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glimmerglanger · 4 years ago

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So I’ve been plagued by this since I read mirror AU. For your spice week, how would you feel about obikin sex with an audience? Can be purely for pleasure or a ritual thing or an accident, but like, thinking of Anakin staking a claim in front of Cody in agaptfaa may have awoken something in me? Ditto prime Anakin and mirror Anakin with either Obi-Wan. I know Obes would think it riduculous/primitive but maybe find it hot anyway?

Anonymous said:

hmm this isn’t particularly spicy on its own but it can be added to a spicy september fic? like ur prompts are the ice cream and this ask is the extra toppings haha. but like obi wan’s pale skin being marked up with finger shaped bruises and hickeys and his own flush? bonus points if he’s ‘pleasantly sore’ 🥺

Mmmmm, I like these ideas very, very much! I went with ritual sex with an audience because I’m legitimately so, so weak for that. Marking ended up fitting in very well with this particular plot bunny. Hey, if we’re staking a claim…. No reason for half measures. Established relationship set during the Clone Wars (close to the end, with Anakin’s mental state being frayed).

This is NOT SAFE FOR WIZARDS. No real warnings beyond that. We’ve wrapped up Spicy September Week with this fic! I hope you all enjoyed it! Thanks for all the wonderful prompts! I’ll be posting all the fics over on ao3 to make sure they don’t get lost etc. Hope everyone has a great rest of the week, time for me to get back to prepping for Whumptober!

~~~~~~~

They landed on Tuls on a clear, cool morning, with frost across the ground. Technically, Anakin wasn’t even supposed to be on the mission, but he’d been working with the 212th when Obi-Wan’s orders came through and…

Well. They’d had enough things go wrong for Jedi sent on solo missions from the Senate. He’d decided he ought to tag along, and Obi-Wan hadn’t protested. They’d even had some time to sleep, on the flight to Tuls. Anakin had hoped they might have time for a bit more than sleep, but Obi-Wan had still been recovering from...whatever the kriff had happened to him over Raydonia.

Anakin took one look at the fading bruises all down his ribs, and lost the urge to press the issue. It was more than enough to hold Obi-Wan close while they slept, to pour healing energy down into his skin, hoping to ease as much of the damage as he could.

By the time they arrived on Tuls, most of the marks had faded away. Obi-Wan had stretched that morning, when he woke, and looked down at his side with a surprise written all over his expression. “Feeling better?” Anakin had asked, dropping a kiss against his ribs, and Obi-Wan had smiled at him, looking soft and still mussed from sleep.

But that had been earlier, when it was just them. Obi-Wan looked nothing but professional as they set foot on Tuls soil, met by an entire delegation of tired, stooped humanoids, who looked at them and said, “Thank goodness you have finally arrived, Jedi. There is no longer much time.”

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said, after the Tuls delegation had hurried them along, out of the cold and into a finally appointed meeting chamber. There was a fire crackling in a large hearth along one wall, which was a relief. There was a bitter chill in the air, which seemed odd. Anakin was almost sure Obi-Wan had said that it was supposed to be late spring on the planet. “I was not informed we were on a time-table, but you mentioned--”

“We are very late to bring the spring,” an older man said, rising heavily from a chair by the fire. He was solidly built - Anakin guessed he’d probably been all muscle, once. Time had added a healthy girth around his waist. He wore a crown of dark stone cut through with pale lines.

Obi-Wan glanced at Anakin, and Anakin shrugged. Obi-Wan looked back at the man and said, “And you… require our help, to bring the spring?”

The man nodded. He said, “Forgive my manners. I am King Urtus. And, yes. We need your help, specifically, Master Jedi.” Anakin could feel the relief radiating off of all of these people, even as their leader spoke.

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said, shifting around, loosening his shoulders in a little movement that Anakin wasn’t sure anyone else would identify as the first step towards a fight. “May I ask why? I’ve not heard of such assistance being required before.”

Urtus grimaced, looked to the side, and spat into the fire. “We did not need outside assistance. Not before the Separatist attacked us. The Keeper of Seasons was killed in the attack. Her apprentice…” He gestured to a boy standing to one side; the kid looked to be in his early teens. “Is not yet of age to bring the spring.”

“I think…” Obi-Wan said, as a creeping feeling ran down Anakin’s back, “that you ought to tell us, exactly, how one brings the spring, here on Tuls.”

“Are you serious?” Anakin said, after Urtus finished explaining exactly what it was they wanted Obi-Wan to do. He felt a prickle across his shoulders as everyone in the room turned to look at him, including Obi-Wan, who raised an eyebrow for good measure.

“We are quite serious,” Urtus said, as though he had not just suggested that - that Obi-Wan come down to some - some kind of ritual chamber and take off all his clothes and--

“Getting kr -- engaging in intercourse doesn’t make the seasons change,” Anakin said, feeling his cheeks getting far too warm. He, abruptly, didn’t like the way any of the people in the room were looking at Obi-Wan.

Urtus shrugged. “It ever has on Tuls,” he said.

Anakin looked at Obi-Wan, hoping for support on how mad the entire suggestion was. He got a shrug, instead, and a thoughtful look, as Obi-Wan said, “I can feel the Force flowing through the core of this world. It is possible the seasons have become tied to… rituals, of a sort. And carnal relations are often tied to the advent of spring.”

Sometimes Anakin wanted to shake him. Not everything had to be a science project.

Urtus cleared his throat, before Anakin could point out that now was not the time to get curious about the ecosystem of some new world. “Please,” Urtus said. “It should be nearly summer now. We beg for your assistance with this matter.”

“Why does this have to be Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked, shifting to put himself between them and Obi-Wan, just in case they got grabby.

“We can feel his connection to the Force,” Urtus said, straightening and meeting Anakin’s gaze for the first time. “The planet responds to him, already.” Anakin figured he’d have to take Urtus’ word for that.

And Anakin knew damn well there was no way Obi-Wan was actually going to decline. He’d be full of concern about the fate of the planet and the safety of these people and if it meant him getting fucked on an altar to set things to rights, then so be it. So, it wasn’t much of a surprise when Obi-Wan said, “Of course, I will assist in any way I can.”

Urtus sagged with relief. Anakin felt the emotion vibrating through the rest of the crowd, and fine, he supposed they could make this work. He could help and they’d just get this over with, and-- Urtus said, “We will prepare you and arrange the melee immediately, then.”

The back of Anakin’s neck prickled, even as Obi-Wan asked, “Melee?”

Urtus nodded. “Indeed. To determine who shall have the right to assist you. So you may remove winter’s veil and bring the spring.”

Anakin tightened his grip on Obi-Wan’s arm; he felt Obi-Wan’s emotions shift, some hint of worry entering his feelings for the first time. None of it came through in Obi-Wan’s tone when he said, “Surely, I select who has the...right?”

Urtus shook his heavy head, making a deep humming sound. “No. It must be whoever is touched most deeply by winter, as decided by the Force,” he said, “it has ever been thus.”

Anakin looked over the crowd in the room. He really disliked the way they were eying Obi-Wan, and wondered, if he picked Obi-Wan up and bolted, what his odds were of getting to the ship. Probably not high, if Obi-Wan decided to fight him. Which he almost certainly would.

Anakin blew out a breath, instead, and said, “Is anyone allowed to join this melee, then?” Because, kriff, if it was a fight they wanted… Well. He was more than happy to give it to them.

In the end, the Tuls were agreeable to the idea of Anakin joining the melee. He had no idea what they meant by ‘touched by winter’ and he didn’t really care. He was taken to a chamber to prepare with all the rest of the entrants, while Obi-Wan was spirited off elsewhere. They were only to use weapons with blunted edges, apparently, but that was fine. Anakin had long ago learned how to fight with whatever was to hand.

He cracked his neck side to side, selected a weapon that fitted his hand, and waited, ignoring the chatter around the rest of the room.

It seemed to take an age and a half before the doors were opened again and they were led out, across a frozen expanse of ground, and into a small entryway, directly into the earth. It was dark inside, and warmer. There were steps, leading down, and Anakin followed the figure in front of him, flexing his fingers in and out until they, finally, reached the bottom.

They were… in a large, open space, ringed with seats stretching upward, many of them filled. The walls glowed, faintly. Anakin barely noticed any of that, because, in the center of the… well, the arena, there was a familiar figure.

Someone had taken Obi-Wan’s tunics and left him wearing…pieces of white fabric, tied in bands around his body. His eyes and mouth were both wrapped. There were more bindings around his arms and hands. He was standing in front of a tall lump of stone. Anakin assumed, with a hot lurch of his gut, that this was the altar.

Which meant the Tuls fully expected someone to fuck Obi-Wan right there in the center of this arena and, well. There was no way Anakin was going to let anyone else touch him. He took a breath, adjusted his grip on his weapon, and waited while Urtus made some kind of speech that he didn’t care about.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, waiting for the moment when the melee started, and then springing into action. The Tuls were determined, he had to give them that. And they seemed to have decided that they didn’t actually care who won the right, as long as it wasn’t him.

They swarmed him, and Anakin snarled. Even with numbers, they were not a match, and he knew it. They had not a fraction of the practice and experience he’d gained, and he knocked them aside, one after another.

One almost cracked him over the back of the head with a cudgel, only to slip on nothing a moment before the blow could land, falling into one of his fellows, instead, and Anakin half-laughed at the feeling of Obi-Wan’s presence against his skin.

The Tuls woman in front of him balked at his laughter, and Anakin took the opportunity to elbow her in the gut, listening to the sound she made as she folded up, flinging himself back into the fight. There was no real strategy to it, it was nothing but a brawl, fierce and vicious, devolving, finally, into a bare knuckled scrap between the last contenders.

Anakin had something of an advantage in that area, and grinned fiercely at the sound his fist made hitting the jaw of the last Tuls standing between him and Obi-Wan. The man had a half a head of height on Anakin, but went over backwards with a satisfying thump.

Anakin stood, for a moment, in the midst of the groaning fallen, breathing hard. His clothes were torn and bloody, he noted. He throbbed from a dozen different places, wounds aching. He tasted copper on his tongue and turned his head to the side, spitting, even as drums started around the room.

He distantly remembered being told about the drums, and grinned, because they meant he’d won.

He met Urtus’ eyes across the arena, nodded, and stalked towards the center of the space. Obi-Wan hadn’t moved, standing there still as a statue. There were, Anakin noticed, as he got closer, clothes wrapped around his knees and ankles, too. His feet were bare on the stone and there were strange tendrils of light winding away from him, out through the stone.

Anakin decided he didn’t care about the light, right at that moment. His blood burned in his veins, his gut full of fire from the battle. He was already hard, when he stopped in front of Obi-Wan and reached out, grabbing the wrap around his eyes and pulling it away.

Obi-Wan blinked open his eyes, so clear and blue, and did not look surprised to find Anakin before him. Anakin grabbed the wrap over his mouth, hoping he was doing an adequate job removing winter’s veil, and Obi-Wan said, quietly, something tense in his expression, just for a moment, “I knew it would be you.”

Anakin shivered and could not stop himself from sliding a hand back into Obi-Wan’s hair and leaning closer, kissing his mouth, aware he was leaving smears of blood behind and - and liking it, liking the way it marked Obi-Wan’s clean, perfect skin. “I think I had some help,” he murmured, against Obi-Wan’s mouth, and felt Obi-Wan smile.

“Maybe a little,” Obi-Wan agreed, and Anakin kissed him again, pleased to know it had been him Obi-Wan wanted with him, here in the middle of an arena, here at this crude altar.

It made his pulse beat faster, instructions for what he was supposed to do jumbling together in his head. The Tuls had been specific about some things, but it was hard to focus on what they’d wanted. He’d needed to - to take Obi-Wan out of these bindings, definitely.

Anakin could do that, He kept one hand in Obi-Wan’s hair, aware of all the eyes on them. He expected a prickle of anxiety across his nerves, he even anticipated, in a flash of worry, that he would not be able to maintain his current state of interest, not while knowing so many people were watching.

But these people had thought they could have Obi-Wan. Thought they could just use him for their ritual. And he, abruptly, quite liked the idea of showing them all just how wrong they were. He slid his mouth to Obi-Wan’s neck, nipping at the skin and then sucking, hearing Obi-Wan make a loud, surprised sound.

He slid his other hand down, tearing at the white wrappings, careless and rough. He just wanted them off.

“The altar,” Obi-Wan ground out, his hands freed to come up, to grip at Anakin, pulling him closer. “We need to--the stone is Force-reactive, we need to be on--”

Anakin got the idea. The altar was the size of a large table, rising directly out of the floor. It came up to his thighs, he noted, even as he pulled the last of the wrappings away, grabbed Obi-Wan’s thighs, and lifted him.

The stone lit up beneath Obi-Wan, when Anakin turned and put him down on the altar. Veins of color shot through it, so bright they were almost blinding. A murmur went up through the crowd, relief and joy, but Anakin barely noted it.

Obi-Wan lit up, as well, and that was far more interesting. Trails of light stretched under his skin, glowing. He looked like something out of a dream, something magical. But then, he always had. Anakin groaned and crawled onto the altar, falling forward to kiss him, hands all over his skin, warm and soft and perfect.

He left behind smears of blood, marks that showed where he’d touched, and groaned at the sight of it. Everyone on Tuls had wanted Obi-Wan, but he was the only one who got to have this, the only one who got to touch, and he wanted, suddenly and fiercely, for them all to know it.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan panted, tugging at the closures on Anakin’s tunics. They were hanging off of him already, and Anakin yanked the outer tunic off, tossing it aside. He cared little about the under tunic; it wasn’t in his way. He slid a hand down, curled his fingers around Obi-Wan’s cock, and watched the light beneath him shift, spreading away from the altar, out across the arena.

Obi-Wan’s hands clenched at his belt. He made a sound, thick and pleasure-drunk, as Anakin stroked him, setting a fast, brutal pace. He had not patience within him, at the moment, he just wanted. Wanted to watch Obi-Wan’s eyes flutter, wanted everyone in the arena to see what he got to do.

He bent forward, kissing Obi-Wan deep and filthy, the drums pounding around them, almost drowning out the sound Obi-Wan made when he spilled all over Anakin’s fingers.

“Force,” Obi-Wan panted, and Anakin grinned, rubbing his fingers together and considering. They’d not given him anything to ease the way. He shrugged, decided to make do, and slid his fingers back, between Obi-Wan’s legs.

He found Obi-Wan slick already, slick enough to slide two fingers in at once, and the revelation punched a groan out of him. “I thought,” Obi-wan gasped, deliciously flushed and glowing, “I’d better, ah, be ready.”

Anakin nodded. He felt quite beyond words, aching with so much want it felt hard to think. He wanted, so badly, to stretch out over Obi-Wan like this, to touch his glowing skin and let all the Tuls see how good he could make Obi-Wan feel, show them his beauty, the light of him--

The Tuls had warned them both that they might be...affected by the ritual. Anakin was willing to blame the hot jump of his pulse on whatever the kriff the Force was currently doing, whatever was making Obi-Wan light up, the glow off of his skin chasing away all the shadows in Anakin’s head, leaving him… singularly focused.

The urge to make everyone see swallowed him. Anakin took another kiss, hard, and then rocked onto his heels, batting Obi-Wan’s hands away - he’d gotten Anakin’s slacks open, that was more than good enough - and gripped at Obi-Wan’s hip.

Obi-Wan made a thick sound, surprised, when Anakin dragged his fingers out. His gasped beautifully, his skin all aglow, brighter spots of light at his freckles. Anakin ran a hand over his chest, awed, and then settled his hands, pulling Obi-Wan’s hips just so, gripping tight.

He heard the sound Obi-Wan made over the drums when he pushed in. Around them, the light started picking up colors, purples and pinks and blues, greens, spreading around the room, spreading across Obi-Wan’s skin, like an aurora, a celestial event, right in front of him.

Anakin jolted at the feeling of being in him. It was always amazing; he could have happily fucked Obi-Wan for the rest of his life, but-- Sinking into him on the altar felt like something else, the sensation spreading out to each nerve, clearing his head, leaving nothing but want and need and desire behind.

Anakin needed to fuck him, needed to drive into him, needing to make him gasp and cry out. Anakin gripped him, hard, keeping a hold on him, knowing he was leaving marks behind and - and liking it. He wanted marks, his marks, all over Obi-Wan’s skin, wanted everyone on Tuls and all the other worlds in the galaxy to know that Obi-Wan was--

Obi-Wan’s trembled, light spreading out from him, through the stone, the colors getting brighter, sharper. And Anakin wanted everyone to see, deeply. Force, he loved the way Obi-Wan looked when he was getting fucked, loved the way Obi-Wan’s mouth got soft, the way he flushed all across his cheeks and down his throat.

Every inch of him was beautiful, and Anakin groaned, driving into him as the light curled and flowed around them. He wished he had another hand, to curl around Obi-Wan’s cock, and in that moment saw no reason not to utilize the Force.

Obi-Wan jerked, full-bodied, when Anakin curled tendrils of the Force against his skin, pressure and sensation. Anakin thought he heard his name - it was hard to tell, the drums had gotten louder and his blood was pounding in his ears - and he took it as encouragement.

It felt like encouragement, through Obi-Wan’s emotions, overspilling into Anakin’s head.

He touched and touched and groaned when he felt Obi-Wan quake, come spilling across their skin and the altar and--and something shifted in the air around them, in the presence of the Force through the room. Anakin felt like lightning grounded down through his spine, pleasure and primal want swimming up through him.

He lost himself, for a moment, aware of nothing but pleasure, but needing to fuck into Obi-Wan, desperately, but the sheer joy of spilling within him. Anakin groaned, cock pulsing, and slumped forward, over Obi-Wan’s glowing form.

He held Obi-Wan - almost limp - and buried his face against Obi-Wan’s throat. He sucked hungry kisses against the skin, wanting to leave more marks, wanting to stain the pale flesh, wanting to leave no room for doubt that Obi-Wan was--

Was breathing shakily, trembles moving through him.

Anakin swallowed, hard, wrestling back control of all his riotous wants. He was aware, distantly, of cheering and the brilliant lights filling the chamber. But that all felt far away as he stroked a hand comfortingly across Obi-Wan’s stomach, pressing softer kisses to his skin, and holding him, there on the altar.

He managed to ask, as he got his breath back, “You think that did it?”

Obi-Wan laughed, tilting his head further to the side in what Anakin took as an invitation, and said, “Darling, you may have overshot us right into summer.”

#obikin #glimmer replies #ask me anything #Spicy September Week #public ritual sex #marking #spicy #not safe for wizards #established relationship #seriously thank everyone for all the prompts and support through this week #i was very nervous about doing so many spicy fics #i still remember that comment i got about my writing being good even if the sex is bad #so #thank you all of you #see you next year for another spicy week?#or maybe we'll do one in the spring #WHO KNOWS

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barnesandco · 5 years ago

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Hello! I just saw your post with sex tropes and I was curious if you'd take a request with Bucky "things going wrong during sex that leads to laughter and kissing to stay quiet" It would be nice to see the awkward funny part of sex too since it doesn't always go as planned? Thank you and sorry for the rambling. Love your stories

Giggling

Drabble

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Smut (18+)

A/N: This was so much fun to write, and it happened really fast, too, so thanks for the prompt!

The moon returns its favor to the sun by illuminating her body like she is a star, every inch of satin skin radiating ethereally. Bucky is breathless for it, and half-way to asleep but restless for one more time.

His skin is prickling with sensitivity at every sensation - the bedsheets digging into his knees where they are planted on the bed, flesh forearm detecting every feather in the pillows it’s resting on, the taste of his sweat and the mango tart they had for dessert mingling on his tongue as he kisses her, gasping at either the lack of oxygen or the feel of her velvet softness clenching and pulsing around him. Her mewls are whispered oaths in the air, resounding echoes to carry in his heart.

He pushes off of his elbows to rest his weight on his palms, breaking the kiss, and she looks up with a lazy grin.

“You tired, Barnes?” She teases, but an expertly delivered, deeper swivel of his hips wipes the smirk clean off.

“You were saying?“

“My turn?” She asks now, nudging lightly at his shoulders, and he begins to roll over, but the world goes upside down with a thump and the sound of her scream pierces the delicate stillness they had built. She lands halfway on him, his hands gripping her ribs tightly. He must have been closer to the edge of the bed than he realized, and fell over in the process of relinquishing the prime position.

They stare at each other, giggles still trapped in throats, before the dam bursts and they laugh. Her body shakes against his as he throws his head back against the carpet, her hair tickling on his torso. It takes a full few minutes to restore calm, the ridiculousness of the situation inescapable.

Eventually, she turns to lay on her back next to him, and he leans over her on his elbow, other hand taking to draw patterns on her body. She kisses him, hands cradling his face softer than leaves gliding the wind. The taste of her is debilitating, allowing him to get lost in her is dangerous, because he doesn’t know if he can find his way back. But then, he doesn’t think he wants to, and now, in this life, he doesn’t need to.

“Damn, Sarge, nothing throws you off, huh?” She asks, gesturing to his returning hardness against her hip. He smiles, finds a way to nestle between her legs, nudging her knees apart.

“Nope,” he informs casually, omitting the internal nothing besides the sound of your laughter, leaning to kiss her, tongue entering her mouth at the same time that he does. She gasps against his lips, and he absently wonders if it’s at the audacity to keep going right there on their bedroom floor, carpeted though it is, or if it’s for the goosebumps he elicits when his teeth graze her earlobe, and then trace down to her pulse point.

This dance is everlasting, eternal, unforgettable, and unimpeded by something as simple as a fall from the bed. Giggles are buried under the stuttering of their heart beats, laughter the bedrock of their love, ever stronger. The bouncing of bodies with chuckles has been replaced by the curving of back as he loses himself to her, over and over again, electric love dancing up his spine. She arches her back, nipples grazing his chest and nails against his scalp, and he knows, tired as he is, that he’ll never get tired of this.

“Come on, darlin’.” He murmurs upon torturous reprieve from her lips. “I know you’ve got one more in you.” This, with a harder thrust into that decadent heaven between her legs, a delicate kiss at her neck when she releases a whimper, as desperate for release as he is. Too far gone to say anything, instead relishing in the gravel in his voice as he urges her on. “Give it to me, baby doll, come on,” he pleads again, New York drawl thick as syrup and sweet as honey.

So she does, rocking up against his fingers that have now found their way to the spot where they are joined, and he is circling, pushing, rubbing, swirling. The climax is a burst of starlight behind her eyelids, heart beating a mile a minute and every extremity going numb and weightless as he lets those pulsing depths drag him into his own pleasure. A groan muffled by her neck, letting the soothing kisses she peppers across his collarbone anchor him to Earth.

When the storm passes, he uses the dwindling remainder of his strength to lift himself off of her, and tuck her into his chest, tugging the blanket off the bed to drape it over their sweaty, sated bodies. She laughs again, breath fanning out over his chest and he raises an eyebrow as she rests her chin on him, one hand tracing the contours of his muscles.

“What, are we sleeping on the floor?” She asks, and he shakes his head.

“Give me a minute.”

“Looks like your age is catching up with you, huh, Sergeant Barnes?” she whispers in his ear before springing to her feet quicker than he can process her joke. When he does, he’s on his feet, too, aching bones be damned, and following the sound of her laughter to the shower. Joy doesn’t wait for anyone to enjoy it before leaving, so he ought to make the most of it while it’s his.

Taglist: @suz-123 @mermaidxatxheart @shield-agent78 @buckyreaderrecs @shield-agent78 @corneliabarnes @stevieboyharrington @notsomellowmushroom @veganfangirl5 @mood-pancakes @lbuck121 @redhairedfeistynerd @geeksareunique

#ayesha writes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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timeagainreviews · 4 years ago

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My Series 10 Rewatch: Knock Knock

Hello, my fantastic friends! I am sorry I have been so quiet. I got coronavirus in February and it really wiped out my energy. I am finally starting to bounce back and feel like leaving the house once more. This beautiful Scottish spring we’re having has definitely helped. I also lost my grandpa this week, so I've been all over the place, emotionally. Obviously, such a big pause in the middle of a series 10 rewatch is disruptive, so I would rather just dive back in if it's all the same. When last we were gathered, I was talking about "Thin Ice." Since then, the ice has thawed and I am now up to series 10 episode four- "Knock Knock," by one-time Doctor Who writer Mike Bartlett.

An aspect of Doctor Who which I love about Steven Moffat’s era is that the Doctor and his companions didn’t spend every waking moment of their lives together. Unlike companions of the past, who basically left behind their family lives to galavant across time and space, the companions of the Moffat era had home lives. Not only did this make for some humorous moments, such as the Doctor landing his TARDIS in Clara’s bedroom on date night, it also set up the characters for something of an actual life. "Knock Knock," uses this separation of worlds to establish one of its central themes- can you have a normal life with the Doctor?

Being a poor student in London, Bill is forced to look for a flat with a group of people she only sort of knows. This is your typical group of students, eclectic and young. The biggest commonality they have is they can’t afford a place on their own. One of the ways in which this makes the episode suffer is that none of them has much chemistry together. However, it does enable Bartlett to explore deeper concepts, such as the fear of meeting new people. Our characters are forced to deal with a deadly situation with people who are basically strangers.

The other commonality they have is Bill’s mate, Shireen. I got momentarily excited the first time I heard her name, but only because I thought it was going to be Rose’s best mate Shareen. Also, it would mean that Rose and Shareen had like a 10 year age difference, which would be weird. Shireen is a bubbly sort that seems gung-ho about everyone getting on. This doesn’t stop 90% of their interactions from being a total cringefest. Not one of these characters is particularly likeable. Pavel, the musician of the group, and the one character with maybe a bit of culture becomes a wall pretty early on, so it’s a bland time from there on out. But that’s getting a bit ahead of ourselves.

After a montage of disappointing flats ("Oh my god, the toilet is is what room?") the gang stands defeated. But like a beacon of light, comes a glimmer of hope in the form of John, a man who clearly prowls the streets for groups of youths. The gang is willing to overlook the obvious stranger danger about John because he has something they need- a giant house at a reasonable price. It’s another one of those deeper concepts being explored here that I think Doctor Who does so well. The show operates well when it preys upon basic fears. In this case, it’s the fear of the creepy landlord. The fear that your home life may be dictated by a creepy man who carries a tuning fork and forbids you to enter certain parts of the house like it’s Beauty and the Beast.

Arriving as if to say "No, Bill, you can’t have a normal life," is the Doctor. After using his TARDIS to move her belongings, Bill is quick to send him off. She even foregoes the traditional six-pack of beer and pizza, the universal payment for friends helping one move house. Of course, the moment the Doctor enters the derelict abode, his Time Lord senses are pinging. The Doctor isn't just an embarrassing "grandfather," type, but also a threat to any semblance of a normal life Bill can hope to have. As I said, this is familiar territory in the Moffat era. A funny side effect of the Doctor's attempts at allowing his companions to live normal lives is it only adds to the sharp contrast between both existences. Perhaps this is immersion therapy on the Doctor's behalf. Letting his friend remember what the world is actually like so as to not disassociate her from her own time and place. Or perhaps it is the Doctor softening the blow of eventually losing his friend.

The Doctor leaves long enough for two things to happen. Firstly, Pavel is listening to some music and suddenly is eaten by the house. Nobody seems to notice. Secondly, the new housemates have a bit of a games night for their first night at 11 Cardinal Road. There's no cellphone reception and the house is nowhere near up to code. I applaud them for trying to build up these characters, but it never really gels. Their merriment is cut short after hearing a noise in the kitchen. Scooby-Doo style, Bill leads them to the pantry where she finds the Doctor never actually left. They decide to head to bed, but the Doctor decides he's going to stay up with Felicity and Harry and listen to music. He also reminds Bill to maybe check on Pavel who has not been seen all day.

Now back in the sitting room, the gang is surprised to find John present. He addresses their problems with the amenities and waxes strange about having a daughter to look after. The Doctor asks John who the Prime Minister is, but he is unable to answer. Before they can ask more questions, John disappears down the hallway, but not before sounding his tuning fork against the wood. On her way to bed, Bill has the most cringe conversation with her new housemate, Paul. Paul fancies Bill. Bill fancies girls. I get that they may have wanted a scene where Bill flat out says to the audience that she's gay, but Paul comes off as super creepy. I wouldn't have an issue with this, but I feel like we're meant to find Paul endearing. It's hard for me to place what exactly they were going for in this scene. Paul, mate, you just met her. You just moved in together. Maybe let the paint dry first.

Luckily, like a shot from the dark, the plot saves us from having to stand in the hallway of awkwardness. Paul, having gone to his room, screams. Thinking he's having a laugh, Bill and Shireen go knocking on his door, only to find the return knock sounding across the hallway wall. The house begins to creak and shudder while doors slam shut. It's like something from a haunted house movie. In many ways, it follows a familiar trope from Doctor Who. The house haunted by aliens. We've seen it in "Ghost Light," "Hide," or even Edward Grove from "The Chimes of Midnight." Though I would argue that here, there is less grist for the mill. "Knock Knock," is a more stripped back, simple story. And in that way, I find it begins to lose me as the mystery unravels.

