#though it looks like one horn is farther back now which...??

[dreadark]

oh hey yostar fixed the layering error in the video for Warm and Small Light when they were translating the lyrics

[willyoubemycherryy]

Intimacy Cues (C. Kent)

Summary: Who better to teach you how to talk body when you never learned the language?

Contains: smut AND plot so it’s long,depressing past, the college au you all secretly needed, struggles with physical touch, struggles with any form of intimacy, one mild panic attack, Clark is understanding but hot, dumb ideas, hugging, bonding, kissing, making out, it starts off shaky then soft but quickly snowballs into horn-e central, size kink, slight dumbification, strength kink, first kisses, virginity kept but not for long just give me till the second part, Clark is a little infatuated, they’re so nasty about each other my word, grinding, kissing (no forreal), prayer bc we all need it

A/N- my stomach is fine, it wasn’t a tumor but a blockage because of something I ate that never digested, causing my tummy to bloat and swell but they fixed me up so I’m back😈

. .* ੈ✩‧₊•

“Nononono- no, stop!!”

This might be the worst decision of your entire life.

Clark pulls away again, looking down at you with his eyebrows drawn together in concern but also exasperation because-

“Hey! It’s okay- you’re okay. Remember…you were the one who asked for my help.” He didn’t say the obvious “but we’re not getting any farther” part out loud but it echoes through your head all the same and you breathe out a deep sigh; regretting it with the depths of your very being but, yes. You did ask him for his help.

Help with what? The answer would’ve ended your social life if anyone who wasn’t Clark had found out.

You needed his help with…closeness- intimacy.

Growing up you were always awkward. Not in a charming way or even unconventional, you just simply didn’t make the cut based by society’s standards. You were always too gangly, too weird, too timid; so imagine the surprise come middle of highschool to now college where you’ve finally grown into yourself.

You know how you like to dress and which clothes look hottest on you, you know what hairstyle suits best for your face shape, you’re still weird but you’re also sarcastic which somehow equals charm to people and you’ve also managed to come out of your shell a bit. Becoming more confident from people naturally gravitating towards you after your blooming stage and even more after letting your friends convince you to join your college’s cheerleading team. You’d become everything you wanted to always try.

Pretty, popular, and fun. The problem?

Thanks to how much of a late bloomer you were, you never got the chance to get comfortable with others intimately during your formative years. Nobody liked you in that way and you were terrified of embarrassing yourself so there was nothing. No first kiss, no first dance with a boy, hell- even now you still get uneasy when others stare at you too long. Hiding behind your image as a college sweetheart made everything you were still to unsettled to try easier. Don’t misunderstand; it wasn’t that you never wanted those things, it’s that you’re not used to others suddenly picking you for those kinds of things after being invisible and missing out on them for almost all your life to the point where you don’t know how to deal with it when those moments do happen.

Still, you acted like everything was fine.

Playing the role of pretty cheerleader- the flirty tease that was favored by many even though that favor was shallow as a tear on a hot day. You pretended. And it was working, nobody knew…or so you believed.

Cue to one of the football teams parties where you’d been flirting with a guy, coy smile painted on your face as you giggled softly whenever he spoke, batting your pretty eyes at him in your little mini skirt. It had been going well until he suddenly leaned closer, focusing solely on you and when you felt the heat of his skin from how close he was- it felt as if the color had drained from your face, leaving you frozen as you became so uncomfortable it was visible; nerves screaming at you to flee until you listened. Spinning on your heels and bolting, trying to calm your breathing enough to will the cotton out of your ears.

You didn’t realize it then but a certain pair of blue eyes had been watching the whole thing. He’s always seen you. Which is funny because you almost always actively avoid him. In fact, he’s seen you enough to know that this isn’t the first time you’ve had that reaction and one day after a particularly rough week of endless pondering over you; he decides to just ask you after practice is over. Clark waits until his and your friends leave, it being only you and him on the field when he starts to walk over to you. The sound of incoming footsteps make you look up and when you see him, he can hear the very second your heart stops; skipping a beat before it quickly begins to thrum out of rhythm.

Honestly, there genuinely are not enough words to describe how attractive Clark Kent was. He was so incomprehensibly beautiful that you avoided Clark altogether just to avoid getting a headache from staring at him for too long especially since the real suffering started when he’d smile. Seemingly perfect pearly white straight teeth but when his grin broadened, his sharp canines would show, leaving you breathless every time. The type of good looking that was flat out overwhelming. Besides being apart of adjacent stereotypes, you two didn’t go together but there was no animosity.

Clark stops and you have to look up at him because of his hulking size. At almost 6’4 he nearly dwarfed you and his proportions matched. Thick, beefy everything- everywhere and you swallow before forcing a smile on your face. While you preferred to avoid him for the sake of keeping yourself out of the psych ward from how crazy he could drive you; you were still curious as to why he came to talk to you. He takes a moment to just look at you, cerulean eyes almost glowing but he doesn’t realize how intense his stare is until you start to shuffle on your feet- dainty hands twitching nervously at your side and that’s when he speaks.

“Hey…I know we don’t usually talk or anything but are you okay?” Even his voice is dreamy but confusion draws on your face because you felt fine; nervous, like you were around any guy you thought was cute, but fine. Clark elaborates at your expression,

“Y’know because of what happened at the party last-”, that seems to jog your memory enough to snap you out of it, eyebrows shooting up as dread overtakes over your face. You whip your head around, making sure there’s no witnesses when you grab him by his sweaty shirt, dragging him all the way behind the bleachers as you slam him against the metal. Clark is caught so off guard that he just lets it happen; lets the pretty thing half his size drag him as you pleased. Your eyes shift as you glare up at him.

You’re positive he’s talking about your little freak out with close proximity guy, the one that made you leave the party completely; walking so fast you nearly burned a trail in the carpet. Heart pounding, you start to spiral.

He wasn’t supposed to see that. He- like everyone else- was supposed to be too drunk to notice anything.

Your nose scrunches, full lips curling in a snarl. “I swear if you say anything to anyone-!” You’re threatening him so fast, Clark falters, raising his hands in defense, debilitating blue eyes widening as he starts to plead his case.

“No no-! I didn’t! I-“, He stutters at your harsh gaze, the feel of your hands soaking through his shirt, warming his chest. He needs to hurry up and explain himself before you start disliking him. “I was just worried! Whenever I see you and a guy, even if you act interested-“, he rushes out, panting as he talks even faster, “the second they get too close you look like you’ll vomit!” Your hostility melts into shock and even more confusion and you let go of his shirt, stepping back as you study him, his words stuck in your mind.

“How..? Are you- you’ve been paying that close attention to me? When do you even see me?” You’re at such a loss for words that it’s hard to string them together to properly question him.

“…I”, he swallows harshly, “I always see you.” It’s pure adrenaline that motors his mouth- he thought he was over the time when lovely faced girls made him nervous but you were unexpectedly feisty. It lit something tingly in him. Your eyes search his face and he spills. “I see how you flirt but you’re sarcastic too. Everyone is so taken by your pretty that they don’t even notice, they just call it ‘wit”, he manages to catch his breath enough to sound less panicked now that you look like you won’t kill him, “I see how even though you’re a flyer, you hate heights-”

“H-how-?”

“Your right leg shakes when they lift you, no matter how stable your base is.” Your mouth opens and closes but nothing comes out, heart racing when his voice goes soft,

“But what I’m saying is- so what that you’re not really what you give off? It’s nothing to be ashamed of. ‘Jus curious why you think it is…”, he blinks those long lashes at you and you find yourself explaining the tale of your sordid social past.

By the end of it he’s stunned speechless.

You? Just how bad was your awkward phase for nobody to be interested in you? Wait so that also probably meant that-

“You’re a virgin?!”

You slap your hands over his mouth with a speed equal to his own, face flushed as you shush him, hissing in a low whisper.

“Jesus Chri- shut up! Are you trying to tell the entire campus?!!” You let out another heavy sigh.

“…yes, I am”. You let your hands fall to the side, refusing to look at him while he’s trying to process; silence filling the space between you. You’ve accepted that your ego will never recover from the most gorgeous being on the planet knowing about all your…truths. That you looked and acted the part of a vixen just to hide that you secretly weren’t.

“…so you’ve never done anyt-”,

“No.”

Well then.

You can’t take another long drag of awkward silence, turning to face the boy who knew you probably more than anyone else did.

“Look- I would’ve loved to remedy this but I-”

“Can’t stomach whenever a guy gets too close due to previous deep rooted societal wrought insecurities…” Bingo.

“Well for what it’s worth,” he gives you one of his disarming grins and a flush creeps up your neck; warming your ears, “I think you’re doing fine now.” You snap your head down to see that you two are standing fairly close or at least closer than you normally allow and you don’t have that itch to get him as far away from you as possible. That’s when you get the idea that- “Oh my god! You can help me get over my thing! This is perfect!”! You’re practically vibrating with glee, excited to finally have all your firsts without that looming of touch related dread haunting you. Clark however is swarmed with various images of him “helping” you and can’t keep his ears from reddening at all the different scenarios where he’d be required to be close to you and begins to stutter.

“W-well, I wa- not that I-! I don’t think that’s a good idea, I mean w-we-”, you cut him off before he can weasel out of it, eyebrows creasing in frustration. You unconsciously step closer, your sweet smell bathes his senses as he stares you down, trying not to gulp too hard. “Please, Clark?”, you start and he swallows harshly at how his name sounds in that whiny tone from your lips.

“It can’t be anyone else because you’re the only one who knows! We’re not close now but we could be-“, and the double meaning makes him tune out completely as he only watches your plump lips move; not even registering the sound coming from them. He was thankful you didn’t ask him why he watched you so closely because the answer was one he wasn’t ready to even admit to himself.

Your lips stop moving after a while and them paired with your begging doe eyes make him cave, Clark nodding in hopeless defeat. He was supposed to be over the influence of pretty girls.

“S’okay, I’ll help you out. Your secret’s safe with me.” The corner of his mouth tilts up in a lopsided smile that was somehow both attractive but made you feel safe and you smile shyly back. You were nervous but you know Clark is a good guy- reckless as hell with his charms- but a good guy. What could go wrong?

•

•

•

Standing in the middle of your dorm room with your arms wound tight around yourself is when you find out that alot can go wrong.

Clark came over and you two came up with a starting plan that seemed the easiest: talk and slowly close the distance between you two until he was touching and looking at you without you getting uncomfortable or pushing him away. It sounded simple enough at first only…. you severely underestimated how you’d react to Clark. The way his deep mellow voice sounded in your ears, how he always held such steady eye contact as he moved towards you, that heavenly jawline tilting when he’d think too long. Already, Clark was big from afar but up close he was even bigger. Strong arms and broad shoulders; chest so thick it was noticeable through his shirt. You were used to others falling at your feet but Clark stood fine and it affected you in ways you didn’t prepare to deal with, so you tried to do what you always did- ignore it.

Matching Clark’s light conversation as you two eventually get more comfortable, gradually gravitating towards each other with slow short steps. The air shifts when you exhale and the breath tickles his chest. This is when you normally get squeamish but you merely hesitate for a few minutes before taking a deep breath and pushing yourself by letting him keep his distance.

His hand twitch and he shuffles a bit closer, biceps flexing as he reaches out, resting his hands on your shoulders; your conversation quiets as he stares at you with perfectly blue lidded eyes and then you feel the stirrings of restlessness under your skin. That impeding urge to get away. Despite the way you feel, the slow atmosphere helps you tremendously to not pull away but your pulse spikes all the same. His hands felt nice. You take another deep breath as you try to come to terms with what you were feeling.

Clark was a guy.

A guy who was standing in your bubble, touching you- looking at you.

A million emotions fly across your face at record speed and Clark doesn’t move any more for the next couple minutes. No, he waits for you; large rough palms warm on your bare shoulders while his pinky idly messes with the thin strap of your top. Your skin was soft. The heavy rise and fall of your chest has him focusing on you more intensely, trying to get a read on how you felt until you break the silence with a shaky exhale.

“We can keep going- you can keep touching me.” He knows you don’t mean it that way but his ears burn anyways as he nods. Taking a second to think before taking his hands off you to take yours, ignoring your big eyes look as he places your hands around his waist- inevitably moving closer and his voice softens like he’ll frighten you away if he were to speak any louder.

“You can touch me too. Promise I don’t mind…this is for you after all.” You suppress a whine because being so close was already hard with you fighting every instinct yelling at you to get gone and go somewhere where nobody could comprehend you but now with Clark staring at you like that, it was even harder. Your eyes flick about the room as you flatten your palms more against his back, mentally rolling your eyes back at how his muscles feel. You don’t even realize you’re biting your lip but Clark does, instantly alert the second he felt your small hands nervously press against him, his eyes zeroed in on the swollen skin dipping under the pressure of your teeth. He feels bad because while he was supposed to be helping you, he couldn’t stop thinking about how sexy you were being so shy but hardheaded enough to build up the grit to go for what scared you because you wanted it.

Without taking his eyes off your face, he rubs his hands up to your neck, making you squeak before smoothing them back down your shoulders; repeating the motions with a gentle hum.

The room feels hot- you felt hot and jittery but it’s too much. Unable to keep the waves at bay, goosebumps trickle over your skin and your eyes scrunch in panic as your breathing picks up. He was close. Close and touching you. You can’t bring yourself to look into his eyes because you know when you do, you’ll be naked for all to see and you scream.

“Stop!”

Nobody can see you-nobody’s supposed to be seeing you, the girl who was never even chose last as you were overlooked entirely no matter how badly you wanted to reach out. Maybe that’s what started your fear. Maybe you were scared of losing experiences because of rejection.

Clark doesn’t move away but he isn’t touching you anymore and you aren’t touching him as your hands fly to the sides of your head, trying to calm yourself down and guilt pours over him. He wants to hug you; comfort you but he knows that pulling you against him in a hug will only worsen things right now so he waits. Closing his eyes to help you feel at ease, listening closely to the beat of your heart until your breaths quiet and he hears it fluctuate back to normal. He keeps his eyes closed until he feels your small trembling hands slide back around him and instead of putting his hands on your shoulders, he moves his arms around them; resting them against your back but not pulling you in yet. It’s quiet besides the hushed sounds of him cooing at you and your breathing. The air now has an underlying current and you shift in his heavy arms, inhaling deeply as you finally look up at his face. Shyly, you cut the silence; voice soft as how you feel.

“…you can open your eyes now..” Clark feels his own heart speed up before he responds, low tone matching yours and electricity hits you when it clicks. This is intimate.

“Are you okay? We can stop and try again some other time; I don’t wanna upset-,”

“I want you to look at me.”

His eyes pop open at your command, peering down at you in such a way that your breath catches; anxiousness rising up you again but you stay right where you are. Willing yourself to embrace the exposed way he makes you feel.

Under the heat of his stare it’s like he’s seeing everything you’ve ever hid or been but his hold is steady enough to let you know he’s there with you and he’s not going anywhere. You still feel naked but more than that, you feel safe. Comfortable enough to not shy away from his warmth, you take another breath; looking up at him through your lashes- it makes his head fuzzy.

His eyes shift from their usual blue to the shade of the sea after a storm and you’re swept away, logic going with you as you slowly glide your hands up his sides to his where his arms hold you. Feeling every dip and curve of his strong build until you reach his hands, repositioning them around your lower back. You move closer but because you two were already standing so close- your chests touch and Clark stops breathing. The soft swell of your breasts move against his body with your every inhale and he finds his senses filled with you.

Your gaze is torn away when you turn your head, looking down as you drop against his chest. Arms looping around him making his own instinctively curl around you, holding you tight to the firm but soft muscle of his chest. You both pause for a few minutes- waiting for the urgent panic but it never comes. Instead, you melt into him with a relieved sigh, warm breath bleeding into his shirt. You two were officially hugging.

And you were in heaven.

You never knew close contact with the opposite gender could be so delightful. Clark was just so big and warm and smelled so good, you bury your face into the meat of his pec almost deliriously, sighing happily. Fuck, you really had been missing out. His arms are firm and heavy against your back, effectively locking you against him. The endorphin rush hitting you has you practically purring; the sounds of your bliss vibrating Clark’s chest and he smiles, letting you get your fix as he enjoys the way you fit into his arms.

