#who is he in that jacket without his sleeve stripes even

[shimmeringweedsart]

silly little watercolor time lapse for the fun of it <3

[batsovergotham]

Chapter 3 Part 2: A Whisper of Freedom

"The sins within are a mirror. The stories you read... are the paths not taken-- Your personal road to ruin. Each will be different. But whatever the story, for you... the nightmare will become real."

Main!Mark Grayson x Psychic! Reader

warnings: murder, violence, smut, depression, mark being a jerk kinda, cheating, eve being a girlboss, angstrom is his own warning, william is cheesy

w/c: 9.1k

a/n: yall. mentally brace yourself before this. seriously </3. even though this was written months ago, it still hits me like a truck everytime I read this chapter. with that, enjoy!

The next morning meets you gently. No alerts. No yelling commands through an earpiece. Just the gradual crawl of light through the window and the distant buzz of a world that, for once, isn’t demanding your instant attention.

Your phone buzzes against the nightstand. A single message.

Mark: You up? Got someone I want you to meet. No missions today.

You walk there with your jacket half-zipped, hair still damp from a fast washing, and that guarded expression you haven’t yet worked out how to discard. Mark is waiting by his wreck of a vehicle, hoodie sleeves pulled to his elbows, coffee in each hand like peace gifts.

“Thought this might sweeten the deal,” he says, giving you one.

You take it. “You bribing me now?”

He grins. “Trying to get on your good side.”

You sip. “You don’t even know where that is.”

He shrugs. “I’ll map it eventually.”

He doesn’t tell you where you’re going. Just drives. The windows are split enough to allow the breeze in, the radio buzzing low with a voice you don’t know singing something about silver linings. The city steadily alters around you with the bright concrete giving way to older areas, then rusting signs, warehouses, and ivy-covered corners.

Finally, he drives into a parking lot storefront. The lone identifier is a dented metal sign on the side that reads

TAILOR SHOPPE

You eye it skeptically. “Are you taking me to a tailor or a black-market arms dealer?”

Mark laughs. “Both, technically. He’s simply choosy about his clientele.”

“You’d better not be tracking dirt again, Grayson,” a voice yells out. “I just swept.”'

Mark flinches like he’s been through this before. “Hi, Art.”

An older man walks out from behind a curtain, silver hair brushed back. He’s wearing a a beige loose shirt, and piece of measuring tape drapes loosely around his neck.

He looks you over with the piercing evaluation of someone who sees more than you want them to.

“So,” he says. “You’re the telepath.”

You nod. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“No. Just means we’ll avoid the small talk.”

He motions toward the middle of the room, toward a seat surrounded by mirrors and pinned cloth. “Sit. Tell me what you want to be when people see you.”

You pause.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a say in that.”

Art gives a quiet groan. “Good. Then you’ve arrived to the correct place.”

You sit. Mark lingers behind you but doesn’t hover. Just present. Just… close.

Art grabs a sketchpad and starts painting without ceremony.

“No cape,” he mutters. “You fly. But you’re not dazzling. You don’t want to take up space, but you want people to remember you when you leave it.”

He glances up, evaluating your stance. “You’re not armored. But you’re not soft either. Minimalist. Focused.”

You say nothing, but your silence is confirmation.

He doodles in solitude for a minute longer.

“White base,” he whispers. “Long sleeves. Clean lines. Legs bare, power in exposure, not fragility. You’re not frightened to be noticed. You simply want to control how.”

A black stripe develops under his pencil, slashing from under your neck down the side of the hip and tapering at the thigh. Bold. Unapologetic.

“The ace symbol goes here,” he continues, indicating over the heart. “Not big. Not shouting. But noticeable. That’s not a logo. It’s a warning.”

He adds boots, tall, black, fitting like they were intended to stride over shattered glass.

“Heels?”

Mark clears his throat. “She can fly.”

Art smiles. “Good. Then we can afford a little drama.”

He concludes with a hair accessory, simple, black, clipped over the ear in the shape of an ace. Barely obvious unless you’re looking for it.

“It’ll keep your hair out of your face,” he adds, handing you the sheet. “But more than that, it keeps people from underestimating what’s behind your eyes.”

When you take the sketchpad, you stop breathing for a second.

It’s you.

Not a weapon. Not a shadow.

You.

Sleek, cutting, unarmored but undeniably formidable. The outfit doesn’t shout. It doesn’t ask for permission. It just… is.

Mark leans over your shoulder. “Yeah,” he whispers.

“That’s exactly right.”

You nod once, slowly, the weight of it settling in your chest.

“I’ve never had something that felt like mine,” you remark.

Art shrugs. “Well. You do now.”

He waves a hand, already going to another table. “Come back in three days. We’ll fit it appropriately. Let you break it in.”

You stroll back outdoors with Mark, the sun warm on your cheeks, the city just beginning to bustle back to life. People walk by without understanding what just changed for you.

You go a few paces in quiet. Then Mark replies, “You’ll look good in it.”

You glance over. “I won’t look like anyone else.”

He grins. “That’s kind of the point.”

And for the first time in your life, you stroll around the city without feeling like you’re waiting for someone to give you orders.

For once, you’re just waiting to become.

Three days pass. Fast. Then slow. Then quickly again. You spend time in quiet training rooms and noisier team briefings, pushing yourself through motion and protocol as your mind travels back to the sketch. The white. The stripe. The sign. You recall the how it felt to imagine yourself in it before it ever existed. Like stepping into a version of your mirror you weren’t frightened to recognize.

Now you’re back in Rosenbaum’s shop, standing behind a changing curtain, staring down at the folded bodysuit in your hands.

It’s soft. Lighter than you imagined. Like it was created for movement, not just function, but control. It doesn’t feel like armor. It feels like a skin you choose.

You pull it on piece by piece. The high collar. The long sleeves. The black line down your side. The fitting shape hugs your frame without squeezing. Your legs naked underneath it, smooth, unshielded, confident without attempting to be.

The boots are tight, cut low with just enough heel to push your center of gravity slightly forward. Art was right they're unworkable in any reasonable battle scenario. But when you stand in them, you feel taller. More deliberate.

As if flying is the obvious next step.

The final touch is the clip, black, simple, slipping into place at the side of your head. No mask. Nothing to hide behind. Just your face.

Just you.

You hear voices on the other side of the curtain. Art muttered something about stitching being too tight around the inside seams. Mark’s voice lower. Distracted.

You take one final breath and step out.

The room gets silent.

Art glances up, offers a pleased nod. “Fits.”

Mark’s already facing you. And he doesn’t say anything at first. Just… blinks.

Hard.

You frown, stepping forward. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says immediately, tripping over his words. “No, it’s good. It’s… pretty good.”

You tilt your head. “You said that like it’s bad.”

Mark massages the back of his neck, suddenly quite interested in the floor. “No, I just… didn’t expect it to, uh...look like that.”

You gaze down at yourself, perplexed. “Is something wrong with it?”

“No! Not at all. It’s fantastic. It’s-” He gestures a hand in your general direction, agitated. “You look… strong. Confident. It fits you.”

You scrutinize his face. His posture. The way his eyes keep darting away and back again, like he’s trying not to look.

You cross your arms. “You’re uncomfortable.”

“No, I’m not,” he says too hastily.

You squint. “You’re sweating.”

“It’s warm in here.”

Art, from the corner, smirks but says nothing. Keeps sewing a glove like he’s not listening, even though you know he’s been monitoring every second of this exchange.

You gaze down at the outfit again. Then at your legs. At the way the fabric cuts high along your hips and fits snug around your waist. You frown.

“Is it too much skin?” you ask. “Should I cover my legs?”

Mark nearly chokes. “No! No. It’s not that. You just-” He takes a breath, tries again. “It’s a look. That’s all.”

You still don’t understand it.

“It’s a functional suit,” you say, matter-of-fact. “Minimal resistance. Lightweight for flying. Nothing to grab or snag. The boots have traction. It’s practical.”

He coughs into his fist. “Sure. Definitely. Also stylish.”

“Art said the clip gives my face more authority.”

Mark nods swiftly. “It does. Your face is very ...authoritative.”

You narrow your eyes.

Mark laughs then, finally giving up the pretense. “Okay, look. I’m not being weird. It’s just...you look pretty good, alright? And I wasn’t prepared for it. That’s all.”

You blink.

“Oh,” you say.

And you’re not sure what to do with that.

Because no one’s ever said it to you before, not in that way. Not without it being a threat or a warning or a control tool. Not just… honest and caught off guard.

You pause, mulling it over.

“Is it a distraction?”

Mark tilts his head. “What?”

“The suit. The design. Me in it. If it’s going to distract the team, I’ll change it.” His face transforms instantaneously. “No. It’s not about anyone else. It’s you. You feel right in it. You look like yourself. That’s what matters.”

You maintain eye contact for a moment.

Then nod.

“Okay.”

You step back, roll your shoulders once, evaluating the range of motion. The fabric moves with you. Clean. Effortless. And for the first time, you feel like your body and your identity aren’t at battle.

You don’t wear the outfit like armor.

You wear it like a decision.

And Mark, still trying not to stare, clears his throat again, quieter this time.

“You’re gonna knock people on their ass just walking into a room.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Good.”

He laughs.

And somewhere behind him, Art mutters, “Finally. A client who gets it.”

Art provides you a basic black duffle bag to stow the outfit inside, but you don’t use it. You don’t want to take it off yet.

It feels too… right.

You stroll out into the late afternoon sunshine with Mark, the door of Rosenbaum’s workshop clicking shut behind you. You and Mark quickly park the car back at his house and venture outside again. The air smells like the city, warm pavement, automobile pollution, something sweet drifting from a bakery down the block. Distant traffic hums like a lullaby.

You expected to feel vulnerable out here in the suit. Legs exposed, no mask. But instead, you feel grounded. Like a cable has finally been removed from your spine. You’re not waiting for directions. You’re not reporting back to anyone.

You’re simply here.

Mark walks behind you, his customary hoodie pushed down over his shirt with his hands in his pockets. But you notice him stealing looks again, nothing overt. Just flickers of attention, the type that don’t come from obligation or instinct.

You nudge him with your elbow. “Still sweating?”

He huffs a chuckle. “Not my fault Art made you look like a threat and a magazine cover at the same time.”

You smirk. “That sounds like poor planning on your part.”

He grins, eyes catching the faint light. “You want to take it out?”

You tilt your head. “The suit?”

“No,” he responds, kicking a rock off the curb. “You. You want to see how it moves? Stretch its legs a little?”

You pause. Look up to the sky. It’s soft blue now, striped with orange, late enough that the sun’s tilting toward the edge of the horizon, but not gone. The city hums underneath it. You haven’t flown today. Not really.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, like your body’s already replying for you.

“Yeah,” you say. “Let’s patrol.”

He doesn’t require a comm or a command center. He just grins like he’s delighted you said yes, then launches into the air with that casual ease that always looks a bit too dangerous to be graceful, and still is.

You follow him.

You’ve flown before, certainly. Missions. Surveillance. Extractions. But this is different. The suit clings your body just enough to make you feel sleek without constricted. The breeze slips off your skin, whips through your hair, cold against the blush still blazing in your chest.

Mark soars forward, then slows to fall into beat behind you. You’re higher now, above the roofs, above the twinkling city lights just beginning to flicker on. Below, traffic creeps like veins gleaming in the pavement.

“I usually fly solo,” he adds above the wind. “But this isn’t so bad.”

“I don’t talk much on patrol.”

“I figured.”

You gaze at him. He’s not pressing. Just there.

“I never had a partner,” you add.

“First time for everything.”

You both coast into a hover over a series of residential complexes. The metropolis extends out in every direction, softening at the edges, becoming vague. You float there in the quiet together, side by side in the golden hour glow.

Below, a bustle starts. Not major, just a few loud words near a metro door. You catch it before Mark does. Your head turns sharply.

“You hear that?” you ask.

He listens for half a beat, then nods. “North end. Subway steps. Want to check it?”

You drop before he finishes the statement.

You land directly behind a swarm of people scattering. A man is ranting at a woman—loud, unpredictable, arms flailing, her hands up and backing away swiftly. Mark hits the ground near you a minute later. The moment the man sees you both, he pauses. Something about the way you move, deliberate, controlled, shuts his voice down before you ever open your mouth.

Mark doesn’t pose. Doesn’t puff up. He merely moves forward, slow, steady.

“Everything alright here?” he says, quiet and calm.

The guy grumbles, swears under his breath, but the tension leaks out of the moment swiftly. He’s attempting to save face now. Backpedaling. Mark maintains his tone firm but non-threatening, just enough presence to defuse it.

You move in discreetly to steer the woman away, your voice so gentle it hardly touches the air. You inquire whether she’s okay. She nods, shocked but OK, and thanks you without seeing your eyes.

It’s nothing fancy. Nothing worth the news cycle.

But you feel it. That click.

This. This is what the outfit was made for.

When the scene disperses, Mark meets your gaze again.

“You handled that like a pro,” he says.

You shrug. “Didn’t need force.”

“No,” he agrees. “You didn’t.”

You take to the skies again as darkness begins to descend. The light dims, the city sharpening into contrast below, fluorescents, taillights, windows gleaming like memories.

You don’t converse for a time. Just fly.

The longer you're up here, the less your thoughts rush. The less you feel like you’re viewing your life from behind glass. You don’t know how to express it, but it feels like... being. Like your breath is your own again.

Eventually, you and Mark fall on the edge of a rooftop, right above a row of brownstones.

“You good?” he says.

You nod. “I needed that.”

He studies you for a beat, then glances away with a little smile. “You know, you didn’t even hesitate.”

“To do what?”

“To help. To move. To be this. You pretend like you don’t belong, but the second things get real, you’re almost halfway into the sky.”

You think about that for a second. Then remark, gently, “Maybe I just haven’t had a reason to stop running.”

Mark catches your gaze, his smile fading into something gentler. “Well… you’re not running now.”

You look out over the city.

He’s right.

You’re not.

You’re floating stationary. And strangely, it doesn’t seem like weakness.

It feels like an arrival.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

The city has gone quiet.

You and Mark sit on his roof, legs stretched across the shingles, the wind brushing soft around your ankles. The sky is settling into that deep navy just before full night, and the stars faint, flickering, try to push through the haze of city light. Down below, life moves. But up here?

It’s still.

You don’t talk at first. You’ve both said enough today. Mark leans back on his palms, fingers spread across the rough surface, and sighs. It’s not loud. Just enough to feel it leave his chest.

“You’re really good at this,” he says finally, voice low.

You glance at him. “Flying?”

“No. Well, yeah, that too. But I mean… everything. The patrol. The way you handled that guy in the subway. It didn’t even feel like we were trying. You just got it.”

You shrug. “It was instinct.”

Mark smiles faintly. “Yeah, but I’ve been doing this a while and I still overthink it. You? You moved like it was nothing.”

“I’ve had practice,” you say . “I’ve had practice too,” he replies, nudging you lightly with his elbow. “You just make it look cooler.”

You smirk, but your stomach tightens, not from nerves. From something else. From the way his praise doesn’t sound obligatory. From the fact that he means it.

He shifts, pulling his legs up, resting his arms over his knees. “You know, I kept thinking about earlier. When we were flying.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What about it?”

Mark hesitates. Then, more quietly. “You were smiling.”

You blink.

“I didn’t know I was,” you say.

“Well, you were,” he murmurs. “Just for a second. Right after we left the ground. You didn’t even realize it. And I thought... I don’t know, it was cool. Seeing you like that. Like you weren’t carrying everything.”

You look away.

That same knot forms behind your ribs, the ache that comes when someone sees something in you before you do.

“You ever think about what we’d be like if we weren’t in all this?” he asks, carefully. “Like… if we met at school or something?”

You tilt your head. “What, like in a hallway?”

Mark laughs softly. “Yeah. You’d probably hate me.”

“I’d probably ignore you.”

“I’d definitely try too hard to get your attention.”

You smile at that. “You still do.”

He gives you a look. “Hey, I’m cool.”

You give him a flattered one. “You’re a dork.”

He shrugs. “Guilty.”

And somehow, it lands, soft and warm, like the laugh you’re still not quite used to letting out. He chuckles with you, and it lingers, the quiet falling comfortably afterward.

Then he goes still.

You don’t notice it at first. Just the way his hand moves closer. Almost brushing against yours.

And then his voice shifts low, uncertain.

“Can I ask you something?”

You nod.

“Back there. On the roof. When we were fighting together, I felt like I could just… be. With you.”

You meet his eyes.

“I don’t feel that a lot,” he adds. “Even with everything that’s happened. Even with Eve. Things are good with her, but it’s… different. It’s complicated.”

You don’t press. But your chest tightens.

He looks at you then, not searching, just seeing. “I don’t know what this is,” he says, voice nearly a whisper. “But I know it’s not nothing.”

The air shifts.

And it’s not dramatic. It’s not lightning. It’s not cinematic.

It’s a breath.

A glance.

A choice.

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s you. But suddenly his hand is in yours, and his lips are touching yours, and it’s not fireworks, it’s not a cliché. It’s subtle. Quiet. A gradual growing warmth in your chest that spreads like thaw.

He kisses you like he’s terrified of pushing too far, and you kiss him back like you’re trying to comprehend what intimacy is. Your hands raise to touch his face, cautious at first, then steady. You go closer, legs overlapping his, the feel of his body anchoring you. His hands reach your waist, his breath increasing as you press against him, gasping quietly when you feel the hardness between his legs.

Your skin prickles.

You’ve never done this. You’ve trained. You’ve sparred. You’ve killed. But this? This is not something they prepped you for in any sterile hall under government supervision.

Your mouth breaks from his. “I’m...Mark. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He clutches the back of your neck, his thumb touching your jaw. “It’s okay. Just... stay with me.”

You nod, uncertain. But you lean toward him as his kisses run down your neck, his hands going beneath your shirt to explore your sides. The sensation makes you twitch. It’s not awful. It’s overwhelming. Every nerve feels like it’s sensing touch for the first time.

You breathe sharply as his touch sweeps across your chest. You’re not moaning. You’re not crying out. You’re processing. Quiet, restrained, yet completely whirling within.

Mark draws back just enough to murmur, “We can stop whenever you want.”

You don’t want to quit. Not yet.

You kiss him again, deeper this time, hands in his hair, hips thrusting forward. The friction makes you quiver. You feel soaked already, heat coiling in your tummy, in your thighs.

His hand pushes the fabric of your suit to the side, and your breath catches. He touches you softly, tenderly, fingertips locating where you’re wet through, and the moan that slips from your throat is faint but eager.

He groans your name with a breathy moan as he ruts his hard-on against your bare pussy, feeling you soak his sweatpants. “Fuck…”

You clutch his shoulder tightly, your nails digging into his skin. “Don’t stop.”

He kisses you again, harder now, tongue persistent, fingers caressing your clit in slow circles. You cling to him, lost, arousal building like a stormcloud.

Then—

Bzzzt. Bzzzt.

The phone buzzes from his hoodie pocket.

Twice.

Mark tenses. His breath hitches, lips still close to yours. You feel him falter. His hand stiffens where it rests against your side.

You already know.

But he pulls away slowly, blinking, still dazed.

He fumbles for the phone.

EVE: Hey, just checking in. Can I call you?

You sit back readjusting your uniform before placing your hands in your lap, swallowing down the heat still rising in your chest.

Mark doesn’t say anything.

He just stares at the screen like he forgot there were other people outside this rooftop.

“I should… I should answer,” he murmurs.

You nod. “Yeah.”

He stands, walking a few steps away, answering the call with a voice far softer than the one he just used with you.

“Hey… yeah. No, it’s fine. I’m...just outside. Everything’s okay.”

You don’t listen. Not really.

You just look back up at the sky.

And for a moment, you let yourself feel it fully.

That it was real.

That you would’ve let it happen.

That he almost did too.

And when he returns to sit beside you, quiet, a little distant, phone back in his pocket, you don’t say anything. He doesn’t either.

Because the silence knows. And then it breaks.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Fuck...”

You say nothing. Your breathing is still heavy. Your costume is still rumpled. Your thighs are still damp. And the cold rush of truth is sneaking in fast.