As the housemates run through the house, trying to escape whatever is happening, they find Pavel in a state of flux. Something about the music on his record player skipping has kept him from being completely absorbed by the house. I will say, this is a great bit of body horror on the makeup department's behalf. Everything about Pavel looks like a guy getting eaten by a wall. As it turns out, the tuning fork and the music have more to do with what's going on as the Doctor discovers the house infested with alien lice known as "Dryads." Using his sonic screwdriver, the Doctor is momentarily able to draw the bugs out from the grain of the wood. The Dryad is not your common woodlouse, as it appears to move through wood like water. Even in my second viewing, I found myself wondering if this is kind of cool or kind of dumb. I vacillate between the two.

In many ways, this is both Doctor Who's greatest strength and its greatest weakness. The surreal nature of a time-travelling police box affords us things like sentient planets, talking chair frogs, and killer mannequins. On the other hand, it gives us farting aliens, gamma radiation in the form of lightning, and the Doctor screaming until a window smashes. I remember reading an Eighth Doctor book where horse people read books on their planet by licking them and tasting the story. Sometimes, Doctor Who is bloody brilliant, and other times, it's bloody embarrassing. But that's partly why I love it. This kind of freedom gives it freshness. One week we get a priest buzzing like a wasp as he talks, the next we get River Song and the Vashta Nerada.

Now, I'm not saying "Knock Knock," is bad, but it is a little dumb. I've already complained about the dopey kids nobody cares about, and the silly aliens that aren't that scary, but the end of this episode is where it really kind of evens itself out. As I said, I vacillate between this being a good and a bad story. We learn that the reason John doesn't want anyone up inside the tower of the house has nothing to do with safety, and everything to do with a dark secret. After discovering the unclaimed belongings of previous occupants over the span of decades, the housemates learn that they are just the latest in a long line of people being fed to the house.

I found the motivation of the Dryads a little hard to understand. It seems weird to me that a woodlouse would want to eat people, but here we are. As it turns out, John has found a way to keep his "daughter," Eliza, alive using the Dryads. After noticing they respond to sonic vibrations, John has been using the tuning fork the make them do his bidding. It's a simple arrangement- he feeds students to the Dryads, the Dryads keep Eliza alive as a wooden woman, hidden away in the tower like some forgotten ghost. Once again, the makeup department has done its job. You genuinely believe Eliza is a woman made from wood. I especially like how they used papery twine for her hair.

They do a good job giving reasons why the housemates can't call for help. No wifi, no reception. But it is hard to imagine that over the course of decades, nobody came looking at this giant house for clues of their missing loved ones. Maybe they did and the house ate them as well. All I know is that it's mighty convenient that not one prospective tenant said to their mum or dad "Hey, I'm moving into a giant house at 11 Cardinal Road." Hell, even the Doctor helped move Bill in. What was John's big plan for when the Doctor came around looking for his "granddaughter?"

By this point, several of the housemates have been eaten by the house. Honestly, I could care less about which ones. I think Paul got his, and of course poor wooden Pavel. Or would that be wooden panel? I can't stress how little I care about these characters. Am I cold? I don't think so. We never see them on the show again. They don't matter in the slightest. With the Dryads closing in, the Doctor and Bill have to think quick. Which is when they realise that the timelines don't match up. If John were Eliza's actual father, he would be long dead. Seeing as he is not also made of wood, they deduce that he is in fact not Eliza's father, but her son. Unable to say goodbye to his ailing mother, John has been preserving her. Eliza has been through so much trauma that she has completely forgotten this fact. It's all rather depressing if I'm honest.

Depressing is okay though. What's Doctor Who without the occasion trudge through misery? Of course, it's not all doom and gloom, as Eliza restores all of the young people, once again leaving me to question why they were eaten in the first place. Were they transmuted into energy and simply recombined? It's the best explanation we're going to get, which is fine. David Suchet gives a powerful performance as he begs his mother not to end their lives. His performance is, by far, one of the strongest elements of this episode. Eliza and John are both overtaken by the Dryads, who are off presumably forever. I suppose the threat of Dryads is no longer looming now that their puppet master is no longer pulling their strings.

All in all, I find myself without much to say about this episode. It's not bad, but it's not a banger either. Even writing this review has been a bit of a slog. I find myself hard-pressed to really have any strong feelings one way or the other, and sometimes, that's just how it is. I will say it is the brownest episode of Doctor Who I’ve seen since the ‘70s. The BBC really knew how to dull down colour back then. Sigh... The best I can say about "Knock Knock," is that it's fine, really. There's nothing really wrong with it other than being kind of dull. I think if they'd have tried harder to make the characters more relatable it could have helped. Not every villain needs to be the new Daleks or Weeping Angels. Unlike some of the other episodes in my series ten rewatch, my opinion on this episode has changed very little. I would be as equally surprised to hear someone say this episode was terrible as I would be to hear it's their favourite. This is the kind of Doctor Who you can have on in the background.

Much like we followed the lacklustre "The Unicorn and the Wasp," with the transcendent "Silence in the Library," I am very excited for the next episode in my rewatch- "Oxygen." Another anti-capitalist romp in the vein of "Smile," is just what I need right now. Now that I am back and feeling up to writing again, you should expect to see a bit more output. I wanted to cover the BBC's Youtube Dalek series, of which I have not watched a single frame. I've been putting it off because I wanted to talk about it on here. I have a few non-review articles in mind, but I don't like to promise too much. What I am saying is that you can expect more, soon! Take care!

#doctor who #series 10 #knock knock #David Suchet #bill potts #Pearl Mackie #Twelfth Doctor #Peter Capaldi #dryads #wood #bbc #tardis #rewatch #Time and Time Again

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noragami-ru-manga · 5 years ago

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Chronology of Noragami

To match the events in Noragami with real-life data, we’ve used everything: festivities mentioned, important events that have occurred in Japan, natural disasters, seasonal flower blossoming, study trimesters, exams and school holidays, moon phases that have appeared in the manga, solar and lunar eclipses, Hiyori and Yukine’s birthdays, Hiyori’s diary, and even Yato’s clothes.

Several members of Noragami_ru Manga discussed the series and its time frames, armed with both inspiration and critical thinking. There was a lot of information to process; some of the manga events were very easy to match with the calendar, while others really fell out of the timeline. A prime example is chapter 73. It was impossible to reconcile with any given date and broke the straight string of the events that did line up. Sometimes Hiyori’s diary would cavort and list its dates at random. However, we do know that the events of Noragami happen within the time frame of a little over a year. This one’s easy to check and prove. The manga started when Hiyori met Yato, several days later they found Yukine and a year later, right after his first birthday, Yukine was accosted by Mizuchi and ended up stinging Yato. Yato then decided to end his father’s attacks once and for all and went to confront him.

Adachitoka started working on Noragami in 2010, and the first chapter was published by Kodansha in January 2011. These dates were the first ones to come to mind. Naturally, other years were carefully examined; members of the fandom stocked up with “magnifying glasses” and “microscopes” and meticulously checked and double-checked several other calendars and tried to reconcile them with the events of the manga. But years 2010-2011 were the ones that fit the best, and very soon you’ll see why. Get ready, dear members, readers and (un)expected guests. We can’t promise you over-the-top fun times. But we hope that you will be pleasantly surprised and look at Noragami and its amazing universe in a different light. Let’s go!

This is our first main clue:

Hiyori says that it’s been two weeks since she first met Yato and became a half-ayakashi. The same day in the evening, they’ll find Yukine. “We had an early snow that day… I wonder if that’s why Yato named him Yukine?”, Hiyori will recollect a year later. It was 29 November, the end of 2010. The sky is overcast, it’s snowing, the moon can’t be seen so it’s impossible to match its phase with the calendar. But we will reconcile memorable dates with moon phases later.

Here we can see young moon behind the trees. It’s an early winter evening; Hiyori comes home and brings Yukine along. Judging by the moon phase, it’s sometime between 10-12 December 2010. Hiyori’s parents come home and say that they’ve been at the class reunion. Those are usually held on Saturdays. If so, the date is 11 December.

The encounter and the first fight with Bishamon happen during fool moon:

First signs of indelible blight start showing on Yato’s skin; Nora appears and tries to persuade him to give up on Yukine and use her instead. The fool moon at the picture looks like it’s been marred by dirt. Date-wise these coincide with 20-21 December 2010. A full lunar eclipse happened that night in real life. In Japan it could be seen in the evening, after the moon rising. Here is a quote from the Russian Wikipedia: “Since this lunar eclipse coincided with winter solstice, 21 December became “the darkest day” in the last 372 years. The next lunar eclipse on 21 December will happen only in 2094”.

The next is “Christmas” chapter (22-26 December). Yato is wearing a Santa cap, there’s a festive shop sign on the wall:

In chapter 9 Hiyori goes on a temple visit to Tenjin’s shrine and New Year’s celebration with her friends. She miraculously avoids death on 1 January:

7 January to 25 March is the last school trimester in Japan. Hiyori is wondering where Yato is. It’s the 3-4th lunar day, when there’s no moon yet, but there are signs of a very slim crescent.

Yato’s epiphany in girl’s bathroom

Soon enough, Yato and Yukine will have to go through misogi – the ablution ritual.

By the way, these two important events changed places in the anime. There, Yato was dying from blight sometime near the end of December, perhaps on that same “darkest day” of the lunar eclipse. Several days later, on New Year’s, Nora set her ayakashi on Hiyori.

Yato meets up with Nora during another full moon. Why can’t they just sleep on these moonlit nights?

Is it 20 January 2011? Or is it already 18 February?

Yukine meets Suzuha when the first spring flowers start blooming:

Hiyori is graduating from middle school and preparing to enter high school. Plumes are blooming (which means it’s either February or March), and Hiyori has her promotion exams coming when she is kidnapped by Kugaha. Yato and Yukine rash to Bishamon’s residence to rescue the girl:

Yato engages Bishamon in battle on the night of the crescent moon:

If we try to match first flowers blooming on the ground with plum blossoming, then it can’t be February, which means it’s the beginning of March. A crescent like this generally appears on 7-9th lunar day. Date-wise it lines up with 10-12 March 2011. The date that interests us is 11 March, since it was a memorable one for Japan. A huge earthquake occurred that day on the eastern cost of Honshu, resulting in a giant tsunami. Nearly 16 thousand people died and 2.5 thousand went missing.

In Noragami this event leads to the gods’ council in Takamagahara:

Bishamon manages to prove that her fall was the sorcerer’s doing, so the Heavens start their hunt on Ebisu. As a result, the actual perpetrator who’s used Aiha and Kugaha to set two warrior gods against each other goes unpunished, whereas Ebisu becomes a scapegoat.

Sakura starts blooming when Hiyori enters high school:

First trimester begins on 1 April. Hiyori is ignoring Yato. According to the calendar, it’s the new moon. Fujisaki enters the scene.

However, as soon as Suzuha’s sakura starts blooming, Hiyory gathers Yato and Yukine, Tenjin, Kofuku and Bishamon and their shinki for flower gazing. There’s even a date this time – 13 April.

The events of chapter 26 happen in early May. End of April – beginning of May are holidays in Japan, which Hiyori spends at home with her parents. Her diary, which we will examine later, is absolutely blank during this time. Hiyori’s mom says that it’s only May, but the water reservoir is empty. There’s also a newscast on TV about possible water shortage in summer, possibly due to abnormal weather conditions

This time Nora appears on a moonless night and kidnaps Yato. Two weeks later Hiyori is seen looking for Yato, asking Daikoku and Tenjin about him. She is doing it with a purpose, since she has plans for 8 May.

Hiyori’s diary here deserves special attention:

It’s easy to match the dates with the calendar. For example, 10th is a Monday, January, therefore, 11th is a Tuesday. The next page of the diary has another Monday on it – 17th. The dates on the second frame are hard to match with anything, but there’s a mention of the picnic on the third one – 12-13 April, the days are Tuesday and Wednesday. On the fifth frame the pages with dates from 25 April to 7 May are empty. But there’s a trip to Capyper Land scheduled on Sunday.

Yato says he’s been living at his father’s for a month when he is sent to rescue Ebisu from Yomi:

Hiyori’s friends make her go to Capyper Land with them on one of the May weekends. Yukine has been in Takamagahara for a while, where the time flow is different from Earth’s, which is why he’s lost track of time for a bit and only realizes that summer is coming when he meets Hiyori:

There’s unrest in the Heavens. A storm is also brewing on Earth, as noted by Mayu:

2011 was an unlucky year for Japan. Typhoon Songda approached the country at the end of May. Here’s an extract from a real-life news article: “Disasters come treading on each other’s heels. Typhoon Songda, which has been raging near Japan, is approaching Fukushima-1 nuclear station. Bad weather might cause floods and landslides, which the experts fear might result in another radiation leak”.

During old moon Yato is still in Yomi with Ebisu. Storms are raging in Japan and in Takamagahara. A partial solar eclipse is approaching, which you’d think would bother the goddess of sun herself. In Japan it’s supposed to happen early in the morning on 1 June. But?.. Apparently off-screen, Amaterasu lifts her divine ass and goes searching for… the god of the moon, who went missing from the world of the living?

Amaterasu helps rescue the gods from Yomi. When Yato flies out of the vent straight into Hiyori’s arms, it’s already 15 June – there’s a full moon in the sky. According to the calendar, there was a full lunar eclipse that night. Yato is covered in dirt and blight:

After meeting with the reincarnated Ebisu, Yato releases Hiiro:

Judging by these frames, it was Hiiro who used to cut Yato’s hair. Sometime later it starts growing out, so Yato has to pull it into a ponytail since he doesn’t have his free hairdresser now. Though he will get one in Takemikazuchi several months later.

Yato misses Hiyori’s birthday on 28 June. However, he takes her to Capyper Land on one of the weekends. School holidays start on 20 July. Hiyori is seen wearing either dresses or sundresses. It’s also summer when Hiyori sees Yato’s memories and learns about the god’s greatest secret.

Hiyori starts going to school in chapter 48, so it’s September. The month does not begin well: Fujisaki asks the girl to leave Yato alone, and she challenges him. Right after that he uses the second brush from Yomi to summon ayakashi. Those cause chaos at the hospital that Hiyori blames herself for and starts turning into an ayakashi, going further away from the Near shore. It was also in the beginning of September 2011 that tropical storm Talas approached Japan, resulting in 59 casualties. The damage it caused is considered to be one of the biggest ones in the last 20 years. It’s no wonder Hiyori is blaming herself for the disasters; after all, as early as March, right after Yato’s battle with Bishamon and the unrest in Takamagahara and on Earth, Tenjin said to the girl that Yato did that because of her and nearly turned into an aramitama (raging spirit).

In chapter 53 Yukine is secretly reading Hiyori’s letters and says that they haven’t seen each other in two months:

Which means it’s the beginning of November. Fate brings Yato to another Iki and returns him to Hiyori once more. Their ties are written straight with crooked lines.

Yato starts preparing for Kamuhakari and makes clothes for Yukine and himself. Kiun appears and demands that he attends the divine council itself as well. It means that apart from feasting on free food, which was Yato’s intention, he will also have to participate in boring god meetings.

Tama the cat, who also appears at Kamuhakari, ruins this whole line of calendar match-ups. She died in June 2015, not long before chapter 58 was released, and Adachitoka honored her this way.

Bishamon misses Kamuhakari because she goes looking for the burial hafuri. Kazuma comes to Iwami. Full moon is shining through the window, which means it’s 11 November:

Hiyori goes back home from the festivities while Yato has to stay at the boring part of Kamuhakari. The girl notes that it’s been three days since she came back, and recalls that it’s been a year since she met Yato. It happens around 14-16 November. She also thinks that they should throw a party for Yukine, cause it’s almost a year since they found him (two weeks after she met Yato). Yukine’s birthday will be on 29 November. But a lot of events will happen in Takamagahara before that.

By the way, the time flow in Takamagahara is just as messed up as in Yomi. One day for Yato is the same as three days for Hiyori. The moon is old again. And the time in Takamagahara flows three times faster:

There’s also a peculiarity to Yato’s clothes.

“Yato comes to Kamuhakari in white clothes. But then the battle with the Heavens begins. Yato loses his divine white sleeve in his fight with Takemikazuchi. Then only the white cape remains. Finally, he appears in front of Amaterasu dressed in black.

We don’t know how long the battle lasted, but the time in Takamagahara flows differently than on Earth. It’s possible that it’s been two weeks on Earth between the beginning of Kamuhakari and Amaterasu’s trial. Also, during the new moon (when the side of the Moon facing the Earth isn’t lit by the Sun) the sun and the moon go side by side; sometimes the moon overshadows the sun a little, partially or completely. Yes, I’m still hoping an eclipse happened during the trial. Compare this: when Bishamon was at the brink of falling into the state of aramitama, her blight was dark. But Yato’s is black, and the stains it left on Amaterasu’s clothes are black”. (Ivan)

And the calendar? A partial solar eclipse happened on 25 November 2011. Japan was not supposed to see it. However, a black spot landed on Amaterasu and scared her.

“I think that’s the whole point, that the solar eclipse wasn’t seen in Japan. It could only be seen in Antarctica and partially in South Africa and New Zealand. So the picture in chapter 71 is correct. Amaterasu is showering every god and shinki present with her sunlight, then the eclipse starts. Yato, who is tired of the battle and tormented by his shinki’s sufferings, catches his “wave” and tries to make the eclipse happen in Japan as well (albeit figuratively – by striking down the sun goddess), but Take interrupts the moon god’s show of power. Amaterasu looks somewhat tired throughout the trial; maybe she isn’t feeling well, among other things?” (Yana)

The full moon in chapter 73 messes up all the calculations once again.

See, there has already been a full moon not that long ago. Hiyori had spent a day at the Kamuhakari, then waited for Yato’s return for three days, and there’s only one week left till Yukine’s birthday. There can’t be a full moon twice in two weeks’ time. Perhaps Adachitoka started the chapter with Ebisu’s kidnapping as an extra first and then turned it into a full chapter; they added the mention of Yukine’s birthday but either left the moon the way it was drawn for the extra or simply forgot about it.

The next chapter messes up the dates again.

27 November is on Monday in Hiyori’s diary and there’s a note “Fujisaki-senpai was absent again today”. The thing is, 27 November 2011 is Sunday. It was Monday in 2017, when the chapter was released. It was a hard year: one of the mangakas had to take a long sick leave, and the manga soon went on a 14 month long hiatus.

Sometime before the birthday the Heavens summon Yato and he’s questioned by the sacred treasures and then Amaterasu herself.

Yato wakes up covered in blight after Yukine’s birthday. Take’s shinki conduct another misogi, and Yukine admits that Nora kissed him the day before.

Yato goes looking for a shinki that can help him take down Fujisaki. Amaterasu has set a deadline for him on Ooharai, the Great Purification ritual (30-31 December). There has to be a crescent moon in the beginning of December – a very slim one, shaped as a bow. Kazuma comes to Yato and becomes his shinki.

In chapter 79 the dates in Hiyori’s diary are correct: 28 November is Monday, 29 November – Tuesday.

And it’s almost full moon in Chapter 81 when Yukine starts wondering about his past, with the crack on his name growing.

Please focus your attention on the top frames with the moon. Keep your hands on the table and lift your eyes off the bottom frames.

The next full moon is on 10 December 2011, and it’s supposed to be a lunar eclipse, too. Unfortunately, since chapter 81 there hasn’t been any other chapter that had a full moon in it. However, we do have Hiyori’s words in chapter 85 about missing the chance to spend Christmas with her friends. It means that the events of the latest chapters take place between Christmas and New Year’s.

Ooharai is near.

***

Author of chronology: Yana Tarasova

Inspired, came up with ideas and then checked and double-checked them: Darina Episheva, Yana Tarasova, Amoeba Proteus, Ivan Ivanov

Comprised into an article by: Ivan Ivanov

English translation by: Anastasia Bazheeva

#noragami #noragami manga #noragami chronology #noragami meta

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themurphyzone · 4 years ago

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PatB Oneshot: Eurydice

Summary: An alternate scenario for the Halloween episode, loosely based on the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice. Mr. Itch strikes a different deal with Brain. If Brain can make it to the surface world without looking at Pinky, the contract will be voided and Pinky’s soul will be returned. And failure is not an option.

Beginning AN: I posted this idea on Discord a month ago and I’ve wanted to write this scenario ever since. I love the Halloween ep so much…so how about some whump? I am not kind to our favorite mice at all, just a heads up. Also there is a serious lack of fics over the Halloween ep. It's prime material for angst.

Big shout out to @plutonis who listened to me cry over torturing these poor mice over DM.

FFN Link

Contract

I, the Brain, hereby agree to a challenge against Mr. Itch, Proprietor of Wayward Souls and Master of Hell, in which the winner shall receive Pinky’s soul. Should Brain win this challenge against all impossible odds, Pinky’s previous contract in which he agreed to submit himself to hell’s eternal torments in exchange for Brain’s dominion over the surface world shall be voided and destroyed, and he may return to the surface world with Brain. Additionally, Brain agrees to forfeit his royal claim on the world and is prohibited from future attempts at global conquest for the remainder of his days.

Challenger Signature: The Brain

Drafter Signature: Mr. Itch

*Mr. Itch reserves the right to set the terms of the challenge at his leisure.

o-o-o-o-o

He’d been too hasty in signing the contract. The combination of brimstone and heat had to be affecting his decision-making process.

It’s not about Pin– the food pellets, he told himself. Absolutely not.

But it was too late. His signature was burned into the page. Five blood-red letters would determine Pinky’s fate.

And even if…no, he couldn’t afford an if…when he succeeded in rescuing Pinky, he’d have to give up the world. He wouldn’t even be able to try and earn his crown, scepter, and throne through his own merits.

Without the nightly ambitions, Pinky might…wish to find a different associate.

Brain’s entire purpose would be gone. Forever.

He didn’t listen to the convoluted, nonsensical legalese that Mr. Itch’s lawyers provided. There was no need to provide metaphors or explain the situation further.

Brain understood the gist.

No matter the outcome, he would fail. And this time, the consequences were permanent.

“Think of it, Brain,” Mr. Itch sneered, and Brain hated that cocky, self-assured expression that put even the best car salesman in the world to shame. Mr. Itch waved his hand, and a sick, twisted parody of a game show appeared behind him. “You can walk away now and rule the world…or you can risk it all and try to get Pinky back.”

Brain’s vision blurred as he was forcibly thrust onto a tall podium. A spotlight illuminated him, and the demons clamored for his choice.

A tall demoness cheerfully indicated two panels to the studio audience of hell’s denizens. One depicted Brain on top of the world in royal regalia. He could have power to change the world. Admiration from the populace. Endless wealth so they could have the finest things life had to offer.

But the other panel was a portrait of Pinky. Just a misleading, goofy portrait of a smiling Pinky that belied the high stakes of Brain’s contract.

He was chafing under the spotlight. But why? He was king, he was emperor, with everyone at his beck and call! He shouldn’t be afraid of a little spotlight!

Except he wasn’t any of those things here. Just a mouse who’d failed to notice his associate signing his own soul away.

The demons clamored. Brain gripped the podium, vulnerable and ripe for humiliation, for several…seconds? Minutes? Hours?

His voice wasn’t working. He needed his voice, didn’t he? But he could only stammer like a fool. Perspiration built on his fur, and he nearly slipped off the podium, his palms damp and clammy. He didn’t know if it was the heat or the anxiety, but everyone was waiting for his choice.

“Save Pinky!”

“No, the world!”

“Go for cash!”

The demons jeered in a harsh, guttural cacophony. Brain was sure he would’ve been covered in fresh produce and popcorn if they’d had any available. Anything to amplify his current indignity.

He wanted Pinky. He wanted the world. He couldn’t have both.

But in the end, there was hardly a choice at all.

Ruling the world without Pinky by his side wasn’t worth the castle, the riches, the statues. Institutes of higher learning named in his honor, policies with his seal of approval, ethical practices in scientific fields to enforce…but what good were they to him?

His castle would just be a gilded cage. Sparkling and clean and mighty for all his subjects to behold from afar, but its interior would only contain a gloomy king without an associate, a confidant…

And a kindred spirit.

All or nothing. He had to try. Who knows? Pinky might’ve done the same for him.

“I’ll try to save Pinky!” Brain shouted, forcing the words past his throat and into the unforgiving outside world.

He wasn’t prepared for Pinky to spring onto the podium. That mindless simpleton was grinning from ear to ear like he was just being called to the stage in The Price is Right! Didn’t Pinky realize his soul was in peril?

“Oh, Brain! My hero!” Pinky snatched Brain up in an enthusiastic hug. Brain stiffened and tried not to think about the hand currently rubbing his head, and how he would never feel it again if he failed his quest.

They were also surrounded by an unfriendly sort. They would believe this saccharine display was a weakness if Brain allowed Pinky to indulge these childish needs.

He shoved Pinky off, holding him at arm’s length for a moment so Pinky would take the hint.

“…so he can show me where the food pellets are,” Brain added hastily.

That was all Pinky was needed for.

To show him where the necessities laid.

A hellish fanfare played, saving Brain pondering those terrifying thoughts.

An enormous fiery plume burst onto the stage, then dissipated to reveal Mr. Itch. He conjured a microphone and bowed heartily at the thunderous applause.

“Ladies and demons, we have something very special for your entertainment on this fantastic Halloween night. I trust you’re aware of our newest resident and his…well, can I even call him a friend? He didn’t lift a finger to stop me when I claimed Pinky.”

Brain stared down at his hands to avoid the harsh, mocking glares. This was just the opening act. Mr. Itch was hyping up the crowd for Brain’s ultimate failure.

Mr. Itch strolled around the stage, each movement radiating confidence of a self-assured victory. “Yes, he enjoys having that ultimate power. A glorious statue, his rival in the race for world domination now a lowly jester in court, his name praised on every street corner! Isn’t that a dream come true? And yet...he chose to come into my realm and make demands. Like the world wasn’t enough for him.”

Because Pinky wasn’t there to make the world enough.

A hiss of smoke sprung up by Brain’s foot. He bit his tongue, wondering if part of the challenge was running on hot coals or avoiding random ember spurts. At this point, it seemed very likely. His feet probably wouldn’t survive the night.

In the unlikely scenario that the rest of his body survived of course.

And something wet landed on his toe. Wet? There wasn’t anything wet about hell, unless one counted the boiling lakes. But it evaporated into steam before he could fully process the cool reprieve.

Then he heard it.

A whimper.

From Pinky.

A tear trailed down Pinky’s cheek.

“Pinky?” Brain asked quietly, trying to keep his eyes trained on Mr. Itch, who was currently recapping the tale of Brain’s disastrous attempt at Broadway to the raucous audience. Not one of Brain’s finest moments, but he couldn’t dwell on that now. Better for them to laugh over what was past and done, rather than drawing their attention here.

Pinky clutched his tail in a death grip. Steam leaked under his eyes and around his cheeks, his entire face damp with tears.

“He’s saying awful things.”

Even with their proximity, Brain had to strain his ears to hear Pinky’s voice.

“Don’t bawl, Pinky,” Brain whispered, hoping by some off-chance that the verbal comfort would be enough. “Don’t cry. Not here. Not now. Don’t…don’t be foolish.”

He didn’t know if the reassurance was meant for Pinky or himself. With a trembling hand, Brain reached for Pinky’s back, shuffling closer to make the motion less conspicuous.

But Pinky moved away before Brain could touch him.

“They have to know, Brain,” Pinky said. His voice was far too calm. “I can’t let him tell those awful lies about you.”

Pinky tried to balance on the edge of the podium, but Brain grabbed him by the tail and hauled him off. But Pinky was stubborn, and he tried again.

“Let him talk, you idiot!” Brain yelled, grabbing Pinky’s tail to knock him off-balance and buy some much needed time before Pinky foolishly tried again, oddly glad that Mr. Itch was enough of a showman to keep the attention away from them.

But Pinky’s huge pain threshold allowed him to recover far quicker than Brain would’ve liked. “Brain, let go of my tail!” Pinky shouted, trying to sweep his tail into a huge arc to dislodge Brain.

“Not until you do as you’re told, for once in your life!” Brain retorted, grasping the wriggling tail. He wouldn’t relinquish it.

Pinky was slippery though, and in one swift motion, he freed himself from Brain’s grip. Realizing he needed a more secure hold, Brain threw himself at Pinky’s right arm. Suddenly, the arm blurred, and Brain couldn’t stop his forward momentum in time. A sharp pain erupted on the side of his head and knocked him against a corner, his face throbbing painfully.

Through his daze, Brain pressed a hand against his cheek and winced at the tenderness. Hopefully it didn’t swell. Ice packs weren’t exactly a common item in this hostile environment.

Then he saw Pinky.

And Pinky was absolutely distraught. Smoke poured out his eyes at a more alarming rate than before. His blue eyes were tinged red. Pinky clutched his elbow with his other arm, squeezing as hard as he could to admonish it.

But it wasn’t necessary.

A microphone was thrust into Pinky’s face before Brain could tell him so.

“How could I forget our little stars of the show?” Mr. Itch asked, a sadistic grin stretching from ear to ear. “That was quite a scuffle there, Pinky. Can’t say I blame you. Revenge for all the times Brain’s bopped you on the head and insulted you?”

Pinky wiped his eyes in a pitiful attempt to get some semblance of dignity back as the demonic crew trained all their lights and cameras on him.