Unsurprisingly, you two stay like that for a while. Fitted against each other in the silence of your cozy bedroom. He sees the top of your head move and he’s suddenly looking into your eyes, pupils blown so wide that your eyes are black. Clark has to bite his lip to keep from smiling at how cute you look. Your eyes flit down to his mouth to see the peek of his fangs that always show, letting out a small breathy ‘oh’ when you do. You’re still reeling in all the best ways as you rest your chin against his chest, unabashedly looking at his handsome face.

Clark raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow at the phantom hearts in your eyes and the way your small feet are standing on top of his larger ones while you make no attempt to separate your bodies, completely content with his proximity. He likes you so he likes your closeness and he’s even more elated that you seem to like him being so close too. Speaking lowly so he doesn’t disturb you, he checks if you’re still on the planet with him.

“This okay, sweetheart? Y’enjoying yourself?” The petname slips out but you don’t move or rush to correct him as your blood simmers, a numbingly pleasant heat washing over you so strong it’s hard to think. Running your hands in a slow caress up his back, you feel the muscles flex as his arm twitches and a smile grows on your face as you blink dumbly- brain currently taking a break, you mumble sweetly,

“Mmhm, yeah. Never better.”

And it’s true. You’ve never felt this safe, this free with anyone that wasn’t immediate family or your best girl friends. He was touching you and seeing you but you didn’t care because you knew whatever he was seeing and touching, was safe as it would ever be with him.

Clark huffs out a laugh at your belated response, moving one of his hands in a warm caress up your back, feeling you shiver and he bites his lip again. You were so alluring without even having to try and he breathes to reign himself in since he was currently the first and only to have you melting like this from a hug alone. If a hug got you like this he could only imagine how beautifully you’d respond to-

“Um, C-Clark?” Your soft voice brings him back as he hums, flicking his eyes down lazily at you.

“Yeah, baby?” Your sweet little gasp makes him realize that he just called you another nickname but you don’t seem to mind, flustering prettily in his arms. He leans down closer to your face, only to hear you better, eyes patient as he stares at you.

“I know this is supposed to be about me but how do you feel? You’ve been so good with me..I just wanna make sure you’re okay too.” Clark smiles, moved that you’re worrying about him even with all his experience.

“Yeah I feel good but how about you? Want me to let go or we can try something different?” He would’ve asked if you wanted to stop but he was going off your body language and it was telling him distance was the last thing you wanted and he was right as you shook your head before resting your chin back into his chest, looking up at him with those pupil eclipsed doe eyes.

“I feel great but…”, your voice gets smaller as it takes on an almost needy tone before stopping altogether. You snap your face back into his chest and he’s even more curious to get it out of you but you just can’t say it.

“You really don’t need to be embarrassed. Clothed or naked, we all start somewhere”, he whispers against the top of your head, stroking your back soothingly as you try to talk yourself into asking him before you chicken out, “with me you can start wherever you want and you know I’ll never tell. Or make fun of you..”,

His voice is tender with warmness and it turns your reservations to raindrops as you look back into his eyes. Steeling your nerve, you ground yourself with the way you feel in another persons arms for the first time in your life- his arms and decide to go for it.

“You said- we can try something different?” Your heart begins to race again as Clark’s starts to pound. He can’t keep the heat out of eyes as he returns your stare, nodding.

“Yeah. We can do whatever you want.” His breath wafts across your face, forehead resting against yours and the rate at which you find yourself needing him- scares you. You’ve been depraved of this kind of contact to the point of fear since forever but now…

“Then…can we-“, you blink rapidly, not wanting to verbalize it but not wanting to go without even more.

“Can we kiss please?”

Clark has to shut his eyes. You looked so sweet, felt so soft and even though you couldn’t keep the neediness from seeping into your words, you still asked so politely. Blood rushes through his ears as he feels a familiar stirring in his groin, taking a deep breath because it wouldn’t do for him to lose control now, his voice is heady with pure want when he answers,

“F’course. I’d love to kiss, baby.”

Large hands settle around your waist as you get pulled completely flush to him, legs almost intertwining while your pelvises touch; bodies glued together. The languid heat of arousal thrums through you, making your head spin.

Your lips part when Clark presses his forehead more firmly against yours, lighting you from the inside out when he dips his neck to slot his open mouth over yours.

Immediately your chest burns, heart feeling like each pump is gasoline, fueling the fire hes started in you. Clark’s full lips slide against yours, alternating between suckling at your top lip then bottom lip slowly, coaxing you to follow his lead, groaning his approval and the sound turns you up as you press yourself harder against his body. You feel so good you’re thrumming- heat steadily pulsing through you.

Your heads move from how hard you’re kissing, slick sounds coming from your mouths intensifying as you get rougher, delicious shivers all up your spine. Clark presses his lips fully against yours, moving them open wider with his own, hot breaths mingling as he licks hotly against the opening of your mouth. A bolt of pleasure hits you so hard that you gasp, wrenching your mouth off his as you moan- the needy little thing so whiny it makes his cock fatten in his pants as you pant against each others lips. Fuck. He can smell how wet you are. The sweet, heady smell makes his mouth water with him tossing shame clean out the window.

“Can I put my tongue in your mouth? Please, pretty girl?” You move your arms around his neck to get as close as possible, nodding desperately.

“God, yes-” His mouth is back to consuming yours before you can finish. Opening your lips with the force of his swollen ones, he sucks your bottom lip before lapping his tongue into your mouth. You twitch in his hold, even more turned on when he doesn’t have to move to keep your squirming in place, casual show of strength making you lightheaded as he swallows your moans. Wet smacks fill the air, your grip on him tightening when he sucks your tongue into his mouth. You get wetter and he can tell, growling in pleasure as he suddenly lifts you; your legs locking around his waist as he uses his hold on yours to grind you against him. The result is instantaneous. You melt like cotton candy, chest shaking against his from your pleasured moans as your shared spit wets your lips. Still aware of the fact that you need to breathe, Clark pulls away with a suck of your lips- staring at you hungrily with dark eyes.

He can’t even remember when he picked you up but the tiny undulations of your hips let him know it was a welcome decision. You looked so good. Lips puffy n slick, doe eyes teary and blown out, wet as fuck with your hard nipples poking through your top…you could ask him for every one of Saturns rings and he’d get them for you.

Clark takes a deep lungful of your tantalizing scent before he checks on you again.

“How was that, sweetheart? Y’first kiss right?” You nod, cupping his face. You can’t help the way you smooch more pecks onto his pink lips, aching as you answer.

“It was so good”, you drag your nose down his jaw; kissing his ear as you whisper into it, “you feel so good, Clark..”. You have him completely hard at this point, thick and fat as his tip oozes pre when you start to whine. He almost feels bad that you’ve waited so long, being so pent up wasn’t healthy and you deserved to feel good everyday.

“What’s wrong baby?” The low timbre of his voice makes your pulse skyrocket, causing you to absolutely dissolve against him, hips twitching as he helped you rub yourself on him.

“I-I need..-“, you let out a soft cry and he quickly soothes you. Kissing you deeply before pulling away, licking his lips of your taste as he verbalizes exactly what you need.

“Need to cum?”

The heat in your chest blooms up to your face as you nod, suddenly growing shy but still comfortable. You purr as Clark presses a sweet kiss to your cheek, looking at you with pretty lidded eyes.

“Would it be okay if I made you cum princess?”

The utterly wrecked moan that comes out of your mouth has goosebumps scattering up his arms, holding you tighter as you nod vigorously.

“I need words baby”, he whispers. Giving you another kiss to tempt you and it works. He was too irresistible and he knew it.

“Yeah, you can make me cum Clark.” And with that he carries you over to your bed, laying you on the plushness as he takes over your mouth again with a hungry groan, your hands touching everywhere until he pulls away- fangs on display as he smiles making fire sweep through your veins.

Massaging your legs, he rises on his knees- taking off his shirt as your mind checks out from how hot he is, shifting restlessly as the ache in your pussy throbs with the best pain. Whining his name, Clark cooes at you; big hands moving to pull your clothes off. Your nerves are going haywire but you need this- need him to make you feel things, lifting your hips to help him slide your shorts and underwear off, spreading your legs as you let him get a good look at your messy wet hole twitching in need.

Clark swears, hooking his hands under your knees and bending them towards your chest. Exposing you more as he licks his lips, keeping his eyes glued to your cunt.

“Atta girl, jus’ lay there nice n pretty and I’ll give you what you need..”

Part ✌🏽…

[onlyfrags]

Yoru with a male s/o who's radiant powers give him draconic features and powersof the elements. Their on a date but people keep pointing out and staring at reader features like his horns, eyes or tail etc..

A/N I apologize for this taking forever! Yoru might be a bit OOC and I did not proof read this well, apologies. Its 4:30 AM and I have not slept so :D

Yoru with a Draconic Male Significant Other | Yoru x Male Radiant Reader

Yoru had always been a very prideful man. He took pride in everything. Be that his looks, his skills, and his ancestry. So of course, his pride would further extend to his relationship.

That extended to you.

Initially, he had little interest in you when you first joined the protocol. Sure, your appearance was definitely one of the more shocking or jarring Radiants he had ever seen, but you were just another teammate to him.

For a while, he listened to Phoenixs comments about you. About how odd your eyes were to him and how your stare gave him the creeps. How unnerving it was when he saw how your skin seemed to have visible scales. How your nails almost seemed like claws, and the many many questions about why you would have a tail. It was all so much for the poor man when all he wanted was to get some extra training in.

Then he went on a mission with you. He saw your powers in action. You in action. How you were able to aid Phoenix in guiding his fire a bit farther than before. How you took some of the water from Harbors wall to blind the enemies. How you joined Jett in dashing across the air. How the ground shook to reveal the people who hid.

He was entranced, though he would never admit that out loud.

As more and more missions happened, Brimstone was able to identify how well you both worked together. With you to aid in distractions, Yoru could thrive. You had a deep trust in the rift walker, and you had gained Yorus respect. Something that many weren't able to achieve.

You became inseparable. A duo that the omega universe would theorize about in hushed whispers that sent chills down fellow agents spines.

It was thrilling for Ryo. Exciting. Something that kept his heart racing and spirits high out on the battlefield.

Soon enough, The friendly banter turned to teasing jokes and witty remarks. Competitions would break out between the two of you to see who would achieve more on the field, and then it bled into training as well.

It was only a matter of time truly before someone had made the first move.

You had been relaxing with Yoru in his room, watching the other man from his couch with a mischievous look that he knew all too well. Before he could question it, you flicked your finger in the air causing a small spray of water into his face from the cup he had been holding. The poor man sputtered and coughed as he shook his head. His wet hair fell into his eyes which only further irritated the man.

Next thing you know, he was on top of you. The cup long abandoned as his knees dug into the cushion that was next to your thighs. He pushed you back against the couch, starting a playful wrestling match the same way he had many times before. All the while he loudly complained about his hair having been messed up, and about how he had to change clothes all while trying to pin you to the couch.

Somehow, with a few squirmy movements, you knocked Yoru off balance so he landed in your arms. Trapping him in an embrace, you couldn't help but grin as the smaller man tried to free himself before eventually giving up. His damp hair now pressed under your jaw as you felt him relax a little in your arms. A few moments later, he wrapped his arms around your torso and rested his hands above your tail.

It was silent. Though you knew Yoru could hear your heart pound against your chest. Despite this, not a word was spoken.

Instead, you felt something feather light against your collarbone. And then again. And once more a little farther up against your throat.

Your own breath hitched when you realized that Yoru was peppering you with gentle kisses where your scales met exposed skin. Hearing your little noise only made the man let out one of his signature chuckles before he moved to press one last kiss against your jaw.

His hands gave your waist a little squeeze before he mumbled, "You always were cute when you have your guard down~." His ego showed as he pulls away to admire you with a look of pride. Pride at how he had you flustered, and pride from his own actions.

After that day, you were an unspoken couple. In front of the others, nothing had seemingly changed. The competitiveness remained between the both of you as did your trust in each other. But behind closed doors you found yourself at the mercy of Ryo. A man who struggled with words but showed he cared about you with his actions. A man who was proud of the work you did together. A man who was proud of you.

Eventually, you and Ryo had managed to acquire a few days off. Perfect timing since he had been wanting to take you to Japan for a while now. He wanted you to see his homeland and experience the place he loved.

Yet the trip didn't go exactly as Ryo had hoped it would.

By this time, he had completely forgotten that your appearance made you stand out a bit. Your horns, tail, scales, and slitted eyes had others staring.

Some whispered in hushed voices. Some pointed at you and grimaced, throwing judgmental glances before turning away when you looked back at them. A few people even ran up to ask for pictures with you, asking about your appearance or how you did your makeup. It was an uncomfortable experience. Uncomfortable for you, and uncomfortable for Ryo.

After about half an hour of the stares and whispers as you walked with him to various different places in Tokyo, Ryo was done with it. He huffed loudly, taking your hand in his as he drags you down several different alleys and streets until he stops in front of a small building. A little hole in the wall place that seemed to be fairly empty from the looks of it.

Ryo, also noticing this, took a deep breath and sighed before squeezing your hand a little. A sign that he was there for you despite what all happened, before he let go. Giving you a reassuring head nod, he goes to open the door for you and follows you inside.

Ryo explained that this was his favorite place to come to, a small family owned restaurant that he claimed made the best cold soba noodles to help relax after a long day of being in the sun

"…or dealing with idiots who stare." He grumbled under his breath

And he was right. The noodles and dumplings were easily some of the best you had ever had, and the lack of people around made Ryo much more comfortable as well. The man who usually doesn't say much, babbled. He talked about the different foods he shared with you, the memories he had with the restaurant, and even told you about the history of each dish.

By the time you both finished your food, had a beer or two, and paid for it all, the sun had already began to set. Ryo would hum a little before carefully taking your hand in his own once again. Little actions like this were so uncommon that you couldn't help but feel your heart race.

His fingers laced with your own before looking back at you with a small smile. Taking a step forward, he did the unthinkable. He pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips and gave your hand another squeeze.

He would smile gently at you before he began pulling you down the street once more. This time, he was taking you to the place you'd both be staying so you didn't have to deal with prying eyes, and he could hold you close without fear of others seeing.

[bones4thecats]

Hii can I request Ror Buddha meeting with his wife yasodhara again unexpectedly? Except his wife is the most chillest,nonchalant woman ever. Thank you💕

A/N: Hello there Anon!! I’m guessing you wanted the reader to be themed after his wife Yasodharā, so I did that. I hope this was what you wanted!! Enjoy~~

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・

🍭 He left, just up and left you and your infant son without saying a simple goodbye. And it stung, it stung you for the rest of your life. Your son asked about him whenever he found it fitting, in which you just gave him the basic info in which you knew of him at the time, which is rarely, if ever, changed. And until your death, you never saw him again.

🍭 You just enjoyed your afterlife alongside your son and your old close friends until the eldest Valkyrie sister came to speak to you of a battle that was being held against the gods.

🍭 Ragnarok.

🍭 Of course, you refused to fight them, you weren’t fond of getting violent for barely any reason besides keeping humans alive.

🍭 Instead, Brunhilde asked you to oversee the contestants to make sure certain ones didn’t get the wrong ideas. And you agreed, knowing certain ones from the talk around your palace in Valhalla.

🍭 At the time, you were watching the still healing Sasaki and Jack when you heard the announcement coming from Heimdall’s horn down on the battlegrounds. And you would never forget the words that echoed through the land.

“ I’m gonna fight for mankind. Ya dig? “

🍭 They sounded so familiar, yet so distant.

“ If the gods aren’t gonna save mankind, then I will. And if any god gets in my way… I’ll kill ‘em. “

🍭 It was your husband, the one who left you and your son in that palace centuries ago. But you couldn’t think to yourself for long before the obnoxiously loud cries of anger from the gods interrupted said thoughts.

🍭 “What is the matter with you?! Why would you, how could you betray us?!” One yelled.

🍭 Buddha sighed and held the horn up to speak, allowing Heimdall to sigh and stand beside him, giving up from jumping to grab the instrument.

“ I care for my kind, some more than others, even if I never showed it when I should have most. And I’m gonna make up for that here and now, if anyone has a problem with that, well, oh well. ”

🍭 Your heart fluttered, knowing what he had meant.

*Let’s skip for after the fight, as fighting is not my thing to write*

🍭 He was all bruised and bloody, his long hair draped behind his back as the air moved it swiftly away from his face. You stood up and began to run to the healers after he was rushed away, fearing the worst, though you didn;t show it, not wishing to worry your son and fellow humans.

