#will anybody read this? it remains a mystery

[xhangkyuns]

hehehe hi! it's your turn!! 😝 7, 11, 18, 24, 39, 43, 77

uh oh besties it’s the consequences of my own actions!

7. Post a snippet from a wip.

When Vegas gently releases his wrists, Pete has a brief moment of thinking that he fucked it all up, but then there is a hand on his cheek, soft and strong and comforting all at once. It remains gentle, running along his jaw, his pulse point, before settling securely around his throat.

His other hand slides under Pete’s shirt, finding the warm skin of his waist. He doesn’t push or pull, just rests there, steady and gentle but not quite enough. Closer, Pete thinks, pull me closer.

11. Do you write scenes in order, or do you jump around?

feeling very called out rn! you know how i write fics and the answer is very very messily! i have adhd so i always jump around — i’ll be writing one thing, then think of something completely unrelated and have to get it down before i forget. in some (read: all) rough drafts, i’ll have a million bits and pieces of unfinished sentences floating around. even while writing this it’s very out of order. the issue with this, though, is that i’ll write a future scene, then be unsure how to connect them — or i’ll end up going in a different direction altogether :’)

i’ve been making an effort to stop worrying about what i’m writing and just let the thoughts flow, which definitely makes a difference in terms of how much i jump around scenes.

18. Do you enjoy research? Which fic of yours required the most research?

oop was it bad that my first thought was about my long ass unfinished doctor who fic from years ago? i love that fandom but there’s just so much lore.

i do enjoy researching to an extent; it really depends on how interested i am in the topic. i guess that’s also the adhd huh. i think sometimes research feels too much like a uni assignment for me, but at the same time i can be a perfectionist about accuracy so 🤷‍♀️

24. How do you choose whose POV to write in?

i guess it really depends on whose mind i want to explore. but sometimes i don’t think i even consciously choose whose pov i’ll write, instead the character climbs into my brain and takes the reins. i’m kinda a sucker for a single pov unreliable narrator, but that’s a flaw i’m working on jhfgshj

39. What’s your most self-indulgent wip?

hmm. maybe not the most self indulgent, but my most personal wip rn is (what will hopefully be) a series delving into vegas’ mindset post-canon — heavy on the healing from trauma. it’ll be about as painful and therapeutic as you’re thinking.

i also have some unhinged vegaspete smut in the works, and am planning a longer chay-centric post-canon macauchay fic, with a lot of found family and learning to stand up for himself. so those are pretty damn self indulgent too.

43. Is there a trope or idea that you’d really like to write but haven’t yet?

uhhh everything? jhgshds well i have a long list of fic ideas that i’d like to tackle eventually. a few ~classic tropes~ on there include a soulmate au, sugar daddy au, and some cheeky magical realism. would also love to write a time loop fic and and good old whump too.

77. Why do you enjoy writing fanfiction?

i get to put my favourite characters??? in any situation ever? ??? no but.. i guess at the moment i love exploring all the different possibilities we never got to see in canon. i love getting into characters’ heads and learning about them and myself in the process. and sometimes i just love writing my favourite characters fuck nasty.

hehe thank you for the ask im love you 💓

[akiraofthefour]

I've read this novel three times. The story has, of course, remained the same since 1959, but the persons with my name who read it in 1968 and 1998, at eighteen and forty-eight, are not the same as the one who came to the novel most recently at the age of fifty-five. All three of us have been altered by it, according to our gifts at the time.

Mary Doria Russell, introduction to the 2006 edition of A Canticle For Leibowitz by Walter M. Miller, Jr.

[deepdisireslonging]

His And Hers Need

You instigate Jason into having his way with you after over a month apart. Quickly, he becomes more than you can handle.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings/Promises: Dick being annoying (because you told him to), Fluff, Smut, possessiveness, p in v, creampie (multiple), sorta cum-play, just smutty-smut goodness

Word Count: 2600

Note: Haven’t written a quick smutty thing for Jason in a while. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated. Happy reading!

“Don’t hit me.”

Jason looked up from his book. He widened his eyes, readjusting to reality before he answered. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not that I’m adverse to the idea, but why would I do that?”

Dick gingerly sat down on the low table in front of the library couch Jason was sprawled across. “I have a confession to make.”

If his battle-brother hadn’t looked so sheepish, Jason would have laughed. Instead, he sat the book to one side and gave him his full attention. The subject of their discussion wasn’t a mystery. He’d been aware of it for a while. “You have a crush on her-”

“I have a crush on your girl.” Dick ran a hand through his hair. “Not unusual. We’ve entertained the same girl before all in the name of Wayne. But usually, I’ve gotten to her first. And now I don’t know what to do about it.”

“You’re gonna get over it.”

“How?”

“What?” Jason crossed his arms as he laid back.

“That is – how does one… get… over it? I’ve never had someone beat me to a girl before.” Dick hoped his ‘nervousness’ was covering up the deep trench of teasing he was digging. “Usually it’s been: I see her, I like her, I get her, we part ways.”

There were about ten more seconds of this conversation before steam was going to start billowing out of Jason’s ears. “That’s… enlightening. All in the name of Wayne, right?”

Suddenly Dick’s mouth was very dry. He swallowed, searching for moisture as if that would be enough to cool down the rage picking up speed in his brother’s chest. “Got- got any suggestions?”

“Mhmm. You skip to the ‘we part ways’ step and forget about her.”

“That’ll be hard since she patrols with us all the time.”

“You’ll figure it out, Detective.” With a growl simmering in the pit of his chest, Jason snatched up his book. Despite it being closed already, he opened it halfway just so he could snap it shut in front of his brother’s face. He left the room quickly.

Taking Jason’s vacated spot on the couch, Dick had to chuckle. “Hope you’re ready, Y/N. He’s headed your way.”

“Thanks, Dick. I owe you one,” you said over the coms.

“That you do. If he doesn’t take all the frustration out on you like you hoped, he’s gonna bruise me black and blue. And I don’t need any more of it to match my suit.”

“Big baby.”

***

You slipped the powered-off com out of your ear and slid into position on your bed. Absently, you flicked smooth the corner of the waterproof blanket working as your seat. The book in your hand was the same title Jason had snapped in Dick’s face a second ago. It was a way to keep connected when you’d been pulled on separate missions for the past month. But the raggedy see-through tank top and lounge short-shorts were wholly yours. There was barely enough fabric to hide what you had planned.

Even though you knew he was coming, you still jumped when Jason slammed open the door. He locked it without a word and shed his sweatshirt.

“Well hello to you too.” Some of your resolve withered away under the hunger in his eyes. You tossed the book onto the nightstand and backed deeper into the pillows. “Jay-”

“Need you.”

Swallowing hard, you nodded. “I can see that. Jay, baby, what’s happened?” But he was on you too quick. Snagging your ankle, he pulled you to the center of the bed where he could stretch his whole body over you. You fought to remain attached to reality while he kissed every inch of your bared skin. “Jason. Are you okay? What’s-”

“You’re my girl. My woman. Anybody else can fuck right off.” 

You grinned into his lips as he kissed you deeply, possessively. Already your body was undulating to feel him press against you. His hair was thick and cool against your fingers as you buried them into his curls. When you gave them a gentle tug, he groaned into the underside of your jaw. “It’s not like that was ever up for debate. But-” You froze as he stopped the onslaught to hover over you.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he murmured. “But I realized I haven’t been taking care of you here of late. I’ve missed you, is all.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead with a tenderness you hadn’t shared with him in a long while.

You missed him too.

“I’m right here.”

With a sigh, he let you guide his head to rest under your chin. He laid across you. The press of his body over yours, and the calming solidity of your body under his, it initiated the reconnection of your hearts. Soon, your breathing was in sync. You would have been at risk of falling asleep, but Jason kept wriggling. The possessive throb of his manhood had not relented. And, pressed as close as he was, he was hyperaware of how many layers you weren’t wearing. Your eyelids fluttered with the light trailing of his fingers up your sides. The gentle kisses he laid on your chest and to the underside of your jaw. When his thigh slid between yours, you couldn’t resist rolling your hips.

“We don’t have to.”

“Hmm?”

Jason lazily smoothed his thumb across your shoulder. “We don’t have to. We can just lay here, if you want.”

“Nuh-uh.” Biting your lip, you inhaled deeply enough to press Jason’s face deeper between your breasts. “You can’t just slam the door open, say you need me, kiss me all over, and then say we can just lay here.” He looked up in time to see the wicked gleam in your eye. “Not a chance.”

Enthralled, Jason’s mouth pulled to one side with a smirk as you guided his hand to reach under your shorts. What he found made him pant against your skin.

“Need you,” you whined.

“I’m right here.”

He sat up. And removed his sweatpants and shorts. Smoothing his hands up and down your thighs, he removed your shorts while you tossed the tank top to the floor. His breath staggered. Laid bared before him, you resisted the urge to curl up and hide. He’d seen you all before. But each time, especially on days like this when he wanted to relearn you after an extended time apart, it was like he was seeing you anew. His eyes raked down your form. And up again. Like he knew he missed seeing that one crease of your skin, a certain freckle, or the flush rising up between your breasts. Each small moment was his favorite. And he wasn’t going to miss a single one.

All the while, you trembled under his gaze. And you took the time to appreciate him too. The smooth curves of his muscles; they were strong enough to defend a city, and soft enough to hold you tight. But you also noted the ragged edges of his scars. How some of them had smoothed into soft curves with time, but you knew each story. Each case and the number of lives saved. This man, capable of saving a city, was hovered over you like you were the center of his universe. The way his lower tummy flexed caught your attention like a whirlpool. Then his hands and mouth were moving for your pleasure, and you were lost.

Jason’s palm laid over your sex, cupping how warm and wet you’d become while waiting for his desperate entry. His mouth moved from one of your breasts to the other, nipping and kissing the swells of them and laving his tongue over your nipples. When his fingers finally curled into your heat, you moaned loudly. Which made him smile against your skin.

“Gonna make you louder than that,” he promised.

He didn’t waste time when bringing you to the brink with his fingers. He curled them, scissored them, until you were keening his name. He had to lay his other hand against your lower stomach to hold you in place. On another night, he would have taken great pleasure laying his forearm across that same spot, pinning you down and eating you out for hours. But today, he needed to feel you around him as soon as possible. When he was sure he wouldn’t hurt you, he slotted himself between your thighs.

“Y/N-”

“Jay, need you, please.” You reached up and swirled your thumb around his tip. His strangled cry and tight grip on your wrist stopped you. “Please-”

Two breaths later he worked inch by glorious inch into your sex. The needy clench of you made his mouth drop open. He focused hard on working all the way into you before he could cum. It stole his breath how hard you could clench around him. How sexed-out you looked already. Jason finally rolled his hips. You rolled to meet him, gripping at his arms on either side of your head.

Tiny whines and whimpers traitorously made it past your lips. Each thrust of his made your body shudder. The back of your mind frantically tried to come up with an excuse for Bruce to not separate you two this long ever again. But Jason was moving too fast, too perfectly, to blindingly for the plans to stick longer than a second. You could come up with something later. You gave into the waves of delight he was thrusting into you. Lips trembling, you allowed your sounds to grow louder, knowing that they would spur him on. Jason’s own noises grew louder to match you. Desperate chasing of the sparks of pleasure soon had you both crying out. Jason smothered you as his arms gave out, overcome with the way your sex was milking his release.

A few minutes later, you shuddered as he pulled out. The water-proof blanket was a blessing. Especially when he was in the habit of making a mess of you. You forced your eyes open. And froze.

Jason had a keen eye on your sex. Oblivious to his own movements, he reached up and pressed lightly on your abdomen. He kneaded the pouch there, ignoring or ignorant of your whimpers of sensitivity.

“Baby- what are you doing?”

He kept pressing, watching his cum leak out of you. “I – You’ve got so much of me in you.” Enraptured, he held you in place so he could continue to watch the show. “Maybe we should take longer missions. So I can do this to you more often. I’m impressed you can hold that much.”

“Alright.” You panted. “Then leave it in.”

“No. Gotta make room for round two.”

Incredulous, your eyes went wide. Especially when he started to fist his cock again. You clenched, squeezing out more of his release at the sight of his length swelling slowly in his hand. “Jay, sweetie, I can’t. Too-“ You broke off with a gasp as he flicked over your clit. “Too sensitive.”

“Sure you can. For me?”

How could you ever tell those big, beautiful eyes no?

Thankfully he took several minutes to kiss you all over again while he palmed himself to hardness again. By then, you wanted him in you again. But he took his time. Scooping more cum out of you, licking his lips hungrily to see you gape for him, he couldn’t focus on one thing about you for more than a few seconds. He watched your eyes drift closed while he kissed down your stomach. Distracted, you didn’t see his plan.

Jason flipped you on to your stomach. From there, he could massage up your back, pushing lightly on your spine to squeeze out just a pit more. His stance between your thighs kept you from closing them. He kneaded your ass before leaning over you.

“Think you can take me again, now?” Sliding his hand into your hair, he used your locks to tilt your face to one side. “Hmm?”

“Mhmm.” You arched your ass up towards his length. “Yes, please.”

He breathed a laugh. “If I didn’t know you were such a needy thing ninety percent of the time, I’d compliment your politeness.”

“C’mon, Jay.” You reached back for him, only to have your hand pinned to the blanket next to your face. Again you arched your back so your ass could rub along his length. As he gasped, you smiled. “You said you wanted round two. And you’re ready for it.”

