.”

She couldn’t take it. “Yes, yes I did!”She laughed, her entire body trembling with mirth. Panicking, Xander quicklytook the small pot and pulled his wife after thanking the lady over hisshoulder.

“Kamui, try to be more careful! We aredisguised here.” He scolded his laughing wife, pulling her to an alley. Stillgiggling, she caressed his face.

He really thought he was foolingeveryone – sure, no one noticed it yet, but just because they were busy lookingat their loved ones. Those farmer clothes couldn’t fool anyone on a normal day:his muscles showed that he was far from being someone who only meddles withearth and his posture – he always carried himself with his chin up and hisstraight back, no matter how inconspicuous he tried to be.

She wouldn’t say that, though. Instead,Kamui just pulled her beloved for a kiss, pressing her back on a wall. “Forgiveme,” she said after they pulled away just enough for their foreheads to touch, “Iwon’t do it again. But I think we have more pressing matters to attend to…” Shehuffed and bit her lower lip, looking at him from below.

Xander squeezed the pot with one hand,chuckling as he nuzzled his wife. “Lead the way, my Queen. I wish to seenothing other than you today.”

With the sparks which flew between them,Kamui thought they would end up giving in to lust and hold each other in thecorridors – but no, they managed to simply squeeze each other’s hands throughthe secret tunnels all the way to their quarters.

Kamui had been walking in front, but as soon as theyreached their room, she felt a yank from her husband’s side – he pulled her tohim, embracing her much like he had done at the candy shop. However, one of hishands pressed itself against her dress, pulling it up with an extreme need.

She could feel his accelerated heartbeat thundering onher back and had to gulp for her throat felt suddenly dry.“X-Xander…” She called his name, raising her arms and grabbing hishair by the nape of his neck, feeling his free hand trail its way from her hipsto her chest, massaging them.

“My Queen, oh, my Kamui…” He whispered hername over and over, licking her ear and biting her lobe. “Do as I say, mylove; I hunger for you like never before.”

The Queen had to muffle a moan – every single timeXander got possessive equaled to a good time. “As you will, my King.”She replied, turning her head to him, succumbing to a kiss.

“I wish for nothing more than to ravish you whereyou stand,” he grinded his crotch on her behind, making her feel hiserection, “however I shall taste every single curve of your bodytonight.”

After saying that, he pulled her skirt up, the simpledress not requiring a complicated unknotting on the back like her usual ones;instead, he just helped her out of it through her head, contemplating hersemi-nude body – the Queen wasn’t wearing a bra, and her provocative underwear(red and lacy) made the King lick his lips.

“Surprise,” she said, throwing the dressaway and helping her husband with his buttons.

The proximity made Xander want more; he pulled her foryet another kiss, inserting his tongue with so much vigor her felt a moan diein her throat. “No, my Little Princess,” he held both of her handswith one of his, pushing her to the bed. “Cover yourself with this. Ishall watch.”

Kamui fell on the bed, the small pot flopping besideher right after. Xander slowly undressed himself, lifting his chin so as toreinforce the order. Their eyes met, and only his gaze was enough to setKamui’s body on fire. She arched her back, sliding her hands towards her waist,never breaking their eye contact.

With the same speed he was unbuttoning his shirt,Kamui slowly slid down her underwear, raising and crossing both legs in theair, allowing her husband a clear view of her pulsating vulva. Xander was gladhe wasn’t wearing a cravat, for he was sure he would’ve loosened it at thatmoment. He finished unbuttoning the shirt and threw it away, taking off theboots with the same breath.

Kamui reached out for the chocolate pot and opened it,taking a handful of syrup. Still lying down, she glanced at her husband again beforesplattering chocolate around her mouth and neck, trailing down her hand fromher collarbone to both of her nipples, then to her navel; finally to her innerthighs. The Queen opened her legs, placing both feet over the bed and tookanother fingerful of chocolate, spreading it around her vulva and thighs.

Xander freed his erection at that moment, feeling itspreseminal fluid drip down as his throat got increasingly drier. Kamui raisedone leg in his direction, touching his bare chest with the tip of her toe.

“What should I do next, my King?” She lickedher fingers, sliding her toe through his strong abdomen towards his penis.