“N-no...” Pinky said weakly. “I mean, he can say mean things sometimes, but the bops-“

Mr. Itch shook his head in a show of mock sympathy. “Your friend-“ he curled his lip as if the word itself was cyanide “-called you a speckless nougat just before you signed my contract. He’ll take everything and give nothing. He’ll send you away only to ask for your services again because he can’t do the manual labor on his own. You’re a talented little guy, aren’t you? You’ve showed the moxie and the know-how to become a Broadway star or president of the good old USA. And instead of putting those gifts to use, you’ve been rotting inside a cage with a failure who leeches on your success.”

Failure.

One of the cameras trained its unforgiving lens on Brain. He shook away the remaining dizziness and stood up to get some semblance of dignity back. The demons booed and heckled him, but he tried to lift his head in defiance.

He wasn’t a failure. He ruled the world! His word was law, his brilliance unparalleled!

He had it all-

-only because Pinky sacrificed his soul for him. Pinky had taken drastic measures to prove himself when there had been nothing to prove, because Brain made Pinky believe he had to prove his usefulness.

He’d gained the world yet lost Pinky. It was failure.

Which meant he-

“Stop it,” Pinky begged. Brain’s thoughts came to a screeching halt, and he stepped away from Pinky before reminding himself that he was being illogical. Pinky didn’t have telepathy. He couldn’t have heard all that. But Pinky was glaring up at Mr. Itch with a ferocity Brain had never seen before.

In the span of a single night, Brain’s entire world had been shaken to its roots.

Mr. Itch raised an eyebrow. “Stop what?” he asked, placing his free hand on his chest like he’d been genuinely offended.

“Stop it! STOP CALLING BRAIN ALL THOSE NASTY MEAN HORRIBLE THINGS RIGHT NOW!” Pinky’s voice rose into a fevered pitch, his fur bristling along his spine.

This was wrong. This was so very wrong. Pinky wasn’t supposed to be the angry one.

Before Brain could stop him, Pinky leapt off the podium and landed on the microphone to the ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ of the lesser demons, and even Mr. Itch seemed too stunned by the maneuver to shake Pinky off.

“Pinky, cease immediately!” Brain yelled once he managed to find his voice. “You’re being reckless!”

“I HAVE PLENTY OF RECKS, BRAIN!” Pinky screamed, tightly clinging to the microphone even though Mr. Itch was attempting to pry him off. “CAUSE YOU’RE NOT A FAILURE OR A LEECH! YOU’RE A MOUSE!”

A comforting warmth spread through Brain’s chest at the affirmation, but he pushed those feelings aside. Pinky’s words meant nothing if Brain didn’t succeed with this rescue.

The audience was deathly quiet.

“Yes, Pinky,” Mr. Itch growled, trying to slip a finger under Pinky to dislodge him. But Pinky held on. “Let your friend talk. Let the cameras capture his selfishness. After all, his presence here just means he wasn’t grateful for your gift. That he wasn’t happy with your gift. As I said before, all he does is take, take, and take some more. What’s he ever done for you in return?”

But Brain had been grateful. For a short time anyway.

Until he realized his gratitude came from Pinky’s sacrifice. All of Pinky’s sacrifices that involved no benefit to himself.

Pinky mumbled something that had much of the audience leaning in eagerly, trying to hang onto every word.

Mr. Itch shrugged. “Well, if you have nothing else to say, then-“

But Pinky hauled himself on top of the microphone, clinging to it like a lifeline.

“Brain gave me my name! He gave me a chance to see the world! He gave me a chance to do things I never dreamed of doing before! I wouldn’t have met Pharfignewton otherwise! Or Winnie or Mr. Sultana or any of the other lovely people we met while trying to take over the world! Maybe Brain can be big-headed and a grump but he works super hard and he’s going to make the world a better place to live! And most importantly, he’s my best friend and nothing you say will ever change that!”

“Pinky…” Brain’s throat closed uncomfortably. It had to be the oppressive, stagnant air. What could he possibly say to Pinky’s emphatic speech?

Even the demons were moved. Some embraced their neighbors, others made sympathetic noises. There were a few who sat with their heads pressed against their knees in a futile attempt to staunch their tears.

He’d never been more grateful for Pinky’s charisma.

Mr. Itch took notice of his followers’ reactions. A vein seemed to pop in his head, his once casual, lazy posture now stiff and alert.

“Brain only kept you around because you were useful.” A dangerous edge crept into Mr. Itch’s tone. “That’s all there was to your so-called friendship.”

“NARF!” Pinky screeched in defiance.

It sounded all wrong. Fury and fear laced that familiar, irritating monosyllable. Brain didn’t know what narf meant, and he probably never would, but he was certain that narf wasn’t meant to be uttered in such a fashion.

“Narf!” a demon called.

Another demon stood up and pumped his fist. “Poit!”

“Troz! Egad! Narf! Zort!” The demons chanted Pinky’s favorite syllables like the world’s most demented cheering squad.

An inferno burned in Mr. Itch’s eyes.

“SILENCE!”

Mr. Itch’s snarl deepened into a guttural and unearthly roar, the entire netherworld quaking in outrage. The lesser demons hastily vacated their seats and cowered behind each other, large boulders, or whatever makeshift shields they could find.

The microphone and a tiny white body were hurled into the empty audience box, crashing into the metallic structure with enough force to leave an enormous dent.

There was no tic-filled laughter to accompany the harsh clang of his body impacting metal.

“PINKY!” Brain screamed, not caring that he tumbled more than climbed down the podium. He landed right on his throbbing cheek and got a mouthful of hot crimson dust for his trouble, but he couldn’t care less.

The physical tortures were just going to build up until Pinky’s body couldn’t handle it anymore. It didn’t matter that Pinky had a near-immunity to pain. Pinky’s body would break and he would never notice.

Brain spat out the dust and hurried over to Pinky, who feebly stirred next to the microphone.

Mr. Itch loomed above them, an ember casually lit on his finger. “You know what? That’s perfect,” he chuckled, and it was utterly devoid of good humor. “Absolute silence.”

Brain knelt on the hard ground next to Pinky, who only blinked up at him with those too-trusting blue eyes. Pinky raised a shaking hand, cupping it against the cheek he’d accidentally hurt.

“I’ve sustained worse injuries,” Brain said quietly. Despite the heat, he shivered at the touch. He wished Pinky wouldn’t comfort him. He didn’t deserve it. “You know that.”

Pinky opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

“Speak up, Pinky.” Brain tried to sound commanding, but his voice hitched instead. He couldn’t even keep up a thin illusion of normalcy.

Pinky tried again, but Brain still couldn’t hear him. Not even a cough or a wheeze from smoke inhalation. He wasn’t choking or flailing. There couldn’t be something lodged in his throat.

“He can’t speak, Brain,” Mr. Itch said. “He’s been silenced per our little agreement.”

Silenced?

Brain snatched the wrist gently cradling his cheek and felt for a pulse, and he couldn’t disguise his relieved sigh once he found it.

“C’mon, just what do you take me for? It’s not a euphemism. Takes all the fun outta the contract.”

“Just say narf, Pinky,” Brain pleaded as he shook Pinky’s shoulder, as if pleading in hell would accomplish anything useful. “Please say narf. Can’t you do that much?”

Pinky mouthed the syllable to no avail. He became teary all over again, his free hand feeling his throat as if trying to coax the narf out. His foot kicked out, yet it made no thump against the crimson rocks.

The demons murmured among themselves, and though they appeared sympathetic to Pinky’s plight, they were too frightened of their master to come any closer.

It was just as well. Brain didn’t want anyone to touch Pinky.

Brain tried to glare at Mr. Itch, but a mouse could never hope to be intimidating against a sadistic supernatural being.

“Don’t give me that look,” Mr. Itch scoffed. “The fine print of our contract lets me set the condition of the challenge. Pinky’s silence is my first condition. If anything, I’m doing you a favor. Awful noisy thing, isn’t he? No wonder you weren’t inclined to get back him back right away.”

Had this been a different situation entirely, Brain might’ve found it relieving that Pinky would have to be quiet for a while.

Cruel irony at its finest.

Pinky touched his nose against Brain’s own, and Brain tried not to think of how Pinky could comfort as easily with a touch as with words. Surely Pinky was just using tactile stimulation for his own peace of mind rather than Brain’s.

“And now for my second condition,” Mr. Itch smirked. He snapped his fingers, the sharp echo promising cruelty yet to come.

The gentle pressure of Pinky’s nose vanished, the feel of his wrist and shoulder gone. The whites, pinks, and reds of his body were now colorless, lifeless. His bright blue eyes faded into a pale, ghostly void. No pupils, no irises…just empty.

Brain tried to put a hand over Pinky’s heart, desperately wishing for the steady thrum he was so accustomed to. Yet his hand passed through Pinky’s chest like mist. It was neither cold nor hot, simply that there was nothing to feel.

Pinky reached for Brain’s face, looking at him with that strange, milky gaze. But his hand passed through the cheek he’d accidentally hurt, and Pinky’s chest heaved rapidly. He tried to grab his tail, as he always did when he was truly upset, but couldn’t.

No tears came out. Just several silent sobs.

Pinky was just a silent, sorrowful ghost of his former self. The loudest and happiest mouse Brain had ever known was reduced to this shadow, trapped within his mind, unable to engage with the world around him.

It was a horrible, undeserved fate for such a kindhearted mouse. There would be no release, not even from death, if Brain failed his challenge.

He had no choice but to win.

And even that was practically impossible.

“Pinky, I’m sorry…” The words tumbled out of Brain’s mouth before he could think of anything else to say.

Why wouldn’t his mind just work? I’m sorry? Like he’d done nothing more than eat the last food pellet? Sorry didn’t even begin to cut it!

Pinky floated instead of standing, feet skimming just above the ground. He gave Brain a tiny, reassuring smile. Of course he’d find something to smile about in his non-existent state. It probably should’ve annoyed Brain, but it was rather comforting to know that Pinky would always be Pinky.

Even so, the smile faded just as quickly as it came. Pinky couldn’t properly express his joy with narfs and poits and enormous embraces.

Then a fingersnap above his head reminded him of Mr. Itch’s presence.

“We’ve got business to discuss, Brain,” Mr. Itch said as he straightened his lapels. “You should know what your challenge consists of.”

In other words, Brain’s humiliation had hardly begun. But he’d do it. For Pinky’s sake.

Brain tried to hold his head high and show hell that he wasn’t afraid to defy their evil laws, but he couldn’t even find the strength to bring his ears up.

Another snap, and the microphone soared back to Mr. Itch. He twirled it with a showman’s flair and gestured for the audience to take their seats. The lesser demons obeyed, murmuring among themselves and pointing at the spectral Pinky. They didn’t seem pleased by Pinky’s complete silence.

“Ladies and demons, think of Brain’s challenge as an adaptation of an old Greek story,” Mr. Itch announced. “And I ain’t just talking about a watered-down Heracles here. No, this story isn’t about heroes slaying monsters. Rather, it’s a tragedy. The Greeks were masters of that particular craft, you see. A man goes on a quest, yet his fatal flaw always strikes him down in the end. I trust you’re quite familiar with the concept, Brain?”

Brain said nothing. No need to give them ammunition.

His temper and pride were the source of many failures. But there was nothing he could do except commit the same errors over and over again.

He should’ve known. It was only a matter of time before the ones he…tolerated suffered the consequences.

As if sensing his thoughts, Pinky wrapped his spectral arms around Brain’s shoulders. He couldn’t feel the saccharine display, and that fact pained him more than he cared to admit.

“Ever heard of cooperation?” Mr. Itch sighed. “You have the starring role in the show tonight. Give us something to work with, at least.”

Brain gritted his teeth. He’d had enough of this delay. “I’m through with this prolonged torture! Just get it over with already!” he shouted. “I refuse to be paraded around like a sideshow attraction!”

“Touchy,” Mr. Itch huffed in disdain. He turned back to the audience. “But I digress. Now, this tragedy involves a man who ventured into the depths of the underworld to retrieve his closest companion. He placated everyone with his music, including Hades himself. And because Hades was a total sap, he allowed the man to lead his companion back to the surface world.”

His arm swept out and a large stone staircase appeared. It spiraled and arched far above their heads, and Brain caught a glimpse of a starry sky hidden among the crimson stone.

Pinky belonged in the surface world, where the grass and horses and inanimate objects he had yet to befriend waited. And he was relying on Brain to bring him there.

Perhaps it was silly to reach for arms he couldn’t feel, but Brain placed his hands atop where Pinky’s fur should’ve been. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d voluntarily touched Pinky without hurting him.

Something to rectify if they made it through this trial.

“And that brings me to the final condition.” Before Brain could react, darkness engulfed his vision as he was plucked up into the air, his head squeezed by an unforgiving, burning hand. Brain bit the skin like it was just another day of rough handling by some careless scientist, but a fiery pain flooded his throat and he released the hand immediately. It felt like magma had crammed its way into his esophagus, and there was no lifegiving water to relieve him.

Then he was roughly deposited at the base of the stairs.

Brain tried to turn around, but Mr. Itch forced him to stare at the first brimstone step instead. The steps were several inches taller than him, though he could still reach the next step if he jumped high enough.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Mr. Itch scolded. “I wouldn’t do that if I were a pathetic mortal like you. In this little tale, Hades told the man he couldn’t look at his companion until they were both in the land of the living, lest she be lost to the underworld forever. For your challenge, I’ll be invoking that same clause.”

Brain resisted the urge to bite that supernatural conman’s fingers off. He would only wind up damaging his throat.

“I can hardly expect Pinky to follow me in the presence of distractors!” Brain protested. “He’s liable to find a stalactite interesting, or collect rocks, or do anything else other than-“

Mr. Itch only cackled, pillars of lava erupting alongside his cruelty.

And Brain remembered why the story was known as a tragedy.

The man looked at his companion just as they reached the surface world. Her soul was forever lost among the dead. Though he tried to reclaim her, the underworld wouldn’t release her again. And he spent the rest of his life mourning her loss.

Hell expected a faithful adaptation. They knew Brain would inevitably lose his temper and forget that he couldn’t look. They knew they’d be able to keep Pinky forever.

They knew.

Yet they put on this charade anyway.

Because false hope was the cruelest lie of all.

“Your challenge begins, Brain,” Mr. Itch declared, and the wicked fingers slowly released Brain’s head. “And remember, no looking at Pinky until you’re both in the surface world. But that’s a moot point, ain’t it? You’re bound to forget soon enough. At least try to go for most of the length before your undeniable failure, okay? We wouldn’t want the show to end too soon.”

Mr. Itch vanished in a puff of smoke.

Undeniable failure.

“I am not a failure,” Brain snarled to himself, more out of habit than belief. But his petulance at the phrase enabled him to climb five steps without pausing for breath.

And he didn’t require Pinky to boost him up! He climbed five steps by himself!

But that thought was banished as he climbed the sixth step. Pinky couldn’t physically boost him, nor provide mental fortitude. The adrenaline rush wore off quickly, and Brain’s feet dangled in the air as he tried to find a grip on the rocky outcropping. But he managed, albeit with difficulty. On the count of three, Brain heaved himself over the ledge.

He laid on the hot stone to catch his breath, face tucked under his hands so he wouldn’t see Pinky.

No words of encouragement. No strange tics. Nothing except the roar of lava, mockery, and his darkening thoughts.

Funny how one didn’t appreciate what they had until it disappeared. Pinky always lifted Brain, boosting him to higher places he couldn’t reach alone. It was something he’d always done, and Brain had let it slide out of practicality. Just treat the action like a living, portable stepstool. It was far better than expending more energy than required during plans.

In hindsight, would it have killed him to say thank you? Or at least nod in gratitude?

There was no time limit, but Brain stood up and dusted himself off, though the crimson dust would just attach itself to his fur all over again within seconds. It was impossible to shake off, and Brain wondered if he would ever be able to fully cleanse himself of it.

Taking a deep breath, Brain reached for a handhold above his head and hauled himself up.

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot again. One more repetition. Start all over for the next stairstep.

It was a rhythm. Rhythms weren’t full of what-ifs or what could’ve beens. Concentrate on the rhythm. Nothing else mattered.

He had to keep moving. Keep climbing. It was better than sitting there and doing nothing. He couldn’t rest. He wouldn’t.

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

Brain’s throat burned. His fur was slick with perspiration, though it only served as a method to lose precious water instead of cooling him off. His limbs trembled, and it was difficult to keep hold of the unforgiving stone.

But he’d only completed the first two spirals! There were still several more tiers left, and the starry sky seemed much further away than before.

“Pinky, if…if we make it out of here-”

Brain shuddered as he laid down to rest. His voice was raspy from the fumes and thirst, but he had to keep talking. Had to say something. Maybe Pinky would listen, maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he wasn’t even in earshot.

“-if you want to leave…”

He trailed off, rubbing away teardrops that quickly evaporated into smoke. His chest ached, but he couldn’t say for certain that it caused by physical labor.

Brain couldn’t make an attempt at global conquest even if he succeeded. Pinky’s help would no longer be necessary.

Between the two of them, Pinky knew how to live. He knew how to talk to people, how to have fun, how to narf through his pathetic lot in life with a smile on his face.

Brain only knew survival. Maybe it was his former field mouse instincts that somehow bled into intellect. Maybe his primitive instincts weren’t as gone as he’d like to believe.

He would never be anything else but a lowly test subject. If someone decided to euthanize or feed him to a snake one day…well, it hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things. Another mouse would take his place. And when that mouse died, it would be replaced again. And the progress would continue in the name of scientific progress.

Dying for science.

Yes, that’s how he’d meet his end.

But Pinky’s kindred spirit would touch others. Whether it was through an executive office, the lead role on Broadway, or even just helping a stranger on the street, he could do so many good things for the world around him.

The world would love Pinky back.

And if a solitary mouse in a lonely lab happened to turn on the TV and see his former associate surrounded by an adoring crowd, he would be happy to see the world has changed for the better.

So he had to keep going.

He had to try. Try to bring Pinky back to the surface world…and let him go. He shouldn’t keep anything he didn’t earn.

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

The halfway point now.

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

He miscalculated the distance to the top of the next step and reached too far. He lost his footing and plummeted several inches. Growling under his breath, Brain punched the unfeeling stone, though it only bruised his knuckles instead of making him feel better. Then he tried again.

And again. And again.

He couldn’t grasp these handholds! There was no logical reason why. They were approximately the same size and shape as all the other outcroppings! It shouldn’t be this difficult!

“Pinky, where are you when I need you? Cease your nonsense at once and help me!” Brain screamed, clutching the stone and closing his eyes so he wouldn’t see Pinky. Eight tries. Nine tries and counting. Why couldn’t he do something as simple as this?

But Pinky couldn’t help. It was useless to ask.

What’s the matter? Can’t manage a simple task on your own?

“Of course I can!” Brain snarled, and he gripped an outcropping so tightly that it broke off in his hand. He hurled the useless pebble into the abyss below, then found a different handhold and successfully hauled him to the next step out of sheer spite towards that nagging, insistent voice.

How do you know Pinky’s following you? How do you know he’s not enjoying his newfound flight capabilities?

He didn’t know. Pinky smiled when he discovered he could float as nothing more than a ghost, it was true, but the smile hadn’t reached his eyes. Pinky was incapable of deception. Even without speaking, the intention had been clear. Pinky only wanted to comfort Brain.

That Pinky could learn to live a life of nonexistence. That somehow Pinky would adapt to no touch, no words, no rest in hell.

If only those blank eyes had been more accusatory. It would’ve been far easier to deal with.

Pinky shouldn’t adapt to this. He couldn’t.

But he might-

No. Brain had to try. He had to try and not fail.

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

The ground quaked beneath his feet, and Brain clung to the crimson ledge he rested on. He wouldn’t put it past hell to throw him to the bottom and negate all his efforts.

Still, he pressed on.

The sky was closer now. Several autumn leaves were blown along the wind.

Are you sure Pinky’s behind you?

Three spirals left. Almost there. They were almost there.

Failure would come soon. He was sure of it.

He didn’t know much time had passed in the world beyond. Was it November already? Was it time for the world to replace the witches and skulls with turkeys and wreaths?

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

The navy sky was filled with countless twinkling stars. Lights from a faraway airplane blinked steadily as it flew into the horizon. Ever closer, ever brighter.

“Do you see that, Pinky?” Brain whispered. For once, the stars gave him no existentialist dread. A feeling he dared describe as hope filled his chest and strengthened his limbs. All fears were banished to the recesses of his mind. He climbed with renewed purpose, not pausing for breath. “Just a little farther. We’re almost there. Stay behind me, Pinky. Just stay behind me.”

He’s not behind you.

“Yes, he is,” Brain retorted.

This was important. Pinky always came through in matters of importance.

Always is so absolute. You know those statements are usually false, right?

The ground rumbled, accompanied by a distant outraged roar, but Brain paid no heed to it. He ignored his doubts, he ignored the roars, he ignored everything but the starry expanse above and the rocks beneath his hand.

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

He could do this. One more ledge. One more handhold. One more foothold.

The sky was so inviting, so beautiful…

Brain gripped the last ledge. He was filthy with dust and sweat, but he couldn’t care less. He was almost there.

Pinky was almost home. Pinky would be able to feel again.

And he would leave. But that was alright. Pinky wouldn’t suffer in hell on Brain’s account. That’s all that really mattered.

He hauled himself onto the last ledge…

…but he didn’t see the pitchfork’s hilt in time.

An agonizing pain shot through his body as he lost his grip and plummeted to the previous step. His back slammed against the hot stone. A searing pressure in the center of his forehead kept him pinned. He gasped for air, his dry throat throbbing.

An enormous crimson devil blotted out the night sky, and Brain’s fragile hope ripped away from his heart. The Devil’s eyes burned like lava as he glared hatefully at Brain, digging the pitchfork ever so slightly into his head.

It wouldn’t take much force to crush or melt his skull, whatever the Devil fancied.

“I OFFERED YOU CHANCE AFTER CHANCE TO WALK AWAY WITH THE WORLD. BUT YOU STOLE WHAT RIGHTFULLY BELONGS TO ME. YOUR PUNISHMENT SHALL BE DEATH.”

The silky, snake-oil voice was gone, replaced by the full power of a supernatural entity. What was a mortal, pathetic rodent compared to the Master of Hell himself?

He was going to die. He’d failed to save his friend. His only friend.

If his soul was trapped in hell forever…if he had to suffer for all eternity, he deserved it. For his selfishness. For his callousness. For his failure.

“Please don’t hate me, Pinky…please don’t…” Brain choked out. He didn’t know where Pinky was. But if Pinky was watching, or listening, he could only ask that Pinky wouldn’t hate him.

He lay there, his determination gone, his lonely demise imminent.

“Narf! Zort! Poit! Troz!”

And the pressure vanished.

“Narf! Zort! Poit! Troz!”

A cacophony of Pinky’s favorite syllables sounded again and again and again. Though Pinky’s voice wasn’t among them, Brain still heard that oddly wonderful Cockney accent loud and clear.

“NO! PINKY IS MY PROPERTY!”

The Devil roared as dozens of lesser demons swarmed him, the pitchfork swinging wildly at anyone who dared to oppose his reign. Something screamed at Brain to find cover before he was caught in the power struggle too, but his body refused to obey any rational thoughts.

Several demons ripped the enormous pitchfork away from their master, and the weapon crashed into a wall and spiraled into the depths below. Other demons screeched and clawed at every part of the Devil they could reach. The Devil swatted one pig-snouted demon slashing away at a shoulder, and he flew over Brain and tumbled down the stairs, grunts of pain echoing off the walls.

Immediately, his nearest allies howled in fury and attacked with more vigor than before. They chomped on cloven hooves, they fended off every swipe, and shouted warnings to their comrades before the Devil’s wrath could reach them.

No longer was self-preservation their only concern. They were a united force now, one the Devil himself had underestimated severely.

With one final shove, the Devil toppled over the edge. The ground rumbled at his furious roar, which quickly decreased in volume as he fell into the abyss.

Brain’s heart pounded, but the Devil didn’t resurface. A resounding cheer went up from the demons, then two of them rushed past Brain, presumably to check on their downed ally.

The remaining demons watched Brain closely. He flinched under attention he didn’t want. He just wanted to leave this horrible place. Then he realized they weren’t exactly looking at him, but rather somewhere just above his head.

“Narf!” the demons shouted, hands raised to their foreheads in a salute.

There was only one explanation behind the sudden camaraderie.

Pinky.

Pinky had been helping him all this time. Somehow, he’d influenced selfish demons to unite against their cruel master and protect each other from serious injury. Somehow, he’d found a way to say narf despite his voiceless state.

Somehow, Pinky still wanted to save Brain, even after all he’d done.

“Thank you, Pinky,” Brain said softly.

He didn’t need to question Pinky’s presence any longer.

A cool, fresh breeze blew over Brain’s fur as he climbed the last step. The starry sky was clear once again. It was a nice view.

The demons stood aside to allow them safe passage. He kept an eye out for any hostility, but other than their natural weapons, there was none to be found. Whether it was out of respect for the trial he and Pinky had endured, or if they were just an unpredictable force and Pinky’s presence somehow warded them off, he didn’t know.

Brain stepped onto the cool asphalt of the DMV parking lot, and had this been a different circumstance entirely, he might’ve found it rather ironic that one would be glad to set their sights on a DMV. He shivered from the temperature difference, the chilly autumn air contrasting heavily from the sweltering inferno.

Pinky’s contract shimmered into existence , and Brain’s own agreement followed within seconds. Someone had stamped ‘VOID’ in red capital letters across the top page of both contracts, and fire blazed across the crimson ink and engulfed the papers entirely. The ash and smoke left behind were swiftly carried off by the night wind.

Just like that, their contracts were gone.

In his relief, Brain turned to face Pinky to properly share their victory.

IDIOT! If you turn around, Pinky will be claimed by the Devil. Your entire challenge would be for nothing!

And Brain’s foot stopped mid-turn.

The realization struck harshly.

He didn’t truly know if the Devil had a claim over Pinky’s soul. The lesser demons only bought them time to escape hell. Brain doubted they’d be able to hold their master back forever, even as a united front. But if the Devil came back, what then? Two lab mice couldn’t hope for a permanent victory against a powerful, malicious entity.

There was only one solution.

Brain could never look at Pinky again.

He didn’t trust himself to not slip up. Sooner or later, he’d forget that he couldn’t look. And Pinky would be gone again. Brain’s efforts would be in vain.

Hell wouldn’t be so accommodating the second time.

“Narf! Brain, I can say narf again!” a familiar voice exclaimed behind him.

Brain’s ears perked without any conscious input, but it was a minor loss of control in comparison to everything else he’d endured tonight.

He heard the clatter of pebbles and a swish of fallen leaves alongside a gentle tap of dancing feet against the asphalt. Pinky could interact with the environment again. He could dance and speak and produce all the noises he wanted. It was a small consolation, at least. The contract never said anything about never being able to hear Pinky again.

“Brain?” Pinky asked again. “Are you alright?”

Brain forced himself to stare at a white line that marked a parking space instead.

Don’t look, he chanted. You mustn’t look.

A featherlight touch landed on his shoulder, a gentle warmth not quite touching his back, but just close enough for him to feel its presence.

Brain hastily pulled away. He hated this feeling of helplessness, of being unable to function without physical reassurance. But he couldn’t accept Pinky’s touch either. It would just lead to further loss of control over his emotions, and he’d forget that he couldn’t look.

Pinky would have to leave ACME Labs and Brain forever. He would probably find it difficult at first, but he’d adapt. That’s just what he did.

Brain’s entire body ached. He just wanted to wash away the fire and brimstone, tend to his injuries, and sleep. It didn’t matter what he wanted to do after that. Even if he ignored the contract’s terms and tried to conquer the world again, it would never be the same.

He set off for the lab. Pinky followed, as always.

Maybe it was a selfish risk to not send Pinky away at this very moment, but he was grateful that Pinky would accompany him for one last after-failure trek.

o-o-o-o-o

He’d completely forgotten about his very brief stint as emperor. The only reminder from that timeframe was Snowball, who’d exchanged his jester cap and bells for the royal crown as soon as Brain abandoned his post to rescue Pinky.

ACME was no longer a mighty castle, but just another underfunded lab. Nobody chanted his name, called for their problems to be solved, or held signs that proclaimed Brain as their ruler. His statue had long vanished.

He didn’t want to see loyal subjects, enormous wealth, and undisputed power tonight. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever want them again.

Right now, he was just Brain, an exhausted, downtrodden lab mouse who would have to try to live without his only friend.

On the way back, Pinky had chattered about anything and everything, prattling on about cheese flavors, then about an inflatable reindeer someone had put up a month early, and finally to paint swatches so their section of the lab would be, according to him, ‘happy and go-lucky and livelier than a herd of hippopotamuses!’.

Brain said nothing. He just let Pinky talk. This might be the last time he’d ever hear that silly voice again.

“Maybe we could get some feng shui going, just like on HGTV! Zort!” Pinky said, and Brain could just imagine him scratching his head in a vain attempt to get any thoughts going. “Wait, no…we should paint radish roses on the walls! And make them with our radish rose whatchamawhozits! Twice the garnishes for our dinner parties! What color swatch should they be though? Raspberry rose? Rosemary? Oh, we should get one with a funny name! What do you think, Brai-oh, hey Snowball! Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Snowball scowled, stalking over to Brain and casting a contemptuous glare at Pinky. The loss of the hamster’s usurped power was still fresh in his twisted mind.