🍭 Seeing his state in the healing room was gut-wrenching, but you knew you needed to do this now, or else you’d regret it like no other time. Knocking on the door, you trudged in after hearing his light ‘come in’.

🍭 It was now or never. And you picked now.

“ Hello there, my dear. ”

🍭 His eyes widened as he turned towards you. Your voice was one he would never forget in millions and millions of years.

🍭 “Y/N? Is that really you?” He asked, eyes straining to stare at your form. You walked carefully to the healing god, a smile spreading farther across your face with each step. You had looked at his face, still youthful as ever.

🍭 He was still your husband.

🍭 “Yes, it is me, love.” You replied.

🍭 He smiled, laughing as he watched you grab the side of his face and hold it towards your’s.

🍭 “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?” He asked.

🍭 “No, and you haven’t either, seeing the stunt you pulled down there, going against the gods and all.” You jokingly answered.

🍭 “Well, we have a lot to catch up on, now don’t we?” Buddha jokes.

“ Yes, my love, we do… ”

[m0n0morph]

Kirby: and the Secret of the Kabii

Second to last chapter:D idk when it will be done since I am struggling to write it so stay tuned

Chapter 4: The Celestial Bard, Seta

World 4: Planet Taphino

In the morning the crew got ready for what might be their final trip with their new friends. Tiff and Tuff decided to switch places as Tiff wanted to keep an eye on Tontu who was bringing the three key pieces they have already collected. Once they had finally set of they were travelling farther then they had ever before and found themselves appearing at a strange planet.

The planet was a turquoise green with distorted yellow and blue rings surrounding its body, the most notable thing about the planet was that it appeared to be shattered. Almost 1/3 of the planet looks to have been broken off and slowly floating away in space. Meta Knight and Tontu Identified it as Taphino, the original home of the Kabii. Chorus’s and Tontu’s magic led them to one of the larger planet shards. Once the crew gathered themselves they set off travelling through the temperate taiga (Level 4,1).

They could hear the sound of a lyre playing and they followed it to a temple with a pale blue Kabii sitting out front playing the beautiful melody. They were fairly small with large pale yellow horns and a large blue jacket with fluff on the inside and a tale that resembled the stars. The lyre they were playing was gold with a pale glow that radiated magic.

He spoke on an all knowing voice and introduced himself as Seta or just Set for short and he was sent here by his master to take them to the next key piece. Remembering the cryptic warning given by Lady Eternal Tiff asked if Seta is death to which he replied that he is not, merely a disciple but he will still be there waiting for the group. They cautiously followed Set through the tattered temple (Level 4,2).

They successfully made there to the next temple and inside they can see the key piece on the alter but it was different, this time there was two barriers and on top of the outer sat a small red and yellow butterfly. Set addresses the butterfly as being early before turning to the rest and explained that unlike the other key pieces this has two tests they must pass and the first was to surpass death itself. Before the rest could question him further the butterfly land on Sets head and transformed him. Now he appeared to be made of darkness donned with red armour and a sword, two large butterfly wings sprouted from his back and now they faced Morpho Knight: the Knight of Hades.

A tuff and rigorous battle happened but like always Kirby came out on top, if only barely. Once defeated Morpho Knight stood to the side to let them past only for them to find that only one barrier has disappeared. Morpho Knight explains that to break it requires brute strength as they have to physically break it. Everyone tried with Meta Knight and Kirby being the closest but to no avail.

Seta, now shifted back with Morpho on his shoulder explains that the barrier is very powerful and he is not surprised they are unable to break it, stating only the Greatest Warrior in the Galaxy could be the only one strong enough to break it if they can’t. Meta Knight flinches and upon inquiry he explains that he knows off him, Galacta Knight. After explaining his Journey with Galactic Nova and who Galacta Knight is Seta explains that what Meta Knight actually fought was a copy that did not have his true strength and explains that Galacta Knight is actually here on Taphino. Even though he was imprisoned they still needed a physical place to put his body which they gave to death to guard but they figured it’s time to let him free.

Seta brought them further away through the carnivorous caverns (Level 4,3) and they found in a small alcove a large pink crystal with a knight inside. Morpho knight and Seta fuse and use their power to break it but warn the others that he might not be himself when he wakes up. One Galacta Knight rose his eyes glowed red in fury and initiated a battle. Before Kirby or anyone else can move Meta Knight jumps forward to counter his attack and explains to the rest that he wishes to fight Galacta Knight alone and they respected his wishes.

They all severely underestimated Galacta Knights power and right before he could strike a killing blow on Meta Knight, Morpho Knight stepped forward and absorbed some of Galacta Knights power which both calmed him down and gave Morpho enough magic power to have a physical form with Seta. They spoke and found out that Galacta is actually really nice and kind, not like the monster the stories made him out to be and he almost latched onto Meta Knight seeming very fond of him. He agreed to help them break the seal on the key and they al returned back to the temple. Galacta Knight made quick work on the barrier which got them the fourth and final key piece. Kirby very happily gave the piece to Tontu who fused it with the rest of the Key and showed them the final key. When they all finally returned to the ship Galacta Knight wished to come with them to dreamland which they happily agreed and they also extended the offer to Seta and Morpho Knight who agreed after a short bit.

They all turned to Tontu and Chorus to ask where the door was to all the abundance and wealth but were surprised when Tontu denied its existence. Before anyone could do anything Tontu held the key up which now resembled a staff and let out a bright flash of light that put everyone to sleep.

[danwhobrowses]

One Piece Chapter 1142 - Initial Thoughts

And we're back again

Loki is free, and now: we're gonna find out

I don't think we need to explain it any farther than that so let's get to it

Spoilers for the Chapter, Support the Official Release Too

Yamato finally gets involved in his cover story again, it's been like 6 non-spread covers since we saw him

A Thunder Bagua rocks Who's Who

The chapter begins with uproar, as a serpent attacks the Walrus School

The kids call it Jormungandr, the serpent at the end of days

The pun is 'end of the weak' to which someone misinterprets as 'end the week? you mean like Saturday?' XD

The teaching staff are called to action; Ange along with the newly introduced Principal Mr. Kiba (who ironically looks like a Walrus) and Mr. Breid - who has ancient giant blood due to the horns

Kiba rushes to action and hammers the snake when it stares down a kid

And Saul launches down to hammer him with a Haki punch attack

Kiba is revealed to be a former Giant Warrior Pirate too, but he has back pains and thanks Saul for the help

Robin and Chopper were in Saul's beard as the kids admire the strength of Kiba and Saul

Unfortunately, there's no time for calm, the PE teacher Mr. Wolf is beaten and bloodied

The kids just...walked off? Ominous

A kid asks if Robin's a friend of Luffy's, and immediately backs off when she confirms it

Don't touch the children!? Double Ominous

Oh! They're sleepwalking, a sleep power huh?

This is very Pied Piper of Hamlin...

Kiba sounds the alarm, noting that the monsters attacking Elbaf and the kids wandering off is cause for such an alarm

The kids are passing out one by one, and Chopper asks to check on them

Back with Loki, he seems unfazed about the one shackle on him

Well Ragnir is indeed a hammer it seems

He demands the last shackle be released if they care about Elbaf's safety

He notes about Elbaf's weakness, and despite Hajrudin's protests, he attacks Yggdrasil

The hammer strikes and it summons a lightning bolt - interesting how it summons one rather than emits from it

That village was probably the one burned down by Loki...

But now Elbaf has caught fire

The village having a party are alerted to what's happening

Back at the Walrus school Ange notes she recognizes the monsters

We flash back to kids discussing Loki's ability to destroy the world

Kids argue alternatives though; Nika, Fenrir, Jormungandr, Nidhoggr, Draugr, Ghosts, a storm

Props to the kid who said 'my mommy' XD

One of the kids though asks to change the subject because it...oh

It'll give her Nightmares

It's nightmares, the monsters are things the kids are afraid of

And now we see the nightmare world; a demon Nika, a demon Loki, a dragon, a wolf, a creepy Zeus, a dapper ghost, a skeleton, even Smokey the Bear!

And this is Killingham's power, no wonder he's half dozy - must be a side effect to his fruit

But if he has a Sleep-Sleep Fruit (not confirmed, just spitballing), that'll mean his Qilin appearance is natural, but he has the Awakened Zoan-like clouds? Maybe he's an awakened Qilin and the dream-making is a non fruit power?

Hmmm...maybe it's a mix? Maybe his fruit isn't a Qilin but a Baku, and his normal appearance is lizard-like or long-necked

Regardless, Sommers - still in his chair - revels in the mission's profit right now

Killingham says he'll remove the trance once the kids are led on the ships, but wonders if the giants would get them back

Sommers has a weird philosophy 'to love is to inevitably hurt one another'

He asks what Gunko is afraid of, but she only replies with Nika

Boy if she sees Luffy that's gonna be fun

Now this, this is chaos - and I love it

It's a surprisingly nonlethal assault by the God's Knights, since they left Mr. Wolf alive to tell the tale. Plus they're not hands on with it...yet, this can still be part of Shamrock's proposed game. But man Oda, he finally put Nightmares in a story about Dreams.

Killingham's fruit is definitely up there, I wonder if waking the kids destroys the nightmares? I kinda hope not - because this also resolves the numbers issue and can pit powerful characters against their nightmares. This can be especially dangerous if Robin's targeted, given now that Elbaf is on fire as well, and Bonney! Bonney's a child too does she get targeted already? But it may be curious if we see fears from characters usually depicted as quite fearless.

Fighting nightmares is also not just the stage but the entire theatre for Usopp to shine, because nothing's braver than fighting fear. Though this could pit him against Killingham I do still kinda hope he fights Gunko, especially with her 'my one fear is Nika' thing, let her fear two gods XD Sommers is still someone to be wary of, a man that comfortable in the chaos is dangerous.

Loki is already causing a problem now too, definitely no ally. But it's an interesting division right now since we have the Monster Trio vs Loki and the rest of the Crew vs God's Knights and Nightmares. It feels wrong that the crew will abide to Loki's demand, but it also feels like Loki's gonna be freed either way - but with a 2bn bounty the three of them should handily manage him in a weakened state. So things remain curious there, his eyes are still covered too.

A break for next week but Oda has earned it for this one, we've been blessed with a good run of frequent chapters.

Let the shit hit the fan.

[shady-tavern]

October's Patreon Story "Salt and Iron"

(warnings ahead for implied SA and murder, though nothing happens to the main character)

*.*.*

Tears born of anger and fear dripped down the young woman's cheeks as she ran through the woods, her white dress gathered up to allow for a fast and unhindered stride. She had chucked her white slippers upon her escape from the mayor's house and a small cut along her temple allowed blood to trail down her cheek, sticky and quickly cooling.

She heard the calls behind her, the townsfolk that both threatened and cajoled, thinking her on the run. She was running, but she didn't intend to run away. Not for long, at least.

Ahead of her she saw it a moment later, the line of bluebells that grew through the woods, neatly separating the area safe for humans and the rest of the ancient forest. No one quite knew what laid beyond the line, but people had seen glimpses. Huge creatures, shadow riders on nightmare steeds, something big with wings and something with glowing eyes in the nearby lake. And, of course, the king of the forest.

No one quite knew what he was and there were plenty of stories about him. Some said he was tall, some said it was his horns that made him look tall. Some said he was beautiful, some said he was ugly, but they all agreed on one thing, he killed the fae wherever he encountered them. 

He was called brutal and ruthless by those who had seen him and his shadow knights hunt. Who had seen him mounted on a big beast and who had heard his haunting songs on lightless nights as the glittering, beautiful faeries tried to escape.

The bluebells were his and they marked his territory, which seemed to stretch endlessly. There was no guarantee of safety beyond the flowers and while the young woman faltered for a moment, she strode forward with desperate determination.

She stepped neatly over the thick line of flowers, their sweet scent briefly filling the air. She made sure not even her skirts brushed them and as soon as her bare foot set down on the other side she felt a change in the air.

Old, that was the first word that came to her harried mind. Everything felt old and alive. She suddenly felt as though every tree and patch of moss, every mushroom and bush was keenly aware of her presence. 

It was only a matter of time before the king appeared as well, she knew that much. He always did whenever someone tried to step over the line, chasing them back into safe territory again.

The voices of the townsfolk seemed so much farther away now, even though it shouldn't be possible. She didn't look back, but gripped her skirts tighter and continued on, though her pace was far less chivied now as she caught her breath. 

"And what brings you here?" the voice came ahead of her, behind her, to her left and right. She felt as though he was everywhere and nowhere, his voice riding on the wind and speaking from the bark of a dozen trees. "Salt and iron bride?"

She gripped her white dress tighter and lifted her chin, aware of the blood that mixed with tears and dripped off her chin to land on the dark, cool forest floor beneath her feet.

"I come to ask a boon of the forest," she said, voice steadier than she felt as she blinked the last of the tears away. She needed clear eyes for this.

*.*.*

You'd like to read more? Head over to my patreon! Salt and Iron will go live on the first of October! There are two other stories available in the meantime however, you can check them out here and here or head straight over to patreon!

Thank you ever so much for your support, it means the world to me and allows me to create more for you!

[silverynight]

A charming witch

<---Previous

Part II

He goes to bed early. Izuku takes a deep breath and looks at the ceiling, thinking about everything that happened that day.

It's a bad idea; he doesn't need to ask anyone to know summoning a demon (a very powerful one) is something he's not prepared to do.

However, he's curious now, especially because all the memories he thought he lost that day have come back suddenly.

Izuku sighs and shakes his head, closing his eyes for a moment as the sky finally starts turning dark.

When he opens his eyes again it's still dark, the only problem is that everything looks different somehow, it's like there's a subtle mist all over his room. He wonders if it comes from outside because he's sure he didn't leave any potions inside his cauldron.

He's about to take his sunflower, the one he always leaves on his nightstand, to summon light when he notices the glowing red eyes in the middle of the room.

At first they look like they're floating, but quickly Izuku notices the face and the body in the shadows. And the wings...

The creature looks mostly like a human, but Izuku knows he's a demon, a very tall, muscular demon with horns, just like the one he saw when Ashido touched him.

"De-Izuku."

The green haired witch blinks and moves a little bit farther away from him, although he doesn't jump off the bed.

"Shit! This is not how I wanted our second encounter to go, damn it!" The demon curses and even though Izuku can perfectly see his sharp teeth when he does, there's something about his frustration that makes him look more vulnerable, more human, if that's possible.

"Who are you?" Izuku should be thinking about a banishing spell at the moment, but for some reason he doesn't feel like he's in danger.

"You don't remember?" Despite his intimidating appearance, the blond demon looks almost hurt then.

"Kacchan?" Izuku blinks a couple of times as his memories bring back the figure of a little demon, trying to bite his neck.

The witch doesn't realize he's covering his own neck with his hand until the demon grimaces at the sight.

"I'm sorry about that," he mumbles and when he takes a step closer to the bed, Izuku realizes that he's just a shadow, which means he's not physically in Izuku's room. "I know it's difficult for you to believe me, but I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Then why did you try to bite me?"

Perhaps the light of the moon coming from outside is playing tricks on his eyes, but Izuku is almost sure the demon starts blushing as he shyly rubs the back of his neck.

"I'm an alpha," he blurts out, as if that's explanation enough. Suddenly, Izuku has the need to make his notebook appear. "I wanted to... mark you."

Feeling even more confused and lost, Izuku decides that it's time to ask more important questions.

"What's your name? I remember calling you Kacchan, but I don't think–"

"Bakugo Katsuki, but you can keep calling me Kacchan."

The demon has turned out to be very kind, perhaps too kind... Izuku is not sure if this is just a trick or not.

"Why did you come here?"

"I want you to summon me."

If what Ashido said is true and Bakugo is indeed the demon king, then summoning him could be very dangerous.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Izuku mumbles, remembering what he said to Ashido.

"Listen, Izuku... I just want to be able to stay here with you," Bakugo says, getting a little bit desperate. "You can bind me to you... I swear I don't want to hurt anyone and I won't bite you unless you want me to..."

Why would he want a demon to bite him? What is Bakugo actually planning? That demon doesn't look like he wants to explore the mortal world like Ashido does.

"I just want to be able to come and go."