“There it is. My needy girl. Mine.”

He sheathed you in a breath. It took him several stuttered gasps to refill his lungs after feeling you around him again so soon. Unprompted, the memories of how he won you filled his mind. He kissed between your shoulder blades while you both adjusted, thinking. He remembered how your rogue lives had overlapped, helping and hindering. Bruce convinced him to invite you to join the crew after you were injured. Jason had watched as Alfred patched you up. You didn’t like how big the guest room was. This room. He’d shared it with you for the first several weeks. Simply holding you at night, soothing you from the nightmares that chased you. He stayed because of you. Now, here you were. In his arms. No longer tormented except by whatever pleasure he could dish out. And he intended to dish out plenty.

Slowly he began to drag out of you, only to thrust quickly. As if he was drawn into you like the strongest magnet. Like he wasn’t complete without you. Over and over again he filled you, listening for your cries and pleas. How your name rasped around his name. You were his, yes. But he was also yours, wholly and infinitely. The way your velvety walls held him, and the glow of your skin, made him want to stay connected like this forever. But you clawed at the fabric under your fingernails, He imagined feeling that desperation against his own skin and flinched as his vision whited out. With a shout, he stilled over you, shuddering and filling you once again. Chasing that last feeling of belonging to each other, he pumped a few more times until you were inching up the bed to get away from his cock.

Finally, Jason fell to one side. You remained impaled on him until you caught enough of your breath to free yourself. His happily exhausted face was there to meet you when you turned in his arms. He brushed some of your hair off your sweaty face. You nuzzled your noses together.

“Jay… I have a confession.”

He grinned, already connecting the dots through his post-sex maze. “So, I’ve been had.” He kissed your hairline, hugging you closer.

“That was the plan, but then you kinda took over. Not complaining.” You snuggled further into his arms. Then you smothered a grin. “Have you and Dick really dated the same girl?”

“What’s he been-” He sucked his teeth. “Eavesdropping too. But, yeah. Just as a front. For some gala or another, or to distract from Bruce having to miss an event because of a case. None of them ever made it far. Hard to be when all they wanted was a tour of the Manor.” Burrowing his nose behind your ear, he added, “nobody has been as wonderful as you. As beautiful.” He kissed with each praise. “As clever. As strong. Or as perfect of a fit in my hands.”

With a groan, you caught his roaming hands before they could start round three. A flurry of kisses later, he convinced you otherwise.

***

Masterlist

Other Jason Todd x Vigilante!Reader Fics:

 Two Hoods, One Revenge (S)

 Your Favorite Game (S)

Tame the Wild (S)

 Race to the Top (S)

ABC’s of Jason Todd: An alternate NSFW alphabet mixed with fluff, angst, and of course, smut. [Complete]

[tarotofhope]

PAC: ❥Who is your Secret Admirer ?❥

(Please Read My Pinned post *IMPORTANT NOTE* before selecting a Pile)

Pick an Image by meditating and selecting the image you feel called to. You can be attracted towards more than 1 image. If you are not able to select maybe this reading isn't for you.

⋆Pile 1⋆

Cards: High Prietess, 5 of Cups, 9 of Cups, The Moon.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 1. I think your secret admirer is someone who's very secretive and mysterious. They just won't let anybody know including you. If you're a very young person, then this person is older than you, very mature and understanding. See, I'm not getting exactly who this person could be, but mostly this person could be like a motherly figure. They currently might not be in a good phase in their life or they're someone who doesn't count their blessings, might be pessimistic even, cries over spilled milk. They also like to stay in their comfort zone and they don't like changes. They like how you're very visionary and see the bigger picture. You might be goal oriented and have a very strong will towards achieving something which this person appreciates and admires a lot. You might be working hard on a big project which might give good results in the long run and this hard work of yours is visible to this person. They might be quite the opposite of you. They might be so good at hiding their admiration, their feelings towards you, that you won't ever know, if they don't speak about it. They want their feelings to remain a secret, as I said before that they could be pessimistic, so they might be thinking of worst-case scenarios, when it comes to you knowing their feelings or even people in general, because they might be like that only, very quiet and reserved in nature.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 1.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

⋆Pile 2⋆

Cards: King of Wands, 6 of Pentacles, The Fool, King of Pentacles clarified by the Ace of Swords.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 2. This person could be someone who's an higher authority figure, could be your employer, boss or senior. They're someone who helps the needy and unfortunate. They might be doing donations and charity, also because they might be financially well off. They might be very adventurous and love to travel or the work that they do might involve a lot of travelling. A very mature, driven, passionate, ambitious person they are. They might be your same age but look younger or they might be your same age but look older. This person is very clever and smart with the lizard in the King of Wands here. They might have some pets too. They are very organised but they're not stubborn and fixed, but rather very adaptable. They love to hear ideas from everyone. They see a lot of them in you, they admire your potential and your dedication to work. They can already see you reaching great heights and they'll let you know this. They learn a lot from you and they see you as a guide, a guru who certainly knows so much better. They like your ways, your tactics because they find you very creative. You might be very responsible too. Now see, there could be 2 scenarios here, for some of you, this person just wants to treat you like their own family in the long run and you'll feel that familial connection, while for the others of you, this person might see in you, a romantic long term partner, they might be thinking of marrying you and having a family with you and they're so clear about this connection in their heart but somehow they just can't gather the courage to speak about their feelings to you.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 2.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

⋆Pile 3⋆

Cards: The Devil clarified by 2 of Pentacles, The Empress, 4 of Cups and 9 of Wands Reversed.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 3. This secret admirer of yours could be someone who is very dedicated to their work and are very busy most of the time. For a few handful of you, this could be a very successful person. They could also be a businessman/businesswoman. They might be the studious and scholar kind of kid. For a few of you, this connection could be related to your school or college. They crave a meaningful relationship but are mostly lonely because they are so busy in their life, maybe, for them, their work comes first but because of this, they are a self-made person too. They have a good sense of self and nobody can take them down because they've struggled a lot already to reach wherever they are now. They appreciate you for your networking skills, maybe you chitchat a lot and have a huge circle of friends. You might be more social than them and so they like you for that. They just love how you can be so open and friendly with everyone around you and they hesitate so much to do that. They might also be someone who loves children. It could be so that even though you're a social butterfly, you do not speak much with this person because maybe you both have a professional relationship, or there could be physical distance between you guys or timing issues or a misunderstanding or any other reason. It also seems to them like you have your guards up only for them and they want you to be open and friendly with them too. This pile goes more towards romantic liking but can be platonic too.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 3.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

⋆Pile 4⋆

Cards: King of Cups, 3 of Swords, Justice clarified by 8 of Cups, Knight of Wands.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 4. Your secret admirer could be someone who's very emotionally mature and balanced. They do not let their emotions and past traumas take the best of them like they once did, because they could have had their heart broken earlier and that could've led to lack of confidence and self-esteem issues in them. Now, this could have been either platonic or romantic. They've walked away from it and moved on. They've learnt to see people for what they really are rather than seeing through rose colored glasses. They see an innocence in you which is very pure. They know you're not the one to break hearts but rather they feel safe around you. Now, this person could be around your age and they seem to closely know you. They could be a friend of yours or a friend of a friend, anyone that you talk to or are close with. If you're a friend then they want to be more than just friends. This pile is mostly talking about a romantic connection. They want you to feel the same sparks as them. They might even be dropping hints here and there but you're not taking those hints, while for some of you, this person is openly flirting with you. I don't see bad intentions here though. They seem genuine. They want to have a confirmation from you because you might be sending mixed signals to them. They want to be sure if you're interested too, because they're just so excited over this. They want to begin a relationship with you because they're hoping for the best.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 4.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

⋆Pile 5⋆

Cards: The Hermit clarified by The World, 4 of Pentacles, Knight of Swords and The Magician.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 5. For half of my pile 5, your secret admirer could be someone who's very wise and likes their solitude. They might be a guru, coach or a teacher. They've gathered an abundance of knowledge. For the other half of you, It's talking about many people, I can see that these are mature and wise people who are seeking knowledge so it could be that, you might be a coach, guru or a teacher to these people. This is an entertainer-audience/fandom pile as well. The audience are the admirers, some secretly, some loud ones. People of this pile and their admirers are very alike, they do share some common ground. You both like to do your own thing, you've maintained strong and healthy boundaries around you. You guys are very reserved and picky. You stand firm and you're proud and happy with whatever you have and whatever you're doing. This group could be a bit impatient and impulsive, and you guys seem to react quickly and strongly to violence and injustice. This group is strongly connected to their secret admirer/s like a soul family. Your secret admirer/s want you to know that you're very good at whatever you're doing. Keep up with it because it really helps them a lot. They are there with you. They want you to know that you're so talented and loved. You don't need validation and you don't need to prove it to anybody(if you're doing this), things will eventually come to surface and you'll get what you deserve. You are the candle who does not see their own light.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 5.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

Thank you so much for being here. I post PAC readings every Tuesday and Friday. Do love and support by reblogging, liking or following.

——————————— ♡ ♡ ♡ ———————————

[sapphicjackal]

Bingyuan Soulmate au 2

Part 1

For as long as Luo Binghe can remember, dark shapes would imprint themselves onto his skin accompanied with foreign feelings. The feelings were always benign and soft. Eventually Luo Binghe knew them to be words, but he was illiterate and unable to read what they said. He could recognize fragments based on what little his mother could teach him.

He asked his mother about the words but she couldn’t see them. She believed him that they were there and told him that maybe if he could become a cultivator he could find out what it was. Cultivators knew all manner of secret and esoteric things that mortals didn’t, and maybe this was a sign he was destined to be one.

Luo Binghe was happy about that, and he traced the sifting words reverently, feeling out their shapes and reveling in the feelings they brought. The feelings were so warm and gentle, they brought him even greater comfort after his mother died and he was alone on the streets. Each morning, and sometimes other parts of the day, he would feel a message arrive with a caring greeting. He didn’t know what the words said, but he knew they were for him. 

Getting chosen for Qing Jing Peak was a blessing. Surely on the Peak of Scholars he would find the answers he seeked about these words. Luo Binghe probably should have asked someone about it, but some part of him felt possessive over it. These words belonged to him and him alone. He didn’t want anybody to know about them. If they knew they might be able to take it away, Luo Binghe never wanted to lose the daily message.

Everybody hated him on Qing Jing Peak, his Shizun poured tea on him and the Shixiong’s bullied him, but each morning without fail, a message would arrive on his wrist. Luo Binghe worked tirelessly on his literacy, spending every free moment learning how to read and write. He wanted to know what was being said to him.

Each night, he snuck into the library to read the materials available for new coming illiterate disciples. As the scholarly peak, there was a dedicated selection towards priming new disciples to the standards of Qing Jing Peak. Luo Binghe didn’t have time to view then during the day because of his endless chores, but he was determined to learn, even if it meant going during the night. 

Nobody was allowed to go during the night, but Luo Binghe had carefully tested it and found out that there was nothing to alert anyone. So as long as he was careful to make sure everything looked undisturbed, he could learn from the materials. It meant he got little sleep, but Luo Binghe was nothing if not determined. Once he set his mind to something, he would strive doggedly to succeed. 

Slowly he began to be able to read the messages, recognizing several characters even if he couldn’t read the whole thing quite yet. He could see words like “happy”, “love”, “good”, “well”, “today”, and “I” appear with the most frequency. It was the final thing that confirmed to him his theory that it was someone talking to him. Perhaps a spirit?

It didn’t seem like a malevolent force, but he’s learned that anything being attached to a person is often a bad thing. They often drained qi or lifeforce, and were parasitic in nature. He would have to remain on guard with these mysterious words and whoever they were connected to.

He waited a few more months until he could read more of what was said than he was unable to read. The message came in that morning as it always did. Luo Binghe had filched an old and worn calligraphy brush along with a near empty pot of ink that he stowed away in preparation.

“I hope you have a wonderful day that brings you joy.” it read. The message was intimate and informal, paired with genuine well wishes.

“Who are you?” Luo Binghe wrote carefully. He struggled with writing more than reading, but he was making progress to improve in both areas as quickly as he could. 

The reply came quickly, the feeling of it taking shape was oddly scratchy and the size of the lettering was a uniform thickness that appeared with a drag unlike a brustip. Luo Binghe had never wondered about the writing implement that was being used up until he could now compare it to his own writing and experience how they differed.

“I’m your soulmate! It’s nice to meet you.” appeared along with a bubbly feeling of anticipation.

Soulmate? 

Luo Binghe’s eyes widened in disbelief. He had heard tales of soulmates before, of individuals connected by red strings of fate tied around their fingers. But those strings were invisible and soulmates weren’t able to communicate by writing. 

“Soulmate? This one has never heard of words on skin happening with soulmates." Luo Binghe wrote, trying not to get his hopes up. This could be a spirit or demon trying to trick him. 

“How old are you? I’m surprised you haven’t heard of soulmates, everyone has one. Only soulmates can see each other’s words, but everybody gets them. Unless their soulmate isn’t born or has died.” came the words with a sense of absolute certainty and curiosity. It felt like truth. Luo Binghe didn’t know that truth was an emotion that could be felt. 

Luo Binghe thought about it. The way that this writing had been with him for as long as he could remember, even before he knew what it meant. The shifting shapes and frequent emotions that came with the words. The feelings attached to the words that he could feel every time he touched the strokes. 