“My statue is gone thanks to whatever you did!” Snowball jabbed a finger into Brain’s chest. But Brain barely felt it. He didn’t feel anything towards Snowball at the moment. Not betrayal, not hatred, not even bittersweet nostalgia.

Brain only wanted rest.

“You should’ve stayed in hell,” Snowball growled. “He promised he’d keep you there.”

Brain placed his hand over Snowball’s finger, but he didn’t have the strength to push it away. The hamster raised an eyebrow at the lack of resistance.

“And he kept that promise, Snowball,” Brain said quietly. “Perhaps not in the way you expected, but he kept it.”

Snowball scoffed. He wasn’t convinced in the slightest.

The laboratory doors were wide open. It was a small consolation that he wouldn’t have to go through the mail slot.

“But…our contracts went up in smoke, Brain. Literally.” Pinky’s voice quivered. “And we’re on the lab’s doorstep too.”

It was time to break the news. Maybe he shouldn’t prolong the goodbye, but Pinky needed time to clean himself and pack his belongings.

“I wish to speak with Pinky. Leave, Snowball.”

“Fine,” Snowball spat, shoving past Brain. “I’ll talk to that blasted devil myself. Even his lawyers will have a difficult time against an entire corporation’s legal team.”

Once he was gone, Brain gestured for Pinky to follow him inside. The interior no longer held a throne, red carpet, or a golden wheel. Just their cage, several counters, and standard laboratory equipment.

Pinky made a valiant effort to hold his tears back, though he couldn’t completely stop all the whimpers from escaping. “P-poit. Nothing good ever comes out of wanting to talk,” he chuckled weakly.

“No, I suppose not,” Brain said. He gripped the side of a bottom drawer to give his hands something to do. His hands were scraped raw from climbing, though he relished the sting. Stings were only a small pain. He could handle small pain. More importantly, he couldn’t turn around, not even to see Pinky off for a proper goodbye.

You have to leave now. Thank you for everything. Goodbye, Pinky, his mind supplied.

It wasn’t enough. Whether it was one word or a million, they would never properly express everything he never said. What was he supposed to say to Pinky, who gave his soul away for Brain and never asked for anything in return?

“Brain, are you mad cause I didn’t help you?” Pinky asked. “Is that what this is about? Cause…I wanted to. I tried to push you up the steps, but I couldn’t feel you…and I tried shouting and cheering and yelling too! I…I don’t think you heard me. I’m sorry for being useless, Brain. You struggled so hard for me, and I was just useless!”

When Mr. Itch imposed his horrible terms, Pinky tried to cheer up Brain. Even when Brain had doubted, Pinky had been by his side. And he’d somehow inspired the demons to come to their aid.

That wasn’t useless. Not at all.

Even if Pinky hadn’t done all those things, Brain wouldn’t have held it against him. His anger was directed entirely towards the Devil himself.

“You’re not useless, Pinky,” Brain admitted. “I never should’ve implied it before this entire mess started. I’m sorry.”

There was silence for a while, only broken by the tap of Pinky’s feet on the tiles.

“Okay, I forgive you,” Pinky said. There were no strings attached. It always took Brain by surprise, how there were no additional requirements for Pinky’s forgiveness. “How come you won’t face me, Brain? I wanna see you.”

Brain took a deep breath. Best to get it out of the way. Get it done.

He couldn’t say done and over with. There was no over. He would never be the same without Pinky.

“I can’t see you, Pinky. I can’t look at you. Ever again. ” Brain pressed his head to the drawer, fighting the urge to turn around. “Don’t come any closer. You’ll just…it’ll make it harder on both of us.”

But Pinky’s footsteps drew closer. Of course they would.

“Make what harder?” Pinky echoed.

A warm hand fell on Brain’s shoulder, so different from blazing fire and cold wind, and something inside him broke.

“This goodbye, you idiot! He’ll come and he’ll take you again if I look at you! So leave at once for your own safety!” he yelled. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears, parched from thirst and raw from fumes.

“Then what was the point?” Pinky’s hand tightened around Brain’s shoulder. “Why would you rescue me only so you could tell me to leave? Why would you come after me and get hurt so much? At least you’d have the world if I’d just stayed there!”

“I WOULDN’T HAVE THE WORLD IF YOU REMAINED IN HELL, PINKY!” Brain screamed back. “I WOULDN’T HAVE ANYTHING!”

Not the one that truly mattered, anyway.

Pinky’s long tail drooped, ears falling back. Tears spilled out of his blue eyes.

And Brain’s anger melted away, replaced by all-consuming fear. His temper struck again, and he’d forgotten.

He’d turned around.

And he was looking straight at Pinky, right into the sorrowful expression he wore.

“No,” Brain whispered, shaking his head as he put as much distance between himself and Pinky as he could. But his body wouldn’t cooperate. He only managed a few shaky steps backwards. The lab was always so big. Why did it feel so tiny now?

Pinky was close. Far too close.

He’d looked.

The Devil was coming.

Lurking in any shadow, ready to snatch Pinky.

“He’s coming, Pinky!” Brain cried. “You have to get out of here now!”

“Who’s coming?” Pinky asked, reaching for Brain again. “Brain, are you alright? Your ears are floppy.”

He wasn’t even trying to run.

“No, I can’t let him take you. Not again!” Brain quickly glanced around the room. Surely there had to be plenty of places for a mouse to hide!

But the drawers were far too obvious, desk items could be moved easily, and his mind wouldn’t work just like every plan he ever came up with didn’t work and his attempts to protect Pinky would end in failure and he failed even when he wasn’t after the world and he just wanted to do something good for once without failing miserably-

White filled his vision as he was pressed against a warm chest by a gentle arm. A strong heartbeat thumped against his ear. A hand gently slipped under his chin, tilting his head up until he was looking into reassuring, sky blue eyes.

Despite the tears, Pinky’s gaze promised only hope and light and companionship.

Then Pinky carefully touched the area Snowball had jabbed, the center of Brain’s forehead where the pitchfork almost crushed him, until his hand lingered on the cheek he’d elbowed during their fight on the podium.

Gentle. Kind. Worried.

And Brain cried. Pinky held him close, not complaining when Brain’s tears dampened his fur or when the leftover crimson dust smudged against him. Tears splashed against Brain’s head, and he wrapped his own arms around Pinky, just to let him know it was alright if he needed to release his tears too. He didn’t know if he was hugging too tightly or holding too loosely, nor did he know if his arms were in the correct position at all.

Brain stroked the fur along Pinky’s spine, hoping the gesture conveyed that he forgave Pinky for accidentally hurting him. He took Pinky’s tiny hum as a good sign.

Pinky had been deprived of all sensation. This was comfort for him, just the reassurance of touching Brain. Of being close to him.

They stayed that way until nothing was left but exhaustion and damp fur along their cheeks. Brain’s legs buckled, unable to hold him up any longer.

Pinky caught him. “It’s okay, Brain. I’ll carry you,” he said, and his tone left no room for argument.

Never once did Brain feel like he was going to fall during Pinky’s climb up the counter. He only relished the close contact.

But he had to let go all too soon.

Pinky set Brain on the counter, then brought him a thimble of water from their bottle. The cool water flowed down his throat, bringing him much needed relief. He sipped slowly, giving Pinky time to dampen several fluffy towels in the sink.

“Pinky, aren’t you tired?” Brain asked as he exchanged the thimble for three small towels. One was damp, another held strawberry-scented soap, and the last one was dry.

But Pinky shook his head, yawning loudly as he skipped away to clean himself as well. He made lots of noise as he freshened up, just to let Brain know he was there.

And with his mouth wide open too. It was rather uncouth, and despite his exhaustion, Brain rolled his eyes at just how Pinky-like that action was.

Brain made sure to use all three towels the way Pinky intended, scrubbing out the dust with the damp towel, and to his surprise, it came out rather easily, then rubbed the strawberry scented soap and clean water into his fur, and finally dried himself off with the last towel.

As he patted down his fur to try and get it into some order, Pinky came back. The messy tuft on his head stuck out in every possible direction, and so did the rest of his fur.

“You’re a mess,” Brain sighed as Pinky picked him up and carried him back to the cage. Pinky laughed softly as Brain flattened a particularly egregious tuft on Pinky’s shoulder. The acrid fire and brimstone scent was gone, and now they smelled of fresh strawberries.

They settled into their shared bed. Pinky set Brain down on his preferred side, then pulled away. Pinky frowned for the barest second, but it was quickly replaced by a gentle smile.

Yet he knew Pinky still needed physical contact.

And so did he.

“Pinky?” Brain whispered.

Pinky took that as an invitation to pull Brain into a secure hold. “Yes, Brain?”

“Don’t go…” Brain nuzzled into Pinky’s chest, into the odd yet comforting warmth he freely gave. One last stray tear slipped from his eye. “Please don’t go.”

Instead of replying with words, Pinky rested his jaw on top of Brain’s and hummed softly, the vibration soothing to his worried mind. His tail draped over Brain’s waist to anchor him.

“Just say narf, just say narf.

We’re alright, we’re okay, so let’s say narf.

You and I will have tomorrow nights again.

No matter what happens, I’m always your friend…”

The melody was soft, the rhythm reassuring. Brain closed his eyes and believed in Pinky’s familiar song.

They were together. Tomorrow night would come. He was sure of it.

End AN: So...I’ll be real, some parts of these were really hard for me to write cause I feel so bad for torturing them like this. Give them love guys. They need it.

#pinky and the brain #patb fanfiction #warning for torture

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azwriting · 5 years ago

Text

The Last Jedi (Forget Me Please, Kylo Ren x Fem!Reader) - Chapter One

A/N: Okay so here is my mini “What if” series about Forget Me Not! Hope you guys enjoy ;)

Summary: What if the reader never forgot her past, what if instead of eleven years its only been seven, and what if Palpatine is on the rise.

Warning(s): Mild violence, me retconning the fuck out of TROS, unedited because it’s three in the morning and I just want to post this

Word Count: 2353

“Endor?” General Organa’s voice boomed through the cockpit of the Falcon. Rey sighed, nodding even though her Master could not see her. The young Jedi in training was still deeply buried underneath the debris of shock that had caved down on her only hours before. Her chest was still tightly wound as it had been in the hangar of the Star Destroyer, standing across the man who delivered a revelation. Her heart began to race just as it had then as her mind replayed his gentle words over again.

“I never lied, your parents were nobodies, but you’re not. Search your feelings, you know it’s true.” Rey shook her head in protest, tears gathering in her eyes as she was unwilling to admit the truth to herself. Her eyes drifted over to the stormtroopers that had gathered around them, weapons drawn and aimed at her. How had her life gotten here? She was once a simple Scavenger, lonely and lost, and now she stood before the Supreme Leader of the First Order, the only person who unfortunately seemed to understand her. Rey heard the gears of his mask unlock and involuntarily she winced, looking back to his face. The face of the long dead Ben Solo, the man she had hoped would turn. Yet, the pain that she could feel tearing him apart held onto him with a menacing grasp. She could feel the torment that wreaked havoc onto his soul over what he had done to his father and she could feel the most unbearable white hot pain that burned his heart over the unknown. It was too painful to pry into and he had buried it so deep, Rey could never see what had broken him.

“Think about it Rey, you were born the year I went off to train, the dark already manifesting inside me.” Rey turned away from his words taking a step back, she did not want to hear this. “The Force knew others would not be able to balance me and the only one who could…” He paused and the young woman could see him trembling, bottom lip quivering as he tried to hold it together. His eyes began to gleam and Rey involuntarily felt a surge of empathy over the unknown that was causing him to break down before her eyes. “... would die.” His jaw clenched and his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the thump in his throat. Rey felt his mourning as if it was a fresh wound, oozing fresh blood, never healing. Who had died, that had left such a gaping hole in him? Someone who was attuned to the Force? She knew better than to believe it was Luke, although Kylo did not hate the man, she knew he hated what happened.

Over the roaring wind coming from just behind her, Rey heard the familiar creaking of his leather gloved hand clenching into a tight fist. Whatever agonizing memories had surfaced were vanishing, leaving a cold and hostile Kylo Ren in its wake. “Admit it.” He snapped suddenly and Rey felt a tear slip down her cheek.

“The Force created me.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but Kylo nodded stiffly in response. The words felt foreign on her tongue: unfamiliar, wrong, but also true.

“You and I are equals in the Force, join me and we can destroy Palpatine.” His gloved hand extended out towards her and Rey’s eyes drifted down, uncertainty clawing at her. “You know what to do.”

“That’s what the translation of the dagger said, the coordinates were for the moon Kef Bir.” Poe responded tying a strip of fabric over his injured arm. Rey broke away from her memory, eyes lifting back to the view of hyperspace in front of her. Over the past year she had accepted that her parents were no one, that she was a nobody, but she had learned that she had a rightful place in this story. But now, with the confirmation that she did, it was a little unsettling. The Force had created her to bring balance, balance that was in disarray from the fall of Ben Solo and the emergence of Emperor Palpatine. While pondering the balance of the Force, Rey’s thoughts drifted to who Kylo’s original balance was, the one who died. He had to have known them, for it to have such a heartbreaking impact on him. Rey thought of someone strong with the Force, strong enough to get underneath Kylo Ren’s skin, someone strong enough to balance him. What had happened to them? Rey sighed, there was no use in worrying about someone who could not help. She was now the balance and Kylo was right, she knew what to do.

“Before you go to Kef Bir, stop on the Forest moon. We have an ally there who could be of great help.” Leia’s voice instructed through the radio. Rey turned around to face Finn and Poe, the three sharing a look of surprise. An ally? Was another former General hidden away on Endor? Chewie gargled in return and the General’s laugh bounced around the Falcon. “No, it's not the Ewoks, this time, but our ally is hidden amongst them.” The young former Scavenger smiled to herself, imagining what it must have been like all those years ago… She could envision Han jumping into the not so beat up pilot chair and dictating a string of orders to Chewie. She could hear Luke running down the halls of the ship heading for the quad laser access tube, while Leia retaliated to something Han said with a quick whip of sass. All of them young and in their prime, together and hopeful.

The Falcon stuttered out of lightspeed as Rey questioned, “How do we find this ally?” Her voice was full of curiosity and confusion, wondering how exactly this ally could be of help. They were short on time, they could not risk wasting any of it.

She could almost hear the smile that was no doubtedly on Leia’s face as she answered, “Oh don’t worry, they’ll find you.”

Exiting the Falcon, the group of Resistance fighters were greeted by towering thick trees and a refreshing brisk breeze, the perfect neutral after the blistering hot deserts of Pasana and the biting chill of the rough and rocky terrain of Kijimi. “Stay here and rest big guy, we’ll find the village ourselves.” Finn chuckled clamping a hand down onto Chewie’s upper arm.

The Wookie protested mildly before finally relinquishing at Poe’s addition. “You have to watch the droids too, Threepio doesn’t remember anything and we don’t need to deal with that right now.”

As the trio trudged through the thick forest, Rey smiled up at the tree line, enjoying the shift in scenery. After years of scavenging on Jakku, she was always thrilled to see the different climates. The lush greenery that surrounded her made her regret leaving Jakku sooner, but she reminded herself to be content with the fact that she never had to set foot on a desert planet again. After all the hardships she faced on Jakku, fighting to survive everyday, why would she ever want to face that again?

With every step she took, Rey felt a great swell in the Force. She could feel the energy flow through each and every living thing with an intensity unlike anything she had felt before. She had not felt so consumed by the Force since Ahch-To, yet this was not a planet connected to the ancient Jedi. No, this was a planet from an old war, no tethers tying it to the Force Sensitive. Yet there was no denying what she felt. It was as if the Force had manifested itself onto this quiet deserted planet with great energy at the center of it, drawing her in. It was overpowering, almost blinding her senses in its wake. Rey glanced around at her surroundings searching for the allure, her eyes catching ahold of Finn’s. He stared back at her, looking just as perplexed as she felt. Her lips parted, mouth opening to question if he felt it too, but the sight ahead caused the words to die on the tip of her tongue.

Ahead of them hidden up in the dense branches of vibrant green leaves were small huts and a plethora of wooden bridges connecting the tiny civilization together. Rey and her fellow Resistance fighters all marveled at the view, unaware of the observant eyes.

With an almost silent thud, a figure flipped down off of a hovering bridge, and landed before them. It was a woman wearing various shades of brown, dark green, and white seemingly blending into their surroundings. A faded grey mask covered her face besides for the open visor where sharp eyes glared back at them. She crouched down, eyes locked onto the three of them as if they were her prey. Yet, it was not the most startling sight, oh no, it was the two lightsabers secured tightly in her hands. A vibrant blue in one hand and a violet purple in the other. Rey gulped lowly she had never seen a purple saber before, the Jedi texts only referring to the color as exceedingly rare. The masked ally, radiated pure Force energy, as attuned with the Force as Kylo and Master Skywalker.

“Rey…” Finn whispered and the young woman focused back onto the mask in front of her. She could sense that any moment she would spring and in response she pushed Poe and Finn to the sides. They had no part in this.

The woman was quick, lunging forward with a ferocious attack. Rey ignited Luke’s saber in record time and lifted it up to deflect. The three sabers clashed together with an odd screech and Rey winced at the noise. The cold determined eyes peered down at her through the visor of the helmet, each eye reflecting the vivid hues of blue and purple. The sight made her want to cower in fear, deep down her insecurities rising. She had always felt strong willed when going against Kylo, but this was different. It was not a fight, it was a competition. Rey jabbed her shoulder into the masked woman and swung her saber forward, only being met by the quick flashes of the opposing blue and purple. The woman was obviously highly skilled in combat, in lightsaber fighting techniques, Rey noted as the woman swung her sabers forward, spinning into the assault. Rey could not help but find a sense familiarity in it. In the way she moved, it was almost feral, unhinged but strategic.

In her distracted daze, the woman’s sabers came crashing down onto her, this time locking her saber in place. The young Jedi tried to pull her saber free and attack, but it was secured tightly in between the two sabers. Before Rey could put an end to all this, tell this “ally” why they were here, a swift kick to her abdomen sent her to the ground. Luke’s saber was kicked to the side as the woman dropped down onto her with disturbing and mildly aggravating fluidity. The purple saber hovered a mere inch above her throat while the blue one was stretched backwards: a barrier for Poe and Finn, with their blasters already raised, not to step any closer.

“Who are you?” The voice was deep and modified through the mask, transfixing (Y/E/C) eyes glaring down at Rey.

“We’re with the Resistance! General Organa sent us!” Rey spit out, eyes wide with a sense of fear she could not deny. She had not feared for her life since the throne room, where Kylo had saved her. Who would save her now? The woman blinked harshly, surprised by her words, yet Rey could easily sense that she was searching her face for any sort of lies.

“Why?” The question was curt, voice lower than it had previously been.

“We need your help, Leia said you’d help us.” Poe cut in, taking a cautious step forward, eyes gauging the proximity of the blue lightsaber. Rey watched as the woman seemed to slip away from the present, eyes clouding over as she disappeared deep into thought.

Suddenly the two sabers were turning off as the woman glided back up into a standing position. She tucked the lightsabers into her black belt and outstretched a hand for Rey to grab. Rey hesitantly accepted the offer standing back up as well. She quickly released her hand and went to brush off the dirt on her clothes, eyes watching the peculiar helmet. Who was behind the helmet? Who wielded the rare purple saber? Who had dominated her with such ease?

“Who are you?” Finn beat her to the question, the trio all gawking at the unknown and unanticipated ally. The woman ignored him, her hand outstretching as her eyes closed for a brief moment in concentration. Rey’s eyebrows narrowed in confusion, what was she doing? She could feel the Force swirling around them before something sped past her. Rey jumped, scanning the area for whatever flew by, eyes landing on the hands of the ally. Cradled in them was Luke’s lightsaber, the one Rey used until she completed building her own. The woman turned the black and silver hilt around in her hands, letting out a half amused hum. Rey looked up to the helmet in shock, lips parting at the glimmer of amusement in the focused eyes.

“I’m no one.” She finally answered, handing Rey back the saber. In a state of utter confusion she accepted it and clipped back onto her belt.

“Come, let us discuss.” The masked woman turned swiftly on her heel and headed into the center of the treetop village, leaving the three Resistance fighters stunned. They all shared a look, more so the two men looking to Rey for answers as to what just happened. Rey could not give them an answer, deep down one they all knew already. Her eyes followed the camouflaged figure, admitting the painfully obvious truth to herself.

The woman before her was the last Jedi.

Taglist:

@2heures @thephantomwriter @thefandomzoneisdangerous @carol-chann @gambitsqueen @pancakefancake @zaneholtzwrites @moonmama03 @siren-queen03 @dixonsbugaboo @keithseabrook27 @sporkedloser

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren fanfiction #ben solo #ben solo x reader #ben solo fanfiction #star wars series #star wars imagine #Adam driver x reader #kylo ren x fem!reader #azwriting

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cowtale-utau · 5 years ago

Note

Oh I would absolutely love to learn more about human magic!! And for a soulmate, would an S/O’s magic match their skelly soulmate? Or would it be unique to them?

So I can probably make several decently large posts on magic, both human and monster, but for now I'm going to try to do a concise (ish) post on where I'm pulling my HC's for magic from, how it works, and what it can do. I'll also probably include a bit on some known existent mages (cough Frisk/Chara cough), and you asked for some info on soulmates so I'll see what I can do with human souls, soulmates, and monster/human soulmates. (in my drafts I called this the “short version”, it will not be short)

So I'm largely basing human magic off the Mage system from the table-top pen-and-paper rpg Mage, part of the World of Darkness franchise. The Wiki for it has lots of good info and interesting lore if you wanna read into it.

It works in 'spheres' or nine branches/types of magic/facets of reality. Now I'm bending a lot of the lore so don't assume this is a perfect match for the Mage RPG. I used it as a template to work from, and have incorporated some of the lore, but I've also dismissed and altered other large chunks of Mage RPG canon. (basically if you play Mage or read the wiki, don't @ me, I know it's “wrong” ok, I wanted it that way ;p)

Correspondence Essentially the “space” half of time/space. Covers things like teleportation, levitation, flying, and remote viewing. Combines with other spheres to create distance/ranged/area effects. Also allows for the creation of sub-space. It is limited however, in that it only covers space. To move a body, one must combine it with Life. For an object, Matter. Correspondence is a sphere that is fairly easy to learn the basics, and extremely difficult to master.

Entropy Chaos, Order, Luck, Destiny, Creation, Destruction. The natural order of things. The ability to sense and manipulate probability and patterns. Allows one to tap into the natural entropic cycle. The more complex an “object” the easier it is to break. Much like Correspondence, one must be able to use the other applicable sphere(s) to achieve an effect. A tricky sphere to use and control. It tends to be a bit resistant to manipulation by most Mages.

Forces The sphere that allows manipulation of “energy”. Light, heat, vibration, radiation, gravity. While this can be done instinctively, that tends to be sloppy and dangerous. The more one understands about the energy/force they're trying to manipulate the better off they'll be. However one should be mindful that they do not allow the knowledge gained to restrict them. Magic cares not for what human science says is or isn't true. How easy the sphere is to work with depends largely on how much effort one puts into learning the background knowledge. Or how how willing they are to risk brute forcing it.

Life Anything living, or with life energy. Can be used to heal, or unheal. Modify biological entities. Create disease or grow plants. Restore youth. Life as a sphere has many wonderful, helpful applications, and just as many horrifying ones. One can heal and cure and fix, but also cause untold damage. To fully grasp and master life, one must understand how life connects to itself, and the cycles in which it exists. The chain between predator and prey. How simple it is to learn is largely dependent on how much understanding you already have of the subject you're trying to alter.

Matter Non living/inorganic things. Also covers all the elements on the periodic table. Works very well when combined with other spheres. Entropy to break an object, Forces to animate inanimate things, Correspondence to move objects, Time to alter them temporally. Allows the Mage to alter but also to see and understand the make up of an object. Arguably one of the easiest to learn and use, given that it inherently allows you to pick up understanding of what you're working with on the go.

Mind Covers consciousness and how a person perceives reality. Knowledge, imagination, emotion. Can be used to alter memory, thinking, emotions, perception, and concentration among other things. Mind is a bit different from other spheres in that one does not need an understanding of how the “mind” works to utilize it well. Talent in this sphere comes down to mostly practice and natural inclination.

Prime Primal Energy, the raw magical force of the world. Often considered an almost Holy Power. A Prime Mage can detect/sense magic, enchant objects or living things, cut off another Mage's access to magic and it is often used to bolster or power other magics. Prime is the source from which all other magic springs. Having skill in Prime is tricky as there's no deeper understanding to help you, beyond the understanding that you can't understand. That it is a power beyond you, and can strike back at any moment.

Spirit Something connected to but separate from the concept of souls. The culmination of hope, emotion, and thought. A skilled Spirit Mage can touch or even pass through the wall between the tangible world, the void, and what lies beyond. Allows one to reach out, speak to, and interact with spirits lost to the physical world. A Mage less morally inclined could even, with enough power, subjugate those beings. Using and mastering the Spirit sphere requires a strong understanding and sense of self, while also being able to release physical/material ties and limits.

Time Time is sort of self explanatory. Though time as a concept is not a straight forward as many assume. Very much subjective to the observer. A Time Mage is more aware than most that while time naturally moves forward (mostly), it contracts and dilates, whirls and twists. It jumps, and branches, and curves back on itself. A Time Mage can know the exact time at any time, and sense distortions in the time line. They can slow time, rewind or loop, create anchor (save) points, and with enough skill they can outright time travel or exist outside the timeline entirely. To master Time is to understand it as an esoteric and inexact science.

Humans pull their magic externally. This is both more freeing and more restricting than monsters. They can do just about anything they can imagine, assuming they can figure out how, have the respective understanding and magical inclinations, and the world allows it. Sometimes whatever source, force, whatever, the magic comes from, disagrees with a Mage. And the backlash can be catastrophic. And while a Mage cannot “drain” themselves to the point of death, they can over channel, and over load. The end result is the same.

Related Side Note ; Monster magic is much more free form and almost entirely “intent” based. This means technically any monster can learn any magic type. However some souls are better suited for certain types than others. Some just can't muster up the intent needed. They also tend to not be able to do things quite on the scale that Mages can. Monster magic is pulled from themselves. It's a part of their soul, and fueled by their soul. They have a much more limited pool. Mind you, some monsters still have immense pools of magic they can pull from, and high regen rates, but still ultimately are more limited than humans. (Side note, if a monster uses up their “pool” the can continue using magic, but its a good way to die very quickly as it drains on their souls directly)

As for existing Mages, the obvious would be Frisk/Chara. Correspondence and Time. Possibly Prime. I'm actually unsure on Spirit, but leaning towards no. If you want more on that lemme know. I could discuss it a fair amount I think.

The other part of your question ; Soulmates.

There are essentially three types of bonds that fall under what most would consider “soulmates”. Kindred Spirits, Soul Mates, and Twin Flames. Any of these bonds can be platonic, romantic, or anything in between. Friends, lovers, rivals.

Kindred Spirits – Compatible. Someone with who you find forming an easy, comfortable bond. Often very similar to ourselves in a comforting way. Someone to whom we easily relate and connect to.

Soulmates – Complementary. A near perfect resonation. The traditional idea behind most soulmate lore. One can meet multiple soulmates in their lives, though they're not quite as common as Kindred Spirits.

Twin Flames – Twin Flames are the other half of an incomplete soul. A perfect mirror. Both the same and opposite in everywhere. Twin Flames rarely exist in the same world at the same time. When they do they are often both drawn to and repelled by one another. It is a bond existing beyond defining, beyond platonic/romantic labels. You're greatest ally, worst enemy, deepest love, your Twin Flame, is undeniable bound to you no matter what.

While Kindred Spirits and Soulmates won't necessarily have “matching” magic, their magic is often compatible/complementary to some degree in it's natural leanings.

If you want more info on anything specific, let me know. 💜

#Cowtale #magic lore #soul lore #human magic #bastardized MtA #seriously i jacked with a lot of the system #but im pretty happy with how it turned out #asks

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the-entity-down-the-street · 5 years ago

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Memory Eater

Since a few of you have expressed interest in reading my terato stories, I’ve decided to start posting a few. This first one is actually from a workshop I did for class back in the spring of 2019. I wrote it when I was going through a bad mental health period, and BPD was kicking my ass. Mental illness is a frequent theme in my work,and I’ll tag accordingly. I’ll the put the story under the cut. if you aren’t interested in my stories, blacklist the tag “entitywrites”

Hope you guys enjoy!

Dahlia woke up in her closet with one hell of a hangover, a hollow void where last night should’ve been, and a sticky note on her chest. She peeled it off to read.

Call me so I know you’re okay, if you could. Thank you, babe! – Love, Gideon

Her questions were caught between a pounding headache and a desperate need to vomit. Dahlia stumbled out of her closet and dashed to the bathroom.

Once her stomach was emptied, Dahlia wobbled over to the mirror and assessed herself. She was still wearing her nightgown, but the front was stained irreparably by something that looked like wine. Old, faded eyeliner wings clung to the skin around her eyes. Her hair looked less like a neat, curly bob and more like a mishappen stormcloud.