For what purpose exactly? It'd be very irresponsible of Izuku to let a demon roam free, especially one as powerful as Bakugo seems to be.

"I'm sorry–"

"Izuku..."

Suddenly, the room is not as visible as it was before... it's almost like it's disappearing; Bakugo has noticed it too and tries to get even closer to Izuku, to tell him something, but he vanishes in the blink of an eye.

The witch turns his head around, wondering what's going on, but his vision turns completely dark and when he opens his eyes again he's lying on his bed, but there's sunlight coming from the window this time.

He finally woke up.

It was a dream, Izuku is sure of it, but what he's not so certain about is if Bakugo was actually part of his mind or the demon managed to get into his dreams somehow.

The witch takes a deep breath, has breakfast and goes to the woods to gather more ingredients for his potions. Did he have an actual conversation with the demon king? Now that Izuku thinks about it, it seems unlikely.

However, he also decides to get fresh lavender and jasmine to make himself a potion to sleep without dreams.

Izuku spends most of the morning making different kinds of potions, then in the afternoon he gets himself something to eat and greets the people who come to his shop to buy something for their problems. Izuku has also started to sell charmed objects, mostly for protection, especially necklaces because people seem to like those.

The day goes by too fast for his liking.

Feeling a little bit guilty, he drinks the potion he made for himself and goes to sleep.

The guilt comes back the next morning when he realizes that he didn't have any dreams the night before. But it has to be for the best, right? The demon is obviously trying to trick him.

In the middle of the day another memory comes to his mind: the little demon with piercing red eyes is calling him beautiful and pretty, but at the same time assuring him that if Izuku is pretty, he must be weak as well.

"You're too pretty to be strong! Powerful demons are not cute!"

"I'm not a demon!" Little Izuku protests, using a little bit of magic to push the blond kid away. A blond kid with horns...

The little demon smiles back at him after that. He looks quite pleased instead of angry.

"I'm going to mark you, Deku!"

That's when Bakugo tried to bite him.

Izuku shakes his head, although he can't help but chuckle at the memory now; it's not as terrifying as he thought it was, Bakugo used to have little sharp teeth and his growl wasn't even a bit intimidating. Izuku remembers himself laughing as he tried to run away from the bossy little demon.

Maybe he should give him a chance. Izuku shakes his head. No, no... he has never summoned a demon before, he could make a mistake.

What if that's exactly what Bakugo wants? However, for some reason, Izuku can't bring himself to believe the demon is trying to trick him.

However, that demon is not little anymore and even though Izuku just saw him in a dream, he knows he's very powerful now.

He should be careful.

***

Izuku misses the demon; it's been a week since he's been drinking that potion and he still wonders if it was the right choice.

Feeling a little bit nervous, he takes he vial and puts it back in the shelf.

He's going to dream that day, although that doesn't mean the demon will pay him a visit.

Of course, it doesn't turn out as Izuku thought it would. When he opens his eyes, there's mist in his room like last time, but Bakugo is surrounded by fire and smoke and he's growling and hissing like a feral beast.

And yet Izuku is not afraid of him, he has the feeling, no, he knows the demon is not angry with him.

"Wake up, Izuku!"

"What?"

"You have to wake up! There's someone in your house and I can't protect you from here!"

Before he can ask anything else, Izuku blinks, the demon is gone and the witch is back in his bed, in the middle of the night, but he knows he's completely awake this time.

He hears the noise and knows there are at least three people downstairs; he uses his flowers to see what's going on (a couple of irises he left on his counter) and realizes they're probably outsiders.

The people in the village know him and respect him, some of them are very friendly towards him, but sometimes there are people from outside who are afraid of witches and try to hurt them.

He gets up and starts muttering a couple of spells to get his vines to move and trap the intruders; he hears a couple of grunts, screams and the sound of metal when the weapons fall all over the floor.

By the time Izuku gets down the stairs, the intruders are trapped, tangled in the vines, the ones the witch strategically placed around his shop. He even rolls his eyes when the men start cursing him and puts them all to sleep.

In the morning he sends them back home, confused and with no memory of his little shop; they will never find his home again.

Izuku knows he's very much capable of taking care of himself, but he wonders that day what would've happened if Bakugo hadn't yelled at him to wake up.

Right there and then he decides he's going to summon Bakugo Katsuki, at least to have a proper conversation with him.

***

Next-->

Patreon

[treepan0]

Sol lore drop

a bit of stuff for my random for funsies heroes word mission inspired character Sol, because I'm bored so why not? warning light world mission spoilers, mainly on Beat. additionally she has to versions her original word mission for fun version, and a fanfic exclusive version because I kind of low key like her for being a for fun character.

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

so Sol isn't fully limited to heros, but that is where she started out. It mainly started with Beat and some details about him, mainly the fact he's actually a distant descendant of Goku. With the assumption of this meaning the series is like a very distant future to the GT timeline, we can now begin on who Sol is as a character and other stuff.

So beginning with her name Sol is actually coming from insolation, which should tell you that she uses the Frieza clan avatar option. this is inspired by the fact that some girls who play games with custom characters often choose masculine options, as many don't want any guys knowing for a number of reasons.

moving on to that GT timeline theory and inspired by beat's whole related to Goku thing, I added some of my love for giant monster movies so she's not a direct copy. So here's what happened pretty much: someone farther back wasn't fully cured at the end of the Baby saga, but he was already taken out by then and they were to weak so the dna just remained dormant in the bloodline.

coming around back to word mission Sol begins to register for the card game and start competing for the first time, Cooler is already her favorite character so she chooses the Frieza clan berserker avatar. as it's an easy option that easily hide's her feminine nature while playing, and Sol would rather not have people be rude or creepy about her being a girl. though her avatar has decorations on his horns, almost resembling earrings. (refrencing a type of jewelry a lot of people design for non human characters, in her case it's horn jewelry since her avatar doesn't have ears)

her avatar leans into Cooler further and resembles the level 3rd upgrade, additionally fully embracing the butterfly like shapes because that's what they remind me of, his back spikes are 4 instead of the 6 on the design furthering the accidental butterfly look. (the 3rd frieza clan berserker already looks a lot like Cooler's fourth form, it's just a little more with her because Froze leans into Frieza a bit more)

similar to Beat and everyone else she opens the first packet everyone gets, though in her case she obtains a Baby card that makes her feel really strange. Then when she's rounded up as an ally, her genetics don't reignite until she's pitted against Baby. From then on depending on how the player treats her, her role would change.

If the player is kind to her, she'll be a great ally that also gives boosts to her own team when used. Sol would also adopt other behaviors such as trading cards with beat and froze, mainly consisting of trading Frieza and Goku for cards related to Baby, Cooler, any card related to truffles or any card related to Cooler. (so that would mean Baby, Cooler, Dr. Lychee, Hatchiyack, the twins, any machine mutant or any of the armored squadron)

in game based thinking I imagine the player could trade a variety of cards for different ones, especially trading weaker ones or duplicate points to obtain a stronger card. Mainly I see her trade menu being a way to get some characters stronger, rather than just locking them away in the box.

in the event that the player is mean to her, Sol becomes a great enemy to the player. she starts becoming a time traveling nuisance, with no real care for the problems she causes. on the highest level of dislike, she ends up teaming up with certain canon characters. in other words she's someone you want to be nice to, because I imagine her having a really difficult boss battle if she was an actual game character.

both instances her tuffle and machine mutant genetics start affecting her avatar with time, making her resemble the frieza clan elite higher level designs more and more with time in the sense of robotic parts. slowly her design adopts more robotic parts, until eventually her design resembles an in between of an icejin and a machine mutant tuffle. her avatar keeps his black bodysuit, as it still fits in. (think kind of like Baby's roboform, with a bit of meta cooler influence)

her heroes team is: Her avatar, Super Baby 2, Cooler, Hatchiyack, Baby Vegeta, Salza and Baby (as in his adult form when he flees Vegeta's body)

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

moving on to her non heroes version I made for fics, because she does exist. note this version mainly happened because I wanted to write for her more often, but it's a bit more difficult if I keep her a heroes only character. this version also uses slight au context as well, mainly adding to prevent confusion.

this version technically isn't related to Baby, just like her heroes version isn't exactly either. it was just a mutation result from someone not being fully cured from his possession, and the egg just remaining dormant until the genetic remains awoke.

this version is a bit different the idea is that a surviving tuffle scientist out there, got a hold of an icejin child and just kind of experimented with her out of curiosity. it's less of a tuffle and android twins situation, and more of a Kiryu from godzilla against mechagodzilla situation. rebuilt rather than replaced pretty much, kind of saving her life in all honesty

she bares a resemblance to other characters as a result, a bit more masc presenting but still a girl. I chose her avatar over her more human design (which does exist), as I felt that her avatar design was a bit more interesting with the changes.

like her world mission counterpart the machinery is slowly taking over her body, but with her energetic personality she refuses to let it stop her. the moment Baby takes her in he can not get her off, this small child is surprisingly clingy and is glad to finally have a parental figure in her life. (Or two in some rare cases, no she is not locked behind Coolbabe specifically because she's adopted lol)

Constantly trying to train with the twins and Baby, if she's in a coolbabe fic she will do it with Cooler as well. It's sort of like present Trunks, only it's an absurdly hyper icejin kid that will hang on her parent(s) like a sloth. if you offer her a piggyback ride she'll be really happy, and you won't be able to get her off for the next few hours so be careful with that offer.

she sleeps in the weirdest positions like a cat, she can and will sleep in a tiny box do not challenge her on that. I am not joking when I say this child will sleep through anything, an earthquake could tear through and she will be snoozing the entire way through.

she runs circles around Frieza with her energetic nature, she can't do that with Hatchiyack because he'll just pick her up in a casual manner if she's being to hyper.

all in all Sol's au counterpart is a puppy natured goof that likes having affection and people who care for her for once, and wants nothing more than to enjoy that fact every single day.

[kumo-inyanga]

Side-side characters (3)

Ignihyde

How about I skip to the interesting characters, like Zephyr !!

Name: Zephyr Mortician

Age: 18

Species: Imp

Height: 177 cm

First year at Night Raven College

Unique Magic: None

Catchphrase: “Get your soul blazing hot! It’s great motivation, haha!”

Magic type: Fire

the sun casts a soft glow over the dying–he means, beautiful grass of the courtyard. it feels weird against his palms as he pushes himself up. he was at 52—53 now—pushups and he was getting a bit tired. and sweaty. and, when was the last time he put sunscreen on? he decided to reach sixty and take a break, flipping over to lie on his back and breathe.

after a moment, he sat up, grabbing his nearby water bottle and downing it, appreciating the coolness of it. the wind was getting colder too, which definitely helped. he pulled his tail into his lap, noticing the gross feeling of the sunscreen slipping off. the slight scaling of his tail felt more like the blubber of a whale than an imp. he took his sweat towel and wiped it away, noting how much came off. maybe he should chill out on how much sunscreen he applies…

with his tail now clean, he reaches up to his horns, the ivory-like material also feeling slippery. he wipes that off too, discarding the towel on the grass beside him. lifting the sunscreen bottle, he noticed that it was a little under halfway gone. he was going to text his mom for some, when he realized he left his phone in his dorm, wanting to spend his workout time without it. of course, now it’s come back to bite him.

he sighs as he falls back on the grass, looking up to the darkening skies. the clouds are nice. that one kinda looks like an arrow. he wonders where it’s pointing? he follows the tip, realizing it points to the school. the tower? no, not quite. the main building? his eyes trailed farther down, until he realizes that his mother’s classroom was right there. perfect!

he stands, tail swishing behind him and cutting the air.

“mom!! can you get me a new sunscreen??” he yells, cupping his hands around his mouth. he has a grin on his lips, clearly knowing this will annoy her.

it took a moment, but soon her window opened and she leaned out, hands on the sill. though he couldn’t see her expression, he could only assume it was exhausted.

“zeph! we have portals for a reason!!” she yelled out, making a show of placing her hand in the air and quickly drawing out a small portal, the red symbols appearing in front of him.

he watched her go back inside her room, coming back a minute later and tossing a bottle of sunscreen through, with him catching it. he stuck his water bottle through, and she took it with what seemed to be a huff and an eye roll. she went back into the building to fill it up, and so he decided to play a little prank on her.

he had a mischievous smile as he wrote his own portal, it summoning in front of hers at the window. he then placed the other in front of the portal next to him. finally, he cast a different spell that would make the portal inactive until the other one was used. complicated, but an imp classic.

when his mom came back, she held the bottle through the portal for him to take, only for it to be cut in front of her. she blinked and stared at it for a moment, before she realized what was happening. She dispelled her portal and shoved the bottle through his, then disappeared into the building again.

he laughed as he caught the bottle, dispelling his magic too. he thought that was the end of it when his mom called for him.

“zeph! you forgot your pen!” he looked back in confusion, “pe—“ any color drained from his face as he saw the pen in her hand, as she threw it with deadly aim, hitting him directly in the forehead.

“aaah!!” he yelped, rubbing his head as his mom laughed and closed the window.

the pain subsided quickly, and soon he started laughing too. like mother like son, he guessed.

[visiosatanae]

The Gauntlet

Chapter 1: The Proposal

Rating: Explicit (no content warnings for this chapter)

Sister Imperator is retiring. A select group of senior Sisters have been chosen to partake in a tradition called The Gauntlet - completing each of the seven deadly sins within seven days - in order to become the next Sister in charge of the Ministry. Good thing you always liked a challenge...

Ao3 Link

The Ministry halls were bustling with life as usual as Siblings milled around. Some were taking their time to chat and giggle amongst their friends. Others were briskly walking to their next class, fabric swishing around their legs as they wound their way through the mass of bodies.

But as I made my way towards the corridor of the higher Clergy, the activity nearly stopped.  Most weren't brave enough to step foot here. No one wanted to face the wrath of a Papa. Or worse, Sister Imperator. Ironically, she was the reason I was there. 

I had received a letter under my door in the usual fashion this morning. As soon as I saw the seal of the higher Clergy though, I knew it would be an anything but ordinary request. Sure enough, I had been summoned to Sister Imperator's office at 3 o'clock sharp. No other details had been given. Any communication from Sister Imperator was always accompanied by a feeling of trepidation, but even more so when the request was so vague. 

I was abruptly snapped out of my musings by a tight squeeze around my leg, followed by the ground coming up swiftly to meet my face. With barely any time to try and catch myself, I came crashing to the marble floor with a thud. I groaned, hearing snickering from behind. Looking over my shoulder I saw a group of ghouls in a small alcove laughing at my expense, the one in front retracting his tail as the obvious cause of my nosedive. His eyes were fiery and I couldn't help but notice his white horns - an uncommon trait in most ghouls. 

"Caught one," he grinned, fangs flashing menacingly as he took a step towards me. 

As I was scrambling back away from him, his head snapped up at the sound of a door opening farther down the corridor. "Ey! Ey! What did I say about doing this sort of thing?" We all looked to see a mass of black fabric hurrying in our direction, accompanied by the reddened face of Cardinal Copia. 

The ghoul that tripped me sneered, stealing a quick but terrifying glance at me before the group of ghouls disappeared into the shadows of the alcove once again.

"Testa di cazzo…" I heard the Cardinal grumble as he rushed to my side. "Are you alright, Sorella?" His tone changed immediately as he brought his attention to my condition, leaning to help me up by the arm. 

"Y-Yes, I'll be fine. Thank you, Cardinal." I grimaced at the ache in my arms and knees from where I had landed, but appreciated his help getting me to my feet again. 

"I am so so sorry about him, Sorella. We are still, uh… training," he admitted sheepishly. 

"He's one of yours?" The Cardinal seemed so mild mannered, no wonder he was having a hard time controlling that one. 

"Si, yes, that was Dewdrop." he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "He is uh, a bit of an asshole, I'm afraid." I had to stifle a giggle at his description, which did not go unnoticed by the Cardinal. "Ah! But I should accompany you to your destination so it doesn't happen again." He offered his elbow which I politely took, wrapping my arm around his. "So uh, where are we heading?" he asked after we had taken a few steps. 

"Sister Imperator's office," I replied, my lips quirking up in realization at where we now were. 

"Ah," he stopped abruptly. We both looked up to the plaque on the door we stood in front of. SISTER IMPERATOR was engraved in bold and intimidating letters upon the copper plating. The Cardinal blinked up at the words, seeming a bit dejected. "Well I guess this is where we go our separate ways, eh?" 