“I can’t do this,” he replies, voice low and desperate. “I can’t do this to her.”

You draw your knees up, put your arms over them. You nod. Not because you’re alright, but because you understand.

“I shouldn’t have...” He stops himself. His hands tighten into fists. “I didn’t mean to-”

You cut him off, voice even. Cold. “I know.”

He glances at you, eyes wide and unhappy.

And suddenly he lifts off. Just like that.

You’re left alone, knees pulled to your chest, your heart louder than your thoughts. The stars remain beaming like nothing happened.

You stay there for a long time, until it eventually falls quiet.

The roof is frigid now.

Or maybe that’s simply how it feels.

You ascend off the rooftop, leisurely and quietly, the wind tugging at your body. You rise over the city, and you don’t look back.

And it aches.

It aches like a choice that wasn’t actually a choice at all.

It stings like a kiss that came too late, and a farewell that came too soon.

It stings because it was genuine, and you weren’t ready for what it would cost.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

Mark didn’t fly home.

He could’ve. He should’ve. But the second your lips left his, the second your eyes lowered and you whispered “I should go,” something inside him unraveled. And as you went to the skies and disappeared over the city, it felt like the whole damn air departed with you.

So he walked instead.

It was late. Too late. He didn’t check the time. Didn’t bother thinking about how ridiculous this was. About how rapidly the world may come apart under his feet if he didn’t solve it right now.

All he knew was Eve was home.

And he couldn’t let this sit.

The street outside her home was quiet, just the faint glimmer of a streetlight and the distant roar of a passing automobile. His shoes scuffed the sidewalk as he halted in front of her house, his reflection catching briefly in the dark glass of the front lobby.

His stomach turned.

He climbed the porch stairs two at a time, stopped at her door, fist clenched, breath unsteady.

He knocked.

It was a moment before she replied, the door creaking open just enough for him to see her, messy bun, bare feet, sweatshirt undoubtedly stolen from him some months ago. Her eyes widened at first, but not from astonishment.

From knowing.

“Hey,” she said warily.

Mark stood there, heart thumping against his ribs. “Can I come in?”

She stepped aside without a word.

The place smelled like eucalyptus and the cinnamon tea she always made too strong. The faint hum of an creaky fan buzzed near the window. Everything was familiar. Too familiar. He didn’t deserve this type of tranquility, not just now.

Eve leaned on the counter. Arms crossed.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He let out a breath. “I… I screwed up.”

She didn’t speak. Just waited, mouth tense, gaze narrowing ever so little. Like she knew.

Mark brushed his hands over his face. “I kissed someone.”

The words plummeted like concrete in the gap between them.

Eve’s face didn’t shift soon away. But he saw it. In her shoulders. In her jaw.

“Who?” she asked.

Mark says your name.

Silence.

Just the creak of the fan and the blood beating in his ears.

Eve pushed off the counter gently, arms unfolding.

“When?”

“An hour ago.”

He wouldn't sugarcoat it. Didn’t try.

Eve blinked, once. “So you came straight here.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Because you felt guilty.”

Mark looked down. “Because I couldn’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

Her face didn’t twist with wrath. That wasn’t Eve. She didn’t shout. She didn’t erupt. She shattered in smaller, harsher ways.

“Did you want to?” she inquired. “Before it happened. Did you think about it?”

Mark hesitated. His quiet was louder than anything he could’ve uttered.

She nodded once, like that was all the response she needed.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he hurried. “We were patrolling, and talking, and… I don’t know, something about being up there with her it just felt… easy.”

“Easy,” she repeated, voice clipped.

“I don’t mean better. I mean, quiet. No pressure. No expectations.”

Eve’s arms folded again. “So I’m pressure.”

“No,” he answered hastily. “No, Eve. You’re...God, you’re everything. I love you.”

“But you kissed her.”

“I didn’t stop myself,” he said. “And I should’ve. But I didn’t.”

Eve stared beyond him, toward the main entrance. Her voice sounded out softer now. “Was that the only time?”

He shook his head. “Yeah. I swear. It didn’t go farther. It could have." He admits honestly, "But I stopped.”

“Because of me.”

He nodded. “You texted. It snapped me out of it.”

“Not because you wanted to stop.”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

She groaned, walked around him, pacing a little. “You’ve been off lately. Distant. I thought it was stress. Missions. Your dad. Cecil. But it wasn’t just that, was it?”

Mark stared at her then, shame growing behind his eyes.

“I didn’t plan to fall into this. I didn’t even aware I was… thinking about her like that until it was too late.”

“But you did think about it.”

He nodded, barely.

She swallowed heavily. Her voice was barely staying steady now. “Do you have feelings for her?”

“I don’t know.” The words tore out of him, ragged. “That’s the worst part. I don’t even know. There’s this… pull. And I can’t understand it, and I hate it, because I never wanted to feel that way about anybody else. I never wanted this to happen. Not like this. Not to you.”

Eve gazed at him, long and quiet.

“I trusted you,” she said. “And you kissed someone else.”

“I came straight here.”

“And now what?” she questioned, coming closer. “You expect me to forgive you just because you’re being honest?”

“No. I don’t expect anything. I just...I couldn’t not tell you.”

She shook her head. Her voice fell low. “Do you even realize what that means for us? For me?”

Mark walked near her. “Please don’t-"

She added, harsher now. “I’m standing in the middle of something that’s already cracking. And I’m trying to figure out if I’m dumb for still wanting to hold it together.”

Mark’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You’re not stupid. You’re not. This is my fault.”

“You’re right,” she said. “It is.”

And that quiet? It hurt more than yelling ever could.

“I need space, Mark,” she remarked after a lengthy silence. “Not to punish you. To think. To breathe. To remember what it feels like to be in this without knowing whether I’m going to get blindsided again.”

He stepped back, nodding gently. His throat felt constricted. Like words were still stuck in it, but none of them mattered anymore.

“I love you,” he murmured one more time, voice barely holding steady.

Eve didn’t answer.

Not because she didn’t feel it.

But since just now, love didn’t seem like enough.

So he departed. Quiet. Careful. He didn’t slam the door.

He didn’t glance back.

And Eve stood in her kitchen, looking at the counter, her breath quickening as the tears finally spilled free.

Not because he lied.

But because he told the truth.

And it broke her anyway.

The door shut behind him with a click that seemed too decisive.

Mark stood in the hallway, gazing at the flaking paint on Eve��s apartment door. His breath was shallow, like he’d just run a marathon. Like his body hadn’t caught up to the knowledge that nothing was following him, except the repercussions of what he’d done.

He didn’t move for a long moment.

Didn’t weep.

Didn’t even breathe correctly.

He merely remained there, listening to the echo of what she didn’t say.

Because that’s what stung the most, Eve hadn’t asked him to stay. She hadn’t yelled, hadn’t hurled anything, hadn’t fallen into tears in front of him. She’d looked him in the face and informed him, calmly, that she wanted space.

That she didn’t know if she could trust him anymore.

And she was right.

He didn’t deserve to be trusted.

His hands were still shaking as he walked down the steps, one at a time. He didn’t fly home. Couldn’t. Flying seemed too… intentional. Too heroic. He didn’t feel like a hero tonight.

He felt like a coward in a hoodie.

By the time he walked out onto the sidewalk, the sky had become absolutely dark. The type of darkness that devoured things. The sort that made the streetlights feel faint, not reassuring. Somewhere far off, a vehicle alarm went off. A dog barked. And the city kept breathing like nothing had changed.

But everything had.

Mark pushed his hands into his pockets and started walking.

He didn’t know where he was headed. He just knew he couldn’t go home.

Not yet.

Not to the lonely stillness of his house where everything would reverberate. Not to his phone, still vibrating from texts he hadn’t replied to. Not to the sofa where he’d been with Eve just two nights ago, laughing at a repeat, her hand in his like it was always intended to be there.

He couldn’t face it yet.

So he walked.

Past closed enterprises. Past couples holding hands. Past the deli they used to purchase sandwiches from on Saturdays, the one where Eve always asked for more mustard even though she never completed her sandwich. Past recollections he hadn’t asked to remember.

And all the while, one name kept circling his thoughts like a hook dragging through the ocean.

You.

He hated how much he was thinking about you.

Hated how it wasn’t just the kiss, though God, that kiss was still etched into the back of his memory. The way your body moved against his and the way you gazed at him just before. The way your fingers had trembled for a second when you touched his hoddie. The way it had felt like an instinct.

It had seemed like fate.

That was what worried him the most.

It wasn’t about chemistry. Or adrenaline. It was something else. Something calmer. Something that had been growing from the minute you entered into his world. You were different. Not because you were more powerful. Not because she you weird. But because you looked at him like he was still finding things out and that was okay. Because you didn’t expect him to be anything more than what he was in time. Because you didn’t see Omni-Man when you glanced at him.

You understood him.

And it fucking terrified him.

Because Eve had seen him too.

And he’d still broken that.

Everything was loud in his brain now.

What the hell did he do?'

He adored Eve. He knew that. He enjoyed the way she challenged him. The way she never let him get away with anything. The way her grin made everything else feel a bit lighter.

They’d gone through hell together.

She’d been there after Nolan. After the fallout. After the darkest night of his life. She’d stood alongside him when the world wasn’t sure if he was going to turn out exactly like his father.

She believed in him.

And still… he kissed someone else. Almost fucked someone else.

He moaned into his hands, the sound low and nasty and embarrassed.

It wasn’t simply the guilt. It was the confusion. The pull. He didn’t even know you that well. Half of your conversations were coated in trauma, but you understood each other. You barely talked, like you were frightened of expressing too much. But when you did talk, when you were yourself for a second, it impacted him like nothing else.

He observed you struggling to keep yourself back. Saw how afraid you were of being known.

And he kept getting dragged closer regardless.

What did that say about him?

Was it some warped part of him that constantly needed to mend something? Or was it worse? Was it real?

He didn’t want it to be genuine. Not like this.

He didn’t want to have damaged something solid with Eve for a sensation he couldn’t even define.

And yet.

It hadn’t seemed like a mistake at the moment.

It had felt like something bursting free.

He slumped back on the bench and peered up into the sky, blinking hard.

There were no stars tonight. Not in this region of the city.

Just clouds. Just static.

Just guilt.

He grabbed his phone out of his pocket. No new messages. Just Eve’s latest one, unread now, sitting like a stone in his inbox.

He wanted to call her. To say anything that would make things less complex. Less hefty. To tell her he was sorry again, that he’d do everything to rewind the night and make a better choice. To not hurt her.

But he couldn’t lie to her again. Not even by omission.

Because the reality was, you weren't going away.

Not from his head.

Not from his chest.

Not from the version of himself he wasn’t ready to face again.

The one that kept wondering what might’ve occurred if the phone hadn’t rung.

Would you have stopped?

Would he have pulled away?

Or would he have lingered in your arms a bit longer?

Would you have allowed him to?

Mark closed his eyes and tilted his head back, the cold metal of the bench pushing on his spine.

He felt divided in two.

One part of him stayed grounded in what he had with Eve, a love that was built, tested, weathered, and true. And another portion drifting somewhere else completely, attracted toward something new, unexpected, and unknown.

You weren't safe.

Not emotionally. Not logistically. Not even spiritually, if he was being honest.

You fucked him up mentally.

You don't need him. Not in the manner Eve did. You didn’t ask for anything.

And maybe that was why he kept thinking about you.

Because you don't need him.

But he can't stop desiring you anyway.

That pull worried him.

Because that suggested something had changed. Not simply in the present. But inside him.

And whatever came next, whether Eve forgave him or didn’t, whether you maintained your distance or didn’t, it wasn’t going to be easy.

There weren’t going to be neat answers.

Just options.

And the person he chooses to be after this would define the rest of things.

He gazed at the phone again.

Then put it aside.

Tonight, he didn’t call anyone.

He just sat on the bench until the sun started to rise behind the skyscrapers, and the weight in his chest ceased feeling like punishment.

And started feeling like consequence.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

The call came in at 6:04 a.m., a subtle ripple over the Guardians’ comms. Low priority, suburban perimeter breach, unidentified metahuman causing structure damage and public fear. Just noise, on paper. Nothing that screamed world-ending danger.

No interdimensional gateways.

No Mark variations blasting holes through reality.

But it was still a mission.

And you’d be lying if you said it didn’t mean something. Cecil didn’t even give you the complete rundown. Just a truncated transmission, as usual. “Rogue metahuman. Kinetic projection. Handle it cleanly. Try not to break too much real estate.” Then he cut the line.

Typical.

You geared up in your freshly washed uniform. It stung to even look at now. The others had already assembled in the hangar area, geared and half-alert, chatting like this was just another day. Rex cast you a glance as you entered, part doubt, half something unreadable, and murmured something about “seeing what you’re really made of.”

You didn’t react.

You never truly did.

By the time you touched down in the area, smoke was already snaking into the sky. Split pavement. Fractured siding. A hydrant split out and flowing like a ruptured artery onto the street. Civilians yelling. Running. Doors banging shut.

The man at the heart of it all was towering, maybe six-foot-three, arms thick with strain, and his skin shining faintly like fractured magma. His strength emanated in pulses, kinetic shockwaves ripping through the ground with every stride he made.

He didn’t appear afraid. He looked furious.

Like the world had failed him and this cul-de-sac was going to pay the consequence.

You didn’t wait.

You moved alone, hardly recognizing the directives being yelled over communications. The others were fanning out. Coordinating. Mark, Invincible, was already in the air, collecting falling debris, protecting a collapsed carport with his body.

“Ace,” his voice crackled through. “North side. Help Monster Girl with evac. He’s headed toward the school.”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t even glance his way.

Your heels shattered over pavement as you marched straight into the demolition zone.

He noticed you then.

The metahuman pivoted, arms lighting up with the same molten energy. “You think you can stop me?” he hissed, spitting blood from his mouth. “You don’t even know what I am.”

You didn’t blink.

Didn’t flinch.

Just lifted one hand.

The pressure reached him before he could charge. A harsh, unseen wave that snatched him off his feet and smashed him against the side of a parked SUV. Metal moaned. Glass broke. His body bounced once, then slumped to the ground, startled.

You were on him before he could recover.

A second wave, sharper, more focused, crashed into his nervous system like a hammer through wet paper.

He yelled.

Twitched.

Tried to rise.

You stepped closer.

Mark fell heavily a few yards behind you. “Ace, hey—stop. He’s down. You got him.”

You didn’t look at him.

You didn’t stop.

You lifted your hand again, fingers coiled like a vice around nothing, and everything.

The metahuman thrashed as his synapses started to circuit out.

Mark’s voice came again, louder now, closer. “Ace, that’s enough.”

But it wasn’t.

It wasn’t enough. Because the scream beneath your ribs was still there. The flavor of a kiss that never should’ve occurred. The way he touched you so intimately. Mark was never yours. But it didn't hurt any less.

The recollection of Mark’s phone buzzing. Of her name on his lips. Of how silly you’d been to imagine freedom would feel like serenity.

This was what freedom gave you, power without purpose. Autonomy without direction. Pain you had no one to pass off to anymore.

You squeezed harder.

And he started to black out.

Then Mark stroked your shoulder, gently, but strong.

“Hey.”

That stopped you.

Not the touch.

The voice.

You glared at him, finally.

And you hated that it still ached.

He saw it, whatever it was, in your eyes. And maybe he understood. Maybe he didn’t. But he didn’t say anything else.

You released him.

Turned. Walked away.

Away from Mark.

You ended up alone.

Somewhere high, somewhere corroded, the wind screaming in your ears and the city stretching beneath you like it didn’t know your name. You're perched on the brink of the fire escape of your new room, legs dangling. The fight was finished. You’d won.

But it didn’t feel like anything.

It didn’t feel like freedom.

It felt like remorse, reaching out into your chest.

Because you’d tasted something...someone you weren’t allowed to crave. And now all it did was ruin what you thought you were building.

And the worst part?

He looked at you like he still cared.

Like some part of him wishes he didn’t.

And it might’ve hurt more than anything else.

The room is quiet.

Sterile white walls, no posters. No decorations. Just a bed too neatly made, a desk with unopened notes, and the shadow of someone trying very hard not to take up space.

You sit on the edge of the mattress, still in your uniform. You haven’t taken it off. You haven’t even moved since you arrived back except to shut the door behind you.

Not that anybody would come searching.

Especially not him.

You breathe in. Slow. Measured. But your chest is still tight, your throat raw, and your fingers won’t stop shaking.

You should change. Shower. Sleep. But your mind won’t let go of any of it.

The kiss.

The suit.

The way Mark felt against you.

The mission.

The rage.

It feels like you’re suffocating inside your own skin.

You gaze at the mirror on the closet door, see the reflection of your suit in the faint light. The white long-sleeved leotard, the broad black stripe that hugs your side. The ace emblem embroidered into the chest like a mockery. The black heels that were never made for combat, simply for appearing like something sharp and worth seeing.

You thought it would mean something.

That owning a suit, being seen, would mend something inside you.

But all it’s done is show how lost you truly are.

You raise your knees up to your chest, curling into yourself, forehead crushed on the fabric of your gloves.

And you remember.

You recall the feeling of Mark’s lips on yours. How warm his touch felt on your waist. How you leaned toward him because, for a moment, you imagined he’d catch you.

That he wanted to.

And maybe he did.

But not enough.

Not enough to stay.

Not enough to pick you.

You should’ve known better.

You did know better.

You weren’t ready for any of this.

Not the team.

Not the mission.

Not him.

Freedom was meant to feel like power. Like control. Like finally owning yourself after a lifetime of being someone else’s weapon.

But all it’s done is show you how wrong you are. How awful it is to carry yourself and no one else. How terrible it is to make your own choices and learn they don’t necessarily go someplace better.

And now?

You’re terrified.

Because you were powerful today. You were everything they claimed they wanted you to be.

And still, you almost murdered someone.

Not because you had to.

Not because you were ordered to.

But because it felt good.

Because it was simpler than feeling the anguish of being unloved.

You wonder what would’ve occurred if Mark hadn’t stopped you.

Would you have gone through with it?

Would you be sitting here today, claiming to be human, pretending to be someone worth saving?

Or would you be locked up again, the world confirming what you’ve always feared, you’re not a human.

You’re a threat they haven’t found out how to bury yet.

Your eyes burn, but you don’t weep.

You don’t know how to anymore. Not really.

The tears come in your chest now. Silent. Heavy.

You grab your arms harder, forcing yourself into something smaller, something safer. Maybe if you shrink sufficiently, you’ll stop existing. Maybe that’s the only way to endure this.

You think about Mark again. The way he stared at you after the fight.

Not furious. Not scared.

Just… sad.

And that makes it worse.

Because you don’t want his pity. You don’t want his compassion. You don’t want to be the girl he feels horrible for when he goes home to someone else.

You wanted to be something more.

And now you can’t even look at him.

It hurts too much.

Every aspect of him is wrapped up with the thing you almost had. The kiss that should’ve meant everything but just left you emptiness. The way he stood next to you like maybe, just maybe, he felt it too.

And the way he walked away when you needed him to stay.

You sink your face deeper into your knees.

You’re not ready for this.

Not the outfit.

Not the name.

Not the weight of striving to be good when all you’ve ever been is effective.

And you don’t know how to tell anyone that.

You don’t know how to tell you’re drowning while everyone’s shouting for your rising.

So you sit in quiet.

Alone in your room. In your skin. In the echo of the life you thought you desired.

And you wonder, not for the first time.

What if you’re not supposed to be free?

What if the cage was safer?

What if the leash was the only thing stopping you from coming apart?

You breathe in again.

And this time, it catches.

And for just a second, you think, maybe tomorrow, you’ll leave.

Maybe you’ll walk out of this tower and keep wandering.

Maybe no one will stop you.

Not even him.

And maybe that’s what you deserve.

But instead, you're here. Wide awake. Staring into nothing.

Because even with everything you’ve gained, the suit, the team, a room with a door that only you have the key to—something feels off. Like the ground beneath your feet is shifting again. Like the peace you fought for is about to split open and swallow you whole.

You can’t shake it.

Not Mohawk Mark’s voice. Not the way he looked at you like you belonged to him in another life. Not the things he said, that in his world, you died because you mattered.