It had never harmed him, it was simply faithful and earnest companionship. Even when his mother died, his… soulmate… was always there. Writing to him little well wishes that were sincerely meant.

Luo Binghe didn’t think that this form of soulmates was what humans experienced. Ning Yingying would have already told him if she had someone writing to her, and he would have seen more people looking at their skin more. His A-Niang hadn’t known what he was talking about either.

However, humans weren't the only race of sentient beings. Maybe there was something else that all had soulmates. And maybe those soulmates could sometimes be humans. Maybe just maybe, this was them sending messages across their string.

“This one is 10.” Luo Binghe wrote, biting his lip. His 11th birthday was in a few weeks, but for now he was 10.

“I’m 15, and I’ll help you with anything you need. Let me know anything you struggle with learning and I’ll try to help you.” came the reply, earnest and determined. Luo Binghe was upset to see the earlier words fade away, leaving empty gaps between his own brushstrokes. 

“Really?” Luo Binghe asked, losing the battle against fighting off his hope. It was a doomed endeavor from the start. Luo Binghe wanted nothing more than someone who cared and…

“Yuan-ge will help you with anything. I promise.” came the writing, filled with firm conviction and gentle affection.

“Yuan-ge?” Luo Binghe questioned, overflowing with giddy happiness and anticipation. 

His soulmate. His. His Yuan-ge. His A-Yuan.

“My name is Shen Yuan,” Yuan-ge wrote, and Luo Binghe drank it in greedily. He traced the characters over and over, wishing he could carve them into his skin so they would never leave. He felt almost dizzy with elation when he remembered the way that his Yuan-ge has never once left him. Yuan-ge has written to him everyday, maybe even since he was born. Luo Binghe may have been abandoned in a river during the coldest night, but maybe, even then, on his wrist there had been words of love.

His hands shook as he collected himself, wanting to respond to his Yuan-ge.

“This one is Luo Binghe.” he wrote once his hands were steady. His name was the first words he knew, and they were one of the greatest gifts given to him by his A-Niang. Luo Binghe stroked his pendant, missing her dearly. He wished he could have told her about Yuan-ge.

“Bing-er, I’m happy to finally meet you.” Yuan-ge said, his words were so saturated in pure warmth that it made tears form in Luo Binghe’s eyes. It felt like A-Niang’s hugs after she placed a kiss on the crown of his head and enveloped him into her arms. It felt like love.

At that moment he wished nothing more desperately than to see his Yuan-ge. He wanted to find the one at the end of his string, even if he had to traverse the realms to find him. One day, Luo Binghe promised himself.

One day he would find his Yuan-ge.

Luo Binghe would become the best cultivator ever so that he could track his Yuan-ge down. Even if it took his whole life, he would find his soulmate. Shen Yuan. 

With a smile, Luo Binghe began writing on his leg. He’d have to remember to find a rag to wipe away the ink tomorrow. There was probably something dirty and stained in the storehouse that nobody would notice missing. 

He’d also have to have some inks mixed and prepared carefully. Normally the little pots were used for painting pigments that way someone could paint outdoors, but Binghe found a discarded one and mixed together some ink to use. The ink was no good for calligraphy, too watery and not pigmented enough for bold strokes, but it wrote upon his skin well enough.

With a head full of forming plans and a heart filled with warmth and elation, Luo Binghe talked with his Yuan-ge for another sichen before his soulmate said he had to sleep. 

“Good night, Bing-er.” Yuan-ge said, words filled with gentle care.

Luo Binghe beamed, excited to talk to Yuan-ge tomorrow, and the day after, and everyday for the rest of his life. 

“Good night, Yuan-ge.”

Part 3

[dietpitt]

💚🎃Green Is Definitely Your Color🎃💚

Stan Pines x AFAB!Reader Explicit | 2.8k words Tags: Gender-Neutral Reader, Reader wears a dress, Halloween Costumes, Trick-or-Treating, Sexual Roleplay, Cunnilingus, Praise Kink, Voice Kink, Stan is a Leg Man, Body Worship, Marking Kink, Reader Plays Bride of Frankenstein

In which body paint and Stan's mouth save the day (but ruin a perfectly good costume).

{Read on AO3}

Author's Note: Originally posted 2020 on AO3, but I wanted to give it a proper tumblr post. I'm very proud of this one except I didn't know how to end it and it shows lol

Thankfully, there are only a few things you and your boyfriend don’t see eye-to-eye on. Stan takes his coffee black (old habit from the days of shoddy motels and a life on the run), while your own brew of choice is iced (lasts longer and doesn’t get cold since it already is). He thinks it’s perfectly reasonable to scare a baby every now and then, and proceed to laugh in their pudgy little tear-streaked face. You? You told him he’d be the one bawling if you ever caught him pulling that in your periphery again.

Tonight, though? Tonight is the perfect example of just how good you two are together. Because tonight, you weren’t scaring babies. Tonight, on Halloween, you were scaring kids. And that was worlds apart from wreaking havoc in the grocery store, which happened the majority of the remaining 363 days of the year.

Sure, Stan always goes all-out for his beloved Summerween, but October 31st is when his freak flag really flies. It makes sense--  Fall brings less tourists than usual, and shorter daylight hours means fewer parents letting their kids come out to the woods to trick or treat, making every opportunity for a scare count.

With the Mystery Shack trading its typical kitsch for spooky ephemera-- fully decked out in giant spiderwebs, ghoulish figures, and angry jack-o-lanterns-- it’ll truly be a dramatic sight to behold.

But, for all the elaborate planning, special effects to make the eyes pop out of his skull and the bolts on his neck to spark and smoke, Stan still manages to miss a few spots needing body paint. 

“Alright, alright, I think y’got it,” Franken-Stan fake-grumbles up at you from his seat in front of the full-length mirror.

“Will you relax? You’re gonna sweat, and I’ll have to do your makeup all over again,” you scold, though your painted lips curl into a fond grin despite yourself.

Though the kids will start coming any minute, you’re set on completing the finishing touches, if for no other reason than to keep Stan from further grumbling later.

… And most certainly not because you also love the opportunity to dote, holding him close in ways he’d otherwise be too shy about. Not at all.

“Are you going to wear your glasses?” You ask, getting his ears nice and green with the sponge brush.

He gives it some thought. “As much as it hurts the spook factor, I can’t really scare anybody if I fall on my face.”

Another, final once-over at your work and you’re satisfied, stepping back and raising your arms in the air triumphantly to steal yourself for your best mad-scientist cackle. “My creation! It’s aliiiive!” 

Stan laughs, quickly standing and caging you with his arms against the wall. “Damn right. Alive as ever.”

You shoo both him and the remark away, looking over your white “dress” (old sheet) to check for any green that may have made its way onto your costume. “I thought you were in a hurry, hmm? There’s no time for a touch-up. Now, be a good ‘husband’ and carry the train.”

Stan’s eyes roll as he lifts the gown, following your lead downstairs. “Yes, honey.”

Trying very carefully not to trip, Stan helps you down the stairs. “I still think it’s dumb that The Bride of Frankenstein doesn’t get a name, though. Sure, she’s in it for all of three minutes, but she gets the movie named after her and doesn’t even get a line?”

“Nah, she just screams,” Stan laughs, dropping your dress as you meet the front door. “Like it hurts to exist.” He swings the door open and the both of you speak in unison.

“She gets it.”

You share a small laughing fit at that, making your way outside into the crisp autumn air, giddy to begin the festivities. A few to last-minute adjustments and tech checks, and The Shack will be ready.

“Seriously though-- why can’t she be, like, Victoria or something?”

Over by the skeleton crawling out from under the porch, Stan snorts. “Victoria? Why?”

You shrug. “Why not?”

“Touche.”

It’s finally the tail-end of the second hour, and you’re in position behind the semi-trapdoor mechanism on the porch, hidden behind a dark and stormy castle standee. You’re high on the energy so far, after making some kids scream-squeal in delight. Although, you did manage to terrify a toddler on accident without even trying-- the poor thing burst into tears at the mere sight of you walking out normally from the porch.

Maybe it was the semi-realistic stitches on your flesh? Who knows. All that’s clear is you felt awful, but Stan was very clearly amused-- and jealous, you’d wager.

But now that it’s past bedtime for most little ones, it’s time to up the ante with some added special effects-- and the fast-approaching gaggle of baby teens seem to be the first that’ll enjoy them.

Always on top of it, Stan lets out a Frankenstein-like groan, marching further from the end of the porch, arms raised in cheesy classic style. The kids stop in their tracks as he clears his throat roughly to give the spiel he’s practiced all night, an extra ~spooky~ lilt to his otherwise mostly-normal voice:

“Foolish humans! You daaaare demand gifts, when your hubris created me from cursed flesh, and your hatred ensured my demise?!” He’s truly in his element as his neck bolts flicker for emphasis, making most of the middle schoolers jump and gasp.

The one at the front of the pack though, doesn’t budge, instead holding their pumpkin bucket out with an overall look of disinterest. “Yeah, duh. Trick-or-treat, old man. Hand over the candy.”

“Rude little shit,” you frown, not even needing to see Stan’s face to know he’s going to enjoy this particular scare very much.

“Hold it, kid, ” Stan sneers, continuing his introduction, “if you want anything good to eat, you’ll need to ask the most blood-curdling-- ”

You flip the switch for the fog machine, and bellows of grey creep in around the Shack--

“--The most SPINE-TINGLING, repulsive monster of us all--!”

You quickly step on the nearby button, and lightning flashes across the house as thunder sounds--

“ --MY WIFE! ”

At his signal, your spring forward, eyes crazed as a horrendous banshee screech leaves your throat and white tendrils wave in the wind.

The rude kid screams-- and while Stan bursts out laughing and you smile evilly, you miss them reflexively reach into their bucket, pull something out, and chuck it right at you before scampering away.

With a dull thud, the projectile lands on your head with a muffled thud, sending you off balance and toppling off the platform in a second. You hear Stan’s barks at the hoodlum, but soon he’s up the porch at your side, just as surprised as you are.

“The hell-- you alright, babe?”

Stan helps you up as you glance around for the offending object that’s left your head and the arm that broke your fall aching. “I-- what the fuck was that?!”

A large, off-white sphere rolls along a groove in the deck, moved by your shifted weight. It hits the edge of your shoe, and you pick it up to find it’s…

A popcorn ball.

A really fucking heavy, rock-hard popcorn ball.

With a splotch of white from your forehead smeared across it.

Stan’s bursts out laughing, though he doesn’t let his supposedly helpful grip on your waist go. “Who the hell gave that thing out?? They must’ve been saving it for last century-- ”

It’s funny. Like, really funny. Comedy freaking gold.

But your head hurts and you fell, and shit, your wig’s messed up…

Your own laughter breaks suddenly, and before you even know it you’re tearing up.

Franken-Stan blanches the soon as it hits him. “H-hey, sweetheart, I’m sorry-- are you alright?”

The comforting hands on your shoulder, the concern in his voice breaks the dam, tears spilling out despite your mind knowing better, and wanting to continue laughing it off like you should-- like you want to.

“I’m fine Stan, I’m fine, I-- I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying, I really don’t,” you laugh, dabbing at your eyes with a bandage-covered hand. “That was too perfect.”

“Don’t apologize, that kid’s an asshole.”

“An asshole with a hell of a pitch,” You laugh, finally meeting Stan’s eye. 

“Wanna go inside? It’s gettin’ late anyway,”

“No! No, are you kidding? We just got started with the lightning! I’m fine, I promise--”

He raise an eyebrow skeptically.

“Really, I am. I’m the most horrifying creature of them all, right?”

“Hah! Sure are, sweet thing, sure are.”

“Then let’s get back to scaring. I’ll be ready to duck this time.” You laugh, elbowing Stan before getting back into place, and Stan follows.

11:27pm

There hasn’t been a kid in nearly 30 minutes, and with another hour under your belt, the pair of you are content to turn in for the night for some movies and the Halloween goodie bags left behind by scared trick-or-treaters.

Flopping down on the bed, your tired body practically sings. “Goddd, that kid really got me good.” The hands on your face muffle your words, but Stan gets the idea.

Taking pity on you, he pulls up the nearby chair and starts unlacing one of your boots for you. “Happens in the line of duty sometimes. Shoulda seen what one fairy princess threw at me one year-- actually, I don’t even wanna know what it was.” He jokes(?), tossing the shoe aside and beginning on the other.

“Knocked me down at the top of my game…” you mutter, twiddling with the end of a splayed-out strip of your garment.

“Hey,” Stan drops the other boot to the floor with a thud, quickly peeling off the striped sock that lay underneath. “Don’t forget, you scared the absolute shit out of that brat.”

You let out a hum, then chuckle. “Triggered his fight and flight.”

"Exactly,” he replies definitely, sling-shotting the second sock in the air. It lands on your chest, but you quickly toss it over to nowhere in particular.

“I don’t know if I can even get back up. Just let me die here,” you groan, only half-joking as the strenuous activities of the day catch up to you. “I’ll be a corpse for next Halloween.”

“Well, yer already halfway there in that getup,” Stan shrugs off the jacket of his costume and lets it fall on the chair. A glance across your form reminds him of the “bolts” attached to his neck, which he peels off with a wince. “And I’m not far behind ya.”