I nodded before he brought my hand up to his lips, giving a chaste kiss to the back of my hand. "Until we meet again, Sorella." I watched him leave down the hall, the dark fabric of his cassock fluttering behind him. 

…

"Thank you for joining me today," Sister Imperator announced from behind her desk, "I'm sure you're all curious as to why I've called you together so suddenly."

Along with me were four other Sisters from the congregation, all of whom had been here just as long as I had, if not longer. None of us seemed to have any clue as to why we had been summoned. Sister Imperator was accompanied by Papa Nihil, although it looked like he was already asleep in his chair. 

"Now, what I am about to disclose to you all is a bit of a sensitive subject. I am entrusting you with the utmost secrecy and discretion." Sister's hands were wrung together and she sighed. It was obvious this was a great weight being lifted from her shoulders. None of us had seen her like this, so uncertain. "I have decided to retire.” There were a few gasps and hushed murmurs, as well as the continued snoring from Papa Nihil. “I know this is probably the last thing you expected from me, and rest assured I won’t be leaving the Ministry in the slightest. But I,” she hesitated, sparing a glance towards Papa, “I would like to spend my retirement with my loved ones, and maybe freshen up how we do things around here with some younger blood.” She gave us a bittersweet smile. 

We all shared glances with each other, many questions still obviously on our minds. My own thoughts were racing with the implication of what this meant for us, the chosen few in this room. 

“You five are our finalists for consideration for being my replacement,” Sister continued, hushing us gently. “But there is a final trial of sorts that we require those of you interested in the position to complete, as is tradition.” She stood from her desk, the air about her becoming more commanding of attention as we were used to seeing from her. “As devised by our Dark Lord and Excellencies from days long ago, each of you must perform each of the seven deadly sins within seven days. Only then will our Dark Lord see you as worthy of the position.” 

Satan below, no wonder the position was so unobtainable. The Sisters murmured amongst themselves before Imperator spoke again. 

“Now there are rules to this trial, so please listen so that you won’t be disqualified. Successfully performing each sin will require that you either experience said sin, or evoke it strongly enough in others to complete the task. For example, the sin Sloth would allow you to either take the day for yourself, or you can convince your fellow Sibling to forgo their responsibilities and waste away however they please. Or you can aim to do both if you are feeling particularly ambitious. 

"As such, you are allowed the help of anyone outside of this room as you please. However,” she paused to ensure we were all paying attention, “you may not explain to them the reason for your request. You are to use your wiles and wit alone in persuading them for help, as these are characteristics needed of the upper Clergy. If it is discovered that you let slip the purpose of this trial, you will automatically be disqualified from having a chance at the position. You will also earn yourself a swift punishment of my choosing. Any questions?” 

The room went silent as her words hung in the air, the fear amongst us palpable. Sister Imperator’s punishments were infamous throughout the Abbey. It was rumored that even death was more favorable than being on her bad side. One hand rose, catching my eye. 

“Do any of the other Papas know about the trial, or that you’re retiring?” A Sister asked. Amy, I believe her name was. 

Sister Imperator shook her head. “Aside from our Papa here,” she gestured towards Nihil, still snoozing, “no, and I intend to keep it that way until a replacement is chosen. If you mean to ask if you may seek their help, then the answer is yes.” 

The Sisters murmured amongst themselves again, with excitement this time. Any chance to seek the company of a Papa was like catnip to most of the congregation, and this was no exception. Sister answered several more questions regarding the specifics of the challenge before wrapping the meeting up. 

"Alright, ladies. You have a week from tomorrow to complete all seven sins before we meet back here for the results. Good luck to you all, and remember we have eyes and ears everywhere to track your progress. Welcome to the Gauntlet." 

[wreywrites]

Tiger Shark

Part 6: The Reef

Chapter 32

Alvan is talking about cows. I don’t know anything about cows except that they taste good. I remember having some sort of cow to eat at my Victory Banquet—what did Finnick say it was?

Finnick.

I let out a choked sob.

Alvan’s hand, which has been absently rubbing my back like my dad used to when I was sick, squeezes my shoulder. Sturdy, present.

Stay with me.

I can’t.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

Alvan is still talking about cows. How long has it been?

He says something about how much he hates long horns.

“’N’ the meat ain’t even good. It’s too gamey, but maybe nobody but us in Ten knows any better. Y’know, Annie, I don’t even know if y’all eat beef in Four? Or’s it just fish? ’N’ octopus… es?”

He’ll taste like whatever I cook him in.

“I think—’n’ this’s a hill I’ll die on, metaphorically—that the best eatin’s a Hereford, but damn if they ain’t such nice cows it’s hard to butcher ’em, ’specially when we have to butcher our own if we want ’nythin’ other’n scraps.”

This is my lobster. I caught it. It’s mine.

���Had an old Hereford cow. Bought ’er with some’a my winnings, ’cause what else’ll I spend it all on? ’Course, I had to leave ’er home with my brother ’n’ his family, but I know they’ll take good care of ’er.” Alvan pauses. He talks about that cow the way I think I would talk about Jade and Coral if I was in his place and he in mine. He takes a slow breath. “Hope they’re alright. ’N’ I hope they know I’d trade the cow for them in a heartbeat.”

He falls silent.

I should say something. Let him know I’m awake and back. I don’t. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know anything anymore.

“Annie… I’m so sorry.”

“He was right there.” I drag my gaze from the far wall to Alvan. He’s blurry through the tears I don’t bother to blink away. “He was right there with us.”

Alvan hangs his head. “He went back for Johanna. They were too far away. The Capitol was ready. We almost didn’t make it out, Annie. ’N’- ’n’… he would’a wanted some’a us to get out rather’n all go back for him.”

“That’s Haymitch talking,” I snarl, though I know he’s right.

“Yeah, I know. Problem is it’s true. I don’t like it either.”

“What now?” I whisper. “We’re here, what do we do? We have to get him back. And Johanna, and…” I don’t know who else they have.

He sighs. “Finnick, Johanna, Cecelia, Cashmere… ’n’ Peeta. ’N’ who knows how many’a the other mentors besides Peeta are left.”

“Left?”

“They- Annie- You’ve been outta things for a couple’a days now, ’n’ yesterday mornin’ they lined up a dozen’a the other victors, ’n’… Annie…” A tear falls down his cheek. “Annie, they shot ’em. Right’n the street. Raela ’n’ Augustus ’n’-” He sniffles, dragging his sleeve across his nose.

“And who?” I don’t want to know the answer.

Alvan takes a shaky breath. “Beck.”

Beck.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

For days, they say Katniss is even more out of it than I am.

By they, I mean the only people who come visit me. Alvan, who rarely leaves my room. Plutarch Heavensbee, who drops by twice, that I remember, to apologize. Gloss, who seems almost as lost and clueless as me.

One day, when he sends Alvan out to eat and get some sleep in a real bed, Gloss tells me he wasn’t in on the plan. Not even in the end. But he and Cashmere were intrigued by our alliance and how stable it looked, and they didn’t trust Brutus and Enobaria as far as they could throw them. So they watched and waited and listened and pieced it together that we were breaking out. In the end, they knew more than I did. They wanted out, and when Haymitch and Alvan saw our staged fight, they were willing to bring them along. Gloss made it out with us. Cashmere was farther into the trees, fighting Nine. Cashmere, like Johanna, like Cecelia, like Finnick, was too far away.

So Gloss is here, an unwitting accomplice in the rebellion, and now more than willing to join up and fight. Mostly to get Cashmere out, but also because, he admits, he likes being alive.

It is Gloss who eventually gets me up and out of the hospital room and cleared for a normal room.

Normal. As if anything can be normal here in Thirteen, who knows how far underground, living in uncaring conditions with uncaring hosts.

With Alvan’s help, and I suspect a little interference higher up from Plutarch, he and Gloss get me moved into Room 405 with them, instead of a room with three other girls. Three strangers. The people in charge aren’t happy about two men and a woman living together, but they seem even less happy that three of us are taking up a room meant for four. But we are the victors they got out. Katniss is living with her mother and sister. Haymitch is locked in a room somewhere while he is forced to finally completely sober up. Apparently he was running on adrenaline in the arena, and now that we’re out and in zero-alcohol-allowed District Thirteen, he’s pretty much dying. Beetee practically lives down in Weapons Development.

That leaves me, Alvan, and Gloss. The three they didn’t want. The three that, if all had gone according to plan, would have been on the second hovercraft out of the arena. Well, actually, in a perfect world, Gloss would have been dead. Alvan, Cecelia, and I would have been the afterthoughts.

But due to unforeseen circumstances, they got us, because we were all they could get. And no one else can live with us. Alvan says they did try to stick two other men in with him and Gloss, and that lasted exactly one night. Neither of them sleep well. None of us do. I’m something of an anomaly among victors because once I finally fall asleep, I tend to sleep through the night. But some poor barnacles from Thirteen got thrown in with Alvan and Gloss and didn’t know what they were getting into. The next day they got assigned to a different room.

And I can’t exactly live with strangers, what with my nice plastic bracelet that says “mentally disoriented” in big letters.

Almost like my subconscious needed to prove I needed the label, the bracelet sent my mind off on a lark. For seven hours. Which is a record, unless I’ve forgotten another long one, but I haven’t slipped for more than an hour straight since Finnick and I started living together, exclusive of the incident during the Seventy-Third Hunger Games. And my first days here, but I was in and out, and fairly drugged up. The circumstances were extenuating.

I think it should get a pass, but Alvan says they’ve already threatened to dope me up if it happens again. They don’t care that the last person who gave me a bracelet is now a prisoner in the Capitol, probably being tortured for all he’s worth in an attempt to get information that he probably doesn’t even have.

So I promise to do better, and Alvan promises that Finnick is too pretty for the Capitol to torture him much. They’re going to need that face. I’m not sure how that’s supposed to make me feel better, but it does. Self-delusion. Quality stuff.

And it does make me realize something. It doesn’t matter which side has us. They’re going to need our faces.

It hits me at lunch one day, right on schedule, eating the same food as yesterday in the same gray clothes. We are victors. Thirteen needs us. We can make demands.

And after about five days of absolute misery during which I can barely keep track of anything and I suspect I have spent more time fading in and out than actually aware of what’s going on around me. Five days of Alvan screaming himself awake multiple times a night. Five days of Gloss’s endless pacing before bed, tossing and turning all night. Five days of their best efforts to talk me to sleep but they just don’t have what Finnick does. I would kill for my little radio with its little holochips.

After five days of this, I am ready to make my demands.

I march down to the command center, throw the doors open, suck in a breath.

“Finnick,” I say. That is all.

A smile flashes across Plutarch’s face.

President Coin frowns. “I’m afraid I don’t understand-”

“Finnick, Johanna, Cashmere, Cecelia. And Peeta.” He’s almost an afterthought. But I’m not friends with Katniss and Peeta. The Capitol didn’t give us that chance. It’s horrible, but it’s easy to forget him when I think about the others.

Coin is still frowning.

“You have to get them out. You need us. We need them. So you need them.”

Coin presses her lips into a thin line. “You don’t get to make demands.”

As if we’d planned it, the door opens behind me and Gloss strides in. He’s such a dominating presence, I wonder for half a second if I should have brought him with me in the first place and we could have presented a unified front instead of barging in separately.

“None of you get to make demands,” Coin continues, before Gloss can get a word in edgewise. Her voice is measured and cold. We are not people to her, we are tools.

And we are not the tools she wanted.

****

****

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Tag List:

@avoxrising @snow-dragon-rider @anakins-ride-or-die

[casspurrjoybell-22]

The Art of Sin - Chapter 6 - Part 2

•Lycus Tupou (Phooka)

•Blue Nekozuka (Neko)

*Warning Adult Content*

"Duh. Now come help me catch him," he said, pointing towards what seemed like a small, black cat.

On closer inspection, I saw that it had two tails as well as two sets of small horns jutting out just above his yellow eyes.

Small tendrils of smoke escaped from between its maw.

The creature looked at me, intelligence shinning in his haunting gaze.

It was some species of demon, a lower class than the powerful daemons that ruled the Hellion realms, though I sensed he could put up quite a fight.

"How'd it get up here?"

He gave me an exasperated look.

"I don't fucking know, just help me."

He turned, body tensing as if to pounce.

I noticed the demon was not on a portion of the room but standing on air, black flames billowing out from beneath his paws.

Blue jumped a second later.

"BLUE."

It was as if things were moving in slow motion.

Blue crashed into the demon, spinning them farther away from the safety of the roof.

They stood on thin air for a moment, Blue's eyes like disks as he realized what would happen and then they dropped and then I was moving, not giving it a second thought before releasing my true form and jumping off the roof.

Wings tucked, I shot to them like a bullet, wrapping my arms around the two squirming forms and spreading my wings.

I jerked in the air, my muscles screaming as I tried to slow our momentum.

We landed heavily.

I took most of the hit, my body surrounding Blue's while the demon was tucked between us.

A cry of pain escaped between my lips as I landed on my ankle, making my legs give out beneath me.

Careful of my claws, I laid Blue down.

I felt my horns retreating just before my tail and wings retracted, my blueish skin returned to its normal hue.

"Blue? Blue are you okay?" panic seeped into my voice.

I turned, about to yell for help, when a small voice stopped me.

"You're true form is beautiful." h

He was awake, his eyes, which usually held annoyance, was filled with something else entirely.

I opened my mouth, about to disagree, when the others ran out.

"ARE YOU TWO ALRIGHT?"

Noir, usually the most quiet, shouted, fear and panic in his eyes as he rushed to our side with the others close behind.

Blue sat up, feigning annoyance, though I could tell he was shaken.

I was relieved he was okay.

The demon seemed to be alive as well, sitting a few feet away, watching the scene unfold as if he didn't almost cause a death.

They fell quiet, staring at me with surprise.

I looked at Lord Nikoli, confusion written on my face.

Warmth had overridden the worry in his eyes.

I went to touch my face, to see if something was on it and then I understood what they were staring at.

My arm was crisscrossed with thin, silvery lines, barely noticeable unless up close, however two vertical lines, one on each wrist, stood out among the others.

I gasped, realizing that my glamour had broke when I released my form.

I scrambled to my feet, falling to the grown with a cry when I put pressure on my right ankle.

Noir tried to rush to my side but I scooted away the best I could.

Instantly, my skin began to shimmer, indicating that I was casting a glamour.

A firm hand on my should stopped me, sending warmth throughout my body but also fear.

"Please don't hide, love." Lord Nikoli whispered.

I shook my head, knowing what they saw.

Though incubi healed incredibly well, looking close, one could see where the damage was.

Silver lines ran up my arms as well as my back where I was whipped.

My ankles and wrists had patches of light silver where I had once tried to break out of my bonds.

I was pale, my black hair only making me seem even more so.

Though I'd been eating well these last couple weeks, I was still too thin, too lanky.

I was hideous, my damage out for all to see.

"Please don't look..." I whispered, barely audible to myself.

I felt warmth bloom as a hand touched me, my head jerking up to see Blue kneeling in front of me, his hand lightly on my shoulder.

"You're beautiful." 

Never had I been called beautiful.

It's been so long since I thought that about myself.

It made me want to believe.

I tried, I really did but I knew that it would take me a long time to believe that about myself if it was even possible.

Lord Nikoli took me inside, hugging me to his chest.

I felt warm, safe, in his arms, surrounded by this group.

They were the weirdest people I've ever met but they've cared for me in the short time I've been here more than anyone else has ever done.

I felt happy and it scared me to my core.

I was conflicted as I sat there, letting Noir wrap my ankle even though it would heal on its own in a few days without aid.

I felt naked without my glamour and found myself wondering what the future would hold if I allowed myself to succumb to them.

There was a chance that this was all a sick game but it could also turn out well.

Was I willing to take the risk?

Dinner was lively, better than it's been in days.

I kept my glamour off with the reassurance and pleading from the others.

They didn't look at my body with pity or disgust like I thought they would.

Lycus took me aside after dinner, rolling up one of his sleeves to reveal scars of his own.

His were more noticeable than mine.

He told me that he looked at them when he is unsure about life and remembers what he overcame.

He wasn't ashamed of his scars because they told a journey.

Even though there were a lot of sad parts, he was now acting to make sure the ones to come were happy.

I felt better by the time I said goodnight to Lycus and the others.

They each kissed me before I left, my cheeks and forehead still tingling where their lips touched.