That love made you weak. That he killed you to prove he could survive without you.

You don’t want to believe any version of Mark could do that.

But some part of you remembers the way this Mark flinched when you kissed him. How fast he picked up the phone. How fast he disappeared afterward.

You close your eyes.

Breathe through the tightness in your chest.

You told yourself you weren’t going to let this become something bigger than it needed to be. That the kiss was just a mistake. A moment. Something to be forgotten like the blood on your gloves and the cracks in the walls. But forgetting has never been your strength.

And that moment, his hands on your waist, your heart in your throat, the groan he made when he leaned into you, it doesn’t feel like something that wants to be erased.

And maybe that’s what’s eating you alive now.

Not that he kissed you.

But that a part of you still wants him to do it again.

You hate that about yourself.

You hate how he’s always on your mind, how his voice lingers behind your thoughts when you’re supposed to be focused. How you catch yourself watching him when he’s not looking, staring at the muscular curve of his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches when he thinks no one can see. How he calls your name in the field with that same urgency he used the night of the kiss, and your chest tightens, your hands shake.

You hate that you let him in.

Because now that he’s there, you can’t get him out. And you’re not sure you even want to.

But you should.

Because he’s not yours.

Because he’s never been.

Because every time he looks at you now, you see the apology in his eyes before he even says a word.

And that might be worse than hate.

Your arms folded tightly around yourself, trying to bury the ache in your spine. The night air is colder than usual. You let it bite at your skin, let it anchor you.

You think about the team.

About the way Shrinking Rae looks at you like she’s trying to figure out if you’re a bomb waiting to go off. The way Rex still jokes, but never too close. The way Black Samson nods at you like a general checking his weapons, and Monster Girl, who sometimes gives you these rare, quiet glances, like she’s been where you are, and doesn’t know how to warn you without breaking her own rules.

They accepted you.

Or they’re trying to.

But it’s not belonging.

It’s not home.

It’s standing on a stage with a mask you barely fit into and hoping no one notices it’s slipping.

You press your palms to your knees, try to steady your breathing. The night is too quiet now. Your thoughts too loud. You think about running. About disappearing. About flying so far and so fast that not even Cecil could find you.

But where would you go?

Who would you be?

You’re not a civilian. Not a soldier. You’re not a ghost anymore, but you’re not alive in the way they are, either.

You’re something else.

Something between.

And no one taught you how to be that.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

The lab was hidden deep, behind concrete and steel, beneath miles of stillness and secrecy. No windows, no doors in or out without biometric approval, and no clocks to chart the passing of time. The only light emanated from machines, flickering displays, backlit panels, luminous tubes lined the walls. The type of light that didn’t warm. It merely buzzed, unnatural and sterile.

Angstrom Levy stood in the heart of it all.

His stance was slumped, fingers twitching at his sides like they were attempting to grip something unseen. The air was heavy with the stench of ozone and machine grease, and the faint buzz of electricity flowing through torn wires permeated every inch of the chamber. Around him, displays hummed with data. Chaotic strings of code. DNA helixes placed over skewed timeframes. Multiversal coordinates that flickered and altered without rhythm. “She doesn’t belong,” he mumbled to himself, walking between two towering tanks. Inside one, something floated—limbs coiled tight, like it was trying to relearn how to be alive. The other tank hissed with a modest release of pressure, liquids swirling faintly. “Not a variant. Not an echo. Something else. Something worse.”

He stretched out, palm skimming the glass, eyes unfocused and agitated. Half his face still carried the scars, sutures gleaming dimly beneath pale skin where a dozen other selves had previously fallen into him. He twitched as memories raced across his head, too many voices piled atop one other, all chanting the same name in different forms of terror.

Her.

The screen next to him showed her, your face, captured from the conflict in the city. Blurred by smoke, somewhat warped from heatwaves, but recognizable. You stood in the debris like a myth, eyes ablaze, power flowing from your pores. One hand lifted. The other clutched. The roadway broke around you in concentric spirals, metal and glass bending as though the air itself had yielded.

He gazed at the footage.

“She’s wrong,” he muttered. “Wrong for all of them.”

A red line traveled over the multiversal map, linking your image to dozens of branching worlds. All corrupted. All blinking. All marked by the same abnormality.

You.

Angstrom lunged for the console, fingers quivering as he keyed in a sequence. New data filled the monitor. Memory echoes. Conflicting paths. Variants falling, timelines unraveling, whole worlds folding in on themselves after touch.

“Mark always breaks,” he mumbled, striding faster now.

“Omni-Man always leaves. Eve always bends. But her?”

His voice sank. “She changes branches of reality.”

He stopped moving.

“She writes new ones.”

For a minute, he was silent. The sole sound was the repetitive thrum of the motors and the steady exhalation of the confinement chambers.

Then he proceeded toward the rear wall.

With a harsh hiss, a panel slid aside, revealing another room, darker, colder. Inside, something altered.

Something huge. Muffled breathing. The faint scratch of claws against concrete. A low growl, half-formed, half-choked, like a menace learning to speak.

Angstrom didn’t flinch.

“She thinks she’s free now,” he muttered into the dark.

“She thinks she’s choosing. Fighting. Loving. Belonging.”

He grinned.

It didn’t reach his eyes.

“Let her. Let her believe that long enough to drown. Because when it all goes apart, when the boy breaks again, when the Guardians disintegrate, and there’s no one there to bring her back, she’ll come to me.”

He went back inside the lab, locking the chamber behind him.

And the television, still flickering in front of him, displayed your face again. Frozen in mid-air. Eyes full of fire and agony.

Angstrom peered at it, silent now.

Almost reverent.

“You weren’t born to save this world,” he said. “You were born to end it.”

[writingwisterias]

I know you have so many requests but can you whip up a delicious smut where chris and leon take the reader on different dates in a skimpy little skirt every other week and make her sit on their cocks in public?? They're fighting to see who can fill you up and make you squirm in the most deranged places without getting noticed, and the reader is just stuck, cockdrunk in the boys silly little game... 💝

Fuck Yes, I can...I need them both anyway! Sorry it took me a while I again wanted to flesh it out, I hope you enjoy it.

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Public Sex, Degradation Kink, Cock warming, Cow girl riding, Soft Dom! Leon, Dom Chris, Praise Kink Leon Kennedy x AFAB! Reader x Chris Redfield

You got the best of both worlds being in a relationship with them. As they both take different approaches in terms of their affection. It was rare you got to spend time all together and when you did, they were too tired. All of you opted for lazy sex or cuddles as you made them catch up on the movies you have missed. You got all around constant attention and in the grand scheme of things who was going to complain about that? One of them was always home, greeting you with some morning head, nibbles at your thigh and blissful orgasms. Leon always favoured your taste, his cock always spewing his pre cum against the sheets as he feasted upon you. Whilst Chris couldn’t wait to have you clenching around his cock, enjoying the way it split you open. It was perfect.  

Today, Leon was home. You watched him get dressed from where you perched on the bed. The blue shirt hugged his frame perfectly, the sleeves outlining each curve of his bicep. Proof of his endless fighting turning his form into a perfect chiselled statue that you got to look at. With how much you increased his ego over the years you were surprised he didn’t make you pray to it like he was a Greek statue. “Are you ready for our day out princess?” He spoke, watching you from the mirror he was currently in front of. Your pleated skirt fell around your thighs perfectly, just short enough that when you were sat it gave him easier access. The plaid material made his imagination run even more wild with plenty of sick fantasies, his cock twitching just at the thought.  

He had to wait though, he had plans for you today. What you didn’t know was that Chris was back in town. Spending the last few days in the office making sure the reports he needed to do were complete so he could spend more time with the two of you. You will find out soon, during lunch with Leon. “More than ready, I’m just waiting on you” You smirked, your legs kicking out in front of you creating a steady beat against the bed frame as they swung back against it. Leon watched you, the frill socks you had picked out looked perfect with the Mary Jane’s. 

Your style was one of the things he always loved about you. “You always show me up, I want to look like I tried this time” He retorted. You loved his smile and the banter you shared with Leon. The two of you often create bad puns as you walk around together, his one-liners coming out as bad dad jokes. It was something you couldn’t share with Chris, his grumpier more dominant attitude normally scoffed at the idea. Rolling his eyes instead of laughing - though you both swore you’ve seen him attempt to hide a smirk every once in a while. 

“You always look good but you should wear the black leather. You always look good in that one” You smiled, pointing towards the jacket hanging on the back of the door. Leon smiled again, a large toothy one showing off his perfect whites. His hand however moved for the jacket with the white stripes causing you to shake your head. “Why not? It will match your white socks” He commented, despite his apparent protest he still took off the jacket that you recommended. You rolled your eyes, hopping off the edge of the bed to meet him. His hands landed on your hips as he kissed you. The stubble coating his face tickling your cheeks as he began to pepper you with them.

“Enough, we have a reservation don’t we?” You giggled, pulling away to look at his face. Your fingers swiped away at a few strands of his hair away from his face. His hand grasped yours bringing the palm of yours to his lips. They were soft, the pressure light as he smiled against it. “Bossy today are we?” He teased, mumbling against the softness of your skin. Your giggle was cute as always causing the man to break out into a larger grin as he led you out the door. 

The diner as always was fairly busy, the guys favorite spot to eat due to the booths that gave them a small amount of privacy. Leon watched your expression change when you spotted Chris in the usual spot. The smile growing, your eyes lighting up with affection. It was cute. Your skirt lifted slightly as you did an awkward run to him showing off Leon’s favorite lacy thong. Of course you wore his favorite, after all Chris was just a surprise. Chris smirked from over your shoulder as he watched Leon adjust himself during his approach. “Surprise” Chris whispered, nipping at the skin on your neck enjoying how your frame tucked nicely into his. His display bothered the man behind you, despite their mutual love for you, the throple you seemed to act sometimes didn’t exist, only merely two men that fought for your attention and pussy. 

That's why when Chris slid back into the booth, you were tugged onto his lap. “I like the outfit today, sweetie” He whispered in your ear as you settled. His hands squeezed your thighs, inching further towards your covered cunt. The waitresses were used to this, you wouldn’t be surprised if you found out that they both tipped extra so they ignored what was going on. “Thank you, Leon thought it was cute too. He tried to match” You giggled. Chris gave off a low chuckle, lifting his eyes to the man that was opposite the two of you with an unamused look on his face. They ordered food quickly, the drinks leaving rings on the wooden table in front of you as you waited. All whilst this was happening Chris’ fingers now began to explore the dampened fabric of your underwear. He didn’t miss the floral lace design underneath his fingertips, tracing each petal in a teasing motion. 

Florals - that was Leon’s favorite. Irritation began to pulse through his system, his touch becoming possessive as he cupped your pussy. “Lift up a second sweetie” He instructed, stopping your pleasant conversation with Leon. You did as you were told, your obedience to Chris never faltered. You never teased or acted bratty with him - his punishments were far worse than Leon’s. You heard his fly unzip, his thighs bumping against the back of yours as he eased his hardened cock out. He tugged you back on his lap, making sure your thong was pulled to the side. You gasped when his cock slid in with ease, your arousal helping you adjust to his thick length. What Chris lacked in size he gained in girth. “Fuck, So tight” He chuckled as he adjusted his hips making them jolt up inside you. 

Leon smirked at your face, despite his cock not entering you he got the enjoyment of you trying to act casual and continue his conversation. At seeing all of your pretty faces as you did so. “You alright there darling? You haven’t even started to eat yet and you look a little…full” 

Your scowl was cute, the bit in your lip was cuter. Chris jolted his hips again the movements were shallow - not enough to give you the overwhelming pleasure you were used to. It was a slow build up. Your hips began to circle, desperately trying to at least get him to speed up. Hoping your movements would tease him and encourage him to go faster. It was working to your credit, the man had leaned back. His legs now man spread allowing you to have more range of motion. How something he initiated had become your issue to fix was beyond you. 

“No one is paying attention to you being such a cock slut it's okay. Just focus on making us both feel good” Chris whispered in your ear after having noticed your eyes watching the diner full of people. Your brain dissociates causing your movements to falter in case someone was watching. Leon shuffled in his chair, his hand palming himself lightly to get some ease on his cock. “Such a good girl, Now if you just cum we can eat” Chris whispered in your ear. “What about you?” You whimpered back. Even cock drunk you valued their own pleasure above yours, you wouldn’t cum until you knew Chris would. It was mostly the only bratty thing you would do. “You know I won’t miss the opportunity to cum inside you after Leon has had you for weeks. Gotta make sure you remember what I feel like. Now cum” 

Leon’s hard on was gone now, his face was unimpressed as Chris’ words made you cum. He watched your eyes roll back, your teeth tug at your lip to hide your whimpers. So Chris wanted to make it a competition then. Game on. 

It was hard to concentrate on the rest of their conversation and the food you were eating as Chris’ load dripped down your thighs. If you were paying attention to the conversation they were having you would have heard them arguing over where to go next, why Leon despite knowing Chris was going to be here let you wear his favorite underwear. You also didn’t miss the way that despite Chris currently having load dripping out of you his hand was splayed out possessively on your thigh, smudging the cum into your skin. Something Leon also didn’t fail to notice. 

The walk to the next place Leon got more touchy, his hand was around your waist tucking you into his side. His fingers teasing along the waistline of your skirt. He ignored any conversation you and Chris were having, opting to stay silent as he thought about burying his cock inside you – making sure that he gave you enough of his cum that you would forget about Chris’. 

The bar was dark as it always was. Your usual seat was taken, the larger booth that Chris normally scowled anyone away from. Leon didn’t feel like doing that today, instead opting for one of the more exposed tables near the wall. The window, despite being covered in vinyl, still provided minimal coverage. Maybe it was because he was angry or needed to prove a point but his cock was entering you as he tugged you on his lap. Something that happened so fast you barely registered him taking it out. Chris’ brows furrowed when you gasped, your knuckles turning white as Leon made sure you immediately bottomed out on him. His cock was longer, a slight curve to it that you loved so much as it moved against that spongy spot inside you. Of course he knew this. 

The music was louder tonight, any signs of what you were doing were hidden from the volume of the place. Your skirt worked wonders to hide what was going on. “You think I would let Chris just make you forget what I feel like once he’s back. Come on now Darling we both know who fills you up the best” Leon chuckled deeply in your ear. His breath causes you to flinch and jolt on his cock. Leon never needed to do any work, you just needed to squirm enough to do it yourself. He would never instruct you to do it like Chris. No he liked to play on the idea of you believing you are in control. It was more fun that way. 

Your orgasm with Leon was a slow game; he never rushed these things. He held you close making sure his lips or breath teased you, his fingers tickling your thighs and sides as he held a conversation with Chris about the man's latest mission. Your cheeks darkened in colour, the blood rushing to your head as you felt that coil tighten. He smiled as your hips moved on their own. To everyone else it just looked like you were getting comfy, but he could feel it. The way his tip grew deeper, each clench of your walls as you hit a spot you liked. Much like Chris earlier he didn’t do anything. Just sipped on the whiskey that made his head spin. 

“Such a good girl for the both of us today. Maybe we will have to treat you when we get home hmm?” Leon spoke as Chris left for the bathroom. His attention finally fell on you as he nipped at your neck. Hand closest to the wall slipping up your skirt to tease your clit. You both looked passionate, drunk as you made out in the back. No one is paying attention. It spurred you on that all someone had to do was look under the table to see what was happening. The way you rode Leon and his finger grateful circled your sensitive bud in return. 

“Do you like being this naughty? Doing this where everyone can see…me and Chris competing for your cunt. Such a naughty Slut” 

It was too much, his words made you spin. Chris’ chuckle as he made his way back opposite you. You came, your cunt like a vice around Leon as he then came. The thick vein that ran up his cock pulsating inside you as he spewed his load. With Chris’ leftovers still inside you, it began to drip out – making a mess on the front of his trousers. “I always liked the messy ones” Chris chuckled as he handed Leon a few napkins. To at least prevent an embarrassing stain as you would soon leave the bar. 

The volume of their glasses was like a timer, each sip getting you closer to a well deserved night where they would continue to compete for your attention. 

[undiscovered-horizon]

4 A.M. - Sanji x Reader

SUMMARY: Sanji's doing prep for the next day and you can't sleep which leads to a heartfelt and intimate encounter.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.5k

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi

It's around 4 A.M. when you get up from your hammock-turned-cot and decide to find something to do. Sleep clearly isn't coming. The past two hours of staring at the ceiling and swaying with the boat filled you with annoyance at your sudden case of insomnia.

Walking down the narrow corridor of the lower deck, you can hear the tiniest of creaks as the caravel floats along the waves. The night is so quiet, you can almost hear Luffy's snoring from his room. Usopp is mumbling in his sleep. Something about a pirate crew, carrots and onions. Nami and Zoro seem to be peaceful sleepers although with time you've learned that it's only a game of appearances - the thief and the hunter sleep with one eye open.

With each step, you can hear the repetitive sound more clearly. It's quick, separated by scraping.

The low light of the kitchen makes Sanji look almost inhuman, like the spirit of a chief cook who can't let go of the ship he had spent his entire life on. He's still in the same clothes, although the double-breasted jacket is nowhere in sight. The sleeves of his striped shirt are rolled halfway up his forearms. Where he's standing, the lonely lightbulb illuminates only half of his silhouette. The blond man toes the line of visibility as though he might disappear when you blink.

He looks almost divine.

"Can't sleep?" Sanji asks without looking away from the cutting board.

Only then, when he lets you know he's aware of your presence, do you realize you've been leaning against the doorframe and watching him for a good few minutes. Knowing Sanji, he won't think you odd but you're still a little flustered.

"Yeah. You?" you answer. In a few slow steps you're standing next to him, leaning your lower back against the kitchen counter.

For a moment, Sanji looks away from the cutting board and chopped carrots. His eyes stare into yours for a moment. It's nearly an inborn reflex that a wide smile curves his lips when he sees you.

"Not a fan of sleeping alone," he says and winks at you before going back to cutting vegetables.

The blush on your cheeks darkens a few shades (maybe he won't notice in the kitchen's twilight?). Truthfully, you have entertained that thought more than once and wondered whether similar fantasies kept him awake at night too. But you always dismissed them, thinking it wrong to have such intimate dreams regarding someone who might not even reciprocate your fondness. Sanji is, after all, a ladies' man - flowery words leave his mouth whenever a woman is around, no matter if she's taken or not interested.

Still, you believe there is something more between you and Sanji. Sometimes you think you've deluded yourself into believing this but it's moments like these, like the fond silence you're sharing now, that convince you it's not just your imagination:

Most of the time, the conversation between you and Sanji flows like a swift stream. But now, when the two of you are too tired to sleep, the silence is just as good. Even if you're not exchanging words and ambiguous comments, you feel understood. Like he knows you well enough to be able to guess what's on your mind. And you know what he might say in return, all the advice and wax poetic he revels in telling you. It's perfectly strange to converse with someone without saying a single word.

"Wanna see a trick?" you ask, breaking the silence.

Sanji is putting his chopped vegetables into large bowls. The movement of his hands is both careless and calculated as though he's letting his muscle memory take over the very last step of prepping ingredients for the next day's cooking. He's done this so many times, it's useless to think about the action too much.

"You trying to impress me, princess?" he asks in a low voice with a half-grin plastered on his face. The mischievous glint in his eye never quite seems to go away, especially when you're around.

"Nah," you answer, shaking your head, "just practising to show off in front of Zoro."

Sanji tries to pout but a genuine smile is tugging at the corners of his lips. "Cold."

Still, his eyes are glued to you. Though part of you is convinced it's not because you're about to show him a cheap fair trick. You take one of the teaspoons lying around and lift it in front of your face.

"You better not blink," you warn him.

He gives you a strange look.

"And lose precious few seconds of admiring you? Never."

Like most times, you're not sure how much of his sweet words you can believe.

With a quick move of wrists and fingers, you make the teaspoon disappear. After practising for a few days, the sleight of hand is almost flawless.

Sanji nods with appreciation.

“So you’re a magician, eh?” A low chuckle rumbles in his throat. “This explains how come you’ve bewitched me entirely.”