“I’ll be lucky if I look this good when I’m dead,” you laugh, adjusting to get more comfortable and fully prepared to just pass out, wig and all.

Stan’s eye catches on the bare skin of your leg that’s revealed when you shift, the stark white of your gown falling to the side as it bends at the knee and the other still hangs off the bed uselessly. He hums, appreciative of the sensual view of you before him: limbs draped out, black eye makeup smudged...

Your eyes fly open at the feeling of Stan’s large hand on your knee, and you’re met with a familiar mischievous grin on Stan’s still-green face. “Mmm, you’re already bewitching, babe.” 

That look always manages to send a pang through your gut. “Oh, stop it…”

This wasn’t exactly how you’d imagined the night ending, but don’t mind all that much if it’s headed where you think it’s headed.

“‘M serious,” Stan chuckles. “Yer right about The Bride too… never appreciated enough,” His thumb rubs a circle on the soft flesh on the inside of your knee, and you can’t help but sigh at the nice pressure. 

Your stomach nearly flips when he slides to his own knees, grip moving down your calf and lifting your leg to place a playful kiss to your ankle. His name falls from your lips in a whine, equal parts warning and pleading, for exactly what you can’t decide. You’re answered nonetheless by another peck just above the previous, then another with the slightest bit of teeth that makes you gasp and prop up onto your elbows.

The sight is absolutely ridiculous -- Frankenstein’s monster himself between your legs, smiling dumbly as he nips at the neglected one before he pushes excessive fabric up and off to reveal more of your form. “Stan, we-- oh my god--”

It’s when he pulls you forward on the bed that you see it: the splotches of deep green coloring the trail Stan is continuing up your thigh with a knowing look.

You laugh at first, starting to push him away so you can properly remove your dress, but he tuts, gripping your hips instead and curling an arm around your thigh, slinging it over his shoulder with an in-character groan: "You go nowhere.

You’re torn between teasing him about the fact that he’s really roleplaying as fucking Frankenstein right now, and the shudder that rolls through you as Stan noses your center through the cotton, saying: “Mine .”

“Oh,” is all you manage to say when his mouth meets between your thighs, teasing your folds through the fabric with a brazen tongue. You let yourself go then, leaning into the anticipation as after a moment Stan tugs the garment down and off, though it catches on your foot and is left dangling there uselessly.

“You’ll be screamin’ for me, don’t you worry,” he says, breath ghosting over your core before fully tucking in.

There’s no energy left in you to scream, but the needy whimpers and moans that escape as he ushers you up towards pleasure are melodic, a siren song that urges Stan to keep delving into your cunt, to hold your thighs open with a possessive grip.

“F-fuck,” you cry, reaching down and threading your fingers through his mop of black-sprayed hair between your legs. He groans mid-lap at your clit, and you gasp as his hands join in on the ministrations, caressing and petting from your hips to your stomach.

It’s when he starts sucking that you start to really writhe, tugging roughly at his locks to push him deeper. He slurps your arousal right up, the sound mortifying yet helping thrust you closer to the fast-approaching peak.

“C’mon, honey,” Stan says, thumb maintaining a rhythm on your clit. “Come for me, darling.”

The foreign pet name does it, sending a rolling orgasm that hits you in waves, crying out Stan’s name and other sweet nothings before going limp.

After a moment he sits back, more than proud as he wipes his mouth and watches you twitch and moan through the lingering pulses.

“Wow-- what was that all about?” You manage to pant out, made curious again as Stan stands suddenly, walking over to the mirror on the far-side of the room.

“Check it out,” he says, bringing the mirror to the edge of the bed and leaning against it with a self-satisfied grin.

Sitting up, your reflection stares back at you, wide-eyed and glowing-- with a prominent mess of green smeared along your skin, practically outlining each and every touch that made you come undone. A few complete hand prints are even visible, on the backs of your knees, on your hip-- even a comically clear outline against the stark white of your covered chest.

Your face burns hot as you can’t help but laugh in disbelief, both at what you see and the unexpected thrill of it; it’s delightful, and silly, and sexy, and overall just an image you think won’t leave your head for a while.

Stan chuckles at your reaction, pleased. “S’a good look on ya-- damn near electrifyin’ , some might say.”

“Come here,” you ask, arms out to beckon him forward. He does, and you don’t miss the prominent bulge in his trousers as he walks over.

Pulling him down by his shirt, you lock him into an appreciative kiss, raking your nails across his scalp and practically pulling him on top of you to continue the makeout, bed size be damned.

Needing air, you finally break away, glancing back at the mirror to see green now decorating your mouth and cheeks. “You’d missed a spot,” you inform Stan, pointing to the new addition to your face.

He hums, ducking down to nip at your neck and clavicle, painting them just the same. “Could think of a few more spots needin’ a touch-up,” he growls, rolling his hips.

Snaking your hand into the band of his pants, Stan lets out another groan at your touch and when you say lightly into his ear:

“Looks like you could use some white with that green, hmm?”

Happy Spooky Season!! 🎃💚🎃

[Masterlist]

dividers by @strangergraphics and @firefly-graphics

[millieisawriter]

Stitch you up

arthur morgan x reader

summary: a fanfiction where arthur finds your own journal where you wrote about him

wc: 1.2k

english isn't my first language

♡this wasn't requested, but if you wish to request something you're more than welcome♡

all pics are from pinterest

You had joined the gang recently, and immediately noticed him. Arthur Morgan. The big, bad mystery of a man. Soon enough you learnt that he had a past more wounded than anyone you've ever known, and you wanted to help him.

God, you wanted to help him so badly, stitch up the wounds he hid from everyone else, light up his darkness even at the cost of your own light. But you didn't know scaring the shadows away won't be easy. It was as if he didn't let you do it, scared it will break you. Little did he know, the rejection hurt you like a gentle hammer to the heart.

You could be a bit scatterbrained at times. Like that one time when you left your journal god knows where. Writing down your thoughts always seemed to help you feel better, but now there was a risk someone could find it and read it.

Arthur never planned on finding your journal, nor had he intended to read it. He saw it abandoned by the tree where you often sat alone in the evenings, writing while the others laughed and drank by the fire. His hand hovered over it, hesitating. He knew he should leave it be, or better - return it, but curiosity twisted tight in his chest.

Your handwriting was delicate but hurried, with little mistakes probably caused by you glancing around from time to time, checking if no one is looking into the journal over your shoulder. Arthur knew he shouldn't look where he didn't belong. But he kept flipping, kept glancing over the words like he was pulled by a higher force.

Until that one page...

I tried to stitch you up with thread from my own skin, thought maybe my bones could be your bandages. I couldn't fix you and broke myself in the process. But you stay empty and I stay broken, a ruined sacrifice for a love that never wanted saving.

Arthur stared at the words, re-reading them a few times. He felt it in his core, even if no name was mentioned, he knew well who you wrote about. Too well.

His heart was thudding when he shut the journal closed. He had known you had a thing for him, but he thought it's just an infatuation that will eventually pass. Now it turned out your feelings ran deep.

He searched for you, intending to give back the journal as if nothing happened, as if he hadn't read a single word. But from the panic in your eyes, even if the rest of your body tried to remain calm, he knew that you knew.

"I uh... found this by the tree," he muttered, helding the little journal out to you.

You took it, your gaze dropping to the ground in embarrassment, and instead of thanking the man, you said, "I'm sorry."

Arthur looked away, swallowing his words. He should be the one apologizing. You did nothing wrong, developing feelings wasn't your fault. Reading your journal, however, was Arthur's choice.

"Nothin' to be sorry for," he managed to say, "I shouldn't have read it. I– I don't know why I did."

He didn't meet your gaze. Instead, now he was the one looking at the ground. As if he wanted to dig a hole and dug all his guilt and embarrassment there.

"I didn't mean for anybody to see this," you still felt the need to explain yourself, "I know what I wrote must seem so foolish to you."

He shook his head and finally looked at you, "Ain't foolish. Just... I ain't the man for you. Truth be told, I ain't the man for anyone."

That was exactly what you wished to prove him wrong. You wanted him to believe he could be loved. He was worth it, even if he couldn't see it. You wanted to make him see it.

"Says who?" You asked.

He sighed.

It was his concious decision. Nobody had to tell him. He knew he can't be a bad man and expect good things to happen to him. The past had told him enough.

"Says me," he muttered eventually, "I know what I am, I know what I've done. You, on the other hand, you–"

You interrupted him, "Don't give me that, Arthur. I know what you are, too. And so what of it? You're not a bad man, you're just... broken."

"And I won't burden you with fixin' me. Don't do this to yourself, don't go gettin' hurt over someone like me."

"What if I want to be burdened with it?"

That was foolish, way too foolish, to love someone for such a short period of time, but the feeling for some reason so strong you wanted to be their bandage, their stitches, their cure. It didn't make sense, but has love ever made sense?

But, damn it, Arthur would be lying if he said he didn't want it. He had lied so many times already, saying he doesn't feel the same, but his heart ached for you. He wished he could touch you, kiss you, feel you, fully convinced it could fix him so easily.

"We're both fools," he said, his eyes meeting yours and in them you could see the truth. He could reject you as many times as he'd like, but his eyes were longing for you in ways you wished for.

"Maybe," you agreed, your lips curling into a sad smile, "but if being a fool means having the chance to love you... then I'll gladly be one."

Not letting you love him was what broke you, but he was scared letting you do it, would be even worse. But this time, he didn't pull away when you moved closer to him.

Maybe in his eyes, he wasn't worthy of you, of your feelings, of being fixed, of any of what you were willing to give him. But in yours... he was worthy of way more than what this life could offer.

You reached up, your palm landing on his jaw, the stubble nicely tickling your soft skin. This touch was something he longed for from the moment he knew you wanted him the way he wanted you. Your touch sent a weave of warmth through him, as if it had any healing powers.

He closed his eyes, partially because he couldn't quite bear the weight of his own feelings, and partially because he wanted to stay like this for as long as possible. To memorize your touch in case this will never happen again.

"We're both fools," he repeated, his eyes opening, and he gently took your wrist and moved your hand so that he could place a kiss on the back of it, "but if you're willin', then I reckon I am too."

There was just something about you that made this man feel like maybe misery isn't something he's sentenced to for the rest of his life. Maybe there was a flicker of hope, too. Maybe for once he could love and be loved in peace, if he tries to deserve it.

[michy16]

Everybody but Dazai?

(ok this is me posting again about how well written Asagiri's charters are)

Dazai's ability fits his charter so well its crazy. The detective agency serves as a home for all of the agency members not only because its full of people who also have strange abilities but because Fukuzawa's ability allows them to control what separates them from society. But not dazai. He doesn't have the control everyone else gains because No Longer Human cancels out All men Are Equal. Every body but Dazai gets to control what they are. And Dazai suffer from his injuries silently because its not like Yosano can help him like she can everyone else. Everyone in the agency knows this about him and they see and understand that he's different which pushes his belonging away even more. When it comes to the agency he is beyond help. That's why he is often pictured off to the side away from the agency because no matter how much he may want to be, he simply isn't there.

Since his ability isn't flashy and doesn't effect normal people he could fit in with the outside world, but when it comes to normal people, he feels so far above them not only because of the fact he has an ability but because of how smart he is. He cant find himself fitting in with the "normal" people of society as well as the gifted. That's why it didn't matter to him if he was on the side of good or evil. That's why the killing didn't matter to him because to him nothing felt real to him. it simply felt as if he wasn't there.

Also Dazai's ability is also perfectly pieced together because we only know what Dazai wants us to know about him as well as everyone else in the show. Everything we know about Dazai, other people in the show already know as well. Other people in the show like Sigma who's ability allows him to read memories by touching them, can never do what he could do to everyone else to Dazai. Things in the show like this is what allows Dazai to remain a mysterious and scary man even to us the viewers. We will never know the childhood origins that cultivated him to be the way that he is. What made him want to search for a purpose in the first place? And maybe that's cause he doesn't want us (or anybody show wise tbh) to really know?

Therefore Dazai will never completely feel part of any society or belonging, in an ability user setting or not. Instead he teeters on the edge of both worlds. not knowing where he belongs looking for a purpose. So far removed from everyone he knows that he has grown to feel like the name of his ability, he feels no longer human. Everyone but Dazai. Everyone but Dazai has a home. Everyone but Dazai has found a purpose. Everyone but Dazai is not beyond help.

(Does this make sense?)

(this picture is from r/bungou stray dogs)

[failbettergames]

The Great Hellbound Railway

The Great Hellbound Railway is an expansive storyline that unlocks after your Persuasive reaches 175, and once you are a person of sufficient importance within London. These new additions expand upon activities and round out stations throughout the journey.

New Research Projects in the Jericho Library

"There are few pleasures greater than being in a library of one's own."

There are two new research projects available to everyone with a Library in Jericho! Return to the Oddlion Septagonal Reading Room to hit the stacks in pursuit of obscure knowledge and errant citations. Pursue forbidden histories of mutability and countervailing mysteries of the Elder Continent in the supreme comfort of your own library, and overturn popular scholarship in style.

These new projects are a permanent addition to the Library, and join the Hinterlands research project as always-available avenues of research.

Practising Law in the Courts of the Evenlode

"The traditions of the Evenlode are older than the courts in London, and the appointment of unconventional counsel is an expected part of proceedings. In fact, many here would be doomed to represent themselves unless you deign to offer your services."