I returned to my room.

Surprisingly, the slightly murderous demon cat had followed me, sticking by my side throughout the day.

If I didn't know better, I'd say he was grateful.

Had I not saved Blue, he would have likely died as well, though it would have been his own fault.

This time, as I studied my image in the bathroom, I didn't look at my body with revulsion.

I thought about how I got my scars, remembering exactly where each one came from.

Every crack of the whip, every time I tried to free myself, every time I used my tail to cut into my own flesh, I remembered it all.

I wasn't as comfortable with my scars as Lycus was but I understood what he meant.

They were a canvas of my life and though it hasn't been the best, it was still mine and I will decide where it goes from here.

[blam-marie]

A Metaphor's Guide to Rewriting Destiny

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Chapter 01

The Lighthouse - cont

It was a long walk down the promontory and through the woods that surrounded the prison, but despite the horns and yells, no one came after us. The wind was biting, winter chill freezing us to the bone, but neither of us cared much about that. Cold could slow us down, but never stop us. There was no snow on the ground, despite it being the early days of the year. In fact, it looked more likely to rain than to snow. Weather in Theos had never made sense to me. It wasn’t that much farther south than the Wallen isles, in the grand scheme of things, yet it still rained while Riverhill would be buried in white by now. No matter. The lack of snow was useful to us, as tracks would be much harder to follow on hard packed earth. The wind even did us the decency of shuffling leaves after us, making it seem as if we’d never been there at all.

Past the woods was a road. Compassion led me to a large boulder behind which we would be out of sight of that road and retrieved two carpet bags that had been hidden under piles of branches. He turned to hand them to me but hesitated.

“We thought to hide your face. We did not… know.”

I ripped the bags from him. Inside, I found the black clothes of a widow in full mourning.

I put them on.

Compassion watched me do so with cautious eyes, having seemingly weighted the danger of me against the danger of what might come down the road and found me more important to monitor. In this at last I found the comfort of familiarity, until I realized that he did not watch me for fear of what I might do. Instead, his gaze lingered on my ribs, my sunken cheeks, and my dull and dirty hair, all of which must have been clear to see in the rosy evening light. I snarled but he did not turn away. 

There were too many clothes in the bags, and not enough time. The fashion of this time and place was particularly annoying that way. I remembered when we all used to wear loose tunic and went to war in sandals. But we also lived much further south back then, and January hadn’t been invented yet. I didn’t bother with the underclothes. I tore at what I had been forced to wear for four years, shoved the pieces at Compassion — let him figure out what to do with them — and started pulling on the corset bare-skinned. I saw him wince at this, but Pride had beat it into my head a long time ago that shape made the clothing, and I needed that dress on and fast. I had been provided with two petticoats, both cotton, one quilted and one not. I growled. How ridiculous. Whoever had prepared the bag had obviously thought to be considerate of the weather, but the two seconds that it took me to separate both garments and shove one back in the bag was two seconds wasted. The quilted skirt went on, then finally the dress. I didn’t change my shoes, as my old boots were perfectly adequate and the hem of the dress would hide them anyhow. There was a bonnet, gloves, even a woollen shawl. All of these I ignored, pulling out the long mourning veil instead.

Once I was dressed and he had helped me arrange the veil, we both grabbed a bag and Compassion guided me down the road until we found a waiting carriage half hidden between the trees. A coachman and a footman were arguing quietly. Their clothes were elegant for people of their station, and the posh carriage marked them as belonging to a wealthy house. But that was nothing but an appearance, meant to fool people from afar. As we approached, I saw that the footman was in fact a young girl dressed in the manner of a boy. She had made a good effort but could not quite pull it off. Her stance, while angry and brash, was wrong; something about the way she held her weight. It was also obvious that long hair had been pulled up and hidden under her woollen cap. 

She was the first to notice us. She glared as we approached. 

“You’re late.”

“Only a little bit, though!” hurried to add her companion, trying to soften our impression of her. I disliked him immediately. 

He was tall and thin and nervous, which was not a good combination for a prison escape. In fact, given their clothes, both of them were far too conspicuous. I glared at Compassion. He ignored me.

He thanked the humans and tried to guide me into the carriage with a hand on my elbow. He was lucky that I let him keep that hand. But he had agreed to help me retrieve Astoria, I reminded myself. She would not be the same now, I knew. Many things had changed four years ago, and imprisonment always left a mark. But that was not her fault. It was my grief to bear.

I settled into a seat as docilely as I knew how to be — which was not very — and let the others do their parts. The humans guided us back to the small road then turned onto a larger one where our carriage merged with a file of several other just as elegant ones that were all going in the same direction. The urgency and costumes explained themselves now. There was a dinner happening somewhere, or a ball, the guests of which were rich enough that searching their carriages would be out of the question. Either they would complain or they would ask questions, neither of which the King of Theos could afford.

If the lords and ladies of the land knew that the Exemplar of Rage was loose, they would whip themselves in a frenzy imagining what sort of revenge I might be capable of visiting upon them. If the King had any sense at all, he would keep my escape a secret until I made it impossible for him to do so. I sank into my seat, grateful for the softness of the cushions. Revenge would be mine, but it would have to wait. I was safe now, but I needed a plan. I needed to situate myself. And most of all, I needed to figure out Compassion’s angle. 

“How did you find your little helpers?”

“They’re not here for me. I told them that I needed help rescuing the Exemplar of Rage. They thought…” he trailed off and sighed. “I told them not to involve you, but there is a revolution coming.”

“I’m not interested.”

Compassion nodded, as if he had expected me to say that. I bristled. What did he know of me? I wanted nothing more than to claw that understanding expression off his face. 

But. Astoria awaited me, and I needed him. I settled down.

“That is what I said, but they insisted that they should present their case to you themselves. I could not deny them that.”

I would just have to refuse them in person, then. I knew why this kept happening, why people always expected me to join revolutions or wars. I was Rage, wasn’t I? I was supposed to yell and fight along with the rest of them. But what most failed to understand was that I was an old rage. A rage who had lived for thousands of years. I no longer had anything in common with the hot flame of youth that blazed bright in the night and died quickly. I had turned into a deeper ache, the sort of scream that settled inside and slowly hollowed you out until you were nothing but a burnt out shell of yourself. I was the unbearable, forced to endure. Never mellowed and never appeased; tired of myself but without rest. Rage, they called me and expected me to howl. Rage, I called myself and wept.

Joining their revolution would not help them; it would only make them careless, and put expectations on my shoulders that I could not fulfill. I would only consider doing so if it helped Astoria in some way. 

“And what of you?” I asked. “Why are you here? You are not Wallen, you have no duty to me.”

“Surprisingly enough, I am actually Wallen now.”

“No, you’re not.”

He chuckled. “Is that so difficult to believe?”

“You are Compassion. There is none of you to be found in Walls.”

“I beg to differ, for I have found myself in Walls more than once.”

His little joke was not amusing. I made sure that he could see it on my face. His lips twitched. 

“Have you ever heard of a place called Sinen-Zi?”

“No.”

“It’s an island, with a very deep bay. A good place for a port. When Zheinzou lost the war to Walls seven years ago, they ceded that island.”

“…And?”

“And it just so happened that Sinen-Zi was my home.” 

He laid a hand flat on his chest. The uninjured one, I noticed. His right hand rested uneasily on his knee. He had pulled his sleeve over his fingers. Blood seeped slowly through the fabric, which at least was dark enough that neither the coachman nor the footwoman had yet noticed. 

“This host was born there,” he explained. “And I am quite attached to the place.”

I stared at him, not understanding his logic at all. 

“That doesn’t make you Wallen.”

“Why not?”

“Because no one would allow that! What does Sheinzhu think about it?” I saw him wince at the use of the Wallen version of his homeland’s name. It only made me angrier. “I doubt that they would have conceded the island if they had known you would try to go with it. No one trades or surrenders an Exemplar when they have one.”

“No,” he said very quietly, “but they traded my home.”

He was so serious, so solemn about it, that I should have let it go. But I was suddenly so angry for no clear reason, and I needed an outlet. His reasoning still did not make sense, and my reaction to things that did not make sense had always been to try and break the exterior so that I could see how it worked on the inside. 

“Places change hands all the time,” I insisted. “You’re an Exemplar, what even is the point of caring about that? We’ve both been alive since long before Walls or even Sheinzhu existed.”

Compassion went very quiet then, and spoke against his nature for the first time that I could remember in my experience of him. He said, with a gentle cruelty: “Perhaps you do not care, but the people in whose world you live do. I heard that your current host’s nationality is part of the reason Walls didn’t come for you.”

I clenched my fists and only by virtue of being an old rage and not a young one did I manage not to punch him so hard in the throat that he flew out of the carriage’s window and into the road. 

It was true. The Empire of Walls saw my dark skin and darker hair as an embarrassment. They would have preferred me in a different host and would be relieved the day that someone finally killed me and I Manifested into a body more appropriate.

I had not done it on purpose. It was common knowledge that Exemplars did not choose their hosts. We died and then woke up having replaced some poor human inside of their own body, and if we were unlucky we could still feel them trashing around inside of us for a while as our horrible divine essence burned them out of existence. But we could not choose and we could not aim, and blaming us for the circumstances of our incarnations was a fool’s errand.

This made killing us a gamble. Who knew where a dead Exemplar would show up next, and on whose side? Would they wake up back in the same land, or on the other side of the world, in a country no one even knew existed yet? This was why Theos had put me in the Lighthouse. At least there, they had known where I was. 

Only a few of us were attached enough to a country to return there time and time again. Most Exemplars chose to simply belong to wherever they Manifested for the length of that lifetime. I personally could not care less, but unfortunately Walls seemed attached to me — or at least, to the idea of having me. They were a land of conquerors, of devourers, and once they had it in their minds that you belonged to them, they never let you go. For several hundred years now, whenever I died and someone else became me, Wallen envoys came to find me and escorted me “home”. I was never given much of a choice about it. And once they had me back, they seemed to forget quickly that I had ever appeared elsewhere. The boast was that Rage was Wallen, and the myth was that I always Manifested there. 

(Of course, that was easier now, given how large the Empire had grown. It was a challenge to not Manifest somewhere their hand had touched.)

Anydrite knew why they wanted me that much. It wasn’t like I’d ever won anyone to my side with my shining personality, no matter which shape I happened to wear. I made people uncomfortable. Oh, certainly, in times of war I was much desired. But in times of peace, I was a disruption that could not be suffered. I had to be watched, just in case I went and did something inconvenient with all of that divine rage that I had been named for.

But that delusion of theirs was easier to maintain if I looked the part. When I had Manifested in Aditya almost a decade ago, no one had been very happy about it. On the one hand, it was a good sign when a colony had absorbed enough of “your” culture to manifest one of your “traditional” Exemplars. On the other hand, a colony manifesting Rage of all possible things was the sort of event that made a lot of people very nervous. 

It also made a lot of locals very foolhardy. The poor doomed things. Just because someone on the other side of the world had shot the Exemplar of Rage at the same time as a young woman’s parents had died and she had taken up a knife to strike back at the one responsible — therefore making herself a vessel for me at a time when I was without one — that did not make it a sign, or a message, and even less a blessing. It was a coincidence. If my divine arrival was a sign of anything, it was that Aditya was angry. Not that it was prepared or armed enough to retake its freedom. A revolution at that time, without supplies or even a plan, would have been a bloodbath. One that my sole presence would have been the cause of. Again.

In the end, it was only the interference of Pride (and their quick talking and ability to reframe the situation, insisting on how Wallen the Adityans had to be if I had been called to them) that prevented some unfortunate decisions from being made. That was why I always returned to Walls, in the end. There was no other choice. 

It wasn’t the first time that something like that had happened, but it was the first where my Manifestation was not immediately followed by another one, elsewhere. The last time that I had ended up in the wrong type of host, for example, I had awoken on a ship. Between one thing and another, the ship had sunk, and all aboard had perished. But they had perished free, for all the good that did them. 

Perhaps that was why Pride had been on the lookout for me, and their hunch that I would land in the current hot spot of Wallen’s cruelty had been correct. They knew that I hated Manifesting, that it broke me for months, and that doing it twice back to back was even worse. But for all of Pride’s clever words and influence and power, even they could not change the fact that I looked wrong. 

I was not a fool. I had wondered if the origin of my host had not been part of the reason for abandoning me to rot in Theos. I had raged at the possibility. Having it confirmed now felt… freeing.

I unclenched my fists and relaxed back into my seat. Compassion looked like he regretted his words, but there was none of his namesake in me, so I hit him back where it would hurt without qualms. 

“So your island was given away to the empire who poisoned your people. And you decided to join that empire?”

It was his turn to look away, but he was not a coward. He did not stay turned long. Instead, he chose to meet my stare dead on.

“Not join. Just visit, for now. Someone who poisons others must have something wrong with them, and I wanted to find out what.”

Of course they had something wrong with them. I kept manifesting there. 

“That’s called colonialism. Rots the mind.”

He shrugged. His calm was infuriating. I had no idea how he did it.

“How did you even know how to find me?”

He rummaged awkwardly into a pocket — still with his left hand, the clown. He should have used his non-dominant side to break through the barrier — and produced a letter. I saw that it was in Pride’s handwriting and snatched it out of his hand.

It said:

My dearest, I can no longer tolerate the humiliation of the way you are being treated. Do teach respect to your current neighbours for me, will you? PS. I still owe you for the latest decoration you brought to my dwellings, so I have decided to send you a companion whose presence I believe you will enjoy greatly. Love, Pride <3 

I groaned and crumbled the paper into a ball. That explained everything. Pride had sent Compassion specifically to annoy me, as a payback for terminating their last host. 

“I’m assuming the last part is sarcasm?”

“You read it?”

“It is incriminating evidence. There was a concern that I might have to destroy it before reaching you. I assumed you would still want to be informed of its content. So yes, I availed myself of it. I apologize if that was an overreach.”

I tossed the paper ball back at him. “Whatever. I don’t care.”

“You say that a lot.”

I didn’t bother answering that. I looked out of the window for a little while, watching the scenery pass by. We had reached the edges of a city. The carriage turned, separating from the line of rich bastards at last. As they carried on towards their nightly entertainment, we passed under an arch into a narrow street. Our wheels clattered over cobblestones. 

“Why did Theos even keep you prisoner in the first place?”

I frowned in surprise. “You don’t know?”

“No, and neither did Pride, whom I would expect to always be au fait of the political landscape.”

“Well, I assume it had something to do with the war.”

“What war?”

Now I turned to look at him fully. “The…? How should I know? Peace died, didn’t she? I at least know that much. Peace died, which always means a war, then I was found on Theos territory.”

I had actually been captured because Peace had died. I had had the misfortune of being in the vicinity of her new host as she Manifested. I had never been so close to a Manifestation — other than my own — but I could now attest that such a thing was very much not subtle. The bright divine light of Anydrite had pierced the sky and the shock-waves had rippled for miles. Soldiers had come running, certain that they were under attack. And when they had, they had found me. Rage. As well as the proof that somewhere out there in the world, someone had killed Peace and started a war. Put together, the two facts had done nothing to dispel the impression that they were being invaded. 

“Oh,” he said. “That. Yes, Peace did die.”

I waited for a beat, then prompted: “Do we know who did it?”

“Unfortunately no, we don’t,” he replied with obvious frustration. “Whoever it was, perhaps they wanted to wait until they’d returned home before making some grand announcement. But they ran out of time. As soon as the news hit the rumour mill, at least five separate groups claimed the murder and jumped on the opportunity to commit whatever violence they’d obviously been dreaming about.”

I groaned. “Of course. Walls?”

“Surprisingly no, for once. But Theos initiated two distinct conflicts near the border of Wallen colonies.”

He shot me an oblique look. “Perhaps they didn’t want you to interfere.”

“Perhaps.”

I had no idea. Unlike Pride, I didn’t keep up with politics as it only made me angry. Take the entire thing with Peace, for example. Killing the Exemplar of Peace was the traditional way to start a war to the point where entering a conflict without committing the symbolic murder essentially doomed you to failure, as your armies would refuse to follow your lead and your allies would desert you out of superstition. It was one of many beliefs around the Exemplars that I loathed. No one ever thought about how Peace felt about all of that, didn’t they? They only saw her as a thing, a tool for them to use. A symbol. 