Dahlia rubbed her eyes until colorful blotches danced before them. She tried to organize the evidence she had at hand into a cohesive narrative. She had somehow worked up the nerve to go out partying, in skimpy pajamas no less, and in the process found enough charm to get a number. She couldn’t even remember leaving her apartment.

Then again, memory had always been an issue for her. It was easy for things to get lost and liquify into a gray mush, sometimes five minutes after they happened. Dissociative episodes did the worst damage, of course. She blundered through the days half-aware, divided from herself, plagued by a suicidal itch. Those memories were static at best. It was a stress response to the Borderline Blues. But this was different. This was a black hole where the static should be.

Dahlia dug her fingers into her scalp, as if that would squeeze something out of the void in her head. When that didn’t work, she shambled over to her bed, a little nest of unmade sheets in the corner of the apartment. She considered getting breakfast from the kitchenette, but the mere idea made her stomach want to upend itself again. Dahlia wrapped herself in a blanket and thanked whoever was listening that she didn’t have work today.

A glint of light on the nightstand caught her eye. She lifted her head up. There was a glass rose pink liquid sitting next to her lamp. The amorphous shadow it cast over the wood highlighted the second note beside it. Dahlia propped herself up on her elbows and snatched it.

For the hangover you’re going to have! Home-brewed cure. Drink it in steady gulps, don’t stop until the glass is empty. – Love, Gideon

“We add another layer to this fuckery,” she mumbled. So, this Gideon had been in her apartment, huh? Did he walk her back? Did he stay the night and bail before she woke up? If that was the case, why did he offer his phone number? None of these theories got her any closer to why she fell asleep in the closet.

Dahlia rested her head back on the pillow. The world was spinning around her aching brain, as if she were the center of a cramped, painful universe. Thinking was becoming a rigorous exercise. She tried to backtrack and grasp onto something, anything, from the night before.

Nothing. Empty. Null and void.

Dahlia tried going back further, knotting her brows together in concentration. There barely anything in her memory from the day before. And the night before that. And the night before that. Her memories were suddenly spotted with jagged holes of time. Was it the migraine blotting everything out?

Desperate, and a little panicked, Dahlia picked up the mysterious concoction left for her and began to gulp it down as suggested. It was flavorless, like water, but each gulp came with a pulse of gentle, radiating warmth. It calmed the storm in her stomach and suffocated the agony in her head.

When the drink was completely gone, Dahlia set the glass down and sank into the bed with a heavy sigh. The warmth died out and left clarity in its place. She basked in the bliss of clean, painless sobriety for a few minutes. Wow, when Gideon said a cure, he meant a cure.

Dahlia tried backtracking again, hoping for better results. Sometimes pain made her symptoms worse. Yet, when she shuffled through her head, the holes remained. Even going back to the beginning of last semester, there were missing patches of time.

Shit.

This was bad.

She thought of the note Gideon left and grabbed her phone. She clicked contacts. Sure enough, his name was second in her “frequently contacted” list, right below her therapist. That raised a whole new set of questions, but she could only take one mystery at a time. This was the only clue she had, so she figured there was nothing else to lose.

The phone rang. And rang. And rang. Dahlia sat up and tapped her fingers against the snowy hill of her kneecap.

“Hello?” a drowsy voice answered.

She cringed. Shit, did she wake him up? “Uh, hi, Gideon?”

“Oh, good morning, Dahlia,” Gideon replied. His voice was instantly perky and pleasant. “Are you feeling okay? I hope my cure did its job.”

“Yeah, yeah, worked like a charm. Thanks for that. I’m, uh, much better now.”

“Wonderful, wonderful. I figured you’d need it after all that wine.” He laughed, and his voice rang like tinkling bells in her ears. It was oddly familiar, and more oddly relaxing. “We’ll have to do that again sometime.”

“Yeah, for sure,” Dahlia said agreeably. “So, uh, speaking of, what exactly was that?”

Another chuckle. “Memory a bit lacking, I assume?”

Dahlia tensed. “More like completely lacking.”

“…Completely?”

“Uh, yeah. Completely.”

There was a long pause. Painfully long. The silence stretched like a rubber band primed for snapping. Dahlia nibbled at the corner of her lip.

“D-do you know who I am?” His voice cracked under the weight of its own horrified tone.

She shook her head, despite the pointlessness of the gesture in a phone conversation. “No, I’m sorry. That’s kind of why I called. I need answers and your number was my only lead.”

“I see.” Another pause. Some shuffling, a whoosh of sheets being tossed back. “I don’t think this is a conversation we should have over the phone. Would it be possible for me to come over this evening?”

Dahlia quirked an eyebrow. Curiosity bubbled where the headache had been.

“Dahlia?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. What time?”

Another pause. “I can come by around nine. Would that work for you?”

Dahlia shrugged. “Sure. I’m not doing anything.”

“Alright. Nine it is.”

“Do you need me to text you my address?” Dahlia asked, realizing she could’ve just texted him like a normal person instead of calling and waking him up. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“No, I remember where you are. I’ll text before I knock, okay?”

“Um, okay.” Weird, but okay. “See you tonight.”

“See you tonight.”

They hung up. Dahlia hunched over and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Where the nausea had been, unease took its place, plopped into her gut like brick, as she wondered what she’d mixed herself up in.

Dahlia had latched onto the stress ball her therapist gave her, but the little smiley face printed on it did nothing to reassure her. She had struggled to pick an outfit. She chewed through a whole pack of gum. She fidgeted and paced and fussed over cleaning the apartment up. Was she nervous about meeting this man she couldn’t remember? Was she nervous about what he knew? Did it matter? Either way, Dahlia was a tense bundle of nerves when the clock struck nine. She sat on the couch as she waited for his text.

A minute passed. Nothing.

Five minutes. Nothing.

Ten. Nothing.

Dahlia tapped her foot impatiently. “Where is this guy?”

Just as she asked, her phone buzzed.

Hey. I’m here. About to knock. Please don’t scream.

Well, that was the creepiest thing anyone had ever texted her. She clenched her stress ball so hard that the little smiley face caved in on itself. She dialed 911, the call button poised for pushing at any time. As she was comparing escape routes and rushing for the kitchen knives, the knock came. From her closet door.

“Good evening,” Gideon said. “Sorry for being late. Things took longer than expected. May I come in?”

Words dissolved on Dahlia’s tongue. She tried and failed to scrounge up logic. The way she saw it, there were two possibilities. Either she was hallucinating, and she had another mental illness to worry about, or something supernatural was going on. She had never prayed before, but she prayed it was door number two.

“Y-yeah, come in.”

Gideon stepped into her living room. A gasp wound down Dahlia’s throat as she took in the sight of him. Two curling horns stuck out of the stringy grey hair that fell to his shoulders. The eyes staring at her were painfully large, painfully blue orbs with reptilian slits in their centers. His skin was bluish grey, corpse skin. Even subtle things, like the number of knuckles in his fingers, and the way his skin stretched over the bones in his face, were unsettling and alien. It was almost comical in comparison to his clean plaid button-up and black slacks. A monster in business casual. She thought she could see something glowing in his pants pocket, but that barely registered when looking at everything else.

“Thank you for not screaming,” he said.

Scream? She could barely listen. The static of her own stressed thoughts made it hard to hear. Was this the onset of schizophrenia? Was this why her brain was full of holes? Was that symptom? Her feet began carrying her across the room in search of an answer. She crossed the span of carpet between them until she had him at arm’s length. Her hand reached out, almost of its own free will, and gently poked Gideon’s cheek. Warm, living flesh greeted her. She nearly collapsed with relief.

“Oh. Oh, thank God. I’m not crazy.”

Gideon chuckled weakly. There was a strange warmth in his eyes that made Dahlia’s stomach flip. “No, love, you’re not crazy. Never crazy.”

He reached up to cup his hand over hers, but Dahlia pulled away and stumbled back before he could. With the worries about her tenuous mental health soothed, Dahlia could now focus on the fact that a very real monster was standing in her living room trying to reassure her of her sanity. Amazingly, that wasn’t an easier pill to swallow. Dahlia plopped onto her couch and grasped at the cushions in leu of a stress ball. It was something solid and normal.

Gideon looked more than a little hurt. He slowly put his arm down and shrank back. “R-right, you don’t remember me. I’m sorry.”

Dahlia put her head in her hands and pulled at the roots of her hair. “What the fuck,” she said, because it was the only thing her brain would let her say. “I- I don’t… what…”

“Overwhelmed?” Gideon asked.

Dahlia nodded. Thoughts were pouring out of her head and leaking onto her tongue. The overflow made it impossible to get a single coherent question out.

Gideon took a hesitant step forward. “Do you have your stress ball?”

Dahlia shook her head violently. She couldn’t even think about her lost stress ball right now. It was one thing too much.

Gideon chewed on his lip. “I know I’m kind of the reason you’re panicking right now, but I want to help. May I sit with you?”

Would that help? Probably not. Then again, nothing was making sense and there was a clog in her brain and the world was suddenly too bright, so she might as well try something. Dahlia gave him a weak, shaky nod to affirm. He was by her side not a moment later.

“Close your eyes for a moment, deep breaths,” Gideon said. His voice was suddenly much softer, but not exactly quiet. It was a gentle, soothing, like windchimes in a breeze. There was something comforting and familiar about it.

Dahlia closed her eyes. The world went mercifully dark. She laid back against the couch and began to take in slow, controlled breaths.

“Focus on something banal. Think about the texture of the couch. Or the carpet between your toes. I can get something from the kitchen if you want something to taste.”

Dahlia shook her head. “No, no. Just need quiet.”

“Quiet. I can do that.”

They sat together in silence as Dahlia let the static and chaos settle. She absorbed herself in the cool, textured leather of her sofa and sank against its plush backing. Her breathing steadied. Her head lolled to the side, and she relaxed.

“Better?” Gideon asked.

She nodded.

“Good. Now, I know this is a shock to you,” Gideon continued. “You have every right to be shocked. But I promise that everything is alright.”

Dahlia furrowed her brow. She was almost giving herself another headache trying to gaze into the holes where her memories should be. “I find that hard to believe.”

A sigh. “Fair enough. Okay, things aren’t alright yet, but they will be soon. That I definitely promise.”

“How can you promise that?”

“With these,” Gideon said. Dahlia heard the distinct scrape of skin on rough fabric, followed by a clacking noise. It sounded like hard candies knocking against each other. A new source of light danced in front of Dahlia’s closed eyes. Curious, she opened them.

“What the fuck.” The light was coming from a large cluster of glowing, electric blue orbs. They were about the size of marbles. “What are those?”

“Your missing memories.”

“…Okay then. Um, why are they in your hand and not, you know, in my head?”

“They were stolen. Thank the Gods you called when you did, otherwise I might not have been able to track them down.”

Dahlia’s eyes widened painfully. “Stolen? How? When? W-why?”

Gideon closed his fist around the memory orbs and held them close to his chest. His expression grew dark. “There are some people that think our worlds should remain separate. Someone stole every memory you had of our world, and of me, during my house party. Right under my fucking nose.” His voice was knife sharp and angry. Dahlia could tell he was directing it at himself just as much as he was the perpetrator. “It was pure luck and timing that allowed me to get them back.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dahlia said. A deep, profound dread crawled up her spine and settled on her shoulders. She imagined a set of spindly fingers reaching into her skull and plucking memories likes grapes from a synaptic vine. The mere thought sickened her to the soul.

“When I saw you’d passed out, I took you home. I thought you just had too much wine. I never suspected…” He lowered his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Dahlia.”

Dahlia put a comforting hand on his shoulder, almost instictually. Her horror of him had been surpassed and subdued. “No, don’t be. You got them back. Thank you.”

“Of course. You have a right to your memories,” he said. He glanced up at Dahlia, then back down at the memory orbs. There was a noticeable dark flush to his cheeks. “Besides, these are important to me too.”

Before Dahlia could comment, Gideon held out his hand, offering her the orbs. She cupped her hands and let the little balls trickle into her palms. They felt like gumballs. Dahlia estimated there were a hundred of them, if not more. Her vision was taken up by their collective glow.

“How do I…”

“You eat them.”

“What?” Dahlia snapped her head up.

“Eat them. Pop one in your mouth at a time and bite. The memory will come back to you.”

“Do I, like, eat them in chronological order?” Dahlia asked, bemused by the string of words that just came out of her mouth.

“No, no, just eat them as you like. You can’t tell the orbs apart anyways. As long you eat them all, you’ll be fine.”

Dahlia grimaced. “Is this safe?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t make a hobby of eating your own memories, of course, but there’s no harm in taking in information that already belongs to you,” he explained. “But if you ever feel unsafe, I’ll be right here to help.”

Dahlia looked over at him. His hollowed-out face had taken on an inviting, comforting demeanor. There was something very reassuring about the little smile that was playing across his lips.

“Who are you?” she asked. “To me? How do you know what I need to calm down?”

“Take a bite and find out.”

Dahlia turned back to her palm full of orbs. She picked one up from the pile and held it up to her mouth. She snuck a glance at Gideon, who nodded encouragingly. After a heavy, nervous gulp, Dahlia popped the orb into her mouth and maneuvered it between her back molars.

She bit down.

We were sitting next to each other at the counter that separated my kitchenette from the rest of my apartment. “So, where do monsters come from? I mean, aside from closets.”

He tapped his fingers against the counter. “It’s like a pocket dimension. We hide in the nooks and crannies of space-time, only popping out when necessary.”

“Is this necessary?” I teased. I nibbled a cookie from the small plate I’d set out.

“The cookies or your company?”

“Either or.”

He smiled. “Both are absolutely necessary.”

“Whoa,” Dahlia breathed as the vision faded and settled back into its rightful spot in her head. Remembered happiness spread through her.

“What? What memory was it?”

“I was just talking with you over there.” She pointed to the counter. “You were telling me about where you came from.”

“Ah, yes, that was some time ago. We’d known each other for a few months. I’d just started to trust you,” he explained. His smile brightened. “Go on, have another.”

Dahlia snatched another orb up and bit into it.

Our lips met gingerly, hesitantly at first. Amazingly, I made the first move. We’d been passing sidelong glances and lingering hugs like the currency of pining. I needed to cash it in.

While we were watching our usual Friday night movie, I scooched close to him. Closer. Closer. He turned his head away from the screen and towards me. I leaned in. He leaned in.

Ginger, hesitant kisses deepened. His tongue dipped into my mouth. My hands snuck up his back. The movie was forgotten in the haze.

“Oh.” The memory nestled into its spot. Dahlia sank back into the couch. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so at ease when kissing someone. The slop of saliva and the bumping of teeth didn’t make her self-conscious. It was expected. It was okay. It was natural.

“What memory was it?” Gideon asked.

Dahlia turned to Gideon like she was seeing him for the first time. In a way, she was. “We were making out while Monsters Inc. played in the background.”

Gideon blushed. “Oh, yes, that night.”

“Are you my boyfriend?”

“Would you be horrified if I said yes?”

Dahlia opened her mouth to answer. She closed it and knotted her eyebrows. Contextually vacant, the memory of their kiss brought a surge of conflicting feelings. The remembered happiness, and a fresh, squirming discomfort. The emotional paradox of sudden closeness with a stranger.

She held up a finger in a wait sign and popped another orb into her mouth. Then another. And another. As soon as one memory faded, a new one was already waiting between her teeth. Flashes of dancing and love-making and cuddling and comforting found their spots in her head. Dahlia patched more and more holes, sewed memories to memories, feelings to feelings, creating a mostly cohesive quilt of past events. A few times she had to stop and catch her breath from the overload of information. But, eventually, the pile was reduced to a singular orb. Gideon watched with vigilant, silent eyes as Dahlia bit down on it.

We were curled up in my closet. Gideon knew I liked to be somewhere small and quiet after a breakdown. I’d been bashing my fists against my skull over something, though I couldn’t remember what. Reasons blurred together. With no emotional skin, I’m hurt by the slightest provocation. But in here it was safe, we were safe, and everything was okay.

“Why do you put up with me?” I asked. “I don’t even want to put up with me.”

“You’re under the assumption that you’re a burden. You’re not.”

I settled into his chest more. “But I’m sick, Gid. I don’t function right.”

“Maybe you need to change your definition of right, then.”

My lip quivered, and I wrapped my arms around him. “…I love you.”

Dahlia blinked. She was surprised to find tears on her cheeks. She looked over at Gideon, who was still waiting for her reply.

“No,” she said. “I wouldn’t be horrified at all.”

A bright, goofy grin spread across his face. “Then yes, I’m your boyfriend.”

She returned the grin with equal amounts of brightness and goofiness. “Good.”

FIN

#entitywrites #terato love #my writing #mental illness tw #bpd tw #character with bpd #monster boyfriend #romance writing #suicide mention #terato #monster lover #writblr #writeblr

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twitchesandstitches · 5 years ago

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Story commission for Clonecomando, who asked for Arcee from Transformers Prime turning into a super busty giantess alongside Airachnid!

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The moon, as far as they knew, had no name. Arcee knew well that so much had been lost in the war for Cybertron and its fall, the senseless destruction waged by the Decepticons wiping out eons of hard-won knowledge, history and cultural memory.

In the years since the end of the war, the rebirth of Cybertron and the reunion of all the scattered Autobots, figuring out what they actually had at hand was the important thing, and normally a moon would be fairly low on that list, save that over the past few months it had been sending out stronger power signatures, nearly blacking out some of the orbital scanners, and when Arcee had asked permission to investigate and bring Jack with her as part of his training, Optimus (nearly bedridden after the strain he suffered reactivating the Allspark) had agreed.

Arcee was mildly surprised to find that the moon had an atmosphere, its metal surface of the same biomechanical form as Cybertron, and as far as they could tell, uninhabited. At least, there were no visible dwelling signs, and no buildings or evidence of survivors holding up here, like in some of the cities that had been protected by Sub-Commander Grimlock during the exodus.

Nevertheless, as she and Jack approached a strangely artificial site, she felt watched, and remained on high alert.

(And, in the distance, they were watched.

The great hulking masses of Insecticon hive-soldiers waited beneath the metal soil. Templated descendants of the Bombshell, the Hardshell, and the Kickback - most of them, Hardshell kin, but Bombshells vlew and Kickbacks waited to spring into action - lurked in the shadows, shying away from the light.

Most of them, particularly those who had been most recently supped upon by the Mistress, were burned by the light. It seared hot, piercing through their frames and their altered Sparks screaming at its touch. Fear moved in their fuel lines now, need and desire subordinating all higher impulses save the voice of the Mistress.

She was the hive queen, and her will shaped them, gave them purpose, protected them from the terror.

Her thoughts moved through them, and she flew above them in the shape of a flying vehicle from a distant world; a long, bulky thing with a rotating saw crowning it. They felt her curiosity, and she saw through their eyes as her rival, and her rival’s prized subordinate, came upon a strange ruin. They spoke to each other for a time, about this evidence of habitation, and that it was old indeed. The Mistress had said as much in the past.

And the Mistress watched, and she waited. Here, her thoughts said to the hive, was her own way into its secrets, at last.

The blue Autobot placed her hand upon the wall, and it seemed to her surprise as much as anyone’s, a wall slid away and revealed a passageway.

Into it, the two went. The Insecticons waited obediently as the Mistress radiated curiosity and interest as she followed, crawling along the walls like the predator she was. The hive obeyed her commands, and retreated. And alone, she followed after her prey into the dark.)

-----

Arcee led the way down the ancient steps. More accurately, she grabbed the hand of the mech Jack operated to stay on her level and she dragged him behind her, the stumpy legs of his mech waddling fast to keep up with her. Eventually, she slowed her pace, mostly because he kept getting pulled up.

His mech was not significantly smaller than hers; modeled after the armor Starscream and then Miko had employed, though not quite as refined as the work of the legendary Solus Prime, it was a squat and bulky thing, though still slimmer even than Arcee. That said a lot; duowheel platforms like her didn’t have much body mass in relation to their size. But she was far stronger than she looked, and Jack’s mech paled compared to her brief bursts of armor-shredding power.

She paused, her struts clacking on the ground. Her head turned, blue optics peering through the canopy towards Jack, who was looking a little overwhelmed. Her face clicked into a softer look, and she lowered him to the ground. “Take the time you need,” she said, and waited.

When he was ready, they set off again, and Arcee had a hard time resisting the urge to just take hold of his hand and escort him. It had been years since he’d become a fully grown man, as the humans reckoned such things, and though he was certainly competent and capable, he was just so… small. And Arcee was well past the point of ‘just’ being attached.

Deeming an alien one’s conjunx endura, the most intimate and close of Iaconian romantic ideas, was certainly atypical, but not unheard of. It was just rare for Autobots to settle down anywhere to get close to an alien. And for Arcee, a partner was as close as it got.

They descended down, into the ruin, and Arcee had already suggested that it was much older than any potential resident might have been. Soon it became clear, as they descended down, that this was a temple of some sort. Arcee supposed it was, at least; the elaborate carvings, the deep hieroglyphs shimmering faintly in the walls, the strange angles in the walls spoke to old sacred geometries of Cybertronian worship. Or then again, perhaps this had been a storage facility. She recognized some of those hieroglyphs from Iaconian Energon reservoirs, and supposed this might have been such a place.

But it was old. Glyphs like the ones carved into the walls had not been actively used for many thousands of years since before any modern Cybertron city-realm even existed in a recognizable form. Their languages changed only slowly, but even so Arcee found these glyphs so hard to read, so distant from her own languages, that it was mildly disorienting.

Jack looked at them, pausing to study them. Arcee waited beside him, doing her best to look stoic and cool and not at all miffed that he was doing a better job of translating them than she did. “I think this bit kind of looks like the old Iaconian High Pentamatrix glyph for ‘god’,” he said, looking pained. It must have been a very rough translation, then; his studies into Cybertronian language were progressing well, better than her own had during her brief and terminal attempts to work with linguistics. “But it’s, I don’t know. Weird. Some bits of it look like they’re representing sounds, not a given idea. Or, um. Does Cybertron have things like, sign posts?”

“Sign posts?” Arcee repeated.

“Yeah. You know, images where you see it and you instantly know what it means without context? Like a sign post that says ‘danger!’ on earth. I know what that would mean, even if it had nothing on it.”

Arcee rolled her optics. “Course we have those, Jack. Memetic information and ideas aren’t exclusive to humans.”

“Right, I know. I thought I’d be sure, first. Didn’t want to just assume and us get hurt over it.” He frowned, his mouth moving as he extended his mech’s hand over the glyphs. “I can see hints of something that looks a bit like the Iaconian glyphs for ‘fast food’, but that can’t be right. And this bit here, it looks like old Simfurian Claw-Scratch. I don’t have the right words to explain what they sound like, but it sort of looks like its suggesting… danger? No, its more like… cautioun. Like a ‘careful where you step’ sign?” He shook his head. “You sure this is a temple?”

Arcee glanced up and pointed. Right above them were two small statues mounted into the wall: the more monstrous of the two was a grotesque thing, almost like a robotic centaur but with a strong dragonish air. The lower half was a low-slung beast, paws tipped with claws and a long tail curled around it calmly. From the waist up, the statue was more humanoid but barely so, too broad and armored to read as anything but a monster. Multiple arms were crossed over a body that some ancient sculptor had endeavored to suggest was both mech and femme-aligned, and the triangular head was that of a beast. And yet, for its monstrosity, it emanated wisdom and serenity; its many eyes were closed, its great jaws held primly shut in an expression of sage calmness.

Across it was a statue more recognizable; it was indisputably a fembot. Definitely a fembot; the sculptor had made that very clear. Energon tanks swelled out from the chestplates to unreal extremes, the hips were impossibly massive, and Jack seemed unable to look directly at its curves without getting embarrassed. The statue’s head had been carved to look as much flame as it was metal, and her expression was a wild, fierce joy. ‘Maniacal’ might have been a good word, too.

“Onyx Prime,” Arcee said of the bestial shape. “And Solus Prime,” she said, pointing to the curvy one. “Two of the original thirteen Primes. Optimus’ predecessors, you could say. They were worshiped as gods in ancient times, and you won’t find statues of them in just any facility.”

“Why build a temple on the moon?” Jack wondered.

“...Good question. That’s usually something you do to keep it secure.”

They began to go down the stairs again. Arcee noticed that they were strangely shaped, with multiple sizes and shapes for someone to ascend. There was a set just the right size for them to go down, bisected by an even smaller set perhaps for minicons. And besides them were increasingly bigger stairs, for ‘bots in Optimus’ size range, and then Grimlock’s… and then who knew? Perhaps the likes of Omega Supreme.

Arcee did not notice that the walls themselves, towering as they were, swelled up even bigger than that. Those were also stairs, for something as big as Metroplex. Or larger still.

Down they went, and behind them someone followed. Someone very much like a spider.

-----

Downwards they went, and the stairways looped in a loose spiral, in a fairly linear path without additional branches or chambers. This ruin led somewhere specific, and Arcee suspected its purpose was not purely spiritual.

The strange arrangement of steps they’d noticed continued, all the way down, and though there were no more ancient lighting arrangements, it was still brightly illuminated. Cracks webbed up and down the wall in a surprisingly harmonious arrangement.

As they went down, further, they came to an raised platform the glowing cracks encircled like a directional sign. When they stepped on it, it creaked faintly, with the sound of mechanisms around them that sounded like an old calculating engine going to work. Something clicked, and the platform slid away, and descended on down.

“Whoa!” Jack yelped. “Did we just hit a trap?!”

“No, no!” Arcee patted the dome-shaped seal over his seating. “It’s just an elevator.”

Down they went. Jack stared blankly. “...An elevator.”

“Yes. What’s weird about us having elevators?”

“...Arcee, I’m who-knows how many lightyears away from Earth, on a planet that had a thriving civization millions of years when the dinosaurs were still alive. You guys having something as mundane as fricking ELEVATORS is a little weird, okay!?”

“Fair enough, but guess how I felt when I saw that your planet had created vehicles that were an absolutely perfect match for our natural alternate forms. I’m just saying that the freaky feelings go both ways, you know.”

In this manner, they idly talked the nervousness away, aware of a dim glassy substance around them. A tube, perhaps, the means of conveying them downwards, and they could see outwards.

For whatever that was worth; the elevator moved surprisingly fast, nothing but dark groundmetal visible, and they were descending many miles every second, a trick of pressure keeping this from having any adverse effect on them. (Not that Transformers needed to worry about that kind of thing, but it was still a concern for Jack. Arcee kept glancing at him, concerned.) Jack kept close to her, extremely embarrassed by his mech acting on his true desires by clinging fearfully to Arcee’s leg. She put a hand on top of his pilot seat, comfortingly, as they came to a stop.

The illumination had grown brighter, and as they stepped out, more complex. Dimly, her optics took note of a vast expanse around them, a faintly lit horizon outlined into an outward curve. A great dome extending in every direction, as far as they could see. They stood on an island of sorts, and around them was a vast lake, shining a faint pink against an oilly surface, meeting the distant wall. The lights became more regular, shaped into hieroglyphs, and stretched across the entire chamber so that it illuminated the distant curving horizon. Jack squinted as they stepped onto a raised podium, perhaps an altar, and Arcee patted him briefly. “Ease up, Jack. Not gonna ask for a translation. You’d need binoculars or something first. Besides, I think I got a pretty good idea of where we are now.”

“You do? THat’s more than I got.” With every sign of reluctance, he parted from Arcee, and she found him missing his close proximity with a surprising intensity. He looked up, towards a distant ceiling, and a faintly visible tube they had apparently moved down through. The entrance above looked like a tiny hole, just barely lighted. “How far down are we!?”

“If I had to guess? Probably in the center of the moon.” She tilted her head. Judging from the religious iconography…” She pointed at the altar, which extended for a considerable distance, as if some very big things were expected to sit there. In the distance, she saw a large tower, and it looked old; ancient carved lines flowed with pink light, and set into the very top of it was a large crystal. “Yep. See the little statue things on ‘em? Kind of look a bit like the Predacons? Denizens of ancient Simfur. And, let’s see what else we have here.”

She shone a light, and took a step back in shock as liquid power shifted welcomingly in front of her. Blackness gleamed, somehow bright, and pink glimmer shone like solar flares. The liquid flowed, frosted steam rising up, heavy crystals slowly rising up here and there in places where it was thickened into a solid mass. And far, she saw the pink and black mass gushing out of the walls, being made by some mysterious internal processes, and she saw the hints of ancient machinery about her and in the walls.

The crackle of electricity fell over her, the taste of power was bright, and she at last understood. “Oh,” she said softly.

Jack took a sharp intake of breath. “Is that… energon?!”

The blessed life blood of their people, the fuel that kept them alive, that kept them immortal over the ages, and the rarest substance in the known universe. And here was an entire lake of it, being made on the spot. “Yeah,” Arcee said, numbly. “But I’ve never seen this kind before. And, okay. I get it. This moon. I think, I think the ancients hollowed it out and built something in it. This was a, an energon production facility! And it came online not too long ago…”

She felt woozy, a bit distant, and she felt very hungry indeed.

Jack gave her a concerned look. She put a hand on him, steadying herself. She thought weakly of too many eons of going hungry, of rust growing in painful patches and bits of her aching. “Why’s it black? And pink?”