You can now intervene in trials at the Courts of the Evenlode! You've been a spectator for long enough; it's time to wade into the fray and put your legal nous to good use. Defend rattus faber from the sticky fingers of local urchins. Prosecute the case of the Guild of Gondoliers against the Society Matron. Work out exactly what this Rubbery Man is being charged for, and how exactly he feels about it.

Pursuing justice in the Courts of the Evenlode is a permanent new activity, available to all players who have spent enough time in the Magistracy.

Story Additions to Burrow-Infra-Mump

"It is as though it grew in some other place where the colours are brighter and more vivid than our world can support. It is, unquestionably, a rose."

We've released a short new story in Burrow-Infra-Mump! London's ill-fated war against Hell casts a long shadow. Debts remain unpaid, relationships strain, and old obligations come due. A rose has appeared in Burrow-Infra-Mump; a curious plant of petal and bone that neither London nor Hell seems enthusiastic to claim. Cultivate it, or burn it to the ground, and learn of its relevance to the conflict of '68.

This short story is available to anybody who has completed the development of the church at Burrow, and starts via an Opportunity Card in Burrow-Infra-Mump.

It is also now possible to develop the old ruins at Burrow into a secular freehold. This is an alternate means of completing the station, and does not commit it to any faith or denomination.

New Artwork

Finally, something that you might just have gathered from this blog post already. Each station along the Great Hellbound Railway now has its own unique header art! New artwork joins the existing headers for Ealing and Station VIII, so keep an eye out for these new delights all up and down the journey to Hell.

[ranticore]

Chapter 1 - Seven Years

[Forward by the author]

The protagonist of our story was born like this:

At an engineering facility on a planet called Ceti, a Human named Dan Loris worked for an entity called Atom GeneWEAVE. He* was tasked with writing the genetic code of a variety of engineered humans and he composed them with the skill of a master musician, for a very particular brief. The first six attempts were not viable and his computer** simulations didn’t predict a favourable outcome for them. The seventh attempt, however, would work. He implanted this genetic code in a Human egg and fertilised it in an incubation chamber, and it began to grow.

Outside his facility, under the unknowable sky of mysterious Ceti, there was a great ship called The Lonely Sailor. This ship was larger than you could ever imagine, large enough to hold thousands of Humans and the requisite cargo to let them live on a new world long enough for them to become self-sustaining there. Measurements on record state that The Lonely Sailor was more than a kilometre long.

The Lonely Sailor was owned by Atom GeneWEAVE and would carry a cargo container full of fertilised Human eggs to the new world. These were known as embryos and were mostly held in a frozen state, but there were twenty of them which were not frozen. They were placed in false amniotic sacs and allowed to continue growing throughout the entire voyage of The Lonely Sailor, even though the adult Humans themselves would be frozen instead.

Dan Loris slotted his first viable attempt at life into the cargo hold last, knowing that it would be the first to wake. He used a computer machine called a Deep Dreamer to monitor the growing life, and encoded within it an operation called ‘Athletic_Boy_Childhood_03.deepdr‘. He wrote on the amniotic sac the name of his creation: Ishmael© property of ATOM GENEWEAVE®.

Dan Loris then settled himself into a sleeping chamber which would freeze him harmlessly for the duration of the voyage.

The journey from Ceti to Siren would take seven years. Ishmael grew from fertilised egg to embryo and then became a baby in the normal period of time that these things take. But he was not born then. He remained asleep, dreaming that he was living a Human childhood.

We can only guess at what he dreamed of, as the memory encoded into him was designed to fade, leaving behind only the lessons that Atom felt were necessary for him to learn, to function normally and not emerge from the seven year journey in a feral state. He learned how to speak, how to read and write, all without ever having taken a single breath. When he was old enough, he moved his body as though he were engaging in games of chase and team sports, and this allowed his muscles to develop.

Atom was as a deity to the Humans sleeping in The Lonely Sailor – Atom decided that they were going to Siren and they were not able to refuse. Throughout every source I could find, I never came across one that described what Atom was at its heart, only that it was unimaginably powerful and had bases on several planets.

Atom was so omnipresent, so all-encompassing, that no one thought to explain it, or question it, or even remark on its presence particularly often. The Humans worked for Atom. Ishmael and his cohort of engineered embryos were born to work for Atom. Working for Atom, it seemed, was the only reason for anybody to live in Precursor society, and they were utterly shackled to its side whether they liked it or not.

Atom chose Siren for three reasons: the atmosphere had the right sort of air and had grown its own plantlife; there used to be very extensive ice caps around North; and a rival entity known as The Authorities could not interfere with Atom on Siren. The writings of Dan Loris state several times that Atom held The Authorities in contempt, but they were the only force powerful enough to punish Atom for poor behaviour. Genetic engineering such that had been planned by Atom was not permitted by The Authorities, and Atom GeneWEAVE, the part of Atom responsible for it, wanted to work with projects which would be profitable in spite of their illegality in the eyes of The Authorities.

Despite the unclear nature of Atom and The Authorities, I believe this is a story which has been repeated time and time again throughout the centuries. Whom among us has never found a secret corner to hide our trespasses? This was a game of chase, and the only thing that motivated Atom, the thing which caused it to sink a considerable amount of resources on The Lonely Sailor, was the pursuit of profit on a scale so grand that the modern Sirenian can hardly comprehend it. And, in the face of this monumental scale of profit, it was hoped that the Authorities would be rendered ultimately powerless.

The Lonely Sailor arrived on Siren on the date ‘20/07/2378’, which I am sure was significant to the Precursors. For the sake of legibility I will refer to this year as Year 1, the first year of Humans on Siren. The Sailor found pleasant weather, low winds and a water level slightly raised from the baseline in West, where the settlement began. While this was noted by the meteorologists aboard The Sailor, they weren’t to know its significance, which any one of us will recognise immediately; West was recovering from a High Tide which must have taken place only months before.

The captain of the ship was a Human called Ivana. She* was the highest authority under Atom itself on the ship, and the first to wake from her frozen sleep. She gazed down at Siren from above and wrote her observations, which I can reproduce here following extensive translation work:

Beautiful morning on Siren. What I wouldn’t give to show Dad this. A career first! We will land in seventy-two hours after finishing our preliminary rotation and once the landing crew have walked off the brain freeze.

I assume ‘Dad’ is a significant other of some kind, perhaps deceased, judging by its absence.

The landing was described in a series of cargo logbooks and completed by a small crew which had been woken up from their sleep. Supplies were conveyed to a low mesa in West and within a matter of days the settlement was born. It was built out over the surface of the sea, anchored to the mesa with powerful brackets that remain today. Throughout the entirety of its existence, the Atom Settlement continued to grow outwards, so the very heart of it was the oldest, the bowers constructed to house the first crew. One of those very first bowers was the gene laboratory, which had been transported in its entirety from Ceti.

Dan Loris offloaded the embryo cargo pod thirty-nine days after landing, still in the first year. Five days later, Ishmael’s amniotic sac was drained, and his deep dream interrupted by his birth.

The last moment of his encoded dream was common to all artificial dreams, designed to ease the transition into true waking life. He was falling asleep in his bed (an archaic sort of bower), his body feeling tired but satisfied after a day of typical, perfectly generic childhood games. He had something called a mother in this dream who pulled the blankets around his shoulders and kissed him as he drifted off, though he did not remember what their face looked like, only that they instilled within him a sense of perfect safety.

His moment of calm was soon eaten by sensation. It was cold, he realised. Colder than anything he had ever felt. The fluid that had supported him at a constant temperature for seven years was draining away and he reached out, to grab at the blanket he half-remembered. His nerves were alight with new sensations and the world was so bright it felt that he was staring into Odr’s eye.

Dan Loris described him as strong and healthy, but Ishmael did not feel that way. Everything was loud and bright and his body was so heavy. He had never truly experienced gravity, but that alone did not account for the disconnect. His dream had been the dream of a Precursor Human, a bipedal creature with a fully upright stance, straighter even than a shortwing’s, with no tail, no flippers, no phocid morphology. To the newborn Ishmael’s mind, he had just undergone a horrifying transformation, and his body was wrong.

Modern selkies and phocids are likely to imagine a child similar to their own young, but this is not the case. Ishmael was unnaturally pale and almost colourless save for a growth of hair which was a light red. His skin was very thin and translucent, with no markings aside from a blue pictogram on one shoulder, a stylised Atom emblem which had been engineered to form from his own skin pigments.

He was large and heavy compared to Human children of the same age, with a long arched neck connected to his head at the back rather than the bottom as was normal for Humans and harpies, which made it difficult for him to stand upright and look forward without inviting neck pain. He had very large and powerful hands with short webbed fingers, and a combination of long torso and short legs which would help him walk on all fours and swim cleanly with his tail fluke. His arms were quite long in comparison to a modern phocid’s and, at this age, he was exclusively bipedal.

He was born with pale eyes which were white around a pink iris, though that changed over the years. The first things he saw—that he consciously remembered seeing—were his own fingers clamped over those eyes to block out the lights at the laboratory. He opened them a crack, so that the light shone through the pink webbing. It confused him—there wasn’t supposed to be webbing there. Humans (and phocids) do not have webbing between their fingers, after all.

He was curled in on himself on a cold hard surface, while somebody spoke in the background. It is a great blessing that the automatic transcriber machine is still intact today, and we can access the exact words spoken in the laboratory for the entirety of its existence. After lengthy translation work, it can be rendered intelligible to us. Later I will share the correspondences between myself and the anonymous linguist who so greatly aided me here.

“He’s a concept, Ivana, we’re not putting him in the water until we know for sure the probes were right about that sea out there. And I kind of want to leave the actual bodywork to the betas, y’know, Ishmael is just a precaution before we wake them up.”

“Could you turn down the lights a little? I’d have a headache too if I was staring up into those things for the first time,” said Ivana. She had come down to the lab out of curiosity, to see the first-born Human on Siren.

“I need to be able to observe every reaction,” Dan Loris said. “Ishmael will get used to it. Delayed births can cause absolute havoc if the modifications aren’t tuned properly.”

His hands, dry and shockingly cold, caught Ishmael’s blocky wrist. Dan Loris pried the webbed hand away from Ishmael’s eyes and shone a pen light in each. Ishmael’s eyes stung and burned and he tried to wriggle away, but Dan Loris took no notice of this.

He passed a heart scanner along Ishmael’s front and watched the live feed appear on a display window in the side of the lab. Ishmael was rapidly forgetting his dream childhood in the face of this confusing start, but he did remember, for a moment, a similar scene. The childhood deep dream that he had been given included a scene of hospitalisation, to acclimatise children to medical checks.

So the footage of his skeleton and pounding heart on the wall was oddly familiar, though the shape was wrong and freakish to him. His head felt light and dizzy and he, only seven years old, had no ability to reconcile what he saw and felt with what he thought to be true. When Dan Loris pushed the wet red hair away from Ishmael’s face, Ishmael tried unsuccessfully to bite him.

“Funny little guy, isn’t he?” Ivana said, leaning into his line of sight. “Why’d you make him so pale? Like a lab rat.”

Dan Loris snorted. His medical scissors snipped by one of Ishmael’s ear holes and sliced off a chunk of hair. “Why d’you think those are white, too? He’s not here to look pretty. The betas will have proper pigment, they won’t fry in the sun.”

It was at this point that it all became too much for Ishmael. He broke into a sobbing fit with remarkable suddenness and didn’t stop until Dan Loris clamped a mask over his nose and mouth which delivered a soothing air into his lungs. Ishmael’s eyelids drooped. He looked around for his mother and didn’t see one. Calmer, he sat on the examination table and watched over the rim of the mask as Dan Loris performed all manner of tests on him, most of which made no sense to him, and seemed pointless. Every joint was checked for smooth abduction and adduction. Skin scrapings were collected from his tail. They took his blood and his saliva, and every inch of his body was captured in image form by a roving, flashing device.

His first meal came next – a pouch of gel designed for people who had been born in similar circumstances, which might prepare a stomach that had been empty its whole life for the rigours of real digestion. He had been fed through a large blood vessel in the artificial amniotic sac, and not through an umbilical cord. As a result, he had no navel, and spent his first few days alternatively vomiting and crying as his digestive tract learned how to work.

Delayed birth, while preventing a young mind from being irrevocably damaged by sleeping through key developmental periods, was still no substitute for a true childhood when it came to mental development. Ishmael could speak and understand others, but he essentially entered life as an unusually well-educated infant in a large and overdeveloped body.

The accounts of his mental growth during his early years are somewhat sparing. There are abundant records of the tests in which he was forced to participate, the exact parameters of his growth, his weaning from gel to solid food, even records of each trip to the latrine. But nobody thought to record his mood or emotional state beyond “Ishmael was cooperative today” or “Ishmael needed sedation today”.

What I can tell you is that by age ten he stood at average adult Human height and just about average adult Human weight. He rarely spoke and gave little indication of understanding anything said around him either. By this time, the second generation of Sirenians, the beta generation, had been given their own delayed births. But Ishmael did not interact with them and it appeared that he knew very little outside the confines of the lab.

At this point in life, he met Dan Loris’s own fosterling, known as a biological child. This biological child was called Callum and he had not had a delayed birth. In fact, he had been in frozen sleep alongside Dan Loris himself. Although he was also ten years old, he had lived in total seventeen years, even if those seven extra years had passed in the blink of an eye and left no lasting impression on his body or mind. By all accounts, this was a far more ethical way to transport someone great distances on The Lonely Sailor.