I myself was tired of being a symbol. Being a symbol had resulted in the death of my husband and the loss of my child. Those soldiers, when they had found us, had not waited to hear our explanations, or even looked at us long enough to see that my love was very obviously not a warrior, but a poet. They had only seen Rage, and been afraid. So they had struck, convinced that they were defending themselves. 

It could not have been otherwise, I knew. I had loved because it was in my nature, because you could not truly rage unless you loved deeply. And then I had lost, because it was written in the stars that I should do so. It was a rotten fate, and it was inevitable.

[inkabelledesigns]

I know everyone else is putting their stuff in the tags so far, but I have too much to say for that so we're writing in paragraphs.

For me it's Monster High all the way. Why? Prepare for an essay under the cut!

For every G3 MH doll I've opened, the dolls have had minimal defects and were easier to unbox, at least on standard releases. I can't speak to Skulltimate Secrets as they have yet to show up in my area, which is unfortunately a very common problem with dolls here, they take months to show up and rarely clearance out. But besides that, MH focuses on having fun with the designs and giving each character a clear individual vibe. It's driven by characters, and even though I haven't gotten as much of a feel for the show as I'd like, I'm a sucker for stories and character concepts, which makes MH stronger for me. (Also side note, really appreciating Twyla. I have never had an autistic character that I've loved the writing on, and she is so special to me, ADORE her. Yes that swayed me into getting her doll, besides the fact that she's got a great design with colors I love, mad love for the door details too.)

Like it's been HARD to narrow down which dolls I want because they're all great! I'm primarily a customizer, but I'm here picking up dolls to customize AND collect with this line, which I did not expect to be doing. I thought Draculaura and Cleo were so pretty that I went and grabbed a second one because I couldn't customize my firsts, they got sentimental fast. But also, ever MH dolls feel different from each other. This Draculaura is so great. I miss some of her G1 fashion and the pigtails, but I love her in the now too (also I can style the hair any way I please, mine has pigtails). The different body additions are nice, like Abbey's new horns, the return of Twyla's glow-in-the-dark eyes, Frankie's awesome new leg, the wide variety of sculpts and shapes (I will not shut up about how much I love the ears this generation).

There are things I like about RH too. The hair is nice, I've had fun styling it, and some of the designs are very cute. My very first doll was Stella Monroe, and I love her, even though I wish her neck was articulated better (posing for photos is a big deal for me). Brianna Dulce? LOVE her too, just wish she came with more than pajamas. Carmen Majors, Emi Vanda, Shanelle Onyx, Delilah Fields, all really solid, beautiful designs. I tend to gravitate towards the dolls that stand out from the rest of their respective lines. I'm not really into the whole thing with modern fashion and brand parodies, but some of the clothes are interesting (Emi's skirt with suspenders is a piece I'd wear IRL). At the very least, I liked it when they still came with extra shoes, though the generic high heels were again, not my vibe (I have complaints about MH shoes too though, I want more that's out-of-the-box). Like, the clothes are very high quality and I will give them so much credit for that, but that doesn't mean much when most of the fashion choices aren't to my taste. X'''D And nor should they be, clearly I'm not the target audience.

I've had a lot of poor experiences with RH, a majority of my dolls have come with defects, and they're so hard to get back into the box to return/customer service kind of sucks. There should not be so much staining and paint smearing when I'm paying as much for them as they are. Maybe that's changed since I stopped collecting them (for the sake of the current audience I hope it has), but I just, don't really wanna go any farther. There's a lot to appreciate about Rainbow High, but even for the dolls that are at the same price points as MH, I'm just not into it. I'm a big supporter of "if you don't like something, you can change it with art", but there's so much that I'd want to change about RH as opposed to MH that it's not worth it for me.

That being said, I love all the girlies that I have, and I look forward to seeing what's in store for the future. Both lines are doing some really cool things that vibe with a lot of different people, and that's great! What a treasure! Happy collecting fellow doll fans!

Question for collectors! If Rainbow High/Shadow High and (g3) Monster High dolls were both being sold for the exact same price and you had to choose one or the other to buy, which would you choose and why?

I'm genuinely curious to hear people's thoughts and reasonings for this. I'd also like to add that because this is hypothetical try to be generous in your thoughts. Like I wouldn't compare core Clawdeen to Lola Wilde, but I would happily compare Skulltimate Secrets Draculaura with Minnie Choi.

[selvie-blue]

B.A.R.E. S.W.A.T.

This was a story I wrote a while back. One of my followers on NewTumbl requested that I write a story about a swat team that magically lose their clothes and they end up naked in public while people laugh at them. I was thinking of separating this into parts, but I feel it would break the flow as there's no real good place to leave a cliffhanger. The story is kind of on the long side, but this is because I spend a lot of detail on how they lose their clothing. Hope you enjoy.

The chrome spins in quick, fast circles. Fast enough that they nearly burn into the wind with glints of silver fire. White-hot heat cracks off the material from the sudden pivots. This causes the large, black van to shudder. Nearly throttling the necks of constantly intertwining reflections expanding and contracting throughout the vehicle's pristine shine. It leaves a lingering a scream of blasting horns in it's wake.

The entire team is trying to make it to the Piltred Museum, which is seeming farther and farther away with each passing second. There's a hostage situation taking place right now. Lead by Gilfred Lesters, who's been on the most-wanted list for months, now. He's always managed to escape, but not this time.

The van is currently being driven by Captain Russle. His hands holding tightly to the steering wheel. His knuckles being pressed open to the point where there's an intense white.

He has hair combed on the right side. It's soft, yet bristly, in the light. It's a softly brooding brown defined with wisps of white. Like tumble weeds as seen through a glossy lens filter. He's got this gruffness to his face. Small creases are painted into his forehead and near his eyes, molded to his skin, yet smoothed out within the years subtly defined in his appearance. A perfectly trimmed beard that's mostly a dark brown except for the bottom tipped in white.

In the back of the van are three more members of this elite SWAT team. There's Dan Tupperman. Been on the force for at least three years, now. Dan often has his light-brown hair crapped very short on the sides and the top extends not that much longer, but enough to balance it out. His heavy layer of stubble lines his face in this rustic edge. His cheek bones have a slight roundness, giving his crystal blue eyes this machismo. Even beneath his SWAT vest, one could see a thin beefy layer to his build, held up in a trailing of soft muscle built from a few months at the gym.

Then there's Kessler Andrews. Almost entirely bald except for the completely gray hairs razor cut very short around his head. He has softly lined brows giving a hint of plushness to his appearance. And a finely cropped beard that looks maintained but full at the same time. It's a dark, dark brown that looks to have been dipped in mahogany and the bottom is completely brushed through with a forest fire of gray.

Finally, there's Eric O'Mally. A very friendly appearance to his face. He looks like he often smiles. When he does, his cherub-like cheeks fill up like happy-toned plushed rocks, the flesh crinkling around his emerald green eyes. His brows are these half-dome shapes painted into place with this adorable kind of jolly.

There is one thing, though, that these four gentleman didn't count on. Johnny Fowcher off in the distance, tucked away in one of the windows of the high-rises surrounding them. Clamped tight to the window is this sniper-like tool. He holds the back end and the trigger of this device with hands still. But this isn't your normal kind of gun. The magnifier Johnny is looking through is programmed to not only see close enough and zoom in on the van, but see into it as well. And this gun does not shoot bullets. Rather, it does something else.

Johnny looks through this targeted glass with an eye that is not just concentrating, it's enraged. No one has listened. No one has given his half brother, Gilfred, a chance to tell his side of the story. If anyone on this damned team would just fucking listen, they'd know that that whole situation happening at the museum is not really a hostage situation. It's a man being pushed to the edge. A man made desperate and the only way he feels he could get anyone to see what's going on is by going to the museum, itself. But Johnny knows the deal. It's been laid plain as day that the real villain in this scenario is not only the owner of that museum, but this so-called charitable figure. Yeah, well, Gads Yellowferd is no hero. He's the one that's been putting a lot of these other places out of business, taking away the identity of this city. He's put surveillance out in the streets not to protect people, but rather see who's spending money on what. All the while, devising ways to build new extensions of his franchise closer and killing whatever's convenient around city, forcing the residents to have no choice but to spend and give money to this corrupt business man who would sell his mother for a profit. Oh, and there was that whole framing-Gilfred-for-murder thing. But today, today there's someone on Gilfred's side. Someone that wants the cops on the other side of town to get to the museum first. Well, either first or be there without embarrassing themselves. As there's someone on that force who knows, who will clear Gilfred of his name. But if this SWAT team has their way, then it's game over.

But, not to worry. Johnny's about to ensure that no one is going to put much faith in them. Without murder. Without violence. After this little tool is done with them, well, let's just say they'll all be made fools of. You see, this tool was made special in a lab after months of testing and experimenting, it was ready.

And Johnny was also smart enough to get a little team together. There's about five other guys around this area, all armed with the same type of gun. All hidden away in tucked-away corners of the city. Windows and even roofs that have disappeared in the background over time. These buildings might as well be part of the vast, endless sky swallowing the earth in that wide open blue void.

The black SWAT van is making good headway. It's tires hyped up on a neurotic rush. The yellow light ahead of them coming dangerously close to red.

Johnny wants to make the first shot. He holds the tool steady, his hands remaining surprisingly calm in his impatience. He's finding his focus. First target is that God-damned Dan Tupperman. He was the one that practically sealed Gilfred's fate. Dan was often quoted in the papers that he saw Gilfred drive off in that stolen car. That car stolen from a single mother with arm fulls of groceries in her hand. Of course, it made even easier to hate Gilfred after that. Except if that mother-fucking Tupperman paid any attention, he would've seen it wasn't Glilfred. But Dan's about to see what it's like to be vulnerable and exposed.

Captain Russle is pressing his foot harder against the peddle, trying to make that light, it could turn red at any second.

With the van moving so fast, Johnny finds it a little trying to get a lock on his target. The lens is somewhat erratic, going from Eric to Kessler while frustratingly just missing Dan.

The light turns red, but the captain still shoves the wheel all the way to the right, causing the van the swing in a half-way circle. The tires release a loud screech as the automobile's body is suddenly jolted to the side. And with that one abrupt and break-neck movement, Johnny has his target in sight.

He gleefully pulls the trigger.

The only thing that's released is this quick rippling effect crinkling the air. Like a mirage that's as fast and neurotic as the SWAT van itself.

The speeding mirage shoots forward and seeps through the van.

A loud thud slams into the van as Dan's body is slammed against it. His arms swing up as a result and this shudder breaks his nerves nearly open. His eyes go wide, expanding those crystal-blue lakes into oceans. He tries to catch his breath while Eric and Kessler are suddenly shocked. They have no idea what just happened.

When Dan goes to move his hands back down to his sides, he can't. He looks to them and sees that the interior of the van has formed these holes just big enough to fit around his hands, holding them in place. He's seeing the same thing with his feet. Confused and still catching his breath, he tries to contemplate how he can get out of this.

As he does though, he's noticing something wrong with his vest. It's misshapen, somehow. On the left side, he sees the material and it's drooping. Not only is it drooping, but moving, slowly. There's this slickness to it, almost a melting effect. A shine is quickly forming as it becomes this substance that's losing it's structure to a thick liquid. Like the way you see caramel being poured in a candy-bar commercial. As it slides further into this structure, Dan's noticing it's moving faster. But it's not just his vest. The fabric covering his shoulder has now turned into this substance. It's pulling itself down along with the vest in this unusual mudslide.

Eric and and Kessler look in amazement as their brows arch. They look to each other in a brief second, seeming to ask each other, Do you know what's going on, here?

Dan's heart is beginning to accelerate as the substance on his shoulder is thinning out into a flesh tone. It's his flesh, his skin that is bringing it closer to that color. And then, a rather large circle pops open as if it were an air bubble. There's no flecks or spots or even wetness left behind. Just his skin as the substance continues to flow away from his body. This circle soon stretches more oblong as it reaches to either side, exposing his neck and his arm. The long, sturdy black sleeve quickly of his shirt droops and melts into thick ripples of the same substance.

At this point, Dan is trying to break free from the pieces of the van that have quickly imprisoned him. But doing this is causing the substance that was once his vest and shirt to move with him, falling away from him faster. The entirety of his arm has now been released from this slickness, leaving no trace behind. Dan's breath is made clumsy and disjointed as he tries to continue to break free from this.

Sprouts of hair are sprung upward as his shirt and vest continue to flow off of him. The right side of his chest is steadily but quickly being exposed. The hairs go from a light patch to a forest. Just as the top of his nipple is showing, he feels air, exposed air on the right side of his stomach. He looks down and sees that the entire right side of his shirt and vest has converted to this substance as well and as it pours downward, a portion of it popped open, exposing just that side of his stomach. There's a slight roundness to it, but a definition of tone can clearly be seen underneath the dark hairs covering it.

That's when he realizes, this stuff, whatever it is, is not only flowing faster, but it's grown thinner. Both his right shoulder and arm now have nothing covering them. He's trying like hell to free his hands, some grunts escaping from his voice. He's also now impatiently moving his legs. And now his pants. Oh, Jesus, his pants. They're getting shinier, too. And moving. Not moving as if they're alive, but moving like they're siding off in different directions. They're going in these circular directions opposite each other as the creases that were once their have completely lost their shape. They've collapsed into thinning liquid, as if they were drowning and pulled into some kind of undertow. First his knees escape from beneath his pants, and then it moves upward

Both his nipples can now be seen. They ever so slightly flap in different directions as there is a tightness and firmness to his upper body, but it's also somewhat plumped up in the meat of both soft bulkiness and hard muscle. There's a darker, thicker tracing of chest hair that outlines a shadow underneath his pectorals and in between them, as well. A defining line is going from the center of his chest all the way down to his stomach. And as this escaping cloth turned into goop is sliding its way faster down his body, more of that thick line of hair is seen. His belly button is now peaking through. The entirety of his upper body is now completely unclothed.

Erik and Kessler aren't sure what to do. They have guns in hand, but how are guns going to stop melting clothes?

Dan is struggling harder, more desperately. A panic is claiming territory over his face as his sees this stuff his clothes have turned into are about two layers of thinness from becoming water. He's trying close his body inward, but can't. He can feel his bare back against the cold of the van. There's a dissipating wetness underneath his legs as this slickness flows away from them. It's sliding further down, reaching between his legs. The hair underneath is belly button is unfurling, escaping as it gets fuller, gaining more depth. It takes no time for the hair to go from what's on his his stomach into the bushier region of his pubic hair.

He's saying no, wincing as he tries to close his legs. But it's no use. The pubic hairs breathing upward, expanding into the soft and fleshy base of his penis. Quickly, his penis is being unveiled. It trembles underneath it's soft and veined wrinkles. And then reaches an indented rim. The circle of flesh surrounding the head, the red and bulbous shape flicks slightly as it yawns into the slit on the very tip of his dick. And then, it's out, completely. And now the testicles are escaping the grasp of this substance now practically turned into water. There's a slightly thick layer of hair tracing the circular skin of his nuts.

His clothes are almost gone, now. What remains is this dark-tinted water pouring away from the defined muscle of his calves. And both of his legs have a layer of hair. Not as thick as his chest and stomach, but a softly thick layer that surrounds them.

The cloth turned water seeps right through the floor of the van. Leaving him now completely naked, his feet and hands still clasped into the van, forcing him to expose every part of his body.

Kessler and Eric are looking at the parts of the van holding Dan's feet and hands in place. They can't shoot at them, because if they do, well, there goes Dan's feet and hands. It is only at this point that that Kessler decides to get Captain Russle's attention and say something's going on back here.

Just as Kessler is about to bang the back of his gun against the wall that Captain Russle is sitting in front of, the captain has to swerve another turn.

Up above one of the sky scrapers are two snipers. Armed with these same tools that Johnny had. They know the deal. They've known both Johnny and Gilfred for years. Through the targeted lens they can not only make out the three remaining clothed men in the back of the SWAT van out clearly, but they can actually see what Kessler's about to do.

Oh, no you don't, one of the snipers think. They look to each other and in that one look, they know what they've just agreed upon. With that same study precision one pulls his trigger first, followed by the other.

That rippling effect speeds through the air, again. Tunneling through the atmosphere as if digging some kind of invisible earth grounded in mid-air. One after the other, the speeding mirages slam through the van.

First it's Kessler. Then it's Eric. They both feel a quickness pull them back, making them slam against the side of the van.