He leans on his arm against the edge of the counter. His head is slightly tilted as he's looking down at you. The lack of space between your bodies wouldn't raise an eyebrow in any other circumstances but now, when the night is dark and silent, the close proximity makes it hard to breathe. Your chests nervously rise and fall as you're breathing in each other's air.

“Truth be told," you begin in a slightly shaky voice, "I don’t know how to reverse the spell I put on you.”

But it seems as though Sanji has seen through your facade of humour and banter. The playful glint in his eyes mellows, becoming something more heartfelt. Your breath gets stuck in your throat and you must remind yourself to breathe.

“I’m quite content doting on you for the rest of my life."

You clench your jaw and look away for a moment. Flirty banter with Sanji is meant to remain just that - half-hearted comments with no strings attached. The problem is that, against your better judgement, you've been letting his wax poetic weigh down heavy on you, savouring each compliment and ambiguous remark like a soft river wearing down an unmovable boulder over time.

“Sanji," you whisper, "you need to stop saying all those nice things.”

“Why?” His voice is just as breathy and quiet.

“Because I’m starting to believe you.”

Something about his expression changes. You can't quite put a finger on it but Sanji's face looks softer, almost somber. His shoulders become tense as he wipes his hands on the dishrag hanging over his shoulder and tosses it on the countertop.

"Would that be so terrible, love?" Sanji drones his words. Part of you is convinced that he already knows the answer. "To believe that my every thought belongs to you?" His eyelids flutter as his gaze falls to your lips. "That I would tear out my own heart and bring it to you in my teeth if you asked for it?"

The short silence feels unbearable. You can hear your own heart thundering in your chest, beating at your ribcage to finally be freed. To let it make the decision this time.

“Alright, you’ve done it," you whisper more to yourself than to him.

You can hear Sanji sharply inhaling when you grab the collar of his elegant shirt and pull him into a feverish kiss. He tastes like cigarettes and spearmint chewing gum. His shirt is imbued with the smell of cooking oil. All of those strong aromas you've learned to associate with comfort and security.

His lips move against yours with passion and desperation known only to those who made friends with longing. Sanji places his hands around your waist, pulling you even closer to his body. If he could pull you just a little more, merge the two of you into one union, he wouldn't have to go a second without you.

Then, Sanji pulls just an inch away. His hot, heavy breath brushes against your cheeks. Swollen, red lips look even more enticing than they did before.

"Are you really going to woo Zoro with a magic trick?" he asks, somewhat tense.

Your laughter brightens up the dead of night. Sanji feels like his chest is about to burst open with flowers blooming inside his ribcage where his heart should be. And it would have been if he hadn't given it to you the moment you met.

"Just shut up."

Shaking your head, you kiss him again. Still holding you close, Sanji pushes you against the kitchen counter. One of his hands leaves your waist only to rest against the side of your head to deepen the kiss.

It's around 4 A.M. when you wonder whether being in love is like having a song stuck in your head. Or like an echo that forever repeats a single name.

[traincat]

Hello! A bit of a silly question, but are there any iconic or standout Johnny or Peter outfits from the comics? For Johnny, ones that aren’t Fantastic Four uniforms specifically. Hope you’re having a good day/night! I love reading ur comic rambles !

Oh, the outfits. Not sure if these are what you wanted by iconic or standout, but these are the ones I think about a lot.

So, on his own, Peter's not the most interesting dresser, but he's not bad at it, either.

This is a pretty typical look for him -- Turtleneck with this style of jacket, pants, hiking boots. It works for him, but there's a practical aspect here, too, because he can wear the Spider-Man costume under this combination without anyone being aware. (They put him in short sleeves too much today!)

He's had some outfits though. Some looks. Some better than others.

(ASM #311) "Le Derriere jeans." Let's be fair he's not even trying with this one. At least MJ's pink cowboy getup is cute but he's not even attempting to wear that hat. It's wearing him.

(ASM #299) Bless him he's trying. Barely and badly, but trying. Note to myself that I need to do a McFarlane reread at some point. It's not my favorite period of canon, as evidenced by the fact that this wasn't in my refs and I had to go looking for it.

(ASM #330) I love his stupid anti-Batman tank top. It takes a certain kind of man to be petty across publishing houses.

Thou who doth not make mention of three things -- namely, the red briefs, the Bathrobe Collection, and the animal crop top -- hath not done their duty to Spider-Man fandom. Seriously, why does he own so many of bathrobes. (ASM #299 and Web of Spider-Man #18)

(ASM #249) Imagine you just found out your father murdered one of your best friends in the whole world and one of your other best friends in the whole world shows up to your pool party wearing this.

(ASM #506) But yeah I would say, day to day, he wears a lot of button ups with ties and black turtlenecks. Again, stuff he can hide the costume under. He wore a lot of suits and ties when he was teaching.

In terms of costumes, I really like the black cloth Spider-Man suit, but it's not exactly unusual. I'm pretty conservative with Spider-Man suits, but I do like the Last Stand suit. I feel there's good narrative weight to that one.

(ASM #637) Not in its original context, but a good look at it all the same. Interesting that in Madame Web's vision of what would happen if Peter killed Kraven, he switches to the Last Stand suit. Something worth thinking about potentially. I do wish I liked his Future Foundation suit more than I actually do, but I only really like the black version. The plain white is just kind of boring to me.

Okay, Johnny, though -- Johnny Storm has never met a pattern he wouldn't violently clash up against another pattern. Johnny dresses like a whole circus. Johnny goes to Paris Fashion Week, buys everything, and still ends up on the worst dressed list. Johnny Storm's fashion choices are breathtaking.

(FF #164) "And I don't have to stop for red lights." Okay. Let's take it from the top here. The red ascot, the violently patterned shirt and pants, the fringed jacket with his initials on it. The multiple rings. When I say this outfit has it all I mean it has the whole store.

And do not forget his perfectly coiffed hair, a thing that he woke up with and required no styling whatsoever. ("I've got to do SOMETHING about my hair!" - Fantastic Four #138.)

(FF #191) I actually like this one, I think the maroon suit is cute.

(FF #296) I love his little red scarf and Four jacket. Guest appearance by Alicia/Lyja (this was written pre-retcon but we also have to apply the retcon to past appearances, you know how it is) who is definitely speaking like a human and not a space alien who has gone wildly off script.

(FF #309) Obsessed with this entire scene. "Oh, I'm going to fly down with my brand new wife to Fire Island, a famously gay vacation spot, while wearing my little ankle jeans and nautical striped tank top. Maybe we'll hold hands." Unbelievable.

He also tends to wear a lot of Four-branded and flame print stuff, in general, which is cute. The famous flame print swim trunks, etc.

(Fantastic Four v5 #14) You have to love his Depression Howard the Duck shirt. Context: Peter and Wyatt kidnapped him for his own good.

(Uncanny Avengers #8) I think about his wolf howling at the moon shirt and tiny orange shorts combo from this comic roughly five times a week.

For uniforms that are less common, I really like his gold and black suit, his 2n1 suit, and the black short sleeve variant of his suit from Claremont's run.

(Marvel Two-in-One (2018) #4) I loved this jacket. I wish they'd sold a version of it, I would have bought it.

(Moon Girl #25) Don't trauma dump on the child, Johnny.

(FF v3 #27) This one isn't anything particularly special or anything, I just think it's fun, and I like the boots. They desperately need to take things a step further and let him do his own version of one of Sue's opera glove costumes.

Also please look at this dumb little outfit he made himself when he was sixteen and being manipulated into breaking away from the Fantastic Four.

(Strange Tales #106) This is iconic to me anyway.

And then okay. Yeah. There's the Bad! Real Bad! shirt.

(Daredevil #261) Someone help him.

[catboy-cabin]

i think the pictures of the missing child spirits in the lost & found department are the spirits' reflections???

so i just noticed that charles' pins & his earring are on the wrong side in his lost & found picture

(idk how to get screenshots on netflix so all i have are these pictures of my laptop screen, sorry. feel free to add in the reblogs if you have anything cleaner!)

he should have more pins on the right (our right) than the left.

also it's really hard to see in this picture & not much better in the actual show, but i believe this is his union jack patch? which should be on the right sleeve (again, our right, his left)

(i'm fully aware that this picture looks like nothing, you're just gonna have to trust me haha 😅)

i can't tell what's above it though, other than that it doesn't really look like his rude boys patch (which should be on the same sleeve). idk what's up with that.

now this *could* be a different outfit, but i don't think so. i can't think of any reason why it would be. it's definitely not what he died in, or even what he was wearing before he hid in the attic. edwin is wearing his normal outfit in his lost & found photo as well (although interestingly not with his brown coat over it. i can't tell if charles is wearing both of his jackets or not though. he's definitely got the black one on, both bc of the pins & bc his shoulders never look that square without it)

his earring is definitely on the wrong side, as i mentioned earlier

also seems like the buttons on his shirt open the wrong way

(the stripes on the collar are weird too but the design changes several times over the course of the show so i'm ignoring it. his normal red shirt has one stripe, the darker maroon one has two, and the black one doesn't have any as far as i can tell)

i don't have pictures of this one but i believe the buttons on edwin's suit jacket (? idk what it's actually called) are on the wrong side in his lost & found picture as well. that's basically the only part of his outfit that's asymmetrical though (other than a pocket that's next to impossible to make out normally, much less in an extremely grainy photo) so i don't see much point in analyzing it

tldr: if you're like me & you've been wondering why the pictures of the boys in the lost & found department look Weird (beyond the actual quality of the photos), it's because they're flipped!!

the reasons i think these pictures are reflections, specifically, are that:

1. they're flipped, as i just went through

2. ghosts don't have reflections

now i have a tentative theory:

these pictures are from the lost & found department. they're the pictures/reflections of lost (child) spirits; spirits that aren't in a designated afterlife, aka ghosts still on earth

charles & edwin both have reflections in hell (a separate plane from earth)

it seems like they get their reflections back just from being in any afterlife? charles hasn't gotten his afterlife assignment yet, but still has a reflection in hell, which to me implies that he's not considered a 'lost' soul while he's there, even if that's not where he's actually supposed to end up. i'm definitely open to other interpretations on this though.

i also feel like there's some connection between this & ghosts being able to travel through mirrors, but i'm blanking on what exactly that could mean

thank you to anyone who has read to the end of this, i would love to know your thoughts!!

[sakurapika]

🧧🎊Reviewing New Year Sale Outfits in Twisted Wonderland: 2025 Edition🎍🎉

Last year, I rambled about how much I love playing TWST around New Year, or oshogatsu (お正月), as it is the biggest holiday of the year for my family and for many people living in Japan. The New Year Sale event combines many of my favorite things: tradition, clothing, and the cast of TWST!

So, this year, I am making another post to admire the new, elaborate outfits, and we can admire the details together!

Just as a heads-up: this post features spoilers for the upcoming JP event. If you're looking for my review on the new Rook, Trey, Jade, and Ortho cards for the upcoming English sever event, they are in the post I made last year.

Malleus Draconia (SSR)

I'm so happy that they made a card for Malleus before the Year of the Dragon has officially ended!

This has to be one of my favorite new cards in the whole game. I've always been a huge fan of historical and fantasy dramas. Compared to the other boys, who are dressed in more modern versions of kimono, Malleus has a very antiquated appearance, and it would really make him stand out among others.

His outfit resembles the clothing that men wore in the Heian Period, like in the image below (source here). A lot of Japanese stories regarding yokai and mythical creatures comes from this time period (like Onmyoji, both the practice and the setting of the game), so it suits Malleus very well. I hope to see more historical outfits for Malleus in the future!

Black was usually associated with government officials, while I think princes wore something more colorful. Seeing Malleus wearing a different color, though, is like seeing a tiger without stripes!

I'm really excited to read about his adventures in retail. How will this mythical, revered prince deal with overly-dramatic customers this holiday season??? We'll have to stay tuned!

Overall, I rate this outfit a 12 zodiac animals/10.

Jack Howl (SSR)

I know he's a wolf, but doesn't Jack get cold? He's not even wearing a sweater...

I like the fur jacket (?) he is wearing, though. It reminds me of Sebek's jacket from the New Year Sale event in 2023. I know that Deuce wore something different, but wouldn't it be cool if all the first-years were matching in some way?

The sleeveless turtleneck and the gloves are A LOOK, though. I also like his striped hakama and the decoration in his hair.

Honestly, I would love to have Jack as my coworker. Since his duo is with Floyd, I wonder how he's going to fare...

Anyway, 12/10 for Jack as well.

Floyd Leech (SR)

Last year, I was a really big fan of the outfit they gave Jade, so I am naturally a big fan of Floyd's outfit as well. I've always liked how the artists have managed to distinguish the two brothers while giving them similar outfits. Here, they've swapped the colors of their haori and their kimono.

His kimono-scarf-hat combo, which combines Western and Japanese elements, are very reminiscent of the Taisho Era.

Now I have to imagine Floyd and Jade traveling together as door-to-door salesmen, selling counterfeit kitchenware that explode confetti in your face instead of heating up the pork cutlet you bought at the convenience store.

But, unfortunately, they're such a convincing duo that you might just have to take those appliances anyway...

Rating: 11/10 (like his brother, lol).

Jamil Viper (SR)

Now that the Year of the Dragon is coming to a close, we are ready to welcome in the Year of the Snake.

Part of why I love this event so much is seeking how the artists work with the usual kimono silhouette and alter it to match the vibe of each character, reflecting their tastes and backgrounds. I've seen people wear hoodies with kimono before, and I'm honestly not surprised to see Jamil wearing one himself. The yellow belt from the Scarabia uniforms being used as an obi is also a nice touch.

There's also a lot to be said about how Jamil's face is partly hidden, with long, drapey sleeves, and how his outfit consists of mostly dark colors, while Kalim's outfit in the first New Year event is primarily red with the sleeves rolled up. I'm excited to collect the fanart of them together.

In general, I'm glad that they've given Jamil long sleeves. I've always imagined that it's cold at NRC, and in a desert like at Scarabia, people need to protect their skin from sun exposure, so the Scarabia uniforms have always low-key bothered me a little.

Given that the New Year Sale event has always been a competition between teams, I wonder how the story will play out between the two teams. Between Malleus-Jamil and Jack-Floyd, we have some pretty strong contenders. (Of course, I know Sam is probably going to give both teams the same rewards, but maybe the story will throw a curveball at us again, haha...)

Rating for Jamil: 12/10

Overall, I'm very happy with this lineup of cards, especially with the presence of Malleus and Jamil, since they match the zodiac animals. Since 2026 will be the Year of the Horse, maybe we'll have Riddle, Epel, and/or Silver?

Anyway, I'm glad oshogatsu is coming, because I've had enough of the Year of the Dragon (sorry, Malleus). For all my friends who don't celebrate Year of the Snake until Lunar New Year, hang in there and stay safe! 🧧

[lulu2992]

From the Inquisitor to the Baptist: The Evolution of John Seed

From the early stages of the development of a video game to the day it gets released, its gameplay, story, and characters usually go through many modifications. Far Cry 5 is no exception to this rule, and thanks to promotional images, trailers, interviews, official side material, and even deleted content still available in the game’s files, we can get a glimpse of what Hope County and its residents used to be like. John Seed, in particular, seems to have undergone quite a few alterations, both physical and moral.

In these posts, I will be listing and discussing all the changes I noticed in John and explaining why the man who used to be known as “The Inquisitor” isn’t identical to “The Baptist” we met in Far Cry 5.

All the sources and references indicated by the superscript numbers will be given in the last post.

Part 1: Physical appearance, clothes, and tattoos (concept art, promotional content, and side material)

What seems to be the earliest portrait of the Seed family is a piece of concept art that Lead Graphic Production Artist Nick Arnett shared on Instagram¹:

As you can see, many things look different from what we are used to, from the Eden’s Gate cross (behind Joseph’s head) and logo (on the pulpit, with an eagle) to the Seed siblings’ outfits. The man on the right seems to be John, and he’s sporting a two-tone blue shirt that resembles the one he will end up wearing in the game, but he doesn’t have a vest. Instead of a belt, he has suspenders, and his pants and shoes look darker and more formal than his usual jeans and boots. He already has a beard and, while his hair is slicked back, as it is in the game, it’s a little longer. He doesn’t have any visible tattoos, but if you look closely, you’ll notice that he does have something on his hand: blood, running from his knuckles.

In May 2017, nine months before Far Cry 5 came out, the game was officially announced and a few promotional pictures were released, notably these two²:

But before that, we can see what John looked like at an even earlier stage of the game’s development, during the making of those two aforementioned pictures, thanks to early sketches and visuals shared by AmCo Studio³ and Fire Without Smoke⁴:

John’s iconic vest and sunglasses have appeared, and while his shirt became white, it’s now partially unbuttoned and the sleeves are rolled up, which is how he wears it in the game. As for his hair, it’s shorter than it was in the first family portrait and looks more similar to his final design. We still don’t see any tattoos on his arms, but he has a watch.

In the final version of what I would call the “Last-Supper-like” images, John looks even more like himself, but there are still a few differences:

Although they are not strictly identical to the ones he has in the game, he’s wearing sunglasses with blue lenses on his head. His shirt became blue again, his vest is striped, and he now has his “EG” (Eden’s Gate) earring and belt buckle, grey jeans, and bunker key around his neck. He’s also wearing a coat, but while, at first glance, it looks like the one we all know, the pattern isn’t the same; instead of planes, there are “EG” symbols on it. The buttons, however, are already golden and decorated with scales.

In the pictures, especially the first one, the siblings are associated with symbols: a crown for Joseph (on his jacket and napkin), a sword for Jacob (on his music box), a pair of scales for John (on his coat’s buttons and in the bread/cake), and intoxicating Bliss flowers for Faith, a reference to the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse: Conquest, War, Famine, and Death, respectively, who. In John’s case, the scales could also be a nod to the fact he’s a lawyer. Indeed, scales are commonly used to symbolize justice.

This time, he finally has tattoos, and while some of them are the ones he will have in Far Cry 5, others are different. He already has small symbols on his fingers: an eye, a tongue, a hand with a drop of blood on it, a heart, a foot, a keyhole, and waves. The meaning of these symbols used to be a mystery to me, but it turns out they were inspired by Bible verses, specifically Proverbs 6:16-19⁵:

There are six things the Lord hates, seven that are detestable to him: haughty eyes, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked schemes, feet that are quick to rush into evil, a false witness who pours out lies and a person who stirs up conflict in the community.

The flames on his right wrist will be in the game as well, but here, they are smaller. This tattoo seems to have been taken directly from this illustration:

It’s from a French (Breton, to be precise) collection of “Taolennoù Ar Mission” (literally “mission paintings” in Breton) by François-Marie Balanant, who was a priest, and it depicts a human soul being afflicted by the seven deadly sins⁶. “Taolennoù” were created in Brittany in the sixteenth century by the Catholic clergy in an effort to make religion more accessible to the faithful, some of whom were illiterate, with the help of drawings.

This particular image can be found on the Wikipedia page dedicated to the seven deadly sins⁷, which seems to have been the primary source of information and inspiration for several of John’s tattoos.

Clearly, the angelic figure with the dove, on his right hand, also directly comes from the drawing (upper left corner). This tattoo will later be redesigned and decorate the inner face of his left forearm.

As explained on Wikipedia, there used to be eight mortal sins, and their Latin names were:

Gula (Gluttony)

Luxuria (Lust)

Avaritia (Greed)

Tristitia (Sorrow)

Ira (Wrath)

Acedia (Sloth)

Vanagloria (Vainglory)

Superbia (Pride)

Tristitia and Acedia would later be combined, as well as Vanagloria and Superbia.

In the two promotional pictures, John has seven of these sins (except Acedia) tattooed on his left hand, as he does in Far Cry 5.

John also has letters on his fingers, but while, in the game, they spell “E-D-E-N” and “G-A-T-E”, here, we see G, G, S, E, W, P, and L, most likely the first letter of each deadly sin in English.

On his chest, instead of a scar and the mutilated word “SLOTH”, he has a tattoo. We see two crossed rifles, the number seven in tally marks (probably yet another reference to the deadly sins), what seems to be the words “Bros & Sis” above the design, and what probably is “Til Death” under it. It looks like an infantry tattoo, very similar to the example included below (center) by tattoo artist Garrett Tankersley, known as tat2garrett on Instagram⁸:

Finally, in one of the images, John is holding a tattoo machine. In the other, he’s holding a revolver. In the game, however, this weapon is nowhere to be seen.