Callum’s interactions with Ishmael are well recorded, and the earliest examples we have of Ishmael expressing any desires or opinions – the daily records began to include lines like “Ishmael asked about Callum” or “Ishmael was upset at Callum’s absence”. And while there are transcriptions of every word spoken within the lab, the record banks are so huge that it becomes difficult to sift through for any clues as to how Ishmael was developing internally during this time. It seemed, in any case, that he enjoyed the company of another child his age, which is only to be expected, and that he was able to ask to spend more time with his only friend.

There is another side to this. Among other records we located a diary of Callum’s. All of the Precursors were required to write reports of their weekly activities, and the children in particular were encouraged to keep journals, to discuss their emotional reaction to the great upheaval in their lives, and their imaginings of an Atom-controlled future on this new world. Callum’s diary spans his teenage period, not this earlier time, and we will delve into its contents in a later chapter. But it does mention that, at age 10, Callum was wary of Ishmael, and that after a series of incidents which are poorly described but culminated in Ishmael pulling the laboratory door off its hinges, Callum no longer felt safe in his presence.

Indeed, the incidence of “Ishmael was sedated today” in the record logs increased quite dramatically at around this time. A reason is never explicitly stated but I would make an educated guess that Callum, growing more uncomfortable, was not spending as much time with Ishmael, causing distress in the latter. Ishmael was prone to tantrums, often wordlessly lashing out and, on the aforementioned occasion, breaking a door.

Ishmael himself was never consulted to determine the cause of these incidents, with all indications being that the lab workers did not believe him articulate enough to bother reasoning with. As anyone who has spent a season in the nursery knows, underestimating a child’s ability to understand on some level precisely what distresses him is a fool's error.

At the age of eleven, the tantrums had clearly become dangerous, given the damage to the lab infrastructure and Callum’s unwillingness to spend time with Ishmael. Ishmael was growing physically powerful in a way that had not been anticipated by his creator. It may seem surprising, but the art of genetic engineering was never so simple as merely picking and choosing what traits to instil in an embryo. As Dan Loris noted, the science was still relatively new, and their techniques, while powerful, were not precise enough to predict every single possibility. Thus the need for refining a design over concurrent generations, and for producing one-off ‘alpha’ variants like Ishmael himself. Either way, Ishmael was showing a tendency towards gigantism which had not been anticipated.

Management plans had to be drafted, and Dan Loris records the first ever instance of an attempt to understand Ishmael on an emotional level. He brought in a Human called Maris to talk to Ishmael once a day, in the hopes that it would calm him and provide some insights into his psyche. The notes of Maris are an invaluable resource, providing the most detailed written accounts of Ishmael’s childhood, which even Ishmael himself did not adequately record (citing trauma and personal distaste as his reasoning).

She also captured moving ‘video’ images of Ishmael during these sessions which I have been able to access. If not for these, critical moments and historical figures in Siren’s history may have been lost to time forever, leaving nothing but a dry tally of facts recording Ishmael’s physical parameters, as though he were little more than livestock.

*Humans refer to themselves as ‘he’ or ‘she’. I will leave this untranslated as I believe those are different enough to be significant to this society. Based on my studies of Atom society I believe that their usage of 'he' is entirely unrelated to its modern-day counterpart.

**it is my understanding that a computer is a type of machine which can receive information fed to it by a person and produce a mathematical calculation based on that information which the person can interpret, or cause another machine to perform a specific operation – this was used for every facet of Precursor life to automate their machinations, from food production to predicting the outcome of specific events. We may be more familiar with computers in the form of harpy visors though these could be of almost unlimited use.

[ninadove]

Nina reads Dracula 🦇

May 12th

MY GOOD FRIEND JONATHAN IS ALIVE (and going through the supernatural equivalent of a police interrogation)

First, he asked if a man in England might have two solicitors or more. I told him he might have a dozen if he wished, but that it would not be wise to have more than one solicitor engaged in one transaction, as only one could act at a time, and that to change would be certain to militate against his interest.

Do not slutshame the Count… Do not slutshame the Count…

"But," said he, "I could be at liberty to direct myself. Is it not so?"

"Of course," I replied; and "such is often done by men of business, who do not like the whole of their affairs to be known by any one person."

"Good!"

Billionaires are vampires confirmed

"Have you written since your first letter to our friend Mr. Peter Hawkins, or to any other?" (Oh oh.) It was with some bitterness in my heart that I answered that I had not, that as yet I had not seen any opportunity of sending letters to anybody.

"Then write now, my young friend," he said, laying a heavy hand on my shoulder (Oh oh…): "write to our friend and to any other; and say, if it will please you, that you shall stay with me until a month from now." (OH OH.)

"Do you wish me to stay so long?" I asked, for my heart grew cold at the thought.

"I desire it much; nay, I will take no refusal. When your master, employer, what you will, engaged that someone should come on his behalf, it was understood that my needs only were to be consulted. I have not stinted. Is it not so?"

MR PETER HAWKINS SIR DID YOU SELL YOUR INTERN TO THE COUNT

They were all of the thinnest foreign post, and looking at them, then at him, and noticing his quiet smile, with the sharp, canine teeth lying over the red underlip, I understood as well as if he had spoken that I should be careful what I wrote, for he would be able to read it. So I determined to write only formal notes now, but to write fully to Mr. Hawkins in secret, and also to Mina, for to her I could write in shorthand, which would puzzle the Count, if he did see it.

HELL YES YOU GUYS WERE RIGHT ABOUT THE SHORTHAND. LOVE SAVES THE DAY (maybe probably hopefully)

"Let me advise you, my dear young friend—nay, let me warn you with all seriousness, that should you leave these rooms you will not by any chance go to sleep in any other part of the castle. It is old, and has many memories, and there are bad dreams for those who sleep unwisely. Be warned! Should sleep now or ever overcome you, or be like to do, then haste to your own chamber or to these rooms, for your rest will then be safe. But if you be not careful in this respect, then"—He finished his speech in a gruesome way, for he motioned with his hands as if he were washing them. I quite understood; my only doubt was as to whether any dream could be more terrible than the unnatural, horrible net of gloom and mystery which seemed closing around me.

Oh great! It gets worse!!!

I have placed the crucifix over the head of my bed—I imagine that my rest is thus freer from dreams; and there it shall remain.

YOU FOOL KEEP IT AROUND YOUR NECK

I am beginning to feel this nocturnal existence tell on me. It is destroying my nerve. I start at my own shadow, and am full of all sorts of horrible imaginings.

“I’m going to get a good grade in abusive behaviour, which is both normal to want and possible to achieve” — Count Dracula, circa 1897

I did not see the face, but I knew the man by the neck and the movement of his back and arms. In any case I could not mistake the hands which I had had so many opportunities of studying.

His sharp canines and general assholery have bewitched my good friend Jonathan body and soul

But my very feelings changed to repulsion and terror when I saw the whole man slowly emerge from the window and begin to crawl down the castle wall over that dreadful abyss, face down with his cloak spreading out around him like great wings.

What manner of man is this, or what manner of creature is it in the semblance of man? I feel the dread of this horrible place overpowering me; I am in fear—in awful fear—and there is no escape for me; I am encompassed about with terrors that I dare not think of...

MINA HELP COME GET YOUR MAN

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[hotpinkboots]

~~~~~

~Yandere!𝕽𝖎𝖋𝖋 𝕽𝖆𝖋𝖋 & Yandere!𝕸𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖆 x Reader Headcanons~

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

Note(s): Reader is a human, it only takes like 10 hrs to get to Transylvania bc this is fanfiction and I don't have to obey the laws of time and space, I'm not writing Magenta and Riff as being in a relationship together for obvious reasons even though they are in the movie so they're just both crushing hardcore on the Reader in this

Warning(s): Yandere behavior, kidnapping, brief non-con + mentions of sex, cannibalism, drugging the reader, delulu aliens, etc. Minors DNI. Don't like it? Don't read it. You are responsible for your own content consumption.

~~~~~

"MASTER! DINNER IS PREPARED!" 𝕸𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖆 announced proudly, a smile lighting up her pale face as she struck a confident pose for presentation. Unfortunately, she only was met with an aggravated Frank-N-Furter, who gave her nothing more than a minimal dismissive wave of his hand in return. "...Excellent," he breathed exasperation. Magenta's mood was quickly dimmed. Her big grin slowly faded into a grimace.

Suddenly, she wasn't so proud of herself for the meal she had prepared...that is, until you tried to make up for Frank's lack of excitement by offering Magenta a grateful smile, and complimenting her cooking at dinner (while remaining unaware that she had cooked and served poor Eddie). You were so darling. Magenta had taken notice of every time you supported her, spent time with her, and loved her when Frank wouldn't.

𝕽𝖎𝖋𝖋 𝕽𝖆𝖋𝖋 shouted as Frank kicked him in the back, sending him toppling onto the ground. What had he done to deserve it this time? Making a single mistake by raising the machine too high, and failing to lower it exactly when Frank wanted him to? Riff Raff grunted and lifted himself off the ground, returning to crank the handle counterclockwise. He briefly lifted his head, catching a glimpse of your worried expression, and the way you instinctively began to trot over to make sure he was alright.

Riff Raff shook his head no, and put his right hand out in a "stay there" motion. It wouldn't do any good for you to get in trouble for helping him. Just seeing that you wished to tend to him was enough. You were so darling. Riff Raff had taken notice of every time you came to check on him, kept him company while he was busy at work, and loved him when Frank wouldn't.

~Magenta and Riff Raff are known to be secretive and mysterious. They don't let anybody into their duo. They can practically read each other's minds by exchanging one brief look. They aren't just related, they're linked and inseparable. Neither of them fell for you first, it was a silent mutual agreement that they both loved you.

~At first, they were annoyed by you. Just another human to toy with. They were suspicious anytime you offered emotional support, or anytime you offered to do something for them after they had a long day of work. You were so sweet that it was suspicious.

~Eventually, they found that you were just as kind as you seemed. You didn't command them as though they were nothing but lowly servants, you always asked them politely if you needed something, and spent genuine quality time with them. The siblings had full trust in you, especially when you had seen through Frank's fabulous personality to find the ugly, self-entitled brat that he truly was.

~One does occasionally grow jealous of the other. They sometimes fight for your attention like it's a competition to be the favorite. Riff Raff tends to do this more than Magenta does, as he can be more insecure than she.

~Your loving comfort did nothing to dull the ache of their homesick hearts. They needed to go home, but they couldn't leave you on Earth. Magenta and Riff Raff couldn't be happy on Earth with you, but they also couldn't be happy on Transsexual without you.

~What else could they do? They had to take you with them. Surely you'd be happy there. You're too special to stay on Earth, anyway. The siblings would miss you, wouldn't you miss them, as well? They came to the conclusion that they needed to take you with them- you'd love it there! Such a beautiful planet.

~But there was no way you'd come willingly. You'd never leave Earth, you'd be terrified. They had to think of a way to coax you into it- verbal communication would be the easiest, but it would all be fun and games until it came time to actually leave Earth. You'd back out of it fearfully. They'd have to find out a way to get you to follow through.

~One night during dinner, Magenta was paying close attention to you while you ate. At first, she had been staring intently to see if you liked the food, but then it hit her. She was forming a plan in her brain, and Riff Raff could practically see the gears turning in her mind. Why couldn't they take the easy way and put something in your food to keep you quiet for awhile...? Magenta found herself to be amused that they had been planning all this time, when the answer was right in front of them.

~Her eyes slowly drifted to Riff Raff to get his attention. At once, he returned the glance and watched as her eyes flicked to your meal. Riff Raff seemed to get the gist, and was fully on board with the idea when she told him about it later. Of course, they didn't want to cause too much trouble by doing this, who knows what could happen if they used a drug that your body didn't know.

~Before they put their plan into action, they decided to wait long enough for you to not suspect them. While you loved them dearly, you also knew they were...a certain way. You could never fully trust them, and they knew that.

~A couple of months went by.

~Every now and then when you went out, you'd see a person who you thought vaguely resembled Magenta or Riff Raff. Magenta had a better chance at not being spotted by you, as you rarely saw her without makeup and she could simply disguise herself by not wearing it while she was following you from a distance.

~Riff Raff was easier to spot- tall and lanky, recognizable face. He was more careful when he went out of the castle to watch you go about your life.

~They saw everything you did. Everyone you talked to, everything you bought, everywhere you went. They were careful with this, of course. They couldn't be too obvious.

~If by chance you had any sexual relations with anyone, they wouldn't care.

~But the very moment they saw you growing very fond of somebody, fond enough to let them into your heart and to treat them softly with pure love, they wouldn't allow it.

~Jealousy wouldn't be necessary. They wouldn't have a reason to be jealous, because that person would be easily taken care of. They're very confident in their abilities to rid useless people off of the planet.

~The very night they put their plan into action, they made a "special" dinner for you. A new food, and of course, something in the food to make you "sleep" (unconscious).

~You didn't even notice the difference between chicken and the special meat they fed to you, but you did notice their eyes staring at every bite you took, and slowly glancing away when you noticed them looking from the corner of their eyes.

~You also noticed that your lover had suddenly been rather distant- as in, you never heard from them again. You never connected them to the dinner Magenta made for you. You'd never know what you ate, or rather, who you ate.