These thuds are loud enough, but the Captain isn't concentrating on that, right now. All he's thinking about is getting to that museum in time.

Just like Dan, their feet and hands are now held in place by the van itself. Except with Kessler and Eric, when they try to let out a yell from being shocked, they can't. They've done everything that should be done to push their voices through, but instead of feeling the vibrations of it moving upward, they feel nothing but empty air. It's like someone pressed the mute button on them.

While Kessler is trying to break free just like Dan was, the straps securing his vest begin to loosen. He can feel them being pressed up and down against his shoulders as a gap is forming between the straps, themselves, and the specific SWAT uniform shirt he has on.

Kessler thinks that he can't be like Dan. He has to be different. Be smart. Instead of trying to break free, he just stops moving. Trying to even breathe very carefully and very quietly. He's minimizing the movements of his stomach as he inhales and exhales. But this doesn't seem to help. As the vest is leaning forward, pulling away from his shirt. The straps are still getting lose, but also feel as if they're getting weaker. Like the very material that they're made up of is getting tired and low on energy. Kessler holds in his stomach, trying to pull the vest towards him, but it's still dropping forward. Until the straps let go and the vest just falls away from him. However, instead of falling on the floor of the van, it falls through it while vanishing out of existence as it does so.

Despite his vest falling right off of him, Kessler still tries to stay as still as possible, almost becoming a mannequin. He's trying to find a calmness in this situation. He closes his eyes and attempts to find the concentration and the contentment to meditate.

As he's doing so, though, his shirt begins to feel.... weird. It feels a little loose, now, too. He doesn't want to, but he opens his eyes and looks down. It still looks to be in the same place, but it certainly doesn't feel that way. It feels like how he feels after doing a series of exercises and he's nearly out of breath about about to fall over. It's not being pulled, it's just as if it's been worn for years and in dire need of being tossed. Even though he only got this shirt last month. Still, he's maintaining placidity. If he doesn't move, if he just takes this situation in stride, he'll be fine.

The buttoned-up sleeves around his wrists feel like they're getting wider. Not as if the fabric is expanding, more that it can't keep holding on. He can still feel the slight sharpness of the pointed cloth buttoned together against his wrists, but barely.

Despite him trying to be calm, despite him trying to bring in as much positive energy as he can, his heart has still hit the panic button. It's not racing at the moment, but it's gotten a light jaunt in. His rib cage being collected into this treadmill that's just been elevated to 6.

And it doesn't matter how many sunsets or ocean fronts or white-sand beaches he tries to picture, it's not stopping the nervousness and that the fright he has from that sharp, buttoned material gradually being moved farther away from his wrists. But he refuses to look down again. He refuses to move his head from the direction it's in. He's trying to convince himself that nothing or no one can steal the calmness he's rested on the basis of his personality. He's gone through his life creating an image not only for others but ingrained into himself. One of quiet confidence and masculinity made pliable at the edges from his easy-going nature. There's a reason why people often confide in him first. Because he's the one that maintains a cool head. Even in a situation like this.

He hasn't noticed that the buttons on his sleeves have now flapped open. String sewn into the backs of the buttons had grown weary, exhaling a fragility as they go brittle. Until they collapse away from the stitch marks they once found home in. The buttons, though, don't dissipate. They fall directly on the ground of the van. Kessler can hear a light tapping sound skipping through the van floor. But he tries not to focus. He continues trying not to focus as his sleeves are becoming haggard, beginning to swing more freely from his arms. The sleeves have expanded a bit further, until they've taken on the shape of narrow cave openings easily bent in the motions of the van.

Then, Kessler feels what is unmistakably air against the bottoms of his arms. The sleeves of his shirt are getting loose enough to the point that the fabric itself is just falling apart. Tatters of the shirt are pulled away from each other as they open all the way to his arm pits. And the fabric isn't ripping apart nor is it making any ripping sounds or even feels that way. Rather, it just comes lose. Almost like wet wall paper that's spent an hour or two in a sweat lodge.

Still, he tries to maintain calm. And continues on that calmness trek as the right corner of his shirt just falls away from his body. Exposing his shoulder and right pectoral. A thin layer of hair caresses the the broad shape of his shoulder. It is made burly as his skin rises up and dips over the meaty shape of his chest. The pectoral is tight and held in the clasp of hard muscle. The hair that's on his shoulder grows more evenly and becomes slightly more populated as it lays over his chest. Unlike Dan, his nipples aren't completely covered in hair, only showing a shadow of red. Rather his nipple can clearly be seen along with the studded piercing on both sides of it. It's a landmark placed in a finely manicured lawn of body hair.

A piece of his collar is barely hanging onto his neck. It tries to cling, but it's exhausted from being held up and just quietly falls. Taking with with it not only the other side of the collar, but the entire other side of Kessler's shirt. Now both shoulders, his full chest and the top portion of his stomach is seen as the fabric hangs from it. There's some skin wound up into tight folds on the sides of his pectorals from the ability of aging into his defined muscle. The other nipple is not pierced. Both sides of his chest are held firmly in place. Like hardened pieces of steak. There's a clear line of chest hair tracing around the shape of his pecs. And there's a small little gap between the hair in the middle of his pectoral muscles and the line going down his stomach. But that gap still has hair, making the line on his stomach like a tree branching off into his upper body. The entire front of his of stomach is perfectly amassed in a light shade of chest hair. Just enough to edge the shape of Kessler's upper body into a burly kind of look. That light tracing of hair is going from his shoulders all the way down his arms.

The bottom sides of his shirt are now hanging onto each other. But it doesn't take much for the rest of it to go. Almost effortlessly, the shirt just falls without even trying, quickly peeling away from his chest. The front of the shirt does dissipate as it makes its way towards the floor of the van.

The line of hair continues down Kessler's stomach, maintaining even on it's length and thickness. The rest of his stomach appears similar to the upper half. A shading of hair balanced in the center with a darker more condensed line of hair. His stomach is as tight as his chest. Not entirely flat, but firm.

The belt on Kessler's pants instantly starts getting loose. Like it's gotten caught in a time lapse that's rapidly aging forward. The dark brown quickly forms light cracks as the shine of the buckle gets dull. The pin holding the buckle in place simply falls away from the hole it was placed in. The edge of the buckle is going from a golden yellow to a dark brown. Getting murky and corroded. Rust flakes around the brim. Until the pin moves up through it as if fainting upward. The edge of the buckle just crumbles into dust. The button on his pants can't seem to find the strength to stay in place. As it turns sideways in the slit, the waist of his pants begins to slowly pull away. Similar to him being undressed and someone unzipping his fly. Except his zipper is still in tact at the moment. It's just the waist-band is growing weak. The loops expand into half circles until the bottoms of them become pieces of what they once were and the belt falls through them. The slit on his pants is getting wider, too. The fabric on the right side of the slit is forming scar tissue as it keeps growing thinner until it's tatters. The waistband nearly falls to the side, completely opening up the top of his pants. The teeth in the zipper are becoming rusted and brittle much like what happened to the buckle of his belt. That part of his pants opens up as if a flower blooming while the zipper crumbles into gold-tinted rock dust. Exposing further his dark-gray boxer briefs he has underneath, still tightly clasped around him.

Both legs of his pants are now wearing thin. The actual cloth is becoming breathless and it doesn't have enough strength to stay on him. They are slowly dropping away from the tops of his legs. Until a space forms on the top of either leg, showing the skin underneath. Then, the pants open up and fall away from his legs entirely, vanishing like the other things as they fall to the floor.

Kessler, now in his underwear, still has his eyes closed and slowly breathes in and out, trying to find his calm center. He even continues to try as he begins to feel the band around his jockey shorts is beginning to loosen. The elasticity is gradually letting go. Quickly withering into thin strings as the fabric is pulling away from each other like floss. Exposing more of his waist and the the curves of his inner thighs. The very top of his pubic hair is pointing up. Showing that it's been purposely manicured, but just enough to where it has this definite line going across his skin. The gray fabric of the underwear is quickly withering away. This time, there's nothing gradual about it. It just rapidly ages into its decimation while the gray becomes flaps of fabric barely holding on. All the while, his pubic hair is seen. Dark and lush, making way into the skin of his dick. The uncircumcised tip is seen through the holes of his withering underwear. His penis trembles into it's folds with the movement of the van. The flaps of fabric turn to complete nothingness as the last of his underwear falls away, completely exposing his long, thick penis and the fleshy part of his uncut skin. His testicles have a slight shine as they're mostly hairless with the exception of a few hairs sprung up around them. Now, both Kessler and Dan are naked.

Eric is completely shaken. He can do the math. Only one to go. He thinks for a second that maybe it'll skip him. But his chest thrusts forward as his vest quickly hardens into a hallow plastic and then explodes into a thousand puzzle pieces flying all throughout the van. They dissipate, too, while they fall to the floor. There's no way that the captain didn't hear that. But still, the van keeps moving.

Eric swallows a gulp of air as he feels both his shirt and pants hardening now, as well. The folds and wrinkles of the fabric are quickly freezing in place as they go from form-fitting cloth into pieces of cardboard. As if he were a paper doll with clothes clipped onto him.

Unlike Kessler, Eric needs to look down. He has to see what's happening. For a few seconds, his shirt and pants remain as they are. Just these parts of hard, hallow cardboard feeling a little rough against his skin. But then, indentations form, slitting outlines that can be felt against his skin. They're... more puzzle pieces. His shirt, pants, even his belt are now just pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that was put together.

With a slight swerve of the van, though, a small row of puzzles pieces fall away from the right side of his shirt, exposing a thin line of his chest. Hair, not as thick as Dan's or even Kessler's can be seen. It's a light layer finely grown over his skin. Like Kessler, he tries not to move, too. Not to remain calm, but to stop from any more pieces of his clothing to fall away.

But to no avail. The van is just going too fast. That row of is getting wider as more pieces fall away and collapse. With each piece, more and more of his chest is seen. A few pieces of his pants now fall away as well. A small bump in the road, which makes several pieces to fall off from Eric. Pieces from the left side of his chest, from his shoulders, his arms, his legs. Where there was once pieces of Eric's clothing now is just his skin. His shirt and pants have taken on this jagged design. Nearly every other piece missing. The hair on Eric's chest is very fine. His nipples are firm. His pecs are slight, but enough to give definition to his chest. His chest, alone, has some bulk. As some would say, there is some meat on his bones. The hair appears like a fragile, smudged tattoo pulling down the center of his chest and clasping the bottoms of the skin of Eric's nipples.

Eric tries to remain still. He doesn't even move his eyes. He does whatever he can to keep the puzzle pieces he has on. But he has to breath. And just doing that is causing other pieces to peel away from his stomach. He can feel his skin try to keep what it has on. But the hairs painlessly stretched as the pieces fall. As if he were getting up from laying down on them. Soon, though, both Kessler and Dan are going to see. Eric isn't wearing any underwear. Why today of all days did he decide to put off doing his laundry?

The two green-colored star tattoos below his waist are starting to show as more pieces begin to fall away.

Eric presses his back and the backs of his arms up against the van. Trying to hold himself in place as tightly as he can. The captain swerves the van to the left. This causes many more puzzle pieces to fly off of Eric. Within an instant the soft muscle of his arms are seen. Along with the skin of his inner thighs and legs. Parts of his pubic region have cropped up. The top edge of his penis is showing through.

Eric's happy-go-lucky face that's usually reserved for laughing at the back of a bar is dropping into a face of tension. His rounded cheeks flatten into a trembling mass.

Puzzle pieces then go flying off by themselves. With each one, Eric gasps. It would be audible if he still had use of his voice. Like the exploding pieces popping off a board game, they jump up from his skin. With each one, more and more of his body is showing through. His upper body has some muscle, but is mainly defined in the plush of his skin, which is still firm with both the efforts of him working out and the genes he has which has caused the shape of his body to maintain a tightness in the softly pliable muscles attached to his tendons. Within seconds, he's nearly naked. His pubic hair isn't thick, rather, it's a brush of hair that wisps above his penis. It's thicker than the hair on his chest, but only by about half a centimeter. Only one piece left and it's covering his prick. Eric's green eyes tremble downward. He wants to shake his head back and forth, but doesn't for fear it may cause what's keeping his dignity to fall away.

But that was no use, because that piece flies away, too, causing his penis to flap and tremble. It's not large. Rather it's a flap of skin. A small twig that's made rounded at the end with it's head. The slit at the very tip is shaking as the whole of his dick quivers with the moving of the van. It rests on two testicles condensed into nearly perfect circles of flesh. His legs are thick with strong calves.

All three men are now naked in the back of the van.

At the front of the van, Captain Russle has his hands held so tight against the wheel, they're almost attached to it. Who knows how much time he has before anyone gets hurt.

As the van is making its way through a back alley with the museum just up the way and to the right, the captain jolts his head to the left. Someone is standing against the red-bricked wall of the back alley. Whoever they are, they're wearing some kind of completely black material around their head, hiding them. They must be able to see through it, because they have what unmistakably looks like a gun pointed straight to the drivers seat. Before Captain Russle can do anything, the masked man pulls the trigger. But no bullet escapes from the chamber. Rather it's this blinding flash. For a second, the captain can't see anything but white. He hears something though. Something that sounds like suds dissipating. The flash quickly subsides and he can see, but there's still some flashes going off from behind his eyes. He sees something else moving upward, though. They look like digitized pixels. He follows the direction they're coming from and then he sees. His vest, his clothes. They're twisting and bending upward into these strands of what looks like digitized steam. As they move up, they split apart into small squares and just quickly fade away. His body is quickly being exposed. Within just a few seconds, everything rises up off of him like his skin was dark pavement on a particularly hot day. His chest hair expands over his chest in even circles. It condenses into one line as it moves down his stomach. The rest of his stomach is smooth aside from that one line of hair. As it reaches down further, it curls into a brush fire of pubic hair. His medium-sized prick rests like a hairless animal laying straight on a forest floor. The circumcised skin around the head are these creamy white flaps of skin. The head itself, is a shade between red and pink with a small white dot on the upper left. The nuts lay underneath the skin of his dick in these rounded puddles of flesh.

The captain looks up, terrified. What the hell is he gonna do? Go in there completely naked?

Without thinking, just as he pulls out of the back alley, he swerves to the right, headed straight towards the museum.

Just as he does that, though, another flash of blinding white. This one lingers. Sinking everything into this pure, endless void. The captain has to close his eyes.

Right after his closes his eyes, the drivers seat he was in falls away. As that happens, this abruptly pushes him. As if something giant hit the earth, causing this major blow back to rise up off the ground in a tidal wave of wind.

His entire body slams against something. The wind is nearly knocked out of him. He has to cough a few times. The air slowly fills back up in his lungs that felt as if they were two balloons that deflated within seconds.

When he opens his eyes, it's all blurry at first. He blinks while trying to use his hand to rub against his eyes, but finds that he can't. All he sees are shapes and shadows. He hears voices echoing in the distance. But then those shapes and shadows start to develop more defined edges. First, the sky. It fills up in this pastel blue as the clouds gain shape. These shadows then start developing color and mass and they're moving. Very soft outlines of faces are starting to come through. He can see there's some upturns in the corners. Like they're smiling.

Then, he sees, they're people. A crowd of people. Many looking in his direction. The looks surprised and shocked. There's laughter. But the laughter is exalted from this collective gasp of astonishment. But he doesn't know why. Until he feels... nothing. Nothing on his chest, nothing on his legs, nothing on his body, at all. He juts his head down and sees the clothing he had on is now gone. Even his underwear is gone. His hands are up against what feels like glass and they can't move off of it. It's as if they're glued in place. Except they don't feel glued, it just feels like he can't move them.

What's worse is his legs. The way they're held in place. They're spread open, completely exposing the slight swing in the movement of his dick. He looks to his left and sees his team of guys. Dan, Kessler and Eric. All in the same position he's in. Held up against this glass window and the structure of this same building. They're arms and legs wide open in place just like him. All naked. All exposed.

The morning news is out, right now, as well, who were here to capture the hostage situation, but are now getting a live eye full of the captain and his men, stripped down to nothing. At least they have their voices back.

Far off in the background is Johnny and his team, looking onward. He's pretty sure none of that damn SWAT team can see them. They're far too concerned with them being on the evening news, now. Johnny smirks as he thinks to himself, Let's see them try to explain this.