“Energon used to come in different varieties. Aspected to the different original Primes; the kind you’re used to is attuned to Prima, the first of the Thirteen. Pink probably means something to do with Solus Prime, and black…”

“That’d be Megatronus, right? The one that betrayed the rest.”

Arcee gave him an unamused look. “Don’t think your color expectations apply here, Jack. Black means Onyx Prime. Red used to be for Megatronus.”

“Sorry.”

Arcee bent down. “Well, this would explain the power readings; there’s a damn lake of Energon being made down here, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to stop any time soon. We absolutely… uh…” She put a hand to her forehead. Her vision flickered. Arcee wasn’t aware of it, but just for a moment, her optics glowed bright pink. And above them, something spidery was patiently crawling down.

Thoughts of what they absolutely should do went out of Arcee’s head. Her processor pounded; lightning moved in her, a feeling of lightness was making it hard to stand. She stumbled, her exoframe shifting. She felt… not itchy. She felt hot, cold. Both at the same time, and with an irrepressible feeling that was intolerable. It was like firing up a transformation cycle and then holding it, until it hurt…

Something was sinking into her, fusing, and gently reconfiguring her, and it was then she realized it.

Energon radiation. Like transwarp mutation. Just being near this stuff was changing her! And non-Primian Energon, like Dark Energon, could do things to you.

Just for a moment, she looked up, at the crystal alighting the tower, and she felt the power flowing from it. That was no Energon crystal. It was something… older. Something power, as ancient and mighty as the Star Saber had been, or the Forge of Solus.

Even as her fuel lines blazed with a sudden and ferocious pleasure, Arcee shouted, “Jack! Get back!”

He complied, scuttling back all the way to the elevator, unaware of the shadow crawling closer from above the both of them; he was too fixed on Arcee, his eyes wide and afraid. She stumbled forward, her optics wide, glowing pink… and then, so did the rest of her.

For a moment, Arcee’s slim frame turned a glossy black. Not for long, and Jack had to admit it didn’t look ominous like the purple of Dark Energon, and then her usual colors asserted themselves.

Then her frame began to shift, and grow bigger. As soon as her colors appeared, Arcee began to grow larger, slowly swelling up bigger than Bumblebee was. She kept growing, and swelled up even taller than that, soon reaching the height of the likes of Knockout or some of the bigger Vehicons.

And her body shape was changing. She was getting… not muscular, given how Autobots were built, but she was getting broader. Her torso was expanding notably outwards, her waist a bit moreso, and her hips sprouting outwards.

She kept getting bigger, her proportions growing so fiercely she looked as proportionately beefy as Optimus was. And her thighs expanded outwards, with such ferocity that a better word might be exploded. They plumped up and grew, and grew and just kept growing, her armor fusing into a malleable and less rigid form to absorb attacks; her servo musculature swelled into place beneath it, even as her thighs got bigger than her torso and her waist!

And then, the swell where her hip-joints met her waist plate grew, Energon collecting there and producing new mechanisms and growing them to immense size; two enormous swells, plated in more deflect metal and the jet black of her undercoating, grew into a gargantuan backside; Arcee hissed, an undercurrent of pleasure as it bloomed outwards, her body creaking as her plating adjusted to a butt projecting outwards like a shelf, or an ant-insecticon’s abdomen.

Pink and black flashed around her body as her butt kept growing bigger, pumping in more mass, flashes of light shining around her. She tottered forward, more extreme heel struts forcing her stance into something awkward as she struggled to compensate, and it was harder to walk; she was getting taller, growing upwards too, and the gradual changes to her size were shifting her balance almost as badly as her new assets. Her energon tanks began to grow, wobbling larger with each step, hanging off and providing heavy weights, dense Energon settling into them and making them grow faster.

But not as fast as Arcee herself was growing. Her shoulders were broader, her overall body significantly more amazonian, and her hips nearly as wide as she was tall. And she was growing upwards faster than all of that anyway; her legs lengthened, heel struts stabilized into ultra high heels, her thighs clamping together as she wavered in place, and she shot up twenty feet all at once. Arcee yelled, her head dizzy with a surge of power and a delighted thrill, and flailed her arms, trying not to fall over even as she grew taller than even Optimus was. She got bigger, she kept growing upwards. Another fifteen feet, with no signs of stopping.

And another twenty after that, and then another; she was more than twice the size of even the likes of Grimlock, the single biggest bruiser in all the Autobot ranks short of the likes of Omega Supreme, and she was still growing upwards, shooting towards the ceiling.

It felt so right; the Energon burned bright in her, her entire body felt filled with a sweet flame, and though she was aware of changes in her mind, certain inhibitions falling away, she didn’t mind. The straightforwad nature of Onyx Prime, and the wild mania of Solus Prime touched her, influencing her, and she liked it. She certainly didn’t mind as her energon tanks expanded, tripling in size with a single wobbling flux. Her torso plating was completely absorbed, energon tanks totally fluid and wubbling and pure black, now descending somewhere around her waist and projecting out nearly half her total length. And they were still growing, swelling outwards, filling with more energon. They fizzled, gleaming from within so that a pink light was visible within them, and she felt more mass being generated and pouring into her tanks, making them bigger.

And on the ground level, Jack gaped in shock as Arcee kept growing, a true giantess even among the Autobots. Her high heel-shaped feet clattered forward, her entire body jiggling in a way he wouldn’t have thought an alien robot could. She was still growing, her exoskeletal armor fused into a squishy and soft hull like metallic latex, and he couldn’t help but think that she looked kinda beefy. Her shoulders were wider, her waist was tiny, but her limbs were much thicker than before, her thighs dominating his view, and her butt was swelling out so much she was toppling forward. Her butt was almost bigger than she was by now, two hge hills swelling up and gradually forcing her downwards, and her breasts (possibly not the right word, he knew, but damn they were so big) slamming into the ground, now absolutely bigger than Arcee herself, so that Arcee was sinking into them with every sign of pleasure.

She kicked a leg up, groaning softly. Arcee turned her head around, her optics glowing pink. “Jaa-aack,” she sang softly, a whirring noise as she focused for him. “Where are you? Where are you!?” She reached for him, pinned by her breasts. “Come here…! Now!”

Jack timidly stepped forward. Something in her voice sounded… different. He wasn’t sure he trusted this raw, wild intensity. It felt like something had been scraped off her.

Before he could get too far, though, something swooped down, and perched on Arcee.

Arcee turned as Jack recoiled in horror at this familiar threat. Arcee’s stupified self-satisfaction faded as she recognized her old foe: “Airachnid!” She shouted.

On the left swell of Arcee’s backside, there stood Arcee’s oldest tormentor and nemesis, Airachnid herself. A tall and fearsome Decepticon, built on broadly the same lines as Arcee, she was nonetheless a spider-type Insecticon, a rare hive queen. Her body had the plated, spiky look common to the Inecticons, and her rear dominated by a heavy spider abdomen (not dissimilar from Arcee’s new backside, in fact). Where Arcee was blue and black with a hint of pink, Airachnid was purple, black and deathly grey.

And something else was… different about her. Besides her dancing up and doing trying to avoid sinking into Arcee’s super soft mega butt, that is. That rather spoiled the intimidating effect.

Arcee swatted at her, while Jack rushed over in a very bad attempt to fight her. Unfortunately, Arcee’s butt was simply too large for her to reach, and her arm smacked off her own endowment. Arcee maneuvered her leg into Jack’s way, and a wall of metal cut off his route. Airachnid laughed. “As I thought! You could open the way into this place, with all its treasures, and all its power! And at last, here you are… so helpless.”

Arcee squinted. “Say what you want, little bug,” she said, her voice smoother than normal, and with a sudden pleasurable awareness of how… puny Airachnid was. “You’re looking pathetic now. Come here, so I can crush you!”

Arcee’s arm transformed into weapon mode; instead of the slim pistol-grade shooter, it swelled up into a ridiculously massive cannon. She blinked, shrugged, and aimed.

Airachnid bounded away as a wall-annihilating flood of pink-black force almost obliterated her. “Perhaps I have bitten off more than I can chew. But then again…” She grinned, and her face split open. Long fangs extended, and a horrific feeding tendril extended. “What an interesting idea!”

“Arcee!” Jack shouted from below. “Get her off you, now! She’s a Terrorcon! She’s a decepticon vampire!”

“She what!?” Arcee felt a sudden pinch on her butt. “Ow!”

Airachnid bit deep… and as luck would have it, it was basically like a mosquito biting Arcee. She was too small, and Arcee too large, and even as she drank her fill, the lost fraction was too small for Arcee to even notice.

There was a brief pause as Airachnid bloated up, filled to maximum capacity by even this small sample, and rolled right off her backside. As she fell, towards the Energon, she was visibly growing curvier in the same way as Arcee, and doubling in size in even the brief moment between the fall-

And the splash, into the energon. She was heavy enough now to crack through the frozen layer.

Arcee paused. Rubbing the small bump on her backside, she frowned, her lips notably plumper than before. “This seems like a, a bad thing to me.”

“You think!?” Jack yelled.

Arcee paused, noticing him. “Ah. THERE you are~!” She reached towards him.

And at this point, interrupting her attempts to be cuddly again, something arose from the energon. Something… big.

Mostly they saw two very big somethings, wobbling and bouncing in place right in front of them, and rising up towards the ceiling. There was a lot of purple, and a brief sight of exoskeletal armor fusing and morphing into a new shiny form. A broad waist like the side of a mountain, broader than Arcee’s curves, hips dominating everything in front of them. The splash of a monstrously huge metal butt growing so fast it slammed into the energy and made tidal waves, and more splashes as gargantuan breasts swelled up as much as Arcee’s head, hitting the Energon…

Arcee looked up, and up, and up to see Airachnid towering over her, growing even faster than she had, as large as a Metrotitan and still growing bigger.

Airachnid laughed like a noblewoman, her horns glinting as she tilted her head back. “Oh, oh, this is just perfect! You do the hard work to come in here, and I am the one who reaps the most benefits!” As she spoke, she was visibly growing up towards the ceiling, and her horns rammed into them, her breasts and backside competing to fill up as much space as possible. Arcee squeaked as purple metal squashed into her.

Airachnid pressed forward, submerging her in squishy metal, and still laughing, let herself keep growing into the ceiling. She kept growing, soaring upwards, more metal fembot body filling up as much as space as possible, and her optics fixed on something; she bent down and plucked the ancient device Arcee had observed earlier, right off the grand podium at the very center of the chamber. It was a small thing; a crystal of the deepest and brightest light, like a piece of the sun made solid and safe. Black and pink laced around it, infused into it, and clearly it powered the whole facility, for as soon as Airachnid took it away, the room became dark. The hieroglyphs, speaking their mysterious wisdom and words of the ancients, became dim, and then all was dark.

All, but for the pink glow of the Energon. It grew fainter as Airachnid’s body continued to absorb it, fueling her growth. By now, she must have been over a mile tall, and she was still growing. Her butt was now so large as to be nearly a separate thing from the rest of her body, rising as high as her elbows and low as her mid thighs, her whole form monstrously curvy. Spidery limbs extended, growing larger, and all manner of kibble materialized on her body, suggesting far more than just one possible alternate form. This was evolution, ascension beyond the limits of modern Transformers.

She peered at the crystal. “Interesting,” she said, after a moment. “A relic of Solus’ own work, I would imagine. And some of the handiwork of Onyx too. And married to energon harvested from the very heart of Primus, to amplify the effects of their creation. Making Energon to uplift… no, transform and upgrade us. Supercharging, in fact. Oh, if only it had been active during the war… then I could have crushed that short-sighted maniac and taken over in a snap!” She snapped her claws for emphasis, and the shockwave tore vast chunks out of the walls, and knocked Arcee all the way to the other side of the chamber, in an instant; she made an ultra curvy impact crater, and slipped into the Energon.

“Arcee!” Jack turned to her, freezing and unable to decide; run and hide, like Arcee would want, or figure out something to do. Anything at all! And then, the sky went dark, and huge metal claws closed around him. “Ah. Arcee’s little beloved. What fun,” Airachnid said smugly. She pressed Jack into her cleavage, a small hatch appearing to receive him and then locking him away, vanishing him into her body. She then considered the artifact.

Will was usually the answer. She concentrated upon it, letting herself be a vessel for its power, and it wanted to flow. It’s boundless essence flowed into her, and it was important to know that the Energon it had made… that was not the limits of its power. That was what the grand mechanism around them had been built to do, transfer its power into a consumable form. Airachnid received, instead, the full and unbound force of it.

She gasped, almost indecently, and her curves surged, fluxing several sizes bigger, and then she grew upwards, soaring towards the ceiling. Arcee emerged from the Energon, to see Airachnid growing thousands of feet in seconds, almost instantly filling up the entire facility, her monstrous breasts slamming into the rooms, an oppressive weight above them, and she was still growing bigger-

There was light, and the ceiling cracked. It fought against the weight of Airachnid’s body, and soon lost as her strength was boosted as much as her size, and with a vague thrust of her shoulders, she smashed right through solid metal, and kept growing upwards. Almost instantly, Airachnid’s head disappeared into the gap, then her shoulders. Her breasts, low-slung and projecting out as much as they did, carved out even more, and then so did her backside as she grew so much her hips soared through the ceiling. Her thighs grew; she had to be over five miles tall by now, and her thighs alone filled the whole room, slamming Arcee into the walls.

And, at last, the pressure was gone, as Airachnid broke through the surface of the moon and hauled herself up, on pure reflex.

As silence fell, Arcee felt a brief surge of relief, the sheer terror of Airachnid being so big fading away. Then, a fresh terror came to her. Airachnid had been here the whole time, she was loose. She was larger than a Metrotitan, she was supercharged by a Primal relic. And then:

She had Jack.

Arcee, with a lot of effort, forced herself to crawl forwards. The Energon’s surface had been cracked, and she sank into the liquid depths. It swam and coursed around her, caressing her every expanded inch, and she barely felt the thrill of it being absorbed into her metal body, or that several tons of Energon were being sucked into her every second.

It had a purpose, and it wanted to fulfill that purpose. Here was Arcee, as suitable a host as any.

But all she could think of was Jack; her partner, her beloved. She was responsible for him, she wanted him, she needed him safe, it was her fault he was there. Her enemy had him, and he was totally in her power, and she couldn’t let him be hurt. She forced herself forward, with no clear idea of what she could possibly do; she yelled in frustration, and again, she raised her arm, and willed it into weapon form.

Out came the cannon. She aimed it upwards, towards a vast purple mass that looked suitably jiggly, and she fired. The resulting beam of power would have made Megatron’s fusion cannon look puny, and it could have one-shotted the Nemesis at the height of its power.

Airachnid didn’t really even notice the blast, but she did feel a sting. Dazed by euphoric pleasures, and the enticement of her own growing body, the shock of the sting was enough for her grip to loosen, and the artifact fell out of her hand.

Arcee saw it’s shining light fall, and drop into the waters. She grunted, her body reconfiguring into an alternate form; a long and low slung vehicle, with as much resemblance to a two-wheeler form as a tyrannosaur bore to a sparrow; it was TECHNICALLY the same thing, but the details were notable. Not even pausing to wonder why her alt mode had changed, she revved into the waters.

The Energon soon vanished, poured into the ideal vessel that was Arcee’s body. The entire chamber was totally dry.

And then she grabbed the artifact, and her drive to beat Airachnid was all the way in it needed.

Very, very quickly, Arcee found the ceiling getting rather closer.

--------

On top of the surface, the Insecticon hordes bowed to their queen, as she stood to her full size.

By now her size had stabilized, and there was a gaping hole in the moon where her body had torn its way through, big enough for a hyper curvy fembot now standing one hundred miles tall; she was so large, her body extended well into space off the moon, and she was plainly visible to the Autobots on Cybertron. Indifferent to what threats might come her way, she laughed softly, delighting in the feeling of power radiating in her.

She felt as though she were a goddess; every movement could break a continent, her exhalations raise a hurricane. The power coursing in her satisfied even the ravenous hunger of a Terrorcon; for the first time since her transformation, she felt satisfied.

“Come, my children,” she said sweetly, a sudden burst of generosity in her. That felt odd, and for a moment, she felt somewhat concerned. But then it was soon gone; the urge to not think at all, to simply do as occurred to her, felt much more satisfying. And it felt… good… to do things like this.

Perhaps later, she might worry about the influence it had on her, or if her mind was changing.

The Insecticons clustered around her, feeding reverently. One by one, they scuttled away and through her psychic link, she felt them at last satisfied. And something in them… changing. The dark hunger, the same as Unicron, was still present, but… dimmed. Or tamed?

Much like her own. Something, certainly, was changing her mind.

She considered the human currently sealed inside her, and she rather thought she enjoyed the feeling of him wriggling there, and not just because she’d denied Arcee a prize.

Hrm. Where was Arcee?

As the last Insecticon drank their fill from her, she felt the mad hunger fade from them, and plenty of them curled up to nap. “Missing your bike?” Airachnid murmured to Jack, of a mind to taunt the organic speck, and paused, not even noticing any reaction from him.

The Insecticons sensed something approaching. Something big. Airachnid leaned towards the rift her body had torn into the ground, peering into the black depths there, and she saw movement-

And then a fist as large as her own, large enough to tear islands from their roots, clocked her in the face.

The impact hit so hard, it rearranged the atmosphere, and the shockwave from it changed the geography of the moon. New mountains rose up from that punch, and the Insecticon horde was scattered to the wind.

And Airachnid was actually staggered by it.

Arcee stood up, strutting out of the pit, and she stood eye to eye with Airachnid, just as big as her, easily 100 miles tall.

She walked forward, her steps making islands on the moon. Each swing of her hips moved enough metal to make entire continents, and Airachnid was floored at how massive those hips were. Thighs packing more mass than cities slammed together, intricately interlocked squash plates mashing together, and her hips produced their own weather systems, flashing with pink and black energies. Her hips were easily wider than she was tall, and her backside so massive that the two globes rose higher than her elbows, jiggling and wobbling with each step, so broad they were visible from the front. Mostly black metal, interlocking into the transformed blue of her leg greaves, the light caught on her metal butt and she was jiggling so much the effect was like a disco ball. Behind her, her backside projected out like a tremendous shelf, an awe-inspiring sight.

Her breasts were not quite so large; if Airachnid had to guess, Arcee’s hips were larger than her own, but Airachnid had the bigger energon tanks.They still descended to, perhaps, her waist, dipping further, the black teardrop-shaped masses sticking outwards for a shocking distance, enormously wide, and so as Arcee advanced, her breasts slammed into Airachnid’s. They docked at first, and Airachnid was surprised at the pleasure of it, the shock of warmth in her. The full weight of it pushed her back, and Arcee rushed forwards, almost knocking her down; the massive weights dense enough to actually push her forwards.

Arcee actually leaped; her new form was significantly more bulky and powerfully built, and just as strong as Airachnid, and she flew into the sky, easily flipping and landing a kick square into Airachnid’s face. The Insecticons, at least the ones on different parts of the planet, had since recovered from her explosive arrival, and rose in a great mass to descend upon her. Arcee simply punche at the air, indifferently, and the shockwave again washed over the moon, knocking them away.

Airachnid commanded all her Insecticons to her; recognizing that they would be no use in this fight, she instead produced many openings in her body, as though she were a living ship. Her insecticons entered, hiding away inside her, and she allowed herself to draw power from them, and comfort from their simple adoration of her. And, annoyingly, she sensed that the human inside her knew Arcee had arrived, and was already rejoicing. Out loud, she said, “How did you reach my size!?”

Arcee smirked. There was something wilder about her now. She was moving differently. It was a sexual kind of ferocity, unhinged and even savage. What had the transformation done to her? “You left the artifact to me. And the rest of the Energon was mine. Easy enough to outdo you!” She smacked her massive butt, for emphasis, making a noise somewhere between rubber being slapped and a metallic clang.

Airachnid scowled. “...I’ll take it from you, once I finish beating you down.”

Arcee, having already swallowed it for safekeeping, doubted that. “You can try.”

“And I suppose now, Autobot, you’ll demand I surrender.”

“Mmm.” She made a mocking kissing sound. “Oh, you won’t have to surrender,” Arcee said, grinning in a truly terrifying way. Her plump lips slid back over rows and rows of long and cruel fangs. It was a feral smile, a bestial Dinobot kind of smile. “I’ll just beat my Jack out of you, and then I’ll keep on pummeling you until I get bored!”

For just a moment, Airachnid felt a flutter of uncertainty. “Wait-”

Arcee swung, a surprisingly graceful movement that put her massive bulk into the air, her heel strut landing square into Airachnid’s face. With that, the battle was properly joined, and Airachnid was plunged into a new valley carved out by the force of the kick. Another one, as Arcee spiraled down, struck Airachnid in the right boob, but the enormously dense metal absorbed it handily, and Arcee hopped in place, her foot stuck.

Airachnid’s spider limbs, much longer and bulkier than before, produced a number of nasty drills, hooks and other combat attachments. They dove forward, with such speed and force the air tore around them, and when they hit it produced a massive blast making more cracks in the moon. Unfortunately, most of them slammed into Arcee’s boobs, and the only one that didn’t hit a glancing blow on her butt, with all damage absorbed.

“Well, what do you know,” Arcee panted, a thrill in her optics. “These new features aren’t just fun. It's better than armor!” She headbutted Airachnid with a wild scream… and then promptly reeled back, dazed and woozy.

“Pity you don’t have the headgear for that kind of move!” Airachnid headbutted her, and with her horns, she was actually able to pull it off. Arcee stumbled back and Airachnid pressed forward, ramming her head into her again and again, chipping off bits of Arcee’s head plates and armor with nicks of her sharp horns.

Arcee recovered gradually, ducking back just enough to avoid another headbutt, and ducked low, leaning onto her breasts and affording herself enough leverage to kick out. Airachnid howled with pain as her shin joint locked up from the blow, sinking into a hole made by the impact. Arcee leaped up, and levered her massive weight into a brutal slam down onto her.

Airachnid escaped, and transformed. For a moment, she had some dreadful uncertainty; she felt not one potential alternate state, but many. It shocked her; she had not just one alternate form now. And the instincts of them all felt ready to direct her mind. The form of a spider, all predatory skill and violent speed. A two-wheeler form for pure speed, not so different from Arcee’s native form. Her original helicopter form, but scaled up…

She folded up, her curves compressing and providing far more cybermatter to make an even larger form, and she flew out as… well, as a spaceship. For a moment, it occurred to her she could simply leave, right here and now, with her prize. She rose up, engines firing…

“WE’RE NOT DONE HERE!” Arcee roared, her voice positively deranged, and her hands extending into wicked claws. Another arm became weaponized, turning into an absolutely massive cannon, and fired, the blast knocking Airachnid’s ship mode out of the sky.

Airachnid landed in the form of an enormous mechanical spider, raising forward multiple bladed limbs, and she charged. Her blades clattered ineffectually against Arcee’s armored breasts, but they were more effective against the rest of her, slicing at her forearms.

And so the two continued to fight.

Across the entire moon, their battle raged, assuming a multitude of forms as they did. Both of them fought far more aggressively than they might have before, though it had to be said: Airachnid was fighting for just enough space to retreat, perhaps recognizing that she needed more time to plan. Arcee fought for Jack, and to finally put down Airachnid, and she fought with a completely wild, ferocious savagery in keeping with the likes of Onyx Prime’s modern disciples; she clawed, she bit, she roared like a monster.

“SHOW ME SOME BLOOD!” She snarled, assuming the form of a gigantic creature not dissimilar to Earth’s wolverines, with a hint of velociraptor in there.

“We’re robots! We have no blood!” Airachnid retorted, in her ship form again, evidently an evolution of her original alt mode.

“SEMANTICS ARE STUPID! HOLD STILL AND DIE!” Arcee assumed a two-wheeler form, though now resembling a battle barge with treads, and rocketed into her. As she bounced off, she transformed back into biped form, producing a set of blades on her forearms and enthusiastically swinging at Airachnid, and began parrying Airachnid’s bladed spider-limbs.

Below, on Cybertron, the Autobot host assembled, waiting on instructions. Optimus Prime watched solemnly, doing a good job of hiding his complete bafflement on Arcee’s transformation, but he gave the order; make no move, unless Arcee was hurt. The battle was too large to risk collateral damage.

After all, the two fembots were still growing. Somehow, the radiation continued to affect them, and though they were too deep into battle to realize it, they had nearly doubled in size, to two hundred miles tall.

They continued to assume a dizzying variety of new forms, each one feeling as natural as two-wheeler and helicopter had before. Arcee barreled into her as a speedy tank, Airachnid resisted the attack as a combiner swarm. One became a living city and brandished turrets in a massive firearms attack, the other dug under the ground as a digging insect. One ran circles around in multiple speedy forms, the other simply assumed increasingly tougher and resilient ones. Even as Airachnid became a ship once more and rammed her, intending to piledrive her all the way into Cybertron, and Arcee became a space station, extending many weapons and firing point blank, dazing Airachnid so that they both floated in space, now orbiting Cybertron.

And, for that matter, both of them now larger than the moon they had been battling upon; their breasts and backside remained the roughly same proportions, but their enormous roundness looked like stellar masses from ground level. Their energon tanks slammed together, jiggling enticingly, as they clung to one another.

“Just… give me the artifact!” Airachnid hissed. “I’ll give you back your precious human! Let me achieve… perfection!” Her voice took on a slightly desperate air. “It is the key! To become as grand as Solus herself! I know it is!”

Arcee grinned in a truly frightening way. “It’s worth keeping it from you, just for that. You’ll have to live with that, forever! I took something you wanted! That you decided was yours! Try and live with THAT, Decepticon scum! See what it’s like!”

Airachnid hissed. “Mine… mine! Give it back!” She lunged.

And, unfortunately for her, it was very poorly timed. Arcee was a more experienced fighter overall, and while Airachnid was a deadly schemer, a vicious ambusher, and a cruel torturer, she battled best when she could surprise her foe. And Arcee was a scrapper by nature, and this was exactly her element. She rammed her tanks into her, using leverage and mass to her advantage; with her bigger hips, and larger backside. She had much more force to offer.

Airachnid leaned back, both stunned by the impact and strangely aroused. Arcee lifted herself up, wrapping her monstrously big thighs around Airachnid’s waist, and was pleased by how her old foe grunted in dismay. And she squeaked, putting all her planet-cracking leg strength into it. Airachnid gasped, with a satisfying cracking noise. As her monstrously huge breasts floated up in the vacuum of space, Arcee took her opportunity, and struck!

Her claws sank into the base of Airachnid’s torso, right to the join of cleavage and torsoplates. She missed the Spark chamber, though whether through mercy or sheer accident… hard to say. But she found what she aimed for, at a spot she had been focusing on the whole fight, and her claws popped it right open.

Her hands closed around Jack, still safe in his protective mech. And, for him, the entire world was the goddess-like grandness of Arcee. Her cleavage could have sheltered continents, her eyes burning stars, and her mouth swallow his home whole. She grinned with a wild and possessive air, and with no preamble, she scooped him up. Right above her Spark casing, she produced a suite suitable for the care and housing of an organic sweetheart, not unlike a luxury spaceship might have, and she plopped him in there. Multiple armatures stripped him out of the mech, to enjoy the comforts of Arcee more directly, and by some strange tweak of her internal shifting, it wound up in her mouth. She spat out the empty mech, indifferent to its cost.

She noticed, in a vague sort of way, his clothes were also there as well. Perhaps she got a bit overzealous, and then grinned as she thought of him naked there.

Still dazed, Airachnid moved. The motion drew Arcee’s attention, like a cat seeing a mouse move, and she grinned even wider. “I can think of one thing to make this day even better,” she said sweetly, drawing her arm back. It grew a massive blade, and she pointed it right at Airachnid’s chest. Airachnid’s eyes widened, because Arcee wanted her to know what was coming. Arcee swung, straight at her Spark-

Airachnid headbutted her again and Arcee detached. She was so stunned by the blow that one of her compartments opened, and out flew the artifact. “No!” She yelled, but Airachnid was faster, and she caught it. “No, no!” Airachnid ignored her, transforming into her ship form once again, and this time, just revved her engines up. The heat of them grew intense, sub-light systems manifested and engaged. Arcee roared in fury, and transformed as well, but her form blurred. She was so angry, so awash in pure bloodthirsty intent and thwarted revenge for so many lost friends, that she couldn’t settle on the right alt mode.

Normally, it would only have been several seconds of hesitation. And it was enough time for Airachnid to accelerate free of Cybertron’s orbit, breaking away from Arcee and out of her reach.

Arcee fired at her, but by now, it was a performative gesture. Airachnid, in ship mode, accelerated, and shifted into other realms of existence; she jumped, and then-

She was gone.

Arcee stared where she had been, for a long, long time.

And then her screams of rage made all of Cybertron shrink back in terror.

“Arcee…?” Jack said meekly within her, completely nude and quite self-conscious about it, but a lot more concerned by her thrashing. “Arcee! Please! Talk to me!”

It was a little frightening how fast Arcee’s attitude instantly calmed down. “Oh. Jack. You’re okay…” And mine, mine, MINE, some jealous and vindictive part of herself roared, and she purred in personal agreement.

“Arcee? Are we… are we okay?”

Arcee looked where her foe had gone. At least for the moment, Airachnid was gone, the last Decepticon holdout of any notable throat no longer an immediate concern. Jack was safe. And Acree herself…

She felt a thrill of power, such that she could tear worlds apart with barely any effort, and she gloried in the unfettered might of it. “Yes, we’re okay.”