~Not long after your meal, you began to feel frighteningly dizzy and exhausted.

~Magenta walked you to your room so you could lay down, while Riff Raff was busy taking care of (killing) Columbia, Frank, Rocky, and shooing the three unwelcome humans out of the Castle.

~Meanwhile, Magenta took the time to lay with you and have you to herself while Riff Raff was busy. She stroked your hair, kissed your forehead, treated you like royalty.

~By the time you were unconscious, the Castle had taken off. You woke up confused, disoriented, and with a horrific pounding migraine.

~You also woke up with Magenta's velvet soft tongue between your thighs and Riff Raff's hands caressing your body.

~They halted their actions when they saw you felt unwell, instead taking care of you to stabilize you before you discovered your new surroundings.

~You had an instant freak out, and in response, they watched you in an eerily calm manner, explaining how you'd be happy here. How you'd grow to love it, how you belonged here and not on the planet you were born on amongst all of the boring humans.

~They never took you home.

~~~~~

Request Guidelines!

~Love, HotPinkBoots

[believerindaydreams]

I don't really have a cockles double entendre today. I was trying to BUY cockles, as you do, and Instacart said they were sold at the local H-Mart so I looked up the H-Mart and apparently it's been on the verge of opening for like years now and nobody knows why an ordinary grocery store can't get it together and the huge empty building remains mysteriously abandoned meantime

if anybody reading this needs a wacky episode of the week starter premise u can have this one free

[linkedspirit-fanartfunart]

Between Dreams

Summery: Rinku and Ravio have strangely similar issues with sleeping and being alone, it seems. They figure out how to help each other... until they can't. (yea it's another Rinku backstory. Look. She has a lot of backstory ok?)

Warnings: Angst that's only like, half resolved? (If you wanna get the most 'fluff-like' end, just stop reading after you read "Yea, I love you too") Depression, sleeplessness & oversleeping, Rinku is trans and uses he/him for the first half and gets misgendered in the second half because she hasn't told anybody (she doesn't really care/notice at that point tho), oh also 1 (one) explicit innuendo, let me know if I need any other warnings.

---

Link stared at the price of the next dungeon item on Ravio's table. His eyelids slowly lost the fight against gravity the longer he stared. His legs were stiff and sore. He forced himself to remain upright just a bit longer. How many zeros were even on that sign? Not that it made an exact difference on his ability to buy it but the principle of the matter was there. Surely Ravio wasn’t that greedy or desperate.

Ravio leaned in and grinned. He was certain he was doing some wiggle with his eyebrows that he couldn't see.

“This is highway robbery.” Link finally concluded.

Ravio gasped, “You offend me sir! We're not even on a highway! This is premium merchandise I’ll have you know! Hand crafted! Historical artifacts! One of a kind powerful magic!”

“...Sorry” Link whispered, rubbing the back of his neck, “I can't buy it now regardless of how fancy it is.” 

Ravio sighed, “Ah welI, I'll keep it on reserve for you when you can.”

“...Really?” That sounded weird, since this was a rental based business. “Okay….”

“Anything else I can do ya’ for Mr. Hero?” Ravio cheered, holding his hands together against his chest, “You seem a bit tired.” There was a worried lilt to his words.

“Nah.” Link said. He needed to rescue the sages sooner than later. He should go scrounge for rupees around town-

“Well I suppose you can take this price issue as a sign it's time to take a break from dungeon delving!” Ravio cheered. “Have you eaten?”

“Not all that hungry-” Link mumbled. 

Ravio gasped lightly and rushed to the cabinets. “Well, allow me to remedy that.” He riffled through mostly empty cabinets, “Goodness Mr. Hero, where are your groceries?”

“I usually go to a restaurant or the Blacksmith's family gives me something-” Link said, leaning against the table, “I don't cook.”

“Absolutely absurd-” Ravio grumbled. “I’m going to have to take it out of my supplies.” he turned and looked at Link. “Alright. I'll share tonight.”

“You don't have to-”

“On me!” Ravio insisted, “As thanks for letting me stay and being such a lovely customer!” 

Ravio fumbled and riffled through his bag, pulling out flatbread, thinly sliced jerky and cheese. Link frowned, biting his lip. Ravio waved some at Link and he huffed, snatching it out of his hands.

Link glanced around for his chairs. One was pushed into a hard to get to corner, the other, seemingly completely missing. Link sighed, awkwardly settling on the ground. It wouldn't be polite to sit on the table… even if they were actually just crates.

Ravio did the same, smiling as Link munched on bread and cheese. 

“What is this meat?” Link muttered, looking at it tentatively. It didn't seem bad, just, difficult to recognize as anything from Hyrule.

“...Dried,” Ravio said awkwardly.

Link squinted.

He giggled uneasily, shrugging, “I found it.”

“...Where?”

“Er….a Kitchen?”

Link hummed curiously. The ache in his stomach and limbs could care less about the origin of the mystery jerky. It was there, it was food. He shrugged, nibbling at the jerky. With a nod of approval, Link rolled it into the bread with the cheese. 

Ravio smiled, chewing into his own piece of bread, “Hungrier than you thought, huh?”

Link shrugged softly, struggling not to yawn either. 

“Hunger sneaks up on you huh,” Ravio chuckled. He hummed, thoughtful, “... Is uh, the blacksmith part of your family?”

“No…” he mumbled, “I'm just an apprentice.” He tore into another piece of bread.

Ravio smiled oddly under the hood “Well, I'm glad you have that going for you at least! Apprenticeships are important! I'm sure it's nice to have someone supporting you through learning new skills. I think I would've liked something like that…” He shrugged and grinned, “But my rental business is booming regardless thanks to you! So it seems I didn't need one!”

Link nodded softly.

“It's quite an important skill, the craftsmanship of your tools. You been doing it long?”

He shook his head, slowly chewing the last bite of food.

“Oh, really? I wouldn't have guessed…” the genuine surprise in Ravio’s tone seemed odd, the length of his crafting career was a strange thing to be so sure about. 

“I've always liked working with my hands and working out how to make things, but I only started smithing less than a year ago.” Link couldn't help the yawn punctuating his sentence.

“Ah I see…” Ravio was quiet for a soft moment, finishing his own food, watching him. “House looks like it just got finished being renovated, job is new… busy are you?”

“Something like that,” Link mumbled.

“You look dead on your feet. I mean. That's exactly why I'm not built for this adventure business but don’t you need some proper rest?”

“Mm wouldn't I get in the way of the shop?” He looked around awkwardly. His bed especially was hard to reach. He really just didn't want to deal with that right now.

“Absolutely. Which is why I can close up shop for now.” He whistled a sharp tune and Sheerow chirped, zipping over to one end of the bed and grabbing it with his talons. Ravio nodded to the bird creature, grabbing the other end, and the pair lifted the bed up and over the tables to the center of the room. Link blinked a few times, stumbling to get out of the way. 

“Oh” Link uttered. That's how he managed to get it up against the wall like that.

Link rubbed his eyes, and wandered over to look for the sheets. He couldn't just not help. Ravio pointed, “Sheets are under the middle crate. Unless you're looking for something else.”

Link shook his head, looking over to take the item out, lifting them over his head to inspect. He nodded, and tossed the sheets out toward the bed. The blanket fell over Ravio with a “wumph.” He yelped, flailing under the confines. Link blinked, and stifled a laugh, hoping back over the crates to help free him.

“Sorry- sorry, didn't look-”

Ravio took in an exaggerated gasp of air as he was freed. He laughed, voice rich and boisterous, something about the sound familiar. “Rude! Here I am helping you and you go throwing things.”

“Sorry, Sorry,” Link whispered, grin small. He struggled to find the right corners of the sheets.

Ravio giggled and picked up another end. The pair fumbled and yanked specific corners away from each other, “That’s my side-”

“No,” Link said simply, tugging it back. 

Finally, Sheerow simply yanked the edge, making them stumble over either corner of the edge. They took a twin glance at the bed, then the sheet, and turned it until it looked right. Link lifted the edge of the mattress up to put the sheet on. The sheet snapped out of Ravio's hands, making him squeak. 

“Hey!” He exclaimed, practically falling over to catch the sheet, laughing. Link let the mattress drop, and Ravio flopped with it. “Disaster. This is a disaster.”

Link leaned against the bed slightly, looking at him with a raised brow. “You just gonna lay here?”

“You gonna stop throwing me around like a doll?” Ravio quipped, mimicking Link's intonation strangely perfectly.

“Mhm,” Link assured.

“Ahh a very respectful and thoughtful response. I'm extremely confident in the dedication to change your ways.” Ravio said, almost too cheerfully to be sarcastic as Link assumed he was aiming for. Regardless, he lifted himself back up, and fixed his corner of the bed into place. 

They tucked in the blanket with slightly better coordination. Slightly.

“No no it goes this way!”

“It's my bed, it goes this way.”

“You're making this so complicated.” Ravio laughed, tucking in the edges of his side. Link didn't bother, it would get dragged to the floor more likely than not regardless. Link flopped on top of the blankets, closing his eyes with a sigh.

Ravio was quiet for a beat. “Mr. Hero… Why are you on top of the blanket and not in it?”

“Tired,” Link grumbled.

Ravio sighed heavily, and yanked Link's untucked corner out from under him. Link opened his eyes, laughing as Ravio tossed the blanket over him, and walked over to the other side. He rather aggressively tucked it in, securing Link firmly into blanketed confines. Link snorted, twisting his body a few times to loosen it back out.

Ravio shook his head, and sat on the bottom edge of the bed, “Settled, finally?”

Link nodded.

“You never changed your clothes, ya know.”

“Mm.” It was a bad habit, he supposed, often too tired to even think about pajamas.

Ravio shook his head, patting Link's calf once, “Alright, I'll let you sleep.” Ravio stood, seemingly planning on going elsewhere.

That…felt weird. Wrong, even. Link shifted to turn and grab Ravio's hand. He froze, turning to look at him. Those embroidered eyes looked so startled. 

What should he even say here? Ask him to stay? To continue to exist close by, maybe to rest as well? Don’t leave me I don’t know if I can do it again- Link didn’t know what words to use. So he didn’t. He released Ravio's hand softly.

“Thank you.” Link whispered.

Ravio smiled and nodded, stepping away and turning out all lights but one to work.

Link’s eyes slipped closed without much thought, body heavy and exhausted. He sunk into a deep sleep in moments.

Ravio fiddled with random papers until he thought it might be safe. He turned to watch Link's slow gentle breaths for a moment. He lifted his hood, letting it fall behind his shoulders, eyes flickering over faded blond pink hair. He glanced at his hand. Devoid of the Triforce symbol. He glanced at Link again, squeezing his hands together.

He sighed softly, grabbing his spellbook. He needed to finish working on his spell to return home. He couldn't let Link fix everything for him. He would have to return eventually.…No matter how much he wanted to stay.

-

The sun was setting slowly on the horizon when Link pushed the door open with his shoulder. Ravio sat across from him, back against the wall. His arms were crossed over his bag. His head lulled against his chest far enough he couldn't see even a fraction of his face. Sherrow was hard to spot, curled into his scarf like it was a nest.

"Pst." Link whispered. Ravio didn't move. Link squinted,"...Did you fall asleep?" How could that jerk possibly fall asleep like that? The lamp was still going, he couldn't be that exhausted could he? All he did was run a shop. Alone. All day. 

Link sighed, walking over and kneeling in front of him. Whatever notebook he was writing in was on the ground next to him. Link knelt down and picked it up, putting it on the nearest table.

Sheerow perked up at the movement, lifting Ravio's hood just enough to reveal a lock of dark hair. They stared at each other for a moment. Sheerow chirred and settled back into the scarf, watching him. He was such an unsettling creature…

Link glanced back at Ravio's heavily obscured face. He tilted his head. He could probably catch a glimpse of his whole face, for once. …But that was a breach of his trust. If he didn't even take the hood off while alone, there had to be a reason.

Link frowned. He just. Looked uncomfortable. He should move him. If he slept anything like him, he wouldn't wake up if he grabbed a spare pillow and placed it under him… he hovered awkwardly.

Ravio, apparently, was a much lighter sleeper than he was. He noticed the lingering presence with a twitch. Then he startled awake, flailing. He yelped and flattened himself against the wall. "NO! I-" he shouted, panic edged into his tone. He stilled. "ha- Oh, M- mr. Hero!" Ravio's voice was deeper than he usually kept it, familiar in an unfamiliar way. He laughed, nervous and awkward.

Link's eyes widened, ears flicked up in alert. He fumbled to hold his hands placatingly, gently, "Sorry, I didn't- I didn't mean to…" do whatever it was he was doing. Obviously being creepy enough to freak Ravio out.

Ravio slowly peeled himself from the wall, crossing his arms over his legs again. He smiled and just like that, the higher pitch was back. "Ah, it's fine Mr. Hero! I- I wasn't asleep long, was I?"

"Um. No. I…er…"

He waved a hand to dismiss the rest of what Link was stumbling to say. He accepted it, not sure what he was going to say anyway. 

Link sighed. "You should probably get your own mattress soon. Something you can retire to easily."

Ravio looked down and his head moved, but Link wasn't sure if it indicated a nod or not. He stood up, a small smile under his hood. That was the real problem he had with that hood. He couldn't read his smiles without seeing his eyes. Couldn't be sure if they were genuine or not.