Even though he will never use it in Far Cry 5, John was represented by this gun again on one of the game’s old official websites⁹:

At the time, as you can see, his title was also “The Inquisitor” instead of “The Baptist”.

On the PlayAsia blog, on a page dedicated to Far Cry 5, short information sheets about a few of the game’s characters were posted¹⁰. They look official, but since I have only ever seen them on this website, which was not created by Ubisoft, their origin and therefore the accuracy of the information they give are uncertain.

While most of what the picture says is either true (blue eyes, brown hair) or plausible (his height), John mathematically can’t be only 32 years old because he was already working as a lawyer about ten years before the events of the game, which is set in 2018. According to my research, it takes 7 years after graduating high school to become a licensed lawyer in the United States. In 2008, John couldn’t be younger than 18+7=25 years old, so it’s impossible for him to have been born after 1983. He could have skipped grades, but since this is never mentioned anywhere, I assume he didn’t and that he’s in fact older than 32 in Far Cry 5.

It’s possible, however, that he really was supposed to be 32 years old when the picture was made but that his backstory (and consequently his age) was then modified.

In the novel Far Cry Absolution, a few details are given about John’s appearance. For example, on page 6:

He was ten years older than [Mary May] and near six foot with brown hair and a beard that covered the lower half of his face.

Mary May is 29 (almost 30) in the novel, which makes John approximately 39 or 40 years old in the book. This age is more plausible, I think.

Then, on page 31:

John Seed, the younger brother of The Father, slighter in build, but cut from the same cloth. Both bearded and tattooed, and both with those all-seeing eyes that seemed to search through the dark with a kind of nocturnal prowess.

This isn’t the only time in the novel that John’s gaze is described as intense. The word “predatory” is even used on page 145.

Interestingly, and despite the fact it’s absent from Far Cry 5, the gun seen in his hand in one of the promotional pictures is mentioned in Absolution as well. It’s described as “a large revolver” on page 31 and as a “big magnum revolver” on page 57. He also uses a rifle “with a wood stock and bolt-action lever” (page 48) at one point, but this weapon isn’t in the game either.

Overall, aside from this detail, his physical description in the book is rather consistent with what we see in the game. And in this official picture posted in January 2018 to promote the book¹¹, he apparently looks the same as he does in Far Cry 5.

In the live-action short film Inside Eden’s Gate¹², Joseph is the only member of the Seed family who is played by the actor who also plays him in Far Cry 5, Greg Bryk. In the game, while John is played by Seamus Dever, in the movie, it’s another actor named Rob Evors who was cast in the role. His voice and face obviously don’t sound and look exactly like John’s, so these differences are not significant.

His outfit, however, has gone through several changes. I don’t know if the design was deliberately altered or if the clothes Rob Evors has in the film simply are the closest real-life equivalent to the ones John is wearing in the promotional pictures that the movie’s costume designers could get their hands on. Like in the development sketches for the “Last-Supper-like” images, his shirt is light-colored (but still blue, apparently) and he’s wearing his sunglasses normally, not on his head. They don’t seem to have blue lenses, but again, maybe the team could only find “regular” sunglasses. He has his Eden’s Gage belt buckle and earring, but instead of being grey, his coat, vest, pants, and shoes are brown/beige. The coat is decorated with “EG” logos, exactly like the one John is wearing in the promotional pictures, but lighter in color.

As for his tattoos, they are identical to the “old” ones we’ve seen so far, but two more are visible: the pair of scales on the side of his thumb and the snake (from the Taolennoù Ar Mission again, but uncoiled), which represents Envy, around his left wrist. These two new tattoos will be part of John’s final design in the game.

There’s another one between the snake and his watch, but it’s simply one of Rob Evors’¹³.

In the film, John’s tattoos were actually hand-painted¹⁴. Here’s a better look a them, from Makeup Artist Casey Lynn Stuckey’s Instagram account:

His sleeves are never rolled up in Inside Eden’s Gate, but it’s most likely because that would have meant covering up the actor’s actual tattoos and possibly painting more, so I suppose they thought it was more convenient to just hide them.

The last notable change regarding John’s appearance in the short film is that, for the first and seemingly only time, he’s wearing a shoulder holster, but his gun is not the revolver we’ve seen for far. Instead, it looks like a semi-automatic pistol, maybe a 1911. Since, in Inside Eden’s Gate, Joseph also has this type of gun and not the revolver he carries in Far Cry 5 (albeit rarely, and he never uses it), it’s possible that, once again, the team couldn’t find the right weapons for the movie and used the available props.

In the live-action TV spot “Anything Can Happen, Everything Will”¹⁵, John is this time played by model and actor Jon Oswald, who jokingly described the character as “the asshole in the Gucci trench coat” when he shared the video on his Instagram account¹⁶.

John’s outfit looks identical to Rob Evors’ in Inside Eden’s Gate (except the shoes and the holster, it seems), so it’s likely that they just reused the same clothes. Like in the film, John’s sunglasses (which are not blue) aren’t on his head; he’s wearing them. His hair is a bit different, but it’s probably simply because Jon Oswald’s hairstyle looked close enough to John’s and they thought it didn’t need to be modified, so I don’t think this “change” is significant.

Thanks to the pictures that Mackenzie Lawrén Johnson (better known as Kenz Lawrén), who plays Faith Seed in the short film and the TV spot, posted on Instagram¹⁷, we can have a better look at him and his tattoos.

They haven’t changed much compared to the previous ones, but we can now see a goat (a symbol for Lust, also directly from the Taolennoù Ar Mission) next to the snake on his left arm. In the game, the goat will disappear from his hand, be redesigned, and end up on his right forearm. We see two other tattoos in the picture, but they simply are Jon Oswald’s¹⁸.

In the image below, drawn by Anthony Winn, who made storyboards for the TV spot¹⁹, the character on the far right (who is not Joseph), wearing a vest and sunglasses, and standing next to a woman who is probably Faith, appears to be an early version of John. This time, he’s holding a rifle, different from the one described in Absolution, and not a handgun. For once, his sister is armed as well.

In The Book of Joseph²⁰, John, as a child, is described as “the best looking, the least odd” of the Seed brothers, which is why the narrator, Joseph himself, believes he was adopted first after they were sent to an orphanage. When they meet again as adults, Joseph says his younger brother is “strikingly handsome, elegant”, wears “tailored suits” and very expensive shoes, has gleaming hair, shiny teeth, and manicured hands. He also writes that, as John Duncan (the name of his adoptive parents), “physically, he was society’s very model of success”. Psychologically, however, it was another story… but this will be discussed later. Although the John Seed we meet in the game isn’t exactly the same person as John Duncan was anymore, he’s still “elegant” and seems to take care of his appearance. Joseph doesn’t mention tattoos, but it’s likely that John got them later, after the Project was created.

An official guide for Far Cry 5, by Prima Games, was released alongside it. In the book, which was written in 2017, we get to see what John looked like when the game was still in development.

This design is very close to the final one, but for some reason, his sunglasses, bunker key, earring, and tattoos are all (temporarily) gone. However, the “SLOTH” scar has now appeared on his chest instead of the tattoo he previously had, even though it’s a bit closer to his collarbone than it will be in the game. His outfit and facial features look slightly different, but this is also true for many other characters in the guide.

On IGN’s YouTube channel, a video titled “Far Cry 5: Why John Seed Is Your Charmingly Deadly Enemy” was uploaded in February 2018²¹. In it, we get a glimpse of an early version of the “You have been Marked” TV broadcast²², and although the setting looks different, John’s appearance is very close to his final one.

By the way, if you look at the noticeboard behind the TV, you’ll see that the Testicle Festival was supposed to take place in 2017 instead of 2018. When this early in-game footage was recorded, Far Cry 5 was probably still scheduled to come out in September 2017 (which is what the first rumors said and could also explain why all the calendars in the game suggest we are in September).

In the thumbnail of the YouTube video, John looks exactly like himself:

He does too in the “Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse” artwork²³, this promotional screenshot²⁴, and this poster²⁵:

And in a trailer posted by Ubisoft three weeks before the release of Far Cry 5, a “character spotlight”²⁶, John has his final design as well. The only difference is that, although the game was about to come out, they still called him “The Inquisitor” instead of “The Baptist”.

Then, on March 27, 2018, Far Cry 5 was released.

To be continued…

[layla4567]

I was browsing tiktok and this video came up and I immediately thought: this is very sanji x y/n core

And of course I had to write something about it.

Warnings: mention of body parts (but is not smut or nsfw)

You and Sanji always dressed together, no matter if it was in your room at the Going Merry or his. You had been dating for several months and it was not at all alarming to see each other's bodies in their underwear.

You were standing in front of the rectangular mirror while trying to pull a long skirt up to your waist. The fabric slid up your thighs while Sanji next to you turned his back slightly to you while he fastened his belt. But the elastic of your skirt was very tight and did not go past your buttocks. You moved your legs back and forth in the hope that the fabric would rise but it was useless. The flirtatious cook heard your frustrated gasps and turned his head only to see your pretty butt framed by your white panties while the elastic of the skirt squeezed your flesh and raised it slightly. Sanji smiled widely and came up behind you ready to help you.

"Come here, let me help you missus" He purred softly.

You smiled warmly when you felt his soft fingers around your hips, holding the skirt firmly to place it around your waist. You turned around and gave him a kiss on the tip of his nose.

"Do you want me to help you with your shirt, love?" You asked, tilting your head.

"I would like nothing more, gorgeous"

He grabbed the light blue striped shirt and you helped him put on the sleeves, then you concentrated on buttoning the front. From time to time you admired your boyfriend's bare torso and had to suppress your blushing cheeks, although he always noticed and smiled without saying anything. Sometimes words were unnecessary and a comfortable silence settled between the two of you. You took your time patiently and delicately to button the last button as if you had the entire afternoon to do it, not wanting to break that kind of ritual that you and him had.

"Ready my love, now would you help me with the blouse please?"

You turned around to look in the mirror and Sanji came up behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders and bringing his face closer to yours, admiring how your bra looked outlining your bust.

"I wouldn't mind seeing you like this for a while longer" He said smiling mischievously

You put your hands on your hips and turned your head, raising an eyebrow trying to hide a smile and looked at him as if you were going to scold a child who misbehaved. He laughed amused and kissed your cheek, then grabbed the princess sleeve blouse and gently helped you put it on by passing the fabric over your head. The blouse had front laces and your boyfriend quickly and without saying a word helped you tie them. You watched his smooth hands skillfully tie his bows, with the final knot you also helped him and placed your fingers on his, feeling the heat of his skin.

You two always helped each other, you lovingly put Sanji's jacket on and adjusted it and cleaned it like you were a mother preparing your child for the first day of school. He thanked you for each gesture silently and with an adorable smile. The cook looked like a prince charming, he even helped you put on your shoes as if you were Cinderella, always ready to serve you and only you. Finally, all that was left was your hairstyle, you were thinking of putting on some hair clips with flowers but you couldn't find them. Sanji saw them first and decided to play an innocent joke on you by hiding them behind his back. When you realized it, you scolded him lightly and demanded that he give them back to you. Of course you first had to put up with his teasing. Sanji raised the buckles over his head and you stretched out your hand trying to grab them in vain, you couldn't deny that the situation amused both of you so the laughter didn't take long to fill the room.

"I'll give it to you in exchange for a kiss" he tilts his head smiling flirtatious

You couldn't help but laugh amused and stood on your tiptoes to kiss him tenderly on the lips. Feeling satisfied, Sanji delicately placed the clips in the back of your hair. You closed your eyes enjoying his fingers on your head, sighing happily. When it was over, you walked around in front of the mirror admiring your outfit, you looked like a princess and your boyfriend knew it because, hugging you from behind and placing his arms around your waist while he rested his chin on your shoulder, he whispered to you.

"You're beautiful ma princesse"

You blushed pleased as you complimented him on his appearance as well. Then, hugging, they said I love you to each other, ready to face the new day in the best way. There were definitely no better mornings than these.

[mrsfrederickchilton]

FREDERICK. Chapter 43

The game park was gigantic. When you entered, you were given brochures with a plan and a list of the areas. Several new locations had opened since you had been here with your criminal (coming here was a completely spontaneous decision, but you, surprisingly, liked it; you mostly lingered at the shooting range, darts and racing machines). Dr. Chilton had decided that he needed to look more cheerful in a game park than in a mental hospital, and had dressed up in what he considered his most appropriate suit — an ochre striped one, which horrified you. You made him take off his jacket and roll up the sleeves of his green shirt, which turned him into a more or less adequate-looking visitor. Thank goodness Dr. Chilton had thought not to wear a tie. You wondered if he even owned sweaters and jeans? Maybe they were hidden somewhere in a secret closet? You didn’t seem to have seen such things in the dressing room. You dressed exactly like that yourself.

It was noisy and fun around; thank God, no children — the children's park was located separately from the adult one. Doctor Chilton sadly looked at the brochure, hoping that you would not visit all the sections. Rollerdrome (a nightmare), billiards, virtual reality, bowling, some kind of “arcade”, several bars, cafes, simulators, shooting range, photo zones, slot machines, air hockey, laser tag (what is that?), darts, autodrome (God forbid) and even table tennis.

You entered the play area and immediately felt like you were in another world. The mental hospitals and opera houses had disappeared, fearfully giving way to something noisy, cheerful, wild, and active. This was completely unknown territory for Dr. Chilton, and he couldn’t yet figure out if he liked anything here, or if everything was as terrible as he imagined. The first area was the rollerdrome, and although you remembered your conversation, in which it became clear that both of you were not fans of this entertainment, you still stopped at the fence. Dr. Chilton looked with horror at the visitors cutting through the large area on roller skates and at those who were putting on roller skates on the bench next to you. You saw that he was uncomfortable, and you were completely fine with that. You were also uncomfortable at his parties and presentations. True, you asked to go there yourself, but that’s not important. Because you also felt uncomfortable begging for visits for two months while being bombarded with his smug smiles and condescending phrases. If he thinks you'll ever forget about it, and especially that you'll forget about it because you hooked up a few times and went bowling, he's seriously mistaken.

“Let's move on,” you tugged at his shirt sleeve, and he happily complied.

The next section was bowling. To be honest, you didn't know how to play, but you always wanted to try. Maybe it was your calling. Exactly this. Knocking down pins, aiming at them with a holey ball, and not losing your rhythm, playing Chopin, trying not to give in to someone who doesn't lose their rhythm.

You remembered why you hadn't played bowling before: for some unknown reason, you clearly imagined that throwing the ball would break your fingers. Thinking about it, you felt your earlobes burning. For some reason, you felt terribly ashamed. Apparently, this is what prompted you to grab a dangerous round object, ready to break your phalanges, without thinking.

“Not like that,” Dr. Chilton smiled, seeing that you were holding the ball incorrectly. He was glad he could teach you something.

What?

He took your hand, cold as always, and pointed to your ring, middle, and thumb fingers.

“Otherwise you could get hurt.”

Of course. That’s exactly what I need.

“It’s my first time,” you admitted.

“I get it,” Dr. Chilton replied. “I’ll show you.”

“I didn’t know you could bowl.”

“You didn’t think so,” he corrected.

“What?”

“You couldn’t have known that anyway. Very few people knew about it. And even then, they won’t tell anyone,” he joked.

“Wow,” you blurted out.

Well, well — Dr. Chilton bowls! And he’s joking!

“What?”

“Oh, nothing,” you smiled. “Do you know how to play pool too?”

“No. And you?”

“Neither do I.”

He smiled politely in response.

You chose the farthest lane, and there was almost no one around. No one saw or heard your shame. You looked around and tried to copy the body position of the other players, although everyone had a slightly different one. Dr. Chilton looked at you and came closer. He put one hand on your waist, the other on your stomach and slightly moved your body back:

“I think it would be better to try to straighten up.”

He was definitely enjoying the game park already.

He also adjusted the position of your legs and elbow — you did not resist. It still did not fit in your head that Dr. Chilton could know something about bowling. He walked with you a few steps, showing how the ball should move, and adjusted the tilt of your shoulders. After three throws and three rolls of the ball into the gutter, you realized that you no longer wanted to feel Dr. Chilton's hands on you, trying so hard to help you.

“Your turn,” you said, shaking your wrist. Nothing seems to be broken.

“Actually, I haven't played in a long time,” he admitted.

“When was the last time?”

“I think about ten years ago,” Dr. Chilton said. “So please excuse me if anything.”

It wasn't fair. Ten years ago or not, he shouldn't have been able to play. He should have been in agony in every section of this game park, but for now he was just having fun. You weren't happy, but then he picked up the ball and prepared to throw. It was a bit odd, to be honest. Bowling definitely didn't fit the polished image of Dr. Chilton, not in your head or in reality. It belonged to another universe. You thought he'd be more suited to billiards, if it came to that. It was easier to imagine Dr. Chilton sending a ball into a pocket with a concentrated swing of his cue. The same way he guided a patient's thoughts in the right direction with his questions and tests. And yet, in that green shirt with the sleeves rolled up, with a ball in his hand and with a glint in his eye that had just come from nowhere, it was Dr. Chilton who stood in front of you.

It was very odd indeed.

“Okay, that's enough,” you said when he got a strike on his first try. “Let's move on.”

Dr. Chilton looked at you blankly, just getting into the swing of things.

“We still have a lot to look at.”

If Dr. Chilton understood the reason for the displeasure still visible on your face, even though you were sure you'd wiped it off, he didn't say anything.

“What's next?” he asked, resisting the urge to get another strike in front of you.

“Let's just go in order.”

You walked a few meters and saw a large fenced area with flickering lights and various obstacles. Shouts of “Duck!”, “Fuck!” and others broke through the loud music. Teams fought each other with laser beams, and in this section there was already a queue for the next round. You unanimously decided to go further.

“Arcade” was a section with mini-amusements, the goal of which was to win a small prize. There were three amusements, two of which were occupied by young couples: the guys were trying to get gifts for the girls. You got a wall with inflatable balloons that you had to burst by hitting them with a dart.

“What prizes?” you asked a skinny young employee in glasses, who obviously worked here part-time after school.

He pointed to the boxes with prizes: soft toys, packages of candy, boxes with board games. Prizes were given out depending on the number of balloons burst before the first miss. Dr. Chilton started to deny it, but you made such a scary face that for the first time in his life he had to take a dart and throw it towards the balls. There was no other way to call it. You rolled up the sleeves of your sweater and pulled the open case of darts towards you. At least you knew how to do that. You took the dart and took aim. Will you ever see your love again? Bang! The balloon burst, answering yes. Will you be able to come to terms with what you are doing? One step closer to the prize. Do you two have a future? This time you aimed even more carefully, and for good reason. Does he still look forward to seeing you, despite what he did? Surely he already regretted giving up visits. Will your dubious, but quite capable plan succeed? The dart stuck into the wall, in those tiny millimeters between the two balls. Damn it.

“Not bad at all, congratulations!” the employee rummaged through the prize boxes and handed you a yellow box with crisp black letters. “Your prize! Have a nice evening at our game park!”

You looked at the box. “Familiar Strangers. Psychological Game.” Excellent. As if we don't have enough psychological games. Dr. Chilton was looking at it too, so you thrust it into his hands.

“But this is your prize,” he said.

“Now it's yours.”

I don't need this junk.

Next chapter (Chapter 44)

Masterlist

[xoxokomorebixoxo]

Chapter 2: Trio Mischief

Lazy, tired, hazel greens scanned through the sea of people. His head turned to the main librarian and gave a simple nod in return to the stout, white-haired old woman behind the desk before walking further in. He was wearing a dark gray coat over a muted, burnt orange hoodie. The hood was pulled up over his head.

Raising a hand to his face scratching at the five o'clock shadow he had on his pale face, he looked back at his companions who trailed beside him. One man had on a thick checkered black and red flannel. His dark brown hair a bit of a mess as he pushed the thick, heavy locks of his back. He wore a worn out, tanned leather jacket over the flannel, a pair of faded dark denim jeans. Using the back of his hand he tapped the orange hooded man's shoulder and gestured with his head toward the smoker's area inside the building.