She turned, regarding Cybertron, and she focused her attention, her optics zeroing in on the otherwise minute specks of the ordinary Autobots.

Her expression was...strange, for a moment, and briefly, unsettlingly like Airachnid when she regarded the brief and irrelevant humans she so looked down upon.

Then Arcee smiled sweetly, though fiercely, and wiggled her claws in greeting. “Hello down there,” she said coyly. “How do you all like the new me?”

------

It was several months later.

The moon had, by and large, been repaired, and now colonized. The facility within it could no longer produce the empowering Energon without the artifact it had hidden to do so, but it could still produce ordinary Energon, and was now presently feeding Cybertron and even its allies. Grimlock wasn’t too happy about his moon getting wrecked, but it amused Arcee to argue about it with him.

Arcee herself had kept growing for some time even after the fight, stabilizing until she was a little smaller than Cybertron. Given that the planet was largely hollow, her overall mass was probably equal to it. However, it was a bit boring hanging about in space with herself, Jack and any nearby space-capable ‘bots, so she worked out a way to displace her mass and become smaller, though she disliked getting too small; presently, she liked hitting Metrotitan size, and spent some time as her own city in what had once been the Sea of Rust.

Jack and her were now even more inseperable than before; she was becoming very jealous and possessive of him, and he was so enamored and won over by her that he meekly obliged her every whim, and simply lived in her full time. Some speculated what, exactly, they got up to in the complexity of her body, but the general opinion was that it was their own business.

Anyway, upsetting Arcee by being too nosy about it seemed… dangerous.

Not that she came off malicious to the other Autobots. She had changed, yes, but she was still an Autobot; compassionate, honorable, and vaguely insane at the best of times. (They had… unique recruiting practices. But you didn’t stick with the Autobots if you were a normal robot.) Optimus seemed to trust her, at least, so that was probably a good sign.

But she was a lot more wild than before. Enamored with her own power, preening and even vain.

“You’re… sure you don’t feel very different?” Ratchet said dubiously.

He sat atop her finger, which was big enough for him to stand upon with ease. Arcee sat upon her territory, one massive thigh posed dramatically, her energon tanks sloughing onto the ground around her, a number of Autobots happily curled up in there. Sometimes she cooed over them in a surprisingly maternal way. “Not really.” She smirked. “People think I do, huh?”

“You’ve been more… discreet, in the past.”

“You mean restrained.”

“Hmph. Yes. Suppose I do.”

Arcee leaned back. Her butt arched up into the sky, even with her laying back on it like her own personal mattress. “Doesn’t feel right anymore. I just like going with the flow. Anyway, planning’s hard. I guess. Easier to just… do whatever pops into my head.”

Ratchet looked worried. “But you don’t feel… less intelligent!?”

“No, no!” She waved a hand calmingly. “Not at all. I just don’t like… planning stuff out. Making things too complicated. It gets frustrating and, I don’t know, unnecessary.”

“Hrm.” Ratchet considered that. “Well… I do have some interesting news on that front. You know I was originally from Simfur, yes?”

“Thought you were Iaconian, doc.”

“Ethnically, yes. But I was raised in Simfur. When I was with Wheeljack, we raised Grimlock and his other, hah, reprobates.” He said this with greater affection than he used with anyone. It was a little weird, actually. “I learned much of the legends and stories of the area, particularly since Grimlock became a true believer in the religions surrounding Onyx Prime. You should know that this sort of… impulsiveness, is closely associated with the way Onyx Prime was described in the older legends.”

“I thought they was all wise, enlightened and that other slag.”

“Well, yes. But Onyx was also the first beastformer and progenitor of the Predacons. Their default solution to a threat was to bite it’s head off.”

“Hah!”

Ratchet eyed Arcee’s pronounced teeth and claws. “The… physical traits are more subtle than expected. Historically, anyone exposed to Onyxian Energon becomes a mutant beastformer. I suppose the presence of Solus’ influence affected it… though based on her legends, you ought to be even more unhinged.”

“Oh yeah, she was a bit wild, eh?”

“I think a more honest term might be ‘mad scientist’, Arcee.” Ratchet sniffed. “...Do you like being this large?”

“I’m gonna level with you, doc.” Arcee leaned in. “I have no idea how I could stomach being… puny. I’m never being smaller than this, I promise!”

“And the…” Ratchet gestured vaguely in a way that indicated outsized chest ornaments. “Those?”

“They’re Solusdamned sweet, is what!”

“...To each their own. I don’t judge, you know. Out loud.” They went through a variety of other topics, briefly covering Jack (who was quite happy, if increasingly agoraphobic and disinterested in non-Arcee vistas), Optimus’ mild approval of Arcee’s state on the basis of ‘if an Autobot wants to be something, it is that Autobot’s right to do so’, and Grimlock’s continuing attempts to arm wrestle her fingers for fun.

As Ratchet’s check up came to a close, with a report on his findings on Arcee’s changes, which were frankly alien (among other things, she was apparently multidimensional now, and her T-cog was now distributed throughout her whole body), he brought up one other matter. “There’s been no signs of Airachnid.”

“I didn’t think so.” At Ratchet’s glance, Arcee continued. “A giant fembot Terrorcon as big as a moon with an artifact like that would make some news.”

“If she’s even just the size of a moon now,” Ratchet said grimly. “The two of you had access to that… whatever it was, for less than a megacycle, and you’re bigger than Unicron when you want to be. Now…? We may need to look for solar systems disappearing when she’s feeling peckish.”

Arcee actually shuddered. “Don’t even say that, Ratchet. Don’t like to think about those cute little aliens getting… hit, by her.”

Ratchet glanced at her. ‘Cute’ was a new sentiment from her. But regardless. “I don’t know if even your increase in power will be able to cope with whatever she might have become. But, at the moment, barring some unusual breakthroughs in universal combining technology, you’re our best option. Megatron turned himself in, Starscream is in hiding, and most other Decepticons have either been captured or have submitted to trial. Airachnid is the last remnant of that sorry chapter of our lives.”

“More’s the pity I couldn’t kill her when I had the chance!”

“Well, you may just get your chance. You AND Jack.” Arcee gave him a surprised look. “Tell me, have you heard of something new the biological experts are looking into?”

Arcee tilted her head, with the clouds shifting in response. “Nope. I’m interested, though.”

“I’m not clear on the specifics. Xenobiology has never been an interest of mine. But we’re working on a way to resonate Sparks with the physiology of certain bonded aliens to amplify our power. It’s similar to combination, but without a physical transformation. But you need a close bond to make it work…” He gave her a look, or perhaps Jack’s permanent residence. “A VERY intimate bond.”

“...Oh~?” she said sweetly.

“A symbiotic link, amplifying an Autobot’s power, and potentially size. They’re calling it the Headmaster technology, I believe… or Powermaster, not sure which. What do you think? Would you and Jack take a look into it?”

Arcee almost drooled at the thought of being even stronger, and allowing Jack to help bring down Airachnid once and for all. “I wouldn’t mind~!”

#/#//#///#////#/////#commissions #my writing #fics #twitchy!transformers #twitchy!airachnid #twitchy!arcee #queued

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sad-sweet-cowboah · 6 years ago

Text

For the First Time

This took longer to write than expected, but after recovering from a stomach bug and riding my horse in her first competition meant it was a busy few weeks. So without further ado, here is Arthur’s POV!

Warnings: Smut, duh

The language of intimacy wasn’t foreign to Arthur, yet he’d known it in such a different time it may as well have been.

He’d long since convinced himself that any woman was far too good for someone like him. He was nothing special to look at; years of hardships have weathered into his face. Scars that peppered his body from countless battles throughout the two decades running with Dutch. No woman would want to spend the rest of their lives with an outlaw, ugly and much past his prime. Who could deny a warm bed and a guaranteed hot meal over sleeping in the dirt and eating squirrels for dinner?

Arthur had accepted that he’d pass on without a lover to mourn him; that he was cursed to live a life sans a spouse to share his last name. Mary had confirmed that, though he could detect the longing in her voice when they last spoke. It was a want that neither of them could have.

He would live the rest of his life desiring what would always be out of his reach.

Or so he thought.

His lips still tingled from the kiss you laid upon him. The shock that overtook his body had rendered him stiff with confusion. Why would someone as wonderful as you think of something more of this old, unimpressive outlaw? Surely there had to be someone more worthy of your time and attention in your life.

He listened to you stammer out an apology, the fluster in your cheeks catching his eye. It occurred to him that the kiss was intentional; any afterthought that it wasn’t had since banished from his mind. Admittedly, his own feelings toward you had grown since his time in your household. Speaking them he thought would be a fruitless effort, thus recording them in his journal like a wish that wouldn’t come true.

It was as if a switch has been flipped in his subconscious.

He dared himself to pursue, his hand almost hesitantly reaching to caress your soft cheek. Those beautiful eyes to gaze at him. Although slightly bashful, he brought himself forward to kiss you.

His body stiffened again from your gentle touch. It had been an involuntary, automatic reaction. How fast you’d moved to climb onto him, to hold him between your thighs. The heat of your body radiated against his, his heart hammering wildly beneath his ribcage. Yet the two of you relentlessly kissed, the sensation of your closeness almost dizzying.

Your palm was hot against his now bare chest. He was sure you could detect how furious his heart was pounding, yet no notion nor word uttered to acknowledge it. With his mouth against yours, his thoughts driven to a darker place in his mind as you explored his upper torso. Such thoughts that accumulated in his now tight jeans.

He was almost surprised by his own arousal, his body so willingly pliable to your touch. His breath hitched, the discovery was shorter than he’d expected. It was a gentle brush, though the fabric that loosened around his waist surprised him further.

He was hesitant, the disbelief prominent through the deviance that began to cloud his judgment. His sexual desires had been guarded since Eliza, having suppressed his feelings and urges to avoid heartache. Even then, no woman would glance at him twice; just some stranger in the saloon whilst the world continued around him.

However, this was a different time. The words you spoke were candid, though the doubt that lingered in the back of his mind still hung heavy.

Your touch was phenomenal. Delicate and feather light as you explored his length. In the few times he’d pleasured himself over the years, his own rough and calloused hands could not compare to how soft yours felt. He closed his eyes, resting his forehead onto your shoulder as his chest vibrated with a low groan.

He would have melted had it not been for you to lean on. The pleasure was almost too much for him; his peak soon on the rise. How long had it been since he’d felt this good. He was only denied his release when you removed your hand, a protest building in his chest before he was promptly pressed to the back of the bed.

He was confused, thinking it was much too soon to take your own pleasure from him. He shuddered from the way your lips graced his skin, covering every blemish and scar that he otherwise would be ashamed to show. Why? He couldn’t bring the question to his lips. It soon disappeared to the back of his mind.

He felt more comfortable now within your presence, releasing the last of the tension that clung to his muscles. His eyes met yours, you sitting quaintly between his legs. There’d been a sultry glint within them, the gaze never breaking as your mouth encircled the head of his cock.

The sensation was new to him; an act he’d never experienced before. The warmth and wetness that surrounded his sensitive skin felt a hundred times better than a hand. He fought the urge to buck up into your mouth, though his hand found its way onto the back of your head. Nothing could compare to the way he felt at that very moment, wrapped with this fresh sensation that rendered his body to mash.

He only wished he could enjoy it longer, yet the familiar build up had come all too soon for him to staunch. He only uttered an incomplete warning, the coil springing deep within his belly to spill into the back of your throat. He breathed unevenly as his body wound down from his release, almost absolutely spent. He’d only heard of such an experience, though rarely attempted from what he understood. Now he could see why. Any woman with a tongue like that could send a man to his knees uttering sins that would make any harlot blush.

Now, he wanted to repay the favor.

Removing what little clothes you had was easy; you were only wearing what would be considered undergarments from his time. Though he knew you weren’t shy about walking outside in them without the neighbors batting an eye. The soft fabric that clung to your figure didn’t leave much to the imagination. His hands ran down the smooth skin of your legs to remove the…what had you called them before? Gym shorts? They’d joined the growing heap of clothes now on the floor.

He marveled the sight before him. Your delicate skin was uncovered, shaved clean and beautiful. He’d never seen such a sight; barren of any hair. The way your legs were parted, beckoning for him to explore. His mouth was soon flush with your folds, his tongue experimentally poking and prodding, his ears pricked to listen.

Your moaning caught his attention, his tongue slicking against the fleshy bean that sat hidden. The taste was different, although pleasant. He enjoyed the way your voice crackled as you guided him to chase your pleasure. Even if it were the first time, damned if he didn’t feel proud of himself.

The moments ticked by, he found his arousal building once again. He absolutely loved the way you squirmed underneath him, the way your legs tensed and twitched within his grasp. The carnal desire that lingered in the back of his mind urged him to overtake you, though the little rational thought still remained intact. It’d been eons since last experiencing that emotion. He didn’t want to advance too quickly.

Your climax arrived almost explosively, the rush of warm liquid against his tongue was a welcoming sensation. The flustered look on your face and the color that painted your cheeks was an indication that he’d done well, a small stroke for what little of his ego remained.

He knew what was to come next.

He felt himself pressed back against the bed once again, his length almost painful as it throbbed impatiently. The small shadow of doubt that hovered slowly dissipated as he watched you straddle him, your wet core just mere inches away. Your gazes locked as you finally sunk down, slowly and smoothly, upon his cock.

He was immediately enveloped in such a pleasant sensation, your inner walls hot and tight around him. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be with a woman, to feel her entirely. He even held back a slight smirk to see you wince, having to accommodate to his size. It took every part of his being not to give in to his pleasure, distracting himself by gripping your hips.

He sworn he could have melted once your hips rolled in his grip. A groan emanated deep and guttural, entwining with your sweet sopranos. The movement was relaxed, almost lazy, allowing him to experience every inch of your core. He bucked up once, accidentally, though hearing your gasp was worth it.

Roaming hands roved your body, he couldn’t get enough of how good your skin felt to him. Your breasts, soft and plush-like, they bounced beautifully with your movement. He loved the expression you gave as he squeezed them. The whine that escaped your mouth as he rolled your nipples across his thumbs sounded angelic.

Though he was loving watching you ride him, the urge to take control prodded him further. The desire was intense, burning like fire through his veins. He held himself, desperately wanting to enjoy these moments.

The tether didn’t last long. He pulled you down and effortlessly flipped you onto your back, pinning your body between himself and the bed. He could tell you were caught by surprise, though he graciously asked for your permission before continuing.

He kept his movements steady, driving himself deep. His muscles quivered, trembling from the ecstasy that engulfed his body. Stung by your nails dragging down his back, he winced, though an oddly pleasant sensation. It spurred him further, bathing in your echoes of pleasure. He wrapped his arms around you, holding your body to his.

If only he could have held out longer. The build of his climax was too quick for him to prolong. Watching you chase your pleasure underneath him seemed to have only increased it, the thought of how he reduced you to a trembling mess sent a surge within his belly. As much as he tried to cling to it, to drive himself further, he could not. The fire the burned deep in him released, eliciting a deep groan as he emptied himself into you.

He panted heavily, his body feeling as if the strength had been sapped from it. He stared down at you, your eyes clouding with post-orgasm bliss. Cheeks flushed and lips parted slightly with shallow breaths, your mussed hair splayed across the pillow, you were such a beautiful sight to see. Your lips met, him kissing with such passion and tenderness. He could be lost within your touch, not a care as the world revolved around the two of you.

The bliss did not last long, however, after he’d realized he’d not been careful. A familiar sinking feeling of regret weighed heavy on his heart, until you’d explained that you were somehow protected from pregnancy.

Of course, there were things in this new world that Arthur certainly still had to learn. Relief flooded him like a wave, though the thought lingered in the back of his mind. Regardless, he didn’t pass up the offer to lay with you.

Fatigue sunk into his muscles, and he welcomed the warmth of your body curled up against his. Though sleep was pushed to the forefront of his mind, part of it was in slight disbelief. The years of loneliness had blended together, though disappeared in those past few long moments. Sharing himself with you felt invigorating, refreshing. You took him as he was without a second thought, even when he thought of himself so lowly.

God, did he miss intimacy. He missed the touch of another person. Most importantly, he missed being with a woman. Though he was thankful, thankful that he found you. Or rather, you found him.

As his last conscious thoughts drifted off, he held you a little tighter before completely falling asleep.

#Arthur Morgan #Arthur Morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan x reader smut

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stormielikeweather · 5 years ago

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Step Into Love Ch 5

AN: I wrote the end of this chapter a few times before getting it to where it works, I think. Hope yall like it.

NSFW

Chapter 5: Don’t rock the ferris wheel

--->chapter 4

It was the last day of the Spring Break carnival in town. Usually it was just Kagome and Souta. Two peas from one pod hanging out. This year things had changed. Not only was their mother with another pod, but that pod also had peas. Suddenly two peas going to the carnival had turned into four.

Kagome fidgeted with her bracelet as they entered the crowded space. Her eyes kept glancing to and from Sesshomaru as she tried to calm her hammering heart.

She couldn't look him in the eye after watching him the night before.

Every time she looked at him, the image of him naked and dripping wet plagued her mind. His hair was tied up in his go to messy bun leaving the line of his neck exposed for impractical fantasies.

“We’ll be fine Kagome!” Souta whined at her.

Wincing at the prospect of being stuck with the sex demon, Sesshomaru, she shook her head, “We always go on rides together. You’re too little for me to just let you run off on your own.”

Sesshomaru’s brow rose, “Two pre teen boys should be okay by themselves for an hour or so. You have your cell phones?”

Two sets of eyes looked up at him hope filled, “Yes!”

Suddenly he wasn’t just the hottest of the four peas, but also the coolest. “Do not get into trouble.”

“We won’t!” They were already running away.

Kagome pressed her lips together, there went her buffers.

The boys disappeared into the throng of carnival goers leaving Kagome and Sesshomaru completely alone.

Fiddling with the edge of her skirt, she let the awkward air between them rise. She couldn’t stop picturing him in the shower. Looking him at him at all was the hardest thing. What if he knew? What if he could tell?

Her face felt eternally on fire.

His deep voice did inappropriate things to her thoughts. "Didn't you want to ride this?"

Blue eyes snapped up at Amber and quickly looked away. Her face flushed. He couldn't know she had spied on him in the shower, so he couldn't mean...well him. Though... Her mind threw into the ring the feeling of that particular activity. "W-what?" She stumbled over her words.

Kagome was acting strange. Stranger than usual.

The attraction between them the first day they'd met had been ambushed by the sibling situation. Sesshomaru was over it. What happened to the clumsy girl that slept on his, a stranger's, lap? She’d gone meek. He grabbed her shoulders and pointed her at the ride, "The ferris wheel, you were talking about it in the car."

"Ooh!" She tried to laugh it off, but he didn't miss the way she shied out of his touch. "Right, that is my favorite, but..." She bit her lip.

"What? You don't want to ride it alone?" Had she expected him to not ride with her? "Let's go together."

That hadn’t been what she meant. In close quarters with him... she wasn’t sure her nerves could bear it. Under normal circumstances, it’d be perfectly fine, romantic even, but he was her brother, not some other guy she thought was sex on legs. Jumping him would lead to consequences she wasn't ready to face. What would their parents think? How could she bring him home, when his home was her home?

He captured her hand and pulled her forward. The small gasp, endearing.

His fingers were warm, their palms pressed together.

Her face was red the entire time they stood in line. Holding hands. With sex on legs. Her step brother. She pouted.

"People will think you have a fever and not let you on." His breath skated over her ear and ignited every nerve in her body. Her face grew even redder.

"Sesshomaru..." She let go of his hand and clapped her palms over her face, staring up at him. "You could at least pretend not to notice."

"Why would I want to?" He leaned close again, "It's not like you're my sister or anything."

Zap. Her spine tingled at the prospect of giving in. Her nerves. They further frayed.

She slapped his hand away as he tried to grab hers again, "We are...sort of."

"Are we?" He winked.

“Yes!” She hissed.

The conversation was over as the ride operator looked them over.

"Two?"

They nodded.

"Couples have to ride four to a cabin. If you have a problem with it, you don't have to ride."

"Uh," Kagome flushed, "We aren’t a couple,” she stuck her thumb out at him, “he’s my brother."

The operator squinted at them, and rolled his eyes, “You’re siblings, sure. There’s obviously some very unsilbing-like tension going on here.” He looked at Sesshomaru, “Why don’t you take your sister, and get on the ride with this other couple.”

“Of course,” Sesshomaru laughed. Kagome huffed.

As they climbed into the rocking cabin, it was clear their riding companions were less than happy about sharing a cabin.

"Oh, thank God!" The girl gushed, sitting in her lover's lap, "We were worried we'd be sitting with children or something!"

The guy smirked, pulling her gaze back to his hungry one, "I expect this to go farther than PG-13." His already-up-her-skirt fingers proved that from the get go.

She kissed him with more tongue than seemed humanly possible and giggled, "You guys can watch, or do your own thing, we don't care, do we?"

The guy looked directly at them, "I'd actually prefer it if you watch, but do as you please."

Kagome looked up at Sesshomaru, and cringed. "Is it too late to get off?"

"You're kidding!" He grinned, eyes lighting up the way they had when she watched him studying, "this is a prime opportunity to observe without having to do any work, not to mention it’s hard to get funding for studies involving sex." The ride's music erupted, and the cabin lurched.

The live porn performance began. Closing her eyes did nothing to block out the sounds, which were loud, wet, and full of more demands of “fuck me” and “god, you’re so hot” than any real porn she’d ever seen.

Kagome clenched her legs together and clung to the fabric of her skirt as the other girl's rode up above her waist, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Large hands dug into her soft ass as he thrust into her from below.

The pair switched positions and the cabin rocked so hard Kagome was thrown up and to the side.

Saved by the step brother of her desire, she couldn't look away from the gaze he'd settled her with. "Are you okay?"

Nope. Never again after this. She hadn't realized how wet she'd gotten before straddling his waist. Mortification settled in. It’d been too long since the last she’d gotten laid if this ‘show’ could get her so wanton. Though to be fair, she'd already been pretty wet just thinking about him throughout the day.

She swallowed hard as her heart threatened to crawl its way up her throat and do a song and dance number professing her attraction to her super hot, super attentive, step brother.

With care, he helped her shift to a sitting position with her legs closed. He kept her close with one hand clutching the outside of her thigh. “I didn’t realize you’d be so uncomfortable.”

“Well,” She bit her lip and winced, “Normally it’d be pretty funny. But... not watching it with my brother.”

With a sigh, Sesshomaru pulled her hands off his shoulders and placed them into her lap, he looked a bit sad as he muttered, “I’m looking forward to the day you decide to quit ignoring chemistry.” Not giving her time to reply, he glared daggers at the couple on the other side, and kicked the guy hard in the shin, “Knock it off. Both of you are lacking in the attributes necessary for voyeurism to be pleasant and this is pointless without written data.”

“Hey!” The girl shrieked.

Her boyfriend just chuckled, pulling out of his partner with his heavy dick sagging. “I’ll kick your ass, douchebag!”

Kagome’s eyes immediately drew to the red bumpy rash crawling up from his wild pubic hair, her laugh was explosive, “You have herpes!”

The shrill outcry of his girlfriend only made Kagome laugh harder. “What the hell, Hiten!? You said that was just an allergy!”

“Wha...yeah! It is!” His dick was still out, only now it’d grown soft. A grower not a show-er. “I’m telling you baby, it’s just a rash! I mean an allergy!”

She couldn’t see, she was laughing so hard. Sides hurt. Eyes teared.

The entertainment had improved.

As the cabin lurched to a stop, the girl shoved her boyfriend out of the cabin, shouting as he tried to get his pants up over an also rashy ass.

“Stay here.” Sesshomaru gently kept Kagome from exiting the cabin as he spoke with the operator. “Trying to sully the innocence of my little sister will get you nothing but unemployment and your name on the sex offender registry.”

“Wha!” The guy’s face went sheet white, “How could I know what they were going to do?!”

Sesshomaru hissed, “You had enough of an idea to put couples four to a cabin. Now, my sister would like to enjoy riding this ferris wheel without the STD peep show, and you are going to allow us to ride it alone.”

He nodded, the controller in his hand trembling, “T-that sounds reasonable.”

“Much more so than your other options.”

“Y-yes.”

Sesshomaru slammed the door shut and reached over to secure the lock. He shot the man one last glare. “Make it a nice relaxing ride with plenty of view from the top.”

Nodding over and over again, his hands shook as he forced the cabin to move on down the line.

Still wiping tears from her eyes, Kagome smiled up at him, “Thanks, Sesshomaru.”

He patted her head, messing her hair, as he took the seat beside her and looked out the window, “Anything for you, little sister.”

Her face flushed, heat pooling low in her belly. The memory of that same hand stroking his cock in the shower burned. After he’d gone through the trouble of getting them a cabin alone, she couldn’t keep her mind out of the gutter.

Heat radiated from his side as she leaned close to look out her side of the window.

The city looked small from so high up.

Wind picked up, gently rocking them. His large hand on her back felt steadying and a little racy thanks to her overactive imagination. She couldn’t keep her eyes on the view below, her gaze moving to the face of her step brother. He looked even more attractive with a slight smile on his face. Sunlight warmed his peaceful expression.

A side glance of deep amber made her breath catch, “Keep looking at me, and I will get the wrong idea.”

Or the right one. Which was so very wrong. Her blush deepened, and she looked back at the tiny houses down below. “You’re a great big brother.” It sounded so wrong as she said it. Her stomach turned. Why did she say that? Masochism. It was obviously masochism.

Suddenly fingers caught her chin, forcing her to look up into his captivating face, “I will never be your brother.” She could feel his breath on her lips. Her mind mulled over how it’d feel to have him kiss her right there in the cabin, “I’ll be a good friend until you are ready to forget extraneous details.” With that, he tapped her nose and pulled out his cell phone. "Kagome, smile.”

Her face was still flushed when the camera flashed, “Ahh! Y-you can’t keep that one!”

“Ah, ah, ah!” He held his phone out of her reach, “This one is mine, take your own.”

She tried to climb up him to get his phone, but he easily pushed her back down onto the seat, “Sesshomaru! You can’t keep that one! I’m not even smiling! I look like a blushing deer!”

He laughed, “But a cute one, I’m keeping it. Take your own if you don’t like it.”

“Fine!” She angrily pulled her phone from her purse and did the only thing she could think of to get him unsettled. As soon as the flash went off, she kissed his warm cheek. “Now who’s a deer in the headlights!” She grinned at the perfect picture on her phone.”

“How is that not going to give me the wrong idea?” He looked even cuter while cross. With his arms over his chest, and his slight frown.

Kagome blushed and shrugged, “You said we are friends. Besides, sisters' kiss family member’s cheeks all the time.” Not that her body and imagination were not also getting the wrong idea. Hindsight, she shouldn’t have.

“Oh, really?” The predatory glint in his eyes had her nervous.

Suddenly his hands caught her face, and he kissed her cheek in return, warmth lingering. Her face felt hot as he pulled away just enough to look her in the eyes.

“That is just fine?” He let their noses brush as his insightful gaze stunned, "Be honest."

Her cheeks puffed, and she looked away. Out the window the world slowly turned as if she wasn't one inch away from kissing her own step brother. There would be no admitting to defeat now. She licked her lips and swallowed hard, “O-of course it's fine. Why wouldn't it be?”

He answered the only way he could think of by kissing the other side of her face too. Not once, but twice. His firm lips caressing her smooth face.

It took a minute for her to pull away, “S-sesshomaru!”

"Are there cheek kissing rules I should be following?" Hot breath eased over her skin and she closed her eyes.

She had said it was fine, but his hand cupping her face and the way his lips plucked her flesh, the scent of coffee and everything that made him him, she felt ready to run away.

"Oh, look!" He gave her some space, pointing out the window at a familiar set of boys down below. "It looks like Inuyasha and Souta are competing in the ramen eating contest.

Kagome winced, "Why would they do that?

Then she noticed all the girls gathered around them.

They looked at each other and laughed, "Girls."

Exiting the ferris wheel, they made their way through the crowds to the eating contest. Piles of empty packages were strewn around each contestant. Inuyasha looked the most likely to win. Souta had sweat dripping down his chin, and his face had the same expression on it that always meant one thing... suddenly he doubled over and spilled.

"Poor Souta!" She hadn't realized she'd been ringing her hands until Sesshomaru's fingers curled around them, catching one hand to bring to his side. He gave her a reassuring squeeze as Souta popped back up, wiping his mouth. He'd lost, but he was smiling.

Glancing over at Sesshomaru, she blushed as their eyes met. The warmth of his hand around her own felt safe. The way he smiled at her made her want to be wrapped up in the security of his arms. Everything felt safe tucked against his chest.

Her feet shifted, and she leaned against his shoulder, her eyes back on the contest.

There were three other contestants left, four including Inuyasha.

He had slowed considerably, but so had the others.

“Keep going, Inuyasha.”

Kagome glanced up at Sesshomaru. He hadn’t exactly cheered, in fact she was pretty sure Inuyasha couldn’t hear his brother at all over the crowd. She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.