Her blushing face; her slight smirk. The color of hervulva as it twitched, almost calling for him. Xander felt reason snapping as heheld her foot close to his face, kissing it before trailing his mouth down herleg.

Ah, how his name sounded the best when she called itduring their time together!

Soon he reached her inner thighs and started lickingthe bittersweet chocolate away, making sure to bite her pectineus so as to feelher tremble under him.

“Xan-ahh…!” She moaned in response; it neverfailed when he did that.

Teasing her, the King licked both thighs and herentire crotch area before taking his hot breath to her rosy – and nowchocolate smeared – vulva. Kamui rolled her eyes in pleasure when he finallytouched her with his hot tongue; her body trembling with pleasure.

“D-don’t tease me so, my King…” She beggedas he opened her outer lips so as to lick under it, taking his time at everyturn. Kamui could feel the orgasm looming in – he just needed to nip at herclitoris–!

“Ho? I never told you to beg, my Kamui.” Hehuffed by her vaginal opening, watching it gap. By her bodily reactions, hecould tell how close to the climax she was, but that didn’t mean he was goingto give it to her just yet.

“F-forgive me… b-but please…” Inadvertently,she reached out for her vulva – just a little nudge and she would–

“Ah, my Queen.” Xander softly bit herfinger, moving up to be close to her face, his hand pulling her thighs up so asto put her in place for the penetration. “What did I say aboutbegging?” He prodded his glans by her vaginal opening, nudging it; teasingher until she cried tears of pleasure.

“A-ahh…!” Kamui gripped at the bed sheets,so close to reaching the orgasm her vision was blurring. “F-forgive me…p-please…” She said again, not remembering how to word herself.

Xander could feel her sucking him in and, before hecould thrust, he felt her suck his glans, welcoming him inside her twitchinginsides. He closed one eye in pleasure; being inside of her whenever she beggedwas one of the best sensations in the world – she would be at the epitome ofhunger and would stop at nothing to have him stay inside of her for as long aspossible.

The King felt his head starting to fog and closed hiseyes as he slid it all in, feeling her stretching herself to allow him insideher once more. He penetrated her at the right time – she was closing herselfaround him at every moment and it wouldn’t take long for her orgasm.

Xander rested both elbows beside his wife’s head,licking the chocolate off of her mouth before biting her lips; her hands hungrilywrapping themselves around his back. She had lost all restraint.

“M-my King– please, please… give-give it tome, I-ahh…!” She begged over and over, sucking him in so much she started thefirst spasms of orgasm on her own.

“My Queen…!” He took her lips beforetaking his erection out up to the tip and thrusting it back with vigor. Shedidn’t take it – her orgasm hit her with vehemence, making her whole bodytremble. But he wasn’t done. He thrusted again and again, making her dig hernails on his back and scalp, her voice getting out of control.

Two more times did she come, making Xander’s thrustsharder at each second; not only she squeezed him so much, his own orgasm loomedin every time she called his name.

He could feel it; between her hot breaths andpassionate kisses, her sweet embrace and twitching insides – he felt as hisfluids left his body to enter hers, making the penetration that much more easy.“K-Kamui…!” He grunted her name, squeezing her in a heated embrace,thrusting one last time before coming again right after, his fluids drippingdown from inside of her.

“Xan-ahh-der…!” She felt it again,trapping him inside of her as she closed herself around him. Panting, she hadno strength left on her arms to hold onto him and let them plop on both sides.

Huffing, Xander raised himself so as to look at hisexhausted wife: her legs wrapped around his waist, his penis pulsating insideof her as his semen streamed down from the penetration – her body stillsmeared in chocolate.

“It is bad manners to leave food on theplate,” he said, sliding one finger through her stomach before licking it.“And I shan’t do this offense to my Queen.”

Kamui moaned in response, feeling him grow inside ofher again, her senses too overstimulated to make coherent thought and her bodysimply wanting to be with her beloved. “Be a good King… and finish yourmeal, then… my love…”

Indeed, Xander thought, this is why there is only one Lovers Day per year. It would be bad if Iwere to taste this every day – my Queen would never leave our quartersotherwise.