The man with the orange hoodie raised a brow before giving a nod signaling the man with cigarettes to go which he obligated. Before the man with the cigarettes walked off, he stopped to the third figure. He was a bit younger than the other two males. He wore a pull over hoodie which was blue and brown. The main base was a dull brown with vertical stripes down the sleeves. A navy-blue hood was pulled up over a baseball cap. Shaggy, messy brown hair poking up and out in all directions. He wore a medical mask over his mouth. His dark brows knitted together as the red flannelled male put a hand on his shoulder and leaned closer.

"Keep your fucking act together." The man with the red flannel whispered in a venomous tone.

"Both of you keep your fucking shit together. I don't want to have to deal with either of you." The man with the orange hoodie spoke in a harsh tone. He looked to the man with the red flannel. "Hurry up and go get your fucking smoke. You're already annoying the shit out of me. And I don't want to have to deal with that bullshit if I'm the only one doing work here."

The man with the red flannel glared, gritting his teeth before letting out a scoff. Brian then turned his attention to the man in the medical mask "You, don't get fucking cocky. You almost made us miss our fucking deadline for the assignment we had due." The way he worded it was like they were college students working together on an assignment, but they both knew what the orange hoodie male meant.

He was talking about how his partner, like usual, let his ego get in the way, only this time they almost let one of those college students escape before they could finish the job. "If you can do that for once than we should be in the clear. I'm going to go research. If you need me, call me or him." With that the man with the orange hoodie left.

Toby's arms crossed tight against his chest, his shoulder twitching from the sudden movement, rolling the same way his eyes rolled up at his "co-worker". "F-For the last fuck-fucking time," he snapped, tilting his face away to glare at the counter to his left," I said I-I had it! I'm n-not a little kid. I can do my job," his arm jerked out from under the other, punching the air without control," just like the two of you!"

"Hey, twitchy? Keep your fucking voice down, will ya?" Tim snapped, shuffling to the smoking area. His hands patted the pocket stitched into his tan jacket, fingers pushing through the cover to grab his pack of cigarettes and an old silver lighter.

Stand there.

Wait for Tim.

Do nothing. Touch nothing.

The orders echoed in the brunette's head as he bounced on his heels. Toby hated this. He despised how he was looked down upon by the other two proxies.

Before Toby knew it, even Brian was walking away, heading for the paranormal section to gather some findings. Brown hues turned to look out the window. The scenery outside was morphing with the darkness of shadows. Birds stopped chirping as the sun was setting, being replaced by the sound of crickets. The trees buried in front of various shops swayed gently with the light breeze. Few people were scattered on the streets, shaken by the mass murderers going around town, killing people at random. The thought put a smile on the boy's face. He felt the electric charge of adrenaline coursing through his veins, a potent elixir that sharpened his senses and heightened his awareness. His heart pounded with an exhilarating rhythm, the thrill of the hunt amplifying his focus. He reveled in the power he wielded, the dominance of being the predator, knowing his prey was oblivious to the impending doom. He thrived in the feeling of adrenaline coursing through his veins from the hunt.

That's when his mind went blank.

Across the street, moving about a block away, was a girl leading a familiar body to a restaurant down the street. Toby rushed to the window, nearly tripping over his feet. His face plastered against the pane of glass. Travis. A Cheshire grin grew over the brunette's lips under his surgical mask. Toby glanced over his shoulder. Brian was still at the computers researching. Tim was still having a smoke.

Slowly and quietly, Toby stepped out of the library. The bell dinging behind him as the door opened. He rushed forth, racing down the steps before slowing, hiding behind a tree as the female brought their current "work project" into a small, but cozy seeming restaurant. So that's where their victim went. It felt like yesterday they were chasing the poor man through the woods. His screams for help growing desperate, begging, pleading for any soul to come out and help him. The bastard managed to get to the road just as a car was driving by and was taken away. Toby seethed at the thought. Little did their prey know, they were only able to get away for so long.

He pulled the blueish-gray hood further over his head. Sickly pale hands plunged deep in his jean pockets. Toby glanced down both ends of the street and crossed the road. He stopped in front of the restaurant, gazing up the sign plastered overhead. Boil's for Miles. Brown orbs looked through the window, watching as the female sat Travis down on a stool. It made the male roll his eyes. Quickly, the figure moved, placing himself behind a tree. One by one, the streetlights turned on as darkness shrouded the town. Toby's chest pressed against the tree, narrowing his eyes as he observed his prey.

■■■

Brian was walking down the aisles of books, passing through the sections. History. Greek mythology. Dark poetry. Here we go. Finally finding the section he needed, the man with the orange hoodie read down the spines of several novels before collecting a few. Gathering them under one arm he walked to one of the empty monitors and set his books down, beginning his research. It was convenient for the ash brown haired man. He was killing two birds with one stone. He would find some detail, some background on the thing, that-that fucking creature with no face that somehow had eyes that always watched them from just out of the corner of their eyes and second, he could observe one of their new targets who, by coincidence, happened to be working at this very library.

Y/N L/N...

The woman moved methodically through the aisles, returning books to their proper places with practiced ease. Her cart, filled to the brim with returns, squeaked softly as she pushed it along the polished floor. Bored eyes gazed apathetically into the different columns she entered. Her mind kept returning to the students killed. Sheriff Yamazaki has issued a warning for citizens to be cautious of their surroundings, to stay alert and to please report any suspicious activity you may see. The killers are still at large and are deemed a high threat.

Y/N stopped back at the desk, placing her empty cart away. Her attention then skimmed the dwindling crowd of visitors. On the clock hung by the door's left side it read 7:53 pm. Approximately one hour until close. As her eyes slid through the near empty space, she noticed one male sitting by the computers with a pile of books. There was a growing curiosity in her stomach as her eyes searched this man, trying to read the covers from afar. Slowly, she tiptoed over the floorboards, stopping just a foot away from his back to see they were on paranormal findings.

With the library being so silent, Brian could easily hear the sound of sneakers hitting the thin carpet floor. At first, he thought it was the old bat from the front desk. These steps didn't sound so heavy, they didn't slap on the floor so harshly. No, they were lighter, quicker, and trying to be quiet. "I can hear you" his voice was deep, a bit raspy from his dry throat. He hadn't even looked back yet but to anyone it made sense since he hadn't turned on the monitor yet, so it looked like he saw from the reflection in the back screen.

Y/N cleared her throat. "Those are good finds if you ask me. Anything in particular you are researching or is it all for fun?" On the open page was a bold print. The Faceless Man it was titled. She tilted her head. Images of a man with no face and stark white skin was drawn on the left side of the page. The creature was lurking behind a tree. Their body nearly blending into the barked wood. She took a step closer. On the right side was a symbol drawn in a photographed copy of a willow tree. A circle crossed out with an "X".

"No, it's not for fun." He gave out a heavy sigh and turned his head to look back at the person, by the voice he determined a woman was behind him. "I'm doing-" he stopped when he saw who it was. Hazel green eyes looked up to vivid (Eye Color). His thin, yet dense haired brows raised. He looked at her name tag clipped onto her hoodie. Y/N L/N. It was her alright. His eyes looked back up as he rubbed the back of his neck " shit, my bad. I thought you were someone else" playing on the act of an embarrassed man. He cleared his throat.

"It's okay." She smiled, then," I can't remember if I heard of them." She admitted, pointing at the stranger's book. "Is it an urban legend?" The woman stepped closer again, her hands moved behind her back, clasping together. "I don't think I've seen you around. This is a small town. Did you just move here...?" Brows knitted close. Her body leaned back, taking in the dirty blonde's features.

"It is actually, not really many people know it. I mean, unless you're into the weird ghost stories," he gave the (Hair Color) a lazy lopsided smile. Brian had done this a thousand times before and he'd do it a thousand times again. Interacting with people and faking who he was had now been a part of him for so long that it was natural to him. He turned in the swivel computer chair to her, giving his full attention. He leaned forward with his elbows resting on his thighs. "Well, I was taking these classes from out of state, so I get the questioning. My name is Landon Walkers. I moved here a few days ago but the owner of my new apartment hasn't gotten my room set up, so I've been ordering from a cheap motel."

He looked up at the tv that was still playing in the background." And it looks like I came at the worst fucking time..." he muttered, a nervousness in his voice as he stared at the repeated banner of three killers at the bottom of the news report. Of course, that nervous tone in his voice was fake. No one ever knew that though, did they? "Guessing by the name tag you're a librarian here? Uhm... Y/N?" He asked.

Y/N nodded and took a step back, crossing her arms and nodding as she listened to "Landon" explain his situation. The initial suspicion she had melted away as he continued speaking. She could sense the nervous energy around him but chalked it up to his recent move and the unsettling news surrounding the town. "Nice to meet you, Landon," she said, offering a small smile. "Yeah, it's been really tense around here with everything going on. The town's never felt so quiet and eerie."

Brian nodded, his eyes shifting back to the books on the table. "I bet. I'm just trying to distract myself with some research. I've always been into ghost stories and urban legends."

Y/N's eyes lit up at the mention of ghost stories. "Oh really? Which ones do you find interesting?"

"Oh, a few, you know some classics, sasquatch, the black-eyed children, wendigos, Blair witch, cult cases, etc. What really caught my attention was the faceless man though," he said, pointing to the image in the book of a tall, lanky creature. Barely visible but once you noticed it amongst the trees it was all one could see. "I started to look up blogs, encounters people had. Then I started doing more research and it went so far back as to be in the Germanic period. I thought something that sounds like a 12-year-old drawing couldn't be that old but... it is." He looked at the figure, staring at it for a moment before snapping out of it. "Shit. Sorry I rambled." He apologized once more. "What's your idea of it?" He asked her, giving her his undivided attention.

"The Faceless Man, huh? I've heard bits and pieces about him. Mostly in hushed whispers. Some say he's a manifestation of people's fears, lurking in the shadows and watching, waiting." Brian nodded, playing up his curiosity.

"Yeah, exactly. It's fascinating how these legends spread and evolve. Have you heard of Slenderman?"

Y/N's eyes widened slightly. "Oh yes, Slenderman. The story goes that he's this tall, thin figure with tentacle-like appendages, who wears a black suit and has no face. He supposedly lures children into the woods and makes them disappear. And what I find to be really creepy is how there have been actual reports of children going missing that match the description of Slenderman encounters. It's like the stories are manifesting into reality. There was a case back in 2007 that got a lot of attention. Several children went missing under mysterious circumstances. Some people started linking it to the Slenderman legend because of the similarities. The authorities never found a trace of those kids. It was like they vanished into thin air." Y/N shrugged, a thoughtful look on her face as she thought back to the stories she was told. "It's hard to say if they are true or a myth. Sometimes these urban legends have a grain of truth to them, but they get exaggerated over time. I try to keep an open mind. There's just so much we don't understand about the world. So, what got you into this kind of research in the first place?"

All of what she was babbling about the creature was bullshit. At least most of it. Sure, there were children, a lot of them; but some were adults. They thought they were safe but no, no one ever was. If it wants you, it will have you. If you go looking for it, you'll never find it... it finds you. As for all those kids disappearing well... even he couldn't give an answer. They truly would vanish into thin air as if they were never on this earth. It was rare any would remain. Toby was one of those lucky few.

Brian remembered the day the Slenderman had brought this twitching, ticking, jerking teenager to them. It was only for a moment before it and the child vanished again... Some years later the teen was a man. He wasn't that sniveling little brat. Now he was a fucking asshole who thought just because of one little disorder where his nervous system numbed the negative sensation of pain, he was above them. Of course, that didn't numb all the stuff going on in his head.

"Just interest in Urban Legends, finding if they are myths or truths. Glad I chose to move here cause Wisconsin didn't have shit for me over there." Giving a firm pat to the small stack of book he had next to him.

When he gave his explanation, Y/N nodded, her eyes drifting back to the book. "Well, you're in the right place. Our library has a pretty extensive collection on paranormal phenomena. If you need any help finding more information, just let me know." She paused, thinking. "Actually, hang tight."

"Okay?" He said in question watching her go. As she turned heel to run over to her desk Brain scanned her over. He couldn't tell much because of the sweater she had but her shoes and the bottoms she had on gave him some idea. He could see a clear indication in her legs she worked out and not lightly either judging by the way her sneakers were worn down. She must hit the gym quite frequently meaning she could give some of a fight to him. Good. He enjoyed the fight, the thrill of his victims desperately fighting, kicking, punching, thrashing to get away, to escape, to give it their all to live another day. Never worked out for them. Not a single time.

The girl hurried for the counter, sorting through an abundance of papers she stored to read for herself. After a few minutes, Y/N returned with a thin folder. "Here you go. It's not much, but these are the articles we have on the missing children. It's a tragic story." The articles detailed the disappearances of several children, all of whom vanished without a trace. Each article speculated on different causes, but a few mentioned eerie sightings of a tall, faceless figure lurking near the woods. "Just be careful with this kind of research. Sometimes, looking into the dark can make it look back at you." Y/N explained, smiling as she gave him the folder filled with papers. "I'll get back to work now. Again, if you need anything just holler." With that, she returned to the front desk, sorting papers, and flipping through due dates.

"Thanks. I appreciate it. Didn't have to go do all that though. I know you guys will be closing soon so I don't wanna make a fuss." He reached forward, taking the file from her hands. "Thanks for the heads up." Setting the folder aside he gave her a small wave as Y/N said she would be getting back to work. "I'll be out of your hair quick so you guys can lock up. Thanks for the file, Y/N." He watched her walk off before returning to his books. Pulling out his phone, Brian texted Tim.

TEXT FROM BRIAN: Looks like she'll put up a fight. She also has some awareness of slender man. You almost done? I'm tired of this shit already.

Brian stared at his phone for a minute before receiving a text immediately after.

TEXT FROM TIM: I've almost smoked the whole fucking pack waiting for you. Hurry it up and stop toying with her already. You can do that on your own damn time without me. Have you seen Twitchy anywhere?

Brian stared at his phone for a moment before looking around. All he could see in the library was himself, Tim, and Y/N. It was only when he heard the sound of sirens blaring in the far distance did he mentally curse.

'Shit.'

■■■

Run back home, little rabbit... Run home

Want to read the full story? Check it out: Rabbits on the Run (Creepypasta x F!Reader) | Quotev

[that-bi-fan]

so. I don't think I'll ever finish this fic. a) I lost the motivation to continue it, and I don't want to force myself to keep going. b) even if I did continue it, I don't know where I'd go with it. so, without further ado;

Coma!Buck canon divergence! AKA Eddie's in the coma dream!

"Can you help me find my dad?"

Buck hesitates, his feet slowing for just a second, but it's enough to second-guess himself. He needs you, a voice in his head says, Needs your help. Help him, Evan.

He looks toward the direction he was going, and can't remember why he was running in the first place. Weird. He looks at Christopher and decides to help. It's what he does. Fix things. 

He smiles. "Sure, bud. C'mon." 

Christopher walks in front of him, Buck's footsteps falling into sync with his instantly. The hospital hallways twist and turn, but it doesn't seem to bother Chris. They walk in silence, and Buck stops walking to let Christopher get a little ahead. That's when he notices the boy's shirt flickering. One moment, he's wearing a dark blue jacket over a striped shirt, the next, he's wearing a white and yellow striped long-sleeve. The latter is soaked through with water. Buck's ears start to ring.

"Buck!"

He spins, looking for who yelled his name. It sounded like Eddie, but he'd never heard so much panic in Eddie's voice before. The hallway behind him is empty, but every single door is spattered with blood. Noise comes from all around him, voices yelling; "Firefighter down!", "A firefighter's been shot!", "Thirty feet of wet earth, coming right down on top of him.",  "We'll do our best.", "Are you hurt?" "Can you hear me?!" until it's all too much for Buck to handle. 

He stumbles, catching himself on the wall. Christopher sits in front of him, on a bed that doesn't belong in a hospital, wearing a green flannel button-up. "Hey, Buck," He says. Something in his head is yelling no no no wrong wrong WRONG. Buck sinks to his knees.

"Where's Dad?"

Now Buck can taste something distinctly metallic on his tongue. Eddie's blood, he realizes. He's wearing that damn white shirt, the one he threw out in this same hospital over a year ago. Eddie's blood sticks to him, in little dots. Half his face is covered in those dots. Christopher shouldn't be seeing him like this. 

He turns away, When did he stand? He can't remember, and finds that the hospital has shifted so that he's inside a room. Doctors and nurses are moving around quickly, trying to patch up someone on a gurney. Buck moves out of their way, but still, a nurse clips his shoulder. "Ah, sorry I-" Buck stops mid-apology when he recognizes her face. 

"Taylor?" 

Everyone in the room stops moving. Looking around, Buck notices other familiar faces on the medical staff. The doctor holding wads of blood-soaked gauze is wearing Ali's face. A nurse by the door looks like Abby. The one bringing in fresh gauze resembles Connor. In the middle of it all, on the gurney, is Eddie. 

Buck breathes, and everything falls back into motion. 

He rushes forward, grabbing gauze from Not-Connor. He practically throws himself onto the gurney, looking for the source of the blood, of Eddie's pain, but all he can see is red. The others don't even try to tell him to stop. 

Buck feels for something, anything, that would reveal itself as a wound. "C'mon, Eds, please. Come back. I need you." He puts a hand on Eddie's face, leaving behind a bloody handprint. Eddie's eyes snap open, and Buck can swear his heart stops.

"Hey, Buck. Good to see you." Eddie's voice sounds off, sounds far too calm for their current situation, but Buck can't bring himself to care. The bleeding's stopped. He's okay. He throws his arms around Eddie's neck and pulls him in for a hug. He fights the lump in his throat so they can actually talk, but when he pulls away, he feels himself sink ever so slightly. No, no no- He looks down to see he's knee-deep in mud.

Eddie doesn't look very worried for a man almost entirely buried in mud. Buck panics, trying to pull Eddie out. The hospital room is gone, replaced by an open area. Around him is his family, the 118, looking on as Buck struggles. Eddie says something, so quiet Buck barely hears it. He leans in to hear better.  

"I'm still alive down here!"

Rain starts pelting him. It soaks through his shirt. The blood that dried in it starts to run. He's stuck in the mud, watching in horror as Eddie sinks in further. "No! Eddie! Please-" Buck screams as Eddie sinks completely. He claws at the ground, feeling himself sink deeper. He looks at his family, his eyes pleading for them to help, but all they do is stare. He's almost neck-deep when he hears an echo of his own voice saying, "Wait. You all think he's dead." Bobby stares into space as he responds, "Nobody thinks that." Chimney has the same look on his face when he says, "We just don't know how to get him out." Buck is completely buried when Hen says, "Nobody's giving up, Buck. Nobody. We're gonna find him."

When Buck opens his eyes again, he doesn’t know where he is. It's like he's in an empty space. There's no visible light source, but he can see completely fine. It doesn't make any sense. When he was with Maddie, and later with Hen and Chimney, everything, sans Doug, seemed plausible. Like it was a normal, albeit weird, day. But with Eddie, it's like he's just reliving his greatest regrets and traumatic events, one after another. 

The shirt clings to him, half-dry already. 

Buck hears an echo of footsteps, and turns to find himself facing Eddie. "Buck?" He asks, "What are you doing here? Are you okay?" Words stick in Buck's throat. He's vaguely aware of a stinging pain, reminders of scratches that took two weeks to heal after the tsunami. "Eddie-" "Where's Christopher?" There's a roaring in his ears, a noise of chaos that he can hear, but can't see. 

"Eddie." It's a plea this time. For him to understand. Buck feels like his windpipe is collapsing. Eddie still doesn't get it, or maybe he does, but he's denying it. "Why do you have his glasses?" There's something in Eddie's voice that kills Buck. 

"I'm sorry." Is all he says. Tears roll down his face. "I'm sorry," he repeats, over and over and over, but no apology can bring back someone's kid. His best friend's kid. His kid.