She hadn’t realized they had such a strange relationship, but suddenly it made sense. Sesshomaru never played with the boys, for most of the break he’d been trapped in his room with his research paper, and once done with that his nose had been stuck in medical journals. He wasn’t one to bring attention to himself, though it was kind of unavoidable with his looks, but the fact that he wanted to encourage Inuyasha melted her heart.

He was a good big brother...

Giving his hand a squeeze, she stood up on her tippee toes and cupped her mouth with her free hand, shouting, “You can do it Inuyasha! Don’t give up!”

She watched as their little brother looked around, unable to spot them.

“Come here.” Suddenly Sesshomaru’s large hands grabbed her up and the ground left her feet.

“S-sesshomaru!” She grabbed at his arms to keep from falling as he placed her on his shoulders. She clung to him, her face completely flushed. If he were facing the other way his face would have been right between her legs. “D-don’t drop me!” Her voice wavered, she couldn’t help it. Between her nervousness about their proximity and the stress of being so high up, wearing a short skirt, she had a hard time keeping her cool.

Warm hands held her legs in place. Sesshomaru scoffed, “How many times must I tell you? I am not so weak as to drop you.”

He had said that before, but it didn’t matter. “W-well, I’m not a child, you can’t just grab me like that!” She scowled.

“I am well aware that you are not a child Kagome.” His fingers slipped upward, and she slapped his hands. “Are you going to cheer for Inuyasha, or not?”

She glared at the top of his head, “Fine.” Taking a breath, she yelled out again, “You can do it Inuyasha!”

Inuyasha’s eyes brightened as he spotted them in the crowd. He perked up immediately, waved, and continued to gobble down ramen.

Souta was still sitting at his place beside Inuyasha, also cheering him on.

When the timer rang, their little brother was sitting amongst a pile of empty containers twice the size of the other contestants.

The messy haired boy opened his mouth to show every last bite had been swallowed.

Overwhelmed by the excitement of the crowd, Kagome let go of her fist full of Sesshomaru’s shirt and sat straight up, clapping, “Way to go, Inuyasha!” She waved her hands in the hair as they pulled out the giant golden ramen cup trophy, a flower wreath, and t-shirt. Camera lights lit up the stage. “Yay! Inuyasha! Woo!”

Suddenly her shoulder was bumped forward, she captured Sesshomaru around the neck instinctively before looking over her shoulder. It’d been a girl who looked to be the same one from the ferris wheel but on a different guy’s shoulders. What a jerk.

“Are you alright?” Sesshomaru’s eyes searched her face. They were so close, nose to nose.

She felt herself leaning forward. The undeniable heat between them faded out the world. Heart pounding, her fingers curled against his collar bone. Lips parted, eyes closed.

Before they could kiss, the girl bumped into them again, and Kagome let her senses come back to her. She pulled away, “Yeah I’m fine, can you help me down?”

Long fingers ran up her bare legs as he helped her back down to Earth. “T-thanks...” She muttered before running toward the stage, “I’m going to go congratulate Inuyasha!”

Sesshomaru watched her run away. The warmth of her body pressed so close haunted his skin. He ran his fingers through the loose strands of his bangs that had fallen. Kagome unsettled him in the most uncomfortable of ways. It was as if his confidence dwindled every time they grew closer. Feelings he couldn’t pinpoint nagged at his chest.

After retying his hair, he met the rest of his siblings. They were all smiles. “Congratulations on your victory Inuyasha.”

“Thanks, Sesshomaru!” He gushed, “Check out this huge trophy they gave me! And look!” He held up a shirt that said ‘Noodle Star’, “I got a shirt too!”

Both Sesshomaru and Kagome laughed at the same time. Their eyes caught, and he noticed she was still blushing the same shade she had been when she’d pulled away from him. She tried to hide her smile, but he saw it.

Taking both her younger brother’s hands, she led them toward the food trucks, “Let’s get some victory taiyaki!”

Inuyasha groaned, while Souta cheered.

Kagome glanced back at Sesshomaru. He had yet to move, “You’re coming, right?”

Her smile radiated. Part of him wanted to go back to the first time he saw her through the library window. Observing her from afar. No one had ever made him feel anxious, and yet here she was stirring his nerves. The urge to watch her interact with the world felt unnerving. He had no inclination of treating their relationship as a case study, he wanted her.

As he followed, he caught the way her eyes gleamed before she turned her head.

Warmth met her spine, as Sesshomaru leaned over her to pay the vendor for their treats.

Souta took his custard filled one, "Thanks bro!"

Inuyasha sipped on water, looking a bit green from all the ramen.

"Thank you, Sesshomaru." She looked at her azuki paste filled fish pastry instead of at his face, though before she could take a bite, Sesshomaru held his sweet potato filled one up to her mouth.

"Try it."

"Are you sure?" Sure she'd never stop blushing, at his insistence, she took a bite of the fish and groaned. "Oh! Mmm" she caught a drop of the filling and licked it off her finger, "That's amazing!"

He ran his tongue over the open bite, cleaning up the excess. "Sweet potato is the best."

"I don't think so." She grinned, holding out her taiyaki, "Take a bite."

As his teeth bit into the fish's face, the sweet bean paste exploded with flavor, "Mmm, Kagome." He took a second bite, "You may be right."

"Hey!" She pulled her snack out of his hand, "You should buy another one if you like it so much."

With a grin, he leaned down and took a bite of the fish's tail just as she took a bite where he'd bitten it's head. She blushed, but didn't pull back, even as his long fingers wrapped around her cold palm. Eyes so warm and full of promise saw right through to her soul. She couldn’t taste her food as she stared back into those amber depths.

Inuyasha and Souta eyed them with raised brows. “You guys are weird.”

Kagome jumped backward, tripping over a bench. The tiny bit that had been left of her taiyaki flew up into the air, “Noooo!” Sesshomaru caught it in his mouth. His warm hand kept her from falling, but She watched in horror as he ate the very last bite.

“Woah!” Souta gasped, “That was awesome!”

Inuyasha shrugged, “Not as awesome as my trophy, but yeah, it was cool.”

As soon as the boys were looking away, Kagome stomped Sesshomaru’s foot.

“What?” His innocent act didn’t fool her.

Glaring, she peeled his hand and arm off her side, “You know what you were doing!” Her arms crossed over her chest, a pout on her lips, “And, you ate my taiyaki!”

“Better than it hitting the ground,” He ate the last bit of his sweet potato fish cake and grabbed her hand. “Come here, I’ll buy you another one.”

Happily, she took the fish from the vendor and grinned up at Sesshomaru as she took a bite. “Thanks.”

“Hn.” Her eyes grew wide as he turned his cheek and tapped the smooth skin.

Kagome blushed, but laughed, “You can’t buy my affection with bean paste.”

Scratching the back of his neck, he smirked, “It was worth a try.”

“Sure,” His hand felt warm against her own, and she swung their twined fingers as they walked behind the boys. Friends could hold hands. The fact that they weren't technically romantically involved, and a relationship wouldn't be appropriate, did nothing to prevent the giddy butterflies welling up inside.

Sesshomaru caught her sideline glance. She hid her smile with another bite of taiyaki. Not even the darkness of the night could dampen the gleam in her blue eyes. He walked a little closer, wanting the distance between them erased, but settling for the softness of her fingers.

--->Chapter 6<---

#sesskag #sesshomaru #kagome #fanfiction #StormieLikeWeather #stepintolove

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essaysbyciara · 6 years ago

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Thy Neighbor (Chapter 3)

(Chapter 1) (Chapter 2)

I REALLY appreciate the love, y’all. Thank you for reading. I sat on this story for about a month because I was lightweight terrified lol. If you would like to be added onto the taglist, let me know!

She heard the heavy tapping of the headboard and the muffled screams. Trevante’s dates couldn’t keep it down even if they tried. Usually, Ciara could tune it all out. At its worst she put on her favorite podcast, full blast from her headphones, and waited for the sex scene next door to be over. It also didn’t help that Ciara is trying her damndest to be celibate. Sex wasn’t coming to her door every night like it was for Trevante. So Trevante’s trysts were absurd.

As she laid in bed in annoyance, her mind drifted back to that morning when she held Trevante in her arms. It had been a while since she gave a man that type of energy. Her last being her ex-boyfriend. He was nothing like Trevante: thin frame, thick glasses, wicked smart. They could talk about the world’s problems for hours and how they were going to fix them -- together. He was as nerdy as she was, as awkward as she was. And he was her first. He made her feel things that she never felt before, made her mind wander in class and her hand twitch in anticipation of the night ahead. And moved her to make the same noises she heard from Trevante’s apartment.

She thought he was going to be the last to make her sound that way. When she graduated from college and started working in non-profits, she changed. She was at high power meetings and he wasn’t. She would miss dates for networking events, ditch weekend trips for work retreats. She started to distance herself from their future to focus squarely onto her own. When she had the opportunity to move to Philadelphia to go to the graduate school of her dreams, she made the decision without his consideration. He wasn’t on her radar. So he left.

And she felt it. Moving into her apartment was the lonliest day she never imagined. The person that motivated her to achieve her dreams, the one that made her think she was the Michelle to his Barack wanted nothing to do with her. And in revenge, she set out to prove that she didn’t need him.

Drug dealers from Southwest Philly. International MBAs with broken English. White boys looking to try something different. Her apartment was a turnstall for every man she wanted. She became irresistible: the drug dealers thought she was innocent, the MBAs thought she was such a bad girl. But then she met her match.

Ciara met Y’lan at a speaker’s series at their school. He had a honey brown complexion with a soft build and wide smile. His Atlanta accent crept as he spoke. He was nothing like Ciara had ever seen before: beautiful and smart. Knew every rap lyrics on the radio but wouldn’t miss a Sunday at church. He worked in faith based non profits, looking to maybe one day become a minister. But he thought his calling wasn’t in the pulpit but in the streets with the people.

He could talk to men on the corner about faith and family, never chastising them for not holding the same faith as his own. He could walk into schools and speak to students about education, talking in their language and relating to their stories. He could walk into any church and convince them to support programming for children. He was built for that life.

When Y’lan met Ciara, he felt something that he never felt before. Her wide glasses made her seem studious, her four inch heels made her seem daring. Ciara’s confidence about her plus-size frame was evident too. She carried herself as if she was the finest thing moving and Y’lan could feel that. In all the right -- and wrong -- places. When she challenged the speaker on the panel, his heart skipped a beat. He thought he met the one.

But she wasn’t ready to be anybody’s. Ciara would have one foot in the church and the other stepping hanging the bed of a Meek she met weeks prior. She wasn’t committed. And she knew it. One day, she had enough. As she left a date’s apartment, she sat in her car and bawled. She knew that she coped from the lost of her ex-boyfriend the wrong way. She knew that she couldn’t keep up this lifestyle. In that moment she cried out and God heard her.

Walking out of that conference, she was primed to be the person she knew she could be. As she grabbed her things, Y’lan gently tapped her on the shoulder.

“That question was incredible. I was wondering if anyone was going to say something about that.”

“Thanks! I just couldn’t sit there just … especially being the only Black people in the room, I couldn’t…”

“No, I … I get you. I, uh, am on my way to grab some coffee. Would you like to join me?”

Ciara hesitated. Y’lan was the finest man she had seen in quite some time. His frame, that smile, that accent. Genuine poured from his energy. But she couldn’t. She knew that this wasn’t the time to engage anyone. Even though her body was ready for whatever Y’lan had in store for her.

“I would love to but I have class super early tomorrow.” As she started to walk away, she felt a tinge of relent. “But here’s my number. We can definitely meet up soon.” Y’lan watches Ciara walk away, trying to downplay the lust cascading throughout his body.

That phone call was two hours and 15 minutes. They talked about everything, sharing their faith stories and life’s dreams. He admitted that she made his heart skip when she asked that question at the event. She admitted that she wanted to get coffee with him that night but decided against it because she didn’t want to rush.

It was as if they laid their hearts out on the line for each other to see who would be afraid first. They both refused to walk away.

It would continue this way. They’d meet up for coffee in the morning, sitting at the same table, talking about their upcoming day. Phone calls until three in the morning. Sunday lunches, Saturday night music sessions.

But they never committed to each other. Ciara couldn’t form the words and Y’lan was too afraid. This would be his first relationship since joining ministry. He didn’t know how he could handle it all especially the feelings inside of him. Y’lan wanted to have sex with Ciara. All of his other relationships went down that way but he knew things would have to be different this time. It racked him for hours, wanting to text her to come over. Thinking of ways to go some of the way but not all with her.

Ciara would always keep a set of DD batteries at her disposal. She wanted Y’lan too but knew she couldn’t. When he would leave, her right drawer would open instantly. Thought it felt good in the moment, she would always feel a tinge of shame. She wondered if he went home and did the same thing. He did. The thought would be enough for her to feign to know what he sounded like, to watch him bring himself to release. And her drawer would reopen. Like clockwork.

They both thought it was only them in agony until they found themselves in a place where they could express it.

Y’lan watched Ciara as she packed her things to go home for Spring Break. As her luggage started to spill over, he felt like he needed to spill out what was going on in his heart.

“I’m going to miss you. Straight up.”

“You know you could have came home with me. My family would like you. We got a couchbed in the house, you could have stayed with us.”

“That’s cool. I just… lots to do here with the program and stuff. I just…”

“What’s up, Y’lan? What’s up?”

Ciara sits on Y’lan’s lap and his heart starts to explode. She never did that. The thoughts started to brew and his breath became short.

“I guess I don’t want to forget about me like ol’ boy…” Ciara slowly moved off of Y’lan in slight disgust. He never brought up her ex but in a moment that could have drawn them closer, he makes him a point.

“The fuck you mean by that…?”

“You like to go away and forget about people, so…”

“You gotta go. Wow.”

Y’lan was a sabotager. When he didn’t want to hurt, he brought it onto other people. Things couldn’t be good for long, they were never meant to be.

“Yo, Ciara. I’m sorry.”

“Fuck you.”

Ciara hurries Y’lan out of her apartment. Stuck in a place between desperation and rage, she grabs her phone. The cats from Southwest Philly seemed mighty tempting in that moment. But she stops when she hears a soft knock on her door. As much as she doesn’t want to let Y’lan in, she knew in her heart that she wanted to fix things. That there had to be an explanation for what was said. She knew Y’lan’s heart.

“I’m sorry!” Y’lan screams from the other side of the door. As Ciara slowly opens the door, Y’lan walks in, instantly grabbing her by her waist. He whispers apologies into her ear, telling her that he doesn’t want to lose her. As she feels her body fall into his, he grabs her chin, pulling her in for a kiss. They were never this soft.

“Can we…” She dreaded that question, only wanting to say yes. As she leans her head into his, her lips part. She knows what she wants to do. He feels it radiate from her. One moment before they leave. Something to hold them over until she returns.

“We can’t.” Y’lan knew that was the right answer even though it felt so wrong. He kisses her on her forehead and releases her from his hold. He slowly starts to walk to her door.

“Wait, Y’lan. You don’t have to leave.”

“Nah. I think it’s best.”

Ciara stands there bewildered. She didn’t think telling him no would be enough for him to leave. She also didn’t know that he felt overwhelmed with guilt. So much that her calls and text went unanswered while Ciara was home on break. So much that when she got back to Philadelphia, she went to their favorite coffee shop the following morning, sat at the same table, and he never showed up. So much that she went to the next speaker series looking to find him and he was nowhere to be found. So much that when he saw her reading in the courtyard, he turned around to walk the other way. So much that he felt called to move away from the city. To sabotage his world as punishment for leaving her alone.

Ciara wanted to sabotage Trevante’s night. As she finished another episode of her podcast, the moans and screams from the other side became louder.

How could Trevante show so much disrespect after what Ciara did for him? Why is he coping with grief the same way that she did? He didn’t he recognize that Ciara wanted to show another act of love by making him food and keeping him company. Why didn’t Trevante want her company?

As she walked into the kitchen, she looks at the plate of food she made for Trevante. Even after all of that, she kept her promise. As she mulls over whether to eat it or follow through with her side of the deal, she hears his door open and close. “Track body” was finally gone, she thought. Suddenly, Ciara felt pushed to deliver.

“I have a plate for Trevante.” Ciara stands tall as she notices Trevante’s date open up the door with confidence. She didn’t care that she was still there. Her anger -- and sexual angst -- were enough for her to disregard her meekness.

“Uh, ummm...but ain’t you…”

Trevante picks up his pace as he hurries back from the trash room hoping to put out of the eventual fire that was about to happen.

“Hey, Ciara … hey, thanks…”

“I told you I got you…” Ciara winks and adds an extra switch to her walk back into her apartment.

“Yo, Tre. Who this bi-”

Ciara smirks as she walks back into her apartment.

He is so trash.

Taglist:

@blackpinup22

#trevante rhodes x fanfiction #trevante rhodes #y'lan noel #fanfic

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squiddybeifong · 6 years ago

Text

Texas Talks

For some ungodly reason they were in Galveston.

Honestly, they didn’t have to stay in the US. And even if they did they had certain areas of California, New Jersey… hell, basically anywhere that wasn’t constantly crawling with JL surveillance were prime meet-up spots. Any city in any country on any continent on this god-forsaken planet, so why? Why were they in Galveston? Of all places for Harley to choose…

But the clown had been adamant then and she was adamant now. Her (admittedly blood sprinkled) wheeled boots skipping against the wood, Harley skated to the very edge of the pier. A yelp escaped as her heelys caught in a knot and she tumbled head over end, catching herself with a springing handstand.

She shook her head as she shakily regained her balance, giggling to herself as she rolled further along the pier. Her friends’ silent questions were loud in the air and Harley did a little spin, her chuckles escaping louder. “Come on, you guys! Where else can we be just a few minutes away from Texas City! And look at all that water,” The blonde tossed her head back, laughing at the fine saltwater mist that hit her face.

Another loud laugh bubbled out of her, as Harley simply enjoyed the bright shine of the full moon on her skin and the uneasy creak of the wooden dock below her feet. Talia stepped up until they were shoulder to shoulder, taking a careful sniff of the sea air. Emerald eyes narrowed, partly in suspicion but mainly in confusion, “Have you ever even been to this Texas City place?”

The clown hesitated, her head tilting to the side as she thought back throughout her exploits, alongside Mister J or not, “Well, no. But it’s Texas City. In Texas! How funny is that?”

She nudged Talia with her shoulder, turning her head as Raven floated up on her other side. A wide grin spread her lips at the sight of the hero, “And my next choice is totally gonna be Aerial Acres.”

The demoness let out a sigh at the familiar name. Amethyst eyes narrowed in thought a second later as the answer came to her, “Is there a California City near there?”

“Oh you know it, Birdie!”

Harley’s words were excited and Talia paused despite the tiny smile that inadvertently graced her face. The assassin’s head tilted to the side and she tucked some hair behind her ear, “Do you think you’ll get a chance to do all fifty states?”

“I think we will.” Harley grinned and wrapped an arm around her two beloved partial-demons, rolling back and forward until her heelys lit up, “What’s the point of all this travelling if I’m not meeting up with my two favorite killjoys in every city imaginable?”

The assassin snorted at that. “Besides,” The blonde’s smile turned even more devious than usual, “If we keep near the shore I might even convince you two to get some bikinis. I’m not sure about you, but Ray Ray seems the strappy string type.”

Raven let out a sound that might have been a groan, but was probably just a sigh. “Harley, you are hilarious,” she deadpanned.

“Aw c’mon, Raebae!” Harley’s grin was finally reaching obnoxious levels, “Tell me you don’t get tons of beachtime in Jump.”

The girl shrugged, meeting Talia’s gaze as they leaned against the pier’s guardrails. Bubbly as ever, especially with the adrenaline of sneaking past the guards still flowing through her veins, Harley cheerfully rested her arm on the teen’s head. She couldn’t help herself, the demon was so short it was adorable, “What about you, Tal? When’s the last time you got some surfing in?”

The assassin leaned her head against her shoulders, “I don’t surf.” But her voice trailed off, wistful as she thought back to the last time she was near the ocean like this. Raven leaned forward at the subtle shift in her emotions, curious at what Talia was thinking of.

She didn’t have to wait long. The woman ran a hand through her long hair and, a short pause later, hummed out, “I stayed on the shore a while back… but I was with my Beloved.”

Harley raised a brow in question, lazily resting her chin atop Raven’s head. The Titan didn’t pull away; instead, she lifted her face and murmured an explanation, “She means Batman.”

“Ah,” The blonde nodded in realization then faltered. She blinked and met Talia’s gaze. Before they could consider their choices of finding out how the empath knew of Talia’s past relationship (and of what else she may know) Raven decided to get the inevitable out of the way early and offered the information, “I already know who he is; no need to worry and no need to pester.”

Harley tapped the dip in her cloak, her finger warm against her gem. Raven closed her eyes at the wave of exasperation that radiated off the blonde, “I don't even know but you do?! Ugh.”

She face planted down into the indigo cloak, sighing in good-natured annoyance at the unfairness of it all. Harley didn't see but she felt the dangerous vibes that Talia was giving off and she lifted her head again.

The clown clicked her tongue, guessing, “Robin told you?”

Raven shook her head immediately, noticing how the assassin's chin lifted a centimeter in thought. “He’s Nightwing now, but he didn’t have to. I’m an empath,” The hero shrugged, being careful not to disrupt Harley’s balance. “With the little that I knew, it’s not too hard to figure it out who either of them are, especially when their auras are rather… unique.”

Amethyst eyes shifted to the moonlit waves, pointedly ignoring the tense way Talia sized her up. This odd friendship was preventing her from being murdered and Talia from being sent to a different dimension, so she simply addressed the brunette, “For what it's worth he did complain a lot when you and Batman were together. Called you arrogant.”

Talia's gaze didn't stray from the girl's pale face but she let a tiny bit of tension leave her shoulders. Dick had had many trusted teammates throughout his brief life; the likelihood of all of them knowing wasn't the best but she decided that this particular conversation could wait, at the very least until it was just the two of them.

Emerald eyes flicked to Harley for a brief instant then went back to the wooden railing under her arms. She derisively waved the comment aside, “Nightwing is merely a child. He still has a lot to learn.”

Harley snorted. She leaned her cheek in her palm, her lashes fluttering shut as another wave of mist landed on her face. The siren drummed a nail against her lower lip, “You’re like two, maybe three years older than him.”

“She’s far older than that.”

Talia gave the Titan a look, running a tongue over her teeth. Then she glanced at Harley and reminded herself that patience was the best bet and haughtily admitted, “I’m just over 100 years old, actually.”

Raven’s brows jumped up at the number, the word escaping before she could think, “Impressive.”

The doctor agreed, bouncing up to sit stop the railing. She savored the sound of her wheels rolling against the air and added, “Right? Ten decades and Bloody Mary doesn’t even need a push-up bra.”

Talia gave her a look, missing how Raven hid half a smile behind her cloak.

Harley continued as if she wasn’t being glared at, “Though I gotta admit, didn't think Batsy was into older women.” The blonde drummed her fingers against her thigh, teasingly musing to herself, “Think Kitty’s got a few years on him?”

Raven shrugged, “Probably, people usually get more solitary in old age.”

Talia crossed her arms as she watched them talk. The empath’s eyes squinted out towards the sea, trying to remember, “Isn't Catwoman a loner too?”

“Well, yeah. But Bats is way more extra about it all. Like we once saw him brooding next to a gargoyle in the rain.” She shook her head, “Like yeah, Robin’s there sometimes but he’s that sorta ‘I gotta do it all myself’ loner. At least Kitty'll come to Pam and me if she needs anything.”

Talia hummed out a defense, “He's a private person, Harley. You aren't the type at all.”

Raven hummed in agreement, thinking of the scant times she'd met the man, at Dick’s side or otherwise. “Batman does put off some antisocial vibes.”

“Some?” Harley snickered, “Yeah, he’s a total hard ass.”

The assassin sighed out, the words escaping before she could think, “Oh, absolutely.”

Immediately, Raven’s nose scrunched up in horror and Harley let out a cackle, falling back. A beam of magic caught her wrists and she scrambled to regain her balance, giggling all the while. She jumped down from the railing and covered the mystic’s ears, her grin splitting her face, “Holy shit, Darlin! We have a child present!”

“Shut up.”

“Not funny.”

The siren slumped against the railing as she continued to laugh, taking far too much fun in how dark Talia’s cheeks were getting and how mortified Raven looked at the way their conversation was going.

“I didn’t think we’d ever get you to--”

Her teasing stopped at the sound of a dolphin breaching, its high pitched squeal filling the air. Almost immediately after there was the loud splat! of a clump of seaweed getting entangled along the rocky sand. The dolphin’s pod splashed around, their bodies just barely silhouetted in the moonlight.

Harley gasped and crouched on her heelys, eagerly slapping Raven’s shoulder at the incline that she needed to get over, “Push me, Moonbeam! I gotta see this!”

A shove of black magic sent her skating by at a troublingly fast pace, but she saw them. Dolphins. The blonde let out a giggle as she started using her momentum to go faster, using all the pier that she had to wave bye to them as the mammals swam past.

Then that speed caught up to her and she tumbled over the edge, jumping to get as much air as she could.

Raven’s magic caught her before she fell into the ocean, of course.

Harley let out a laugh that mingled with the rhythmic crash of waves, beaming at her friends as the mage set her down on the sand, a few feet from the water. Immediately a shine of something shiny caught her eye and the clown grabbed a stick, poking the pile of seaweed.

Up on the dock Raven watched her progress, stoic as Talia leveled a stare that surpassed Batman’s upon her. After a long minute the Titan turned to the woman, amethyst eyes settling on the sword’s hilt that was in clear view.

Of course. If she had constant access to her powers, why shouldn’t Talia have access to her weapons? Harley seemed to be the only one comfortable enough to not bring any aids from her own arsenal whenever they met up, and while they trusted Harley their own one-on-one relationship was… not as amiable.

Raven looked back up into that dangerously focused emerald gaze. “Talia,” She stared at the assassin for a long moment, her voice low. “I know these… excursions end at dawn, but the rest of the Titans won’t mind if I miss most of the day.” Her pale hands brushed aside her cloak as she hid them from view, the magic leaving as easily as it appeared.

Her eyes were practically black in the night as she leveled an almost-glare on the older woman, “We can talk without killing each other and without Harley having to babysit us, correct?”

The teen’s words weren’t a question. Talia smirked, although it didn’t reach her eyes, “I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

Raven’s face didn’t shift and the villainess hissed out, “You could become a villain just as easy as you act a hero. The fact that you were even able to find out--”

“Two years ago.”

Tan lips shut and she took a breath through her nose, continuing on without acknowledging the addition, “--is an unforgivable liability.”

Her fingers tensed against the hilt of her sword, but she didn’t unsheath it. Talia’s shoulders lowered half an inch, the tension still loud as she admitted, “But you don’t seem nearly as weak as Selina, so I’ll see.”

Something precarious slid between them as the sword was moved back in place, then an interruption before either could think too much about it. Their heads snapped to Harley as she let out a whoop, lifting a dinner plate sized clam out of the sand, “Hey look at this!”The creature obviously died years ago, its weathered shell completely empty. The siren glanced between the two, her emotions and body language pointing to how obviously relieved she was that their fight didn’t get physical. When she was certain she had their full attention, Harley was careful not to snap her find apart as she held the shells up to her chest, “Pam’s the redhead, but I can probably pull them off, dontcha think?”

Talia raised a brow and that was enough of an answer.

The siren reached back to fiddle with her bra’s clasp as she called out to them, “Y’all wanna see me try it on?”

“No!”

“Maybe.”

A pause, then a second resounding, “No.”

#with imagination #talia al ghul #harley quinn #raven #my writing #me??? posting two fics in one day??? weird af #g o d is this what being productive feels like??#posting 2 fics before noon im on a roll rn. ive got nothing to do but work on wips today and i might??? actually not be procrastinating #it's honestly so much fun finding out how tf they became friends with y'all #im bs-ing as i go and it's working soooo #but guess what y'all?? i figured out the dynamic!!!#tell me if you can guess this alright:#person 1 is an overpowered bab who was raised by monks and had their home destroyed when they were a kid. big ol destiny too #person 2 is a wildcard. very talented fighter even w/no powers. smart as heck has blue eyes and a tall green eyed gf that supports them #(especially as they better themselves of their mindset and views) (hint: person 2's got issues with their ex)#person 3 is dangerous with a moody love. arc about being antihero/trying to be good and has a father figure that's always there #(good or bad. they also got that aggressive fight based childhood)(hint: great hair and swordfighting skillz is a no duh with 'em)#now this is kinda canon but absolute for this au #if 2 and 3 start dating no one would be surprised but atm they gotta nice best buds who flirt dynamic #1&2 aren't shipped. 1&3 are barely hinted. but overall 1 is the kid of the group even through they are one of the most capable #u may think im talking about rae harley and talia (i am) but you're wrong #it's aang sokka and zuko!!#that's right fellas i figured it out!!#now y'all know there's GOTTA be a that's rough buddy #one that im maybe already writing 👀👀👀#and maybe about a certain bat???#but who knows for now. this au (??) is just a wonderful clusterfuck at this point so we'll see #oh! and sorry to anyone with any ties to galveston. i saw it in the beckground of a tv show and i *assume* they got dolphins? maybe?#it's probably like a second search away but i prefer making stuff up #it's near texas city so i guess im obligated to love it now

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