"Oh, you're sorry? Sorry isn't gonna cut it, Buck. You lost my kid. How can I ever forgive something like that?!" Eddie's angry now, and rightfully so. But this isn't how it went. Right? "Eddie-" He starts again. "No, Buck. You don't get to try and apologize. Do you know what this is doing to us? Wake up, damn it!"

Buck blinks. "..What?"

Eddie rolls his eyes, closing the distance between them. His nose is inches from Buck's. "You heard me." He shoves at Buck's chest. Buck stumbles, not even trying to catch himself. He hits the floor hard. "Eddie, I-I have no idea what you're talking about." He uses his hands to push himself backwards, scraping his palms on asphalt as Eddie keeps walking towards him. Asphalt? Where am I now? Eddie grabs the front of his shirt, lifting him up. "I need you. I need you to understand." Eddie's voice breaks. His hands find Buck's. "I need you to wake up. You can't die. You hear me? Chris needs you, hell, we all need you. Wake up. Please."

Buck pulls away from his grip. He walks backwards slowly. "You're not making any sense, Eds. I'm here." Buildings start to take shape in the void, and they look incredibly familiar. Buck hits something solid. Metal, feels like. Eddie starts to change before his eyes. His hair grows longer, the bags under his eyes fade, he stands straighter. Buck turns away from Eddie as the sun shines bright in his eyes. “Wake up, Buck. I need you.” A second, unseen person interrupts.

“Diaz, you wanna ride with the kid to the hospital?”

The pieces start to fall into place. He knows what's coming. But still, he tries to stop it. “No. No- Eddie, move-!” Eddie makes eye contact with Buck as he speaks. “Yeah, that'd be gre-” “No!” A shot rings out just as Buck shoves Eddie out of the way. The bullet hits him anyway, tearing a hole through Eddie's chest and Buck's shoulder. Both scream in pain.

They don't hit the floor like Buck expected them too. They hit something soft. Buck sits up, realizing with horror that they're back in the hospital room from earlier, on the gurney. His shoulder stops hurting. 

“Two firefighters shot! Not much is known at this time, but one of them has so much to live for, and the other keeps failing to fix things and can't save the people he loves! How sad! I'm Taylor Kelly, signing off!” “Clear!”

Electricity burns through him, and he screams.

Memories flood his brain, memories of the shooting, the well collapse, the tsunami. Eddie bleeds under him. His blood pools onto the floor. Buck sees the rain, remembers the way he felt when he was hanging like a rag-doll. Remembers Eddie futilely trying to pull his dead body back up to the ladder. He sobs. Hands pull at him, yanking him off of the gurney, off and away from Eddie. Connor packs gauze into Eddie's wound.

“No!” Buck screams, fighting against the people separating him from Eddie. I can't let him die. Just as he breaks free, Eddie gasps, sitting up in the gurney. “Buck? What are you doing here? Are you okay?” He asks. Buck shakes his head. “Eddie- Eddie, listen-” He takes a step forward, and water begins to rise. It flows quickly.

By the time Buck reaches the gurney, the water is up to his chest.

Eddie sits on the gurney, watching Buck come closer. “That's a lot of water,” he remarks. Buck glares up at him. “Oh, really? Is it?” Out of the corner of his eye, Buck swears he sees a small body floating toward him, wearing the same clothes Chris had on at the pier. He ignores it. It's not real. It's not real. It's not- “Buck!”

Buck spins. That's Chris's voice. That's him! He needs help! “Chris?! Christopher?! Where are you?” He's treading water already, one hand gripping the gurney to anchor himself. The blood on his shirt drains into the water, coloring it red. Eddie leans forward, his mouth close to Buck's ear.

[qingyingpocketlirary]

Tea Collection 4; Lady Bone Demon Ginger Tea (A herbal tea)

The sudden drop in temperature made MK shiver in his seat as he finished his cup of tea. It had been a very long day, and unlike everyone else who had gotten to sleep most of it, he had been very busy trying to help care for ten little kids who had been crying because they couldn’t wake up their parents. 

Thankfully, he didn't have to worry about it alone, Auntie was still awake and had taken the kids to her home so they’d be inside and safe while he went to the Cloud, since apparently, that was where the Sleep Bug app had been broadcasting from. After a minor confrontation with the Guardians of Knowledge and having to explain everything to the two of them twice, once while fighting them and again after getting his name registered as a user of the Cloud, they’d let him go without a fuss. Then he spent two hours taking all the kids to their homes, one by one and then had to call and tell everything to Pigsy, Mei and Tang. MK had slumped down in the comfy chair and rubbed his face with his hands. 

Auntie put a hot cup of fresh tea in front of him and for the last hour, the two had been chatting about her job as a relic guard and how she knows the Dragon Prince of the East, Ao Bing. Until the sudden chill wash over him.

“Auntie, did you feel a chill just now?” He asked.

She wasn’t his real Auntie, as neither Pigsy nor Tang had a sister, but she had been around since he was a child, and she’d always treated him with kindness and acceptance, even when he proved to be too energetic for other adults in his early days. And she liked being called Auntie, having never had children of her own and being an only child, she found great joy and comfort in knowing she, in her own ways, helped him as a child, even if it was just by being close by and sharing tea with him.

She was wearing a grey dress, one that had long sleeves and a high collar, her faded blue knitted triangular shawl over her shoulders, held closed with a decorative camellia flower brooch. Her favourite scented pouch, shaped like a teapot with a tassel that mimicked poured water from the spout of the pot, was hanging from the empty belt loop of the dress’s waist line and her hair was tied up in its usual high ponytail, decorated with a thin silk ribbon.

“No, I didn’t.” She assured and petted his hair as she passed behind his seat. “But, if you’re getting chills, you had better head off home and get some sleep.” 

“Are you sure? I can stay over if you want me too?” He offered, but she waved him off with a smile.

“You’re always so busy nowadays, it’s like you never stop moving. I wouldn’t feel right adding another thing to your already full plate.” She said. “No, you go home and get some rest. If you have time next weekend to stop by again for tea, I’ll tell you a little more about my role as a relic guard and about Ao Bing?” She promised.

“I’ll always make time to come and visit and have some of your tea, Auntie! It's like, the bestest thing ever besides Pigsy’s noodles!” The boy proclaimed and embraced her in a warm hug before he headed out of the door. “See you next weekend!”

“Remember to eat and take a moment for yourself, MK.” She called after him as she stood at the door. “Drive safely!”

“I will!” MK assured as he hurried into the Tuk Tuk and waved goodbye to her before taking off down the road. “Bye~!!!”

Smiling, the woman closed the door and then locked it. Then she turned around and pressed her back against the door, waiting.

“Show yourself.” She asserted when after a long pause nothing happened.

“My most sincere apologies, dear lady.” The unwelcome guest in her home said with a joyful smile stepping from the shadows of the kitchen doorway behind her. A man with silvery grey hair, a horizontal light blue band of hair perfectly growing from ear to ear across the back of his head, he wore a black suit with blue stripes on the lounge jacket and the lapels, over a light blue shirt and dark blue tie. “It was not my intention to interrupt your evening.”

“What do you want?” She asked.

“I assure you, I mean you no harm.” The man said and offered her a bow, one arm behind his back, the other pressed to his chest, a perfect gentleman’s greeting to a lady, in the modern times.

“You will excuse me if I do not believe those words.” She said, and the man lifted his head to look at her with a raised eyebrow, the very picture of innocence. “You invaded my home, sir. Such is the action of an ill-intended meeting.”

“True! Very true.” The man chuckled gleefully, and rose from his bow, tucking hands behind his back as he spoke. “Ah, but consider, dear lady, if I were here to harm you, I’d have done so the moment you locked the door. Rather foolish of you, is it not?”

“You are bold to assume I have the patience for games.” She stated, and the man blinked his pure white eyes at her. “I asked you a question. Answer it.”

“Very well.” The man said, “My lady would like to speak with you.”

“And if I refuse?” The woman asked.

The temperature of the apartment plummeted, the woman’s breath fogging the air as the man's eyes began to glow an icy blue. “Then I have My Lady’s blessings to bring you to her,” the man said and in the next instance, he stood in front of her, having moved without sound or warning. “By any means.”

She took the time to create a small place for them to have this encounter. A pavilion that overlooked a pond of colourful fish and water flowers, small petals slowly drifting down onto the water’s surface from the trees and rock clinging flowers that grew around the pond and hung over the pavilion’s roof. It seemed perfect, but the air was chilled, and faintly, like a distant sound on a barely noticed breeze, a child was crying, a pitiful sound really, but one that she had to endure until she could make her move. And so, she ignored the sound and instead stood, watching the fish flee and dart around the water below, seeking warmth from the chill she caused just by being there. It helped with some of the frustration she felt about the current situation.

She didn’t need to turn around to see the success of her puppet’s return. The warmth of another being was obvious in a place where the cold was permanent, the only reason she felt it was because her host’s body was mortal and sensitive.

The aura of the young goddess was obvious and so much stronger than it had been before, a sign of just how patient and dutiful she had been in her cultivation of chi to maintain herself as she allowed it to bloom and envelop her in warmth against the cold.

“You may leave us.” She bid her puppet and heard the man’s steps along the corridor that led to the pavilion, leaving her and the younger goddess alone. “Welcome, little tea disciple.” She greeted the other woman.

“Former.” The other stated, confident and sure. “I completed my pilgrimage long ago and was given my praise for it, you know that and more, Lady Bone Demon.”

“Always to the point, Lady Chayi.” She amended herself with a chuckle as she turned to face the other, waving a hand to the table and chairs between them. “Let us speak of this as proper ladies should, no?”

If anyone had witnessed this, they might compare it to a senior lady of the upper classes inviting her junior to a pleasant conversation over tea and some small cakes and fruits. A meeting of two established and distinguished ladies coming together to share gossip and news away from the ever prying eyes and ears of their peers and strangers.

The aura around Lady Chayi was not heavenly, proof that she was still just a mortal goddess despite the title, but it was stronger and brighter than the Lady Bone Demon had expected. There was authority to her now, such that made her almost equal to the lower Heavenly Gods and Young Immortals of bygone days and, most telling that things were not as they appeared, was the lack of fear towards her.

Instead, all the Lady Bone Demon saw was anger and yet, Lady Chayi played along, offering the older woman a respectful bow before the two moved to sit across from one another, one touch of her hand to the pot and suddenly, the strong smell of ginger tea danced between them as the amber liquid was poured without incident.

“Did my puppet’s methods prove too cold for you?” the Lady Bone Demon questioned, almost innocently.

“This is not for you and I, Lady Bone Demon.” The sharpness of the words gave her pause. “It is for the child whose body you have stolen.”

For all of an instant, the distant cries became relief filled sobs. Someone saw her! Someone KNEW she was there and this wasn’t right! Someone was helping!

“I am sorry, dear child, it is not enough to give back what she has taken from you, but this tea will give you some warmth and comfort to tide you over until this whole mess is done with.” Lady Chayi said, her words now soft, tender and almost motherly in nature, meant for the child and not the demoness as she pushed the first cup towards the Lady Bone Demon. “Drink it down and all will be well.”

“You know it will do nothing for me.” Lady Bone Demon stated with a cruel smile, pushing the child further into the edges of her mind. Needlessly cruel yes, but it was a test, to see just how sharply the young one was willing to speak to her elder.

“As I said before, it is not for you.” Lady Chayi repeated, her words sharp as a blade and her eyes hot with a promise unspoken. “You had your puppet bring me here for a reason. State it clearly.”

Oh, how long had it been since someone was bold enough? Too long, so long in fact that it delighted the Lady Bone Demon on some level, that such a young Goddess was willing and indeed able to play the old games so well. 

Like her, Lady Chayi carried herself with the grace and pose of the old ways, but where her body language and her posture played the dutiful role of a much more meek and unassuming lady, her words and eyes told her truths, and acted as her weapons in this game of power between two women.

Allowing the younger woman her small victory, the Lady Bone Demon took the ginger tea in both hands and toasted it towards her, formally acknowledging the victory before she drank deeply, allowing the useless heat of it to pass by her and to surround the child she’d pushed to the very edges of her own mind.

The child welcomed it easily and clung to it desperately, as a babe would cling to their mother. Sobbing and repeating over and over ‘thank yous’ that went unheard.

“It has recently come to my attention, Lady Chayi, that you hold the title of Relic Guard.” She began, her shoulders set and her posture still, the perfect image of a graceful wise senior lady, giving advice and wisdom to her junior on a simple matter as she set her empty cup down with a gentle clink. “And as such, you are currently one who may assist me in reaching my Destiny.”

“Oh,” Lady Chayi asked, sipping from her own cup, keeping herself the perfect picture of a dutifully listening junior as she busied her hands with holding the cup. “And how might I do that, Lady Bone Demon?”

“This relic,” The older woman stated, opening her palm to show the Locked Box image to the younger woman. “I require it to proceed on my path. Originally, I had thought it to be hidden within the Cloud, but after an attempt to retrieve it, I learnt that what had been brought to me was in fact a well made counterfeit item.”

“How unfortunate that you had to waste time on such an endeavour.” The obvious lie fell easily from Lady Chayi’s lips as she set her cup down and instead set about picking a small handful of grapes from the bunch that sat in the bowl between them and set each one delicately onto a small plate.

“Indeed. But it was what prompted further investigation into the matter and what ultimately led me to discover your new title and rank. Relic Guard of the second vault.” The older woman said, folding her hands together and setting them neatly into her lap. Explaining her moves so far and how they each had formed a solid wall that now blocked counter movement Lady Chayi might think of. “According to all that I have found and learnt in my research, you are the key holder to the second vault and if needed, you can enter the first vault even without the blessings of your companion and fellow Relic Guard, the Dragon Prince of the East, Ao Bing.”

“You have been detailed in your investigation.” Lady Chayi nodded, pushing the plated grapes to the older woman, as would be expected of a younger woman when in the company of her higher-ups. Acknowledgement of those walls and blocks in her path. “I will take a bold guess, and say that you want me to find this Locked Box, either within my vault upon Flower and Fruit Mountain or within the Eastern Sea Vault of Ao Bing, and upon finding it, hand it over to you?”

“It would indeed be the wisest and safest option. For everyone involved.” The Lady Bone Demon said, her tone confident and sure as her eyes shone with a promise. A threat not only to Lady Chayi, but to the child within herself if the younger woman did not walk the only path left open to her.

“Hm.” Lady Chayi hummed and took a moment to consider, the Lady Bone Demon allowed this, taking that time to pick one of the grapes from the plate and eat it. Acceptance of her victory over the younger woman.

Then, with a firm gaze that challenged that threat with equal confidence and assurance, she looked the older woman in the eye and said. “No.”

“…” The Lady Bone Demon blinked slowly at Lady Chayi. “No?” She repeated, searching back over their whole interaction, double checking the walls were still in place, still unbroken, still forcing the younger to walk a set way.

“I will not give you what you want, Lady Bone Demon. No matter what you say, threaten or do, I will not break my promises to keep those relics from the hands of wicked tyrants and delusional zealots such as you.” Lady Chayi said. Refusing to move from her place, stubborn and firmly defiant. 

“You would deny me such a simple request when you know there is one who would suffer for your refusal?” The Lady Bone Demon asked as she reached within and-

The child was no longer moved by her will, her presence grounded, solid and unmoveable  no matter how the icy wall tried to shift her. 

“What-” Suddenly, the Lady Bone Demon realised the younger woman had tricked her, the warmth of the tea had completely ignored her, but the child. “That tea-”

“Fresh grown ginger root from my own garden,” Lady Chayi said, and a confident smile slipped across her lips as she continued. “Boiled and steeped in Lotus petal water from Heaven and pocketed within a silk bag, woven by the Late Spider Queen Mother for me when I visited their Hollow on my travels. A combination of the old ways used to give just the smallest relief in these modern days.” She lifted her cup to her lips once more and took a long sip. “As I said, it is not enough to give her the ability to banish you, but it is enough to stop you further harming her.”

A hidden move, a safety rope that had remained unnoticed allowing Lady Chayi to climb one of the walls and gain a means to escape.

“A clever trick, but one that will fade, in time.” The Lady Bone Demon said, reluctantly giving another victory to the younger woman as she pushed the plate of grapes towards the middle of the table. “You are not as in control as you think.”

“I know,” The younger woman said, returning to her starting point in this game. “But right now, my concern is not my safety. It is the safety of that child and the innocent people you are a threat to. And I will not sit idly by and watch you destroy the world humans have created for some grand illusion of perfection.”

“Illusion?” The Lady Bone Demon repeated as ice tore across the ground and up Lady Chayi’s legs to her waist. “My Destiny is no Illusion, little Teapot Goddess. It is what will end the cycle of humanity's endless mistakes and cruelty upon each other, the truest form of perfection without the flaws of sin that constantly drag everyone into the pointless destruction and ruination!”

“And what of the rest of humanity?” The Lady Chayi asked, and the ice cracked, falling away from her body as if melted by summer sunlight. “The honest and good man who loves only his wife and child? The son who works hard to earn approval and the daughter who studies well to earn her keep? The mother who gives her last bite to make sure her child never goes hungry? What of those who help other without repayment or care for statue and selfish image? If you kill everyone because of the mistakes of the few you know are cruel and wicked, you ultimately become the very thing you try to eradicate. A tyrant upon a throne of cruelty, deception and delusion.”

“Such people are the minority.” The Lady Bone Demon snapped, “I will not be swayed from my Destiny by such weak words, Lady Chayi. One way or another, you will give me the Locked Box.”

“I will not. And by your own actions today and your sudden temper, I know that you have no real way to threaten or force me to act.” Now Lady Chayi made her own moves in teh game, each one shattering the walls that had once held her in place. “If my key is used by anyone other than me, Ao Bing will sense it and he will investigate. You are barely strong enough to fight, even with your Puppet’s aid the girl you possess is frail and weak; you’d be no match for Ao Bing. Once he sees you, he will tell Heaven and the Immortals.”

One wall crumbled and broke away, leaving only a low foundation easily stepped over.

“You think Heaven and the Immortal’s will stop me?” Lady Bone Demon laughed at the absurdity of such an idea. “They didn’t step in before, they won’t step in now. Least of all in the matters of the lowly humans they themselves mock and ignore.”

“Even if they don’t dare to act, Sun Wukong will.” Lady Chayi asserted and another wall cracked and crumbled away. “If I am absent from my home for too long, the protections with in will signal him and he will return to investigate. He already knows you are back after you made a show of yourself with the Demon Bull Family. He will find a way to banish you from that girl’s body and without his Master to stay his hand this time, you will be killed and your delusions will die with you.” 

“ENOUGH!” The Lady Bone Demon snarled, sweeping the table with her hand, sending small plate of grapes flying as ice shards grew to deadly point millimetres from Lady Chayi’s face. An eruption of power, meant to scare and remind the younger of her place, forcing her to yield. “You are beneath me in power, Lady Chayi, you will do as I say!”

Lady Chayi stood from her seat, breaking the ice that had come towards her as she looked down at the older woman. A direct challenge to her opponent’s place in the game, a carefully timed counter eruption right at the Lady Bone Demon's feet. “I may be only a minor goddess of a forgotten river, surviving on my own chi and cultivated power. But right now, Lady Bone Demon, the fact that you could hurt me doesn’t bother me. Because right now, for all your show and talk, all your games and threats, you aren’t in control of your own Destiny.”

It was a risky accusation for the Lady Chayi to make, but for all her anger, all her desire and want to strike the younger across the face for her blatant rudeness and her outrageous behaviour to her elder, the Lady Bone Demon knew she couldn’t.

The rules of the game they both played were clear as black ink of white paper, you can’t argue with the truth. You can dance about it with pretty lies, sweet nothings and hollow promises, you can avoid it with other matters and side topics of the day, and you can even ignore it as you busy yourself with distractions; but you can not argue with it.

Truth won this game, and the truth was that the Lady Bone Demon wasn’t in control.

The host body she used was too weak and frail for her full power, and her puppet, loyal and true as he was, couldn’t move freely about now that he housed most of her power without drawing attention to himself and her by proxy.

She was at a stand still without the Locked Box’s contents. She needed the help of the Spider Clan to gather it and the other Relics she’d need for her to proceed with her plan, and until she had them, her destiny lay not in her own hands, but in the hands of the Spider Queen.

Lady Chayi did not know this, and yet, even without that knowledge, she’d used what she had and built a far more secure wall around the Lady Bone Demon, with no escape or ability to move. 

She had cut off the icy chills that tormented the child within, even if only for a while. Rendering the child worthless as a bargaining chip in this game.

Lady Chayi’s standing as a trusted figure to the Eastern Dragon Prince and her friendship with the Monkey King made her vital to the day to day lives of normality. Removing or harming her in anyway would trigger a domino effect that would ruin everything that was already on such shaky ground.

The Lady Bone Demon had been beaten with her own methods in this game, and by a lesser goddess!

“I would say it was a pleasure to talk to you again, but we both know I would be lying.” Lady Chayi said, dusting herself off. Acknowledgement of her victory over her elder even though the Lady Bone Demon did not admit defeat herself.

“My Lady?” the puppet’s voice called as he arrived, drawn by her growing anger and frustration no doubt.

“Tend your lady well, puppet, but before I go, allow me to leave you with wisdom from an old friend.” Lady Chayi offered, and finished the last of her ginger tea, setting the cup down silently. “The cycle is absolute, and to reach it wholly, we must accept that it does not bend to our will, rather it is we who bend to it.”

And then, with a perfectly respectful bow, Lady Chayi walked calmly from the pavilion, her composure perfect and unwavering even as one of the teacups shattered against one of the pillars of the corridor behind her as she faded away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This conversation happens during the time the Spider Demons are taking time to grieve and recover in the Spider's Web story between part 4 and part 5. for that reason, I also tagged The Spider's Web in this Tea Collection.

[hesawifebeaterdanusethegun]

Wanting

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three:

Both König and Harper spent a sleepless morning and afternoon after their late night together. They both gave up on even trying to sleep after their encounter. Harper finished her third cup of black coffee and busied herself doing the dishes, washing her coffee mug and the few other miscellaneous dishes she hadn't deemed worthy of immediate attention the night before. Her mind was still reeling from König's visit the night before. He'd told her about the creatures he lovingly called his "cuckoos" because of the way they reproduced, he'd explained that he was a part of a small group of those with the resources to conduct large scale breeding experimentation, an elite group that went back hundreds of years at least. He'd said that just telling Harper this information without express permission could endanger the entire project, but he wanted no secrets between them.

Her mind wandered back to the kiss (and considerably more) they’d shared last night just before things got complicated. His lips had been soft, his kiss a bit prickly with facial hair, and he was so gentle, holding her as if she might break if handled too roughly. Harper found that she much preferred reliving those moments in her head rather than that which came after it.

She decided to take a long hot shower. The shower was one of the places Harper went to think, it relaxed her and helped her think rationally. She gathered her towel and robe and headed to the bathroom. Hanging the towel and robe on hooks inside the door, Harper shed her pajamas and set the shower temperature as hot as she could stand before climbing in. The steam instantly cleared her sinuses and relaxed her muscles. She stayed in the shower until the water ran cold before shutting it off and stepping out of the tub, toweling herself dry and donning her fluffy purple robe. Making her way to the bedroom she walked past the living room and just for a few seconds, very faintly, she thought she heard a screeching coming from outside, somewhere far away. She got dressed. Remembering what König had said last night during his unexpected visit, Harper put on a pair of straight cut jeans, a pair of black combat boots, a long sleeved black and white striped shirt, and an old leather jacket she’d picked up thrifting back home in the U.S. many years ago. She thought that should be warm enough for a forest walk at night this time of year.

König had said he would be there at dusk, giving Harper plenty of time to wrestle with all the thoughts racing through her head since his departure. She made herself another cup of coffee and took her usual seat at the kitchen table. She thought of these creatures he'd spoken of, these fascinating almost-human creatures. She thought of what König was doing here with his resort and found that she was more amazed and curious than anything else, even after letting the details sink in. Any disgust she felt at the ethical violations pushed to the back of her mind, she thought only of König's love and reverence for these animals, and her love and reverence for him.

As Harper mulled over the events of the past 24 hours, her mind inevitably wandered back to König himself. She imagined she could still taste him on her lips if she concentrated hard enough. She hoped that it wouldn't be the last time she kissed him, she couldn't bear that. Harper spent the rest of the day in thought, watching the shadows on the floor of the living room grow longer as the sun moved across the sky outside.

Just as she noticed the sun had started to set, she heard a car pull up outside. Harper heard the door open and slam shut and a few moments later someone knocked on the door forcefully, three times. She smiled, knowing exactly who it was just from the knock, getting up from the table and heading from her small kitchen to the door. Undoing both locks, Harper pulled the door open revealing a much more put-together König, not a hair out of place as usual. He wore a deep blue button up shirt and tan slacks. Uncharacteristically, he wore very nondescript hiking boots instead of his usual dress shoes or loafers.

"Hi," Harper smiled at him, a little unsure how to act now that things had changed so much and so rapidly between them.

"Guten abend, mein abendstern," He took her hand, kissing her knuckles and releasing it again. "Shall we?" he gestured out the door and waited for her to pass ahead of him and pull the door shut behind them, locking it as she always did (and would pay extra care to do so from now on) before he started walking next to her to the passenger side of the Patrol. Ever the gentleman, he opened the door for Harper to get in, shutting it behind her before heading to his side of the vehicle and climbing inside, starting the engine.

"Are you ready for this? You don't have to do this, you know," he told her. "I understand if it's too much for you to handle."

"No, I want to. I want to know, I want to see and understand this thing that means so much to you. No matter how I feel about it, I know how I feel about you."

König smiled softly, his eyes shining as he looked into Harper’s. He took her hand and gently squeezed it.

"Thank you." he choked out in a whisper. She squeezed his hand back.

He let go of her and placed his hand back on the steering wheel before reaching down and pulling the car into gear and pulling out of the apartment parking lot, headed for the resort. The sun had already sunk below the mountains, casting everything in a dark blue light.

König was quiet as he drove, but the silence between them wasn't uncomfortable. Every so often he'd reach over and squeeze Harper’s hand, smiling reassuringly. He was absolutely overjoyed that the woman he'd found himself absolutely crazy about was still here, even after all he'd told her. Not only was she still here, but she was interested. She cared about these creatures even though she'd never even seen one because she knew he cared about them.

Harper was nervous, even a little scared, but König's presence next to her and his comforting touch every few minutes helped keep her grounded and calm. She distracted herself from the purpose of their outing tonight with thoughts of him, his voice, his smell, the feel of his lips on hers, his presence next to her. It all helped to relax her, to think calmly and rationally about their trip into the woods tonight. They arrived at the Resort, König parking out front and grabbing two flashlights from the back before getting out. He walked around the front of the vehicle and opened Harper’s door, offering his hand to help her out of the car. She smiled a little at his old-fashioned habits, they were endearing. He handed her one of the flashlights.

"She shouldn't be too far from here, this one sometimes doesn't like it so much when I am gone for too long. She waits for me."

Harper looked up at him as he said this, even more nervous at this divulgence, but also a little touched at the relationship he had with each of these creatures.

"Shall we?" He reached over and took her hand in his, entwining their fingers together. He smiled crookedly at her.

Her stomach did a little flip at the sight of that smile. She hesitated before responding, letting out her breath slowly, shakily. "It's now or never, I guess," she said quietly.

König squeezed Harper’s hand and moved closer to her. He leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"I promise you will be safe, mein Liebling." She felt his warm breath on her ear, his lips ghosting over her cheek before he straightened. She nodded. That was all the confirmation needed for König to start walking, leading her by the hand into the woods.

König led her down what looked like an old game trail into the thick forest of the nature preserve his resort overlapped. Even with the help of the flashlights, Harper had trouble making out the trail at times, but König lead her on confidently, he knew this trail front to back, and had used it many times. After about 30 minutes of walking he stopped. This should be far enough that they wouldn't be disturbed. The small wooden flute in his shirt pocket weighed heavy. His heart was in his throat. He hoped with everything he had that this would go well. In the event that it didn't, his solution to that predicament weighed even heavier on his right hip in its holster. He prayed he wouldn't need to use it.

He took his hand from Harper’s delicately and pulled the flute from his pocket. He'd explained the signals that he'd used to train the Cuckoos, as he affectionately called them, to her that night he'd shown up at her door in the middle of the night. Last night, she corrected herself. It was hard to believe it was just last night, it felt like a lifetime ago, like she’d known of these animals forever. She’d never even seen one and she accepted their existence and the entirety of König’s tale without question, it never once occurred to her that he wasn’t telling her the truth. Harper wondered what this said about her as they walked.

It frightened her a little how easily she’d grown used to the idea of a parasitic relationship between a humanoid creature and actual living breathing people. Then again, Harper had never been fond of people for the most part. It wasn't that she lacked empathy for others, she felt for them very deeply at times, but she had always been more interested in the world of animals rather than that of people. Animals didn't hurt you the way people did, they just did what they did because they were animals. Harper understood this, but people were a mystery to her. They hurt each other all the time, maliciously. All these thoughts had been running ceaselessly through her head since König's bombshell of a story last night, and she didn't think they'd stop until she finally saw one of these things.

"Are you ready, my dear?" he asked gently, his eyes on hers, trying to read how she was feeling. Harper swallowed hard and nodded. König played a few long notes on the flute, then lowered it from his lips and waited a moment before playing them again.

"And now we wait," he told her. "She'll have heard us, she will come." He took her hand again, the warmth and strength of his grip welcome in her colder, shaking one. A few quiet minutes passed, not a branch creaking or a breeze blowing to cause the tiniest sound. Harper had never heard a forest this quiet. Then she heard footsteps headed their direction, coming from their right. They both turned quickly, fingers still intertwined, peering into the darkness. Harper moved a little closer to König and he squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"There she is," he said with a smile. He separated their hands and squatted down to the ground with Harper following suit. And then she appeared. "This is our newest brood mother, she is still rather young, and has just succeeded in having her first offspring. She may not come too close, as she doesn't know you, yet." He told her all of this without looking away from the Cuckoo, keeping eye contact was an important part of asserting dominance, otherwise he would have much more trouble keeping the brood mothers under control.

"This one is called “Ella.” I have been working with her for about 8 years now, though I have kept tabs on her since her birth of course, before she could be brought home." Harper understood the process of breeding and raising the Cuckoos for the most part, though she expected he'd given her the Cliff's Notes of the project as far as details go.

She wore a dirty white housedress with red polka dots, black flats, and a reddish blonde wig, with dark sunglasses. Over the dress was a long red raincoat. She had very pale skin, almost translucent. She crept from the bushes carefully, slowly moving toward you both. Harper was barely breathing as she stared at “Ella”. She looked human at first glance but there was something subtly... wrong with that assessment. The way she moved wasn't human, it was animal. It was the cocky locomotion of a wild predator.

Harper stayed behind König as he reached out a hand to her, still keeping himself low to the ground so as not to scare her away. She stared into his eyes as she approached, coming within reach of his hands. He reached up slowly and removed her dark glasses and whispered, "Do you see her eyes?" He smiled at the look on Harper’s face as she gazed into them up close. It was like looking at the dark swirls of the Milky Way. They were truly beautiful.

A few minutes passed quietly between the three of them, the creature looking suspiciously at Harper when she acknowledged her at all, but the creature seemed largely unbothered by her presence. Finally König put her glasses back on slowly, producing the flute once more and blowing three short notes. A dismissal.  At this she turned, fleeing into the woods to hunt for the night. Harper watched in awe as she vanished into the darkness. She and König stiffly got to their feet from their squatting positions, stretching briefly. They faced each other in the dark, the flashlight pointed at the ground. Harper didn't know what to say. Thankfully he spoke first.

"So, how are you feeling?" he asked, his brows furrowed with worry, biting his lower lip as he stared into her eyes, waiting for her answer.

"That was the most incredible thing I've ever seen in my life," Harper told him quietly. She couldn't think of anything else to say, but she didn't need to because his lips crashed into hers as soon as she was done speaking. König held her close and kissed her deeply, pulling away and hugging her tight. She felt his whole body relax as he hugged her to him, his relief palpable. She hugged him back, wrapping her arms around him and resting her cheek on his shoulder. They stayed like that for a short while before they remembered the time, and that they still had about a half hour's walk ahead of them back to the car. As Harper turned to leave König once again took her hand as they walked. He never wanted to let go, and he definitely didn't want Harper to know what he had been prepared to do tonight if things hadn't gone so perfectly, as the weight on his hip reminded him.

Chapter Four

[noxexistant]

Andrew Keenan Bolger- Big clothes. Cottagecore. Dungarees with sunflowers or mushrooms embroidered on them (he likes the big pockets). Big sweaters that bunch up at his hips (it helps hide his malnourishment). Hear me out- he totally wears thigh highs and either Docs or high top converse (either knockoffs or stolen) that Jack has painted on. He also has a small collection of snapbacks that Albert swiped for him. It’s a thing they do. Albert takes one from the hat shop every time they go to the mall.

Zachary Sayle- Will wear anything and everything pastel. A firm believer in ‘fuck your gender roles’ and ‘clothing has no gender’. Still wears big clothes, but is oddly stylish. Desperately wants to wear platform boots but knows it’s impossible because he’s too fkin clumsy (lbr just being on crutches would not stop him, but this boy knows he would d i e on platforms too)

Andy Richardson- Doesn’t have a preference on what’s actually on the clothes. He just wants stuff that relatively fits. He doesn’t want anything that’s too tight. He’s worn clothes that were too small and he got even more of those looks. The pity in people’s eyes when they see just how small he is. He prefers clothes that are too big, but will wear anything that isn’t skin tight.

Matthew Duckett- Wants to look tough desperately. He and Albert have matching sk8r boy outfits. I’m talking the long-sleeved striped undershirts with either a plain or graphic tee overshirt. Mismatching socks, and ratty, torn up sneakers. He has a collection of stolen goods from Albert as well, except his is pins, which he wears proudly on his bags. Which he turns into a weapon when the need arises. 

Also they all will wear a skirt or dress in solidarity for his mtf trans friends

these are so sweet i love theeeem 😭

this is very specific but i tend to imagine the actor-specific modern characters in the specific era of when their portrayal took place. so, like, akb’s crutchie is in like 2011/2012. and i always picture their fashion (and details like hobbies and technology) to match - it truly feels anachronistic for akb’s crutchie to have anything more modern than anything andrew himself had in any of that behind the scenes content. like, that boy cannot have anything more current than a beat-up iphone 4. matthew duckett’s the only one who gets to be Current.

i definitely see akb crutchie in a lot of knit and crochet, big knitted jumpers under dungarees, jackets borrowed from the others that don’t fit at all (especially, like, letterman style jackets from race and albert). his converse are drawn all over with sharpie and biro by everyone including him along with jack’s lil paintings, the laces are filthy and frayed and don’t match, and the shoes themselves are an inch from death, near as old as he is. he likes fun socks, especially very bright ones, and usually mismatches them because he just does not care - and that includes long socks, though they tend to frustrate him because they never stay up on his legs. catch him leaning against his crutch and making frustrated noises as he wrenches his socks back up, though at a point he’ll just let them be half-scrunched down his shins.

zach crutchie has never worn trousers in his life and will not start. it’s shorts all the way, baby. he also really likes the practicality of skirts. anything but trousers is just way easier to get dressed in without the motility of his leg, and more fun to make outfits out of. he loves fun button-down shirts. he likes beanies, and he has unquestionably worn a flower crown (it was the style at the time!). he also totally tries to get fun shoes to make up for the lack of platforms - although, if he was in a wheelchair, he would be able to wear platforms. that is a big chunk of his desire to get a wheelchair. mobility? sure, cool, whatever, but getting to have more fun with how he dresses? let’s go.

andy crutchie’s clothes reflect insecurity. he dresses very soft and non-threatening, and very plainly, like he’s trying to blend in. collared shirts under oversized jumpers to try and bulk him up a bit, always trousers - with a belt around the waist cinched in tight to keep them in place, because he wants them big but then they never fit, and plenty of layers. he tends to wear shoes without laces because having to manually lift his paralysed leg to tie his laces frustrates him, so he likes imitations of those slip-on vans. he also likes hats, beanies pulled low on his head that he can sort of hide in, and they help keep him warm - he’s always cold. he likes borrowing people’s jackets.

matthew crutchie loves graphics. he has so many stupid t-shirts he got from thrift stores, as do race and jack - they go hunting for them together, and compete to see who can find the dumbest ones, with a strict rule that whoever sees the shirt first has dibs on buying it (but they then give the shirts to each other anyway, if it’s something they know one of the others would love. race has a “best grandma ever” shirt that crutchie gave him that he thinks is hilarious). he loves pins and embroidery and patches, anything to customise stuff as his, especially since it’s all secondhand and he makes it last as long as it physically can. that being said, he still rarely gets around to fixing stuff (his dungarees in uksies are broken) so most of his clothes and shoes have holes in them or the sole coming away or other little “quirks”. he always brings a hat out with him but it usually ends up shoved in one of his pockets, and he’s the type to triple-knot his laces and then stub them so they just always stay tied and he can toe his shoes on and off.

also, bonus: owen stringer crutchie is the one who’s especially desperate to look tough. he’s the definition of the skater boy style, lots of layers, bulking himself up. baggy trousers that are so long he has to cuff them rather than it just being a stylistic choice. lots of hoodies, all of which are miles too big, many of which are stolen from other boys (especially albert). the edges of his sleeves are always frayed, he’s cut thumb holes in some sleeves. and he wears a lot of jewellery, cheap rings and necklaces, in another imitation of tough guy styles.

[berryblu-soda]

thinking abt the completely opposite styles Arrio and Nathan went for in their suits!!!!!! it tells so freaking much abt their characters and exactly why they tend to have quite a bit of friction!!!

🐺Nathan´s style is techwear (or something similar) he centers himself in functionality as well as protection, his suit is mostly sleek without much extra fabric except in the hood and his pants, which is interesting bc once again, this has a functional purpose!! pants like that provide extra mobility *and* extra space for gadgets, which while being a great fighter, he has to rely heavily on. while the hood, i´d say is one of the more un practical features of his suit (tech + anpther mask is already obscuring his identity, he does *not* need that thing!!), however it´s meaning makes up for it. from purely a character design standpoint, a hood (especially when its up) can be used to tell inmediately a character likes to keep his cards close, not keen on trusting people and more than okay with just fading into the background. but also in Nathan´s case, it parallels Daejung/Jupiter-Man!!! which makes me INSANE!!!! bc not only is his hood so much more ... normal than Jupiter-man´s big and flowy cape, but!!! he´s mirroring his dad (again)!!!! aghh-

🔥okok sorry yall know im more insane abt Nathan by the day, but onto Arrio´s suit analysis!! 3 things of note are: no mask, triple aesthetic influence, weak spots. I absolutely love that arrio contrasts with nathan´s overkill of a mask by wearing absolutely no mask at all!! (<- dumbass move in my opinion but i support it), it makes sense he didnt go for a mask bc his goal was never the superhero secret identity nonsense, even if it were to later grow on him, his core motivation was always to look out for the twins (<- as opposed to Quin, who in a non canon test comic carried arround masks and would jump at the chance to use em).

next part is more me nitpicking arrio´s suit than comparing w nathan´s lol

Triple aesthetic influence: what i mean by this is his suit feels like a combination of streetwear (loose, comfortable jacket, ripped jeans), the default parameters for their super suits (tight black shurts, turtleneck, contrasted with strong pops of color ((as opposed to the girls´ white w pops of color)), and magi type clothes!! <- which i absolutely love btw!!, it can be noticed in his jacket´s high collar, loose wide sleeves, beads on a string w no clear purpose, stripe patterns (reminiscent of his spellbook but way oversimplified) , skull and belt w a good amount of extra fabric!!!

a bunch of these features (specially the belt) arent as streamlined as they could be and that is a c h o i c e , homeboy really increased his number of weakspots that could get snagged or pulled does he even know it??? does he even care ???

as a side note: he and quintin are the only ones with an easily removable part of their outfit (jacket), and theyre the ones most prone to using it!!!! look me in the eyes and tell me they wouldnt absolutely lend them to people if they needed some sort of comfort and protection