"I'll arrange something, don't worry. I don't mind sleeping like I was either, you know… I've slept in worse spots."

"I don’t want you to have to.” Link frowned. Link climbed over the counter to where his bed was crushed up to the wall.

Ravio and Sheerow both squawked. “Mr. Herooo, there’s no need to go doing that! I have the tables arranged so evenly!”

Link humphed, and grabbed and edge of the bed to start tilting it back down. Ravio yelped, scrambling to move the empty crates to make space for the furniture again. “You're a terrible negotiator!” Ravio complained, “Absolutely no sense of compromise.”

Link shrugged. The rabbit would likely con him into forgetting Ravio had been asleep on the floor…and probably had been doing that any time he slept. Compromise with Ravio is how he ended up with a shop in his house and no rent. Not that he asked for rent. And still won't. That part was definitely his own fault. He just couldn't bring himself to ask for it yet. Ravio needed help. It didn’t make sense to ask for something in return.

He stepped back and let the bed frame fall the rest of the way with a thunk. Ravio screeched, hands flying to his hood’s ears and yanking. Sheerow dragged out his blankets from where Ravio had stashed them. Link grabbed the blanket from the bird creature, and fluffed it out.

“I sure hope you are gentler with your rentals! I worked hard on those. Your equipment is important to maintain!”

“I know,” Link said with a shake of his head, “Come over here."

"Eh?" Ravio tilted his head, bunny ears flopping to one side.

"I'm sharing my bed. Come over here." Link took Ravio’s hand to drag him over to the edge of the bed and shuffled to get into the bed properly, squishing himself against the side to give Ravio enough space.

"I- You really don't have to, I'm fine!" He waved his hands frantically.

"I don't kick, promise." Link closed his eyes, "Come on. I don’t want you sleeping on the ground."

Ravio sighed heavily. Sherrow decided to twitter loudly in Ravio's ear at that moment, and he sighed heavier. A shuffle of dragged feet. The bed dipped. Ravio laid down, and one of the bunny ears flopped against Link's head. He shoved it blindly towards Ravio with a snort of a laugh.

"Could it kill you to wear something less massive to sleep?"

"Maybe. You don't know." He joked cheerily.

Link restrained an outright laugh, and turned his back to him, “Good night” he demanded with a giggle.

“It would be a good night if I had another rupee-”

Link faked a loud snore. 

Ravio giggled, settling in, “Good night.”

He hummed softly, feeling the tug to sleep drag at his mind. Warm and calm with Ravio's shoulder brushed against his back. Link nearly drifted off when Ravio shuffled to sit up slightly again. Fabric rustled and he felt his gaze on him for a long moment. “Please be safe.” He whispered. Link swallowed, unsure if he should respond. 

Ravio relaxed a little without it, the thought seemingly mostly needing said.  Bit by bit he sunk into the bed properly. He burrowed his head into his back, an arm loosely wrapped around his waist.

He stiffened, eyes open and wide. He turned his head slightly, looking at a flurry of violet and a hint of dark hair curled into the nook between his shoulder blades.

Ravio’s breath hitched and exhaled shakily. He whispered, "Please."

Link sighed softly. Okay, he needed a response, if only to help whatever anxiety had randomly hit him. "I will."

"I'm sorry I-” he shook his head lightly against him “…I'm sorry."

"...For what?"

He was quiet for a moment. "Not being more helpful, I suppose." 

"You've been incredibly helpful. Usually I'd have to fight my way to get the magic items you have."

Ravio nodded against his back.

Link sighed and reached back, blindly finding his ear and tucking some hair behind it. He took in a sudden sharp breath.

Abruptly, he shifted, pulling the hood further down. Link slipped his hand back, resting it against his shoulder in a facsimile of a self-hug.

"For the record, I could care less about what you look like."

Ravio humphed. "That's a lie."

"...Okay, fine, but hiding your face to these lengths? Who wouldn't wonder?"

"I could describe myself," he said with a laugh, "Would that be enough to satiate the curiosity?"

"If you're willing to describe yourself then absolutely not. You won't get to the detail you're hiding."

Ravio snorted a laugh. With a flourish of his hand, he scoffed, "What? Dark hair, green eyes isn't enough for you?"

"No. Is 'pink-blonde hair and purple eyes' enough for you?"

"Well yeah, that's rather distinctive."

"...Fuck you," Link laughed.

"I was pretty sure we were doing the normal kind of sleeping," Ravio whispered.

"Wha- …ack! Just shut up," Link swatted at the space where Ravio's head was. 

He laughed and snuggled further into the blanket. His voice returned to that deeper tone, “I guess I should take a page or two from your book huh?” It seemed like both a serious thought and a joke all at once.

Link’s brows furrowed, “Nah, you’re good as is.”

Ravio was quiet for a moment. Link shifted to glance at him. “Thank you.” Ravio said softly. 

“What you should be doing is actually sleeping,” he scolded.

He snorted, hugging Link tightly. “Yes, yes.”

-

Link hadn’t paid much attention to Ravio’s rambling until he uttered, “Yuga will be no match for you,” Ravio praised, “Especially if you have the Princess’s help.”

She nodded, brows furrowed. Link and Ravio pulled the blankets over the bed in unison. The bed was fixed so quickly Link was surprised by it. They had gotten better at working together on that. Link flopped onto the bed, looking up at the rafters. She would fight Yuga Ganon tomorrow. She knew it. She was ready. There was nothing else to do.

Ravio leaned against the headboard, smiling under the hood, “Get all the rest you can, okay?” he announced cheerfully. Then his tone went quieter, softer. It was almost a whisper, melancholic, "You're sure to need it before you reach the castle." He leaned back, going to write in that book he always did when Link forced him to close up shop to sleep. Store bookkeeping seemed exhausting. Ravio was still doing it even after selling everything to her. He must be keeping track of whatever remaining rentals he had going with others.

Link stared into the abyss of darkness that was the ceiling. Something ached in her chest, settling strangely. She shuffled a few times to find the right spot. Maybe the constant moving had made the mattress weird? Or something. She closed her eyes tightly.

Sleepless, she listened to Ravio shuffle around a little longer. The sound of paper rustling and pages turning. The scratch of a pen. She tossed and turned a few times. The quiet noise stopped. Link waited, and all she could hear was soft breaths. She sighed and turned to look at Ravio.

He was looking down at the notebook, his hand threaded in his hair. His hood was lifted halfway, but his dark hair was long enough and his hand was placed in such a way that it still obscured his face. He seemed tired and pensive over the book. Link’s eyes widened for a moment, and she closed them tightly and cleared her throat to alert him that she was in fact, still awake. She heard a quick intake of breath, and a shuffle of fabric and paper.

Link opened an eye, and the bunny hood was back over his face, turned to look at Link, leaning against the table he’d been writing on. He leaned to the right, and then to the left, looking Link over. "Trouble sleeping?" Ravio guessed.

Link sat up, sighing.

Ravio hummed, "Not a problem! I have some remedies for that…. For one rupee, a great deal, I promise." He smirked under the mask, making a ‘give me’ motion with his hand.

Link glared, "For what, exactly? I'm not paying you to knock me out or something."

"Why I'd never!" Ravio gasped in offense, raising a hand to his chest. "No, no. For just one little rupee, I can make some warm milk," Ravio laughed.

Link raised an eyebrow, "You have milk?"

"I'm the only one makin’ groceries here. We have milk."

Link sighed, "Alright, fine, sure." She leaned over the bed to pick up her wallet. She tossed Ravio a rupee and he fumbled to catch it with a cheer. He kissed the rupee, then put it away. Link smiled lightly, sitting on the bed. 

Ravio flitted across the kitchen space, which Link was also happy to not be doing. It was making her a little sleepy just watching him. It was done quickly, faster than she expected. Ravio had two mugs, one assumedly for himself. Link took one, and cradled it in her hands. Ravio shuffled his feet awkwardly as he sipped the milk.

Link hummed, "You can sit." She patted a spot next to her on the bed.

"Oh, how generous of you," Ravio sat down next to her. He took his shoes off and tucked his legs against his chest.

"Your fault there's no other seating."

"You don't need chairs to run a business!"

Link laughed and shook her head. Ravio giggled softly, sipping some more milk.

They settled into a gentle quiet. Link closed her eyes to relish in it. The sound of their twin breaths. The warmth of the cup. The weight of Ravio settled nearby. His bouncing leg, a rhythm drummed into the bed.

She opened her eyes. "You're staying, right?" She whispered. Unsure why she asked. He wasn't connected to any of this adventure. At least not beyond helping her home after being knocked out, and giving her the tools she needed. Its anticipated close didn't mean anything for Ravio's whereabouts. 

"Um… for- for what?" Ravio asked. Because of course he wouldn't catch the implied portion of the thought. He wasn't connected to it all.

"I- …Don't worry about it."

Ravio tilted his head, "I'm only in your hair as long as it takes to get my own space settled. I was pretty sure that was the agreement?"

Link nodded, brows furrowing. She dunked back the last of the milk down. She swallowed it down thickly and set the mug to the side.

Ravio looked down at his mug, lips forming a pensive line. "Do… you want me to stay?"

Link shrugged, "It… wouldn't be horrible. …I like having a roommate." She missed it. This house was too quiet without someone to come home to.

Ravio fiddled with the edges of the mug, fingernails tapping against the ceramic. Tap. Tap tap. Tap. His bouncing leg moved faster.

Link glanced at him. He looked like a ball of anxiety, using every fidget available to release the energy. "I- I don't mean to say you shouldn't find your own space. Or or anything. I… Forget I said anything."

Ravio uncurled and stood, taking Link's mug and his own to wash. "I know what you meant." Ravio said quietly. His back was to her. She couldn't read him. His body language was subdued compared to normal. Probably sleepy.

She yanked Ravio down to the mattress.

Ravio shrieked with a laugh, flailing. He grabbed his hood, instead of bracing for impact. “What are you doing?” He laughed. 

“Sleeping.” Link said with a giggle of her own, rolling so she could wrap an arm around Ravio’s middle.

“Ay, I’m not a teddy bear!” Ravio whined, turning his body to look at Link. “Uh ’course not.. rabbit.” Link yawned. She closed her eyes, body heavy.

Ravio snorted, “Yeah, yeah. Okay, Mr. Hero, I did want to get some more things done for my shop though. I’ll be quiet, don’t worry, won’t even hear the squeak of my shoes-” Link’s arm remained heavy and snug around his waist. “...Mr. Hero?” 

Link remained still, breathing slow and deep. Ravio shifted his hood to better look at her, sighing softly, “How in the heavens did you fall asleep while I was talking?” He shifted to slip out from under Link’s arm, but her grip strengthened just minutely, demanding him to stay. 

Sherrow chirped from above, and flew to sit on Ravio’s chest. He glared down his nose at him. “You’re not helping, sir.”

Sherrow made a light laugh of a sound, and snuggled in, closing his red little eyes. Ravio sighed heavily, flopping his head back against the mattress, giving up. He closed his eyes. “Yeah, I love you too.”

-

The triforce glowed upon the Sacred Realm, its mirror image shining within the blue pool that made the sky seem endless. 

“Go home, Link” Princess Zelda had bid, a hand on her shoulder as she directed him outside. 

So of course, they had to.

It was understandable. She had spent at least a good half of a day trying to ensure the Princess was alright and safe and settled in the castle. Princess Zelda was likely tired of Link’s incessant concerns. They weren’t friends like she had been with her predecessor. This was a relationship born of necessity for a hero, she didn’t actually know Link.

She also told her that she seemed like she was about to fall on her feet… and, well, Link was exhausted. Her feet dragged across the road, snagging on the occasional rock. Zelda was right, though. Lorule's triforce should be fixed, and Zelda was safely back home. The Master Sword had been returned to its resting spot until it would be needed again. Link yawned, rubbing her sore shoulder. She could rest now. All was finally, finally, well… for now, at least.

She walked up to her house, its fresh wood inviting and warm. Ravio's storefront sign loomed over the building, but it was a welcoming symbol regardless. Despite the drama Ravio had brought, he'd become a bright spot in Link's commonly too-quiet house. She pushed open the door, tiredly expecting a cheery voice announcing her arrival…

Nothing came. The house was silent. Link's gaze wandered over the empty tables. One was off-center, pushed aside carelessly. As if Ravio had been in a rush to leave.

He probably had been, trying to get to Lorule in time to stop Hilda. …Because he was Link's Lorule counterpart. Because he knew Hilda well and knew Link well.  He knew everything because her house was practically his house already… He had to have known how it would end without his final interference. That Link and Hilda would likely have destroyed each other without Ravio.

Link stared into empty space for a moment. Frozen as she listened to nothing. They shook their head. At least she wouldn't have to listen to Ravio ramble about which type of advertising was most effective before she could put her bed together. 

Link shoved the tables together on one side of the room. Simpler and easier now that they were empty. Ravio couldn't protest. Link awkwardly, carefully, dragged her bedframe back to the floor. Alone. Her arms burned with over exertion. She groaned. They were exhausted enough already.

This was the part where Ravio's near squeaky voice would exclaim in a panic, "Well don't hurt yourself over it! Fine! Sit down, sit down, I'll find your sheets."

He was not there to find any sheets. Link leaned against one of the tables and looked at the bed. 

This was the part where Uncle would scoop her up and sing in his deep, rumbling voice and tuck her in. 

He was not there to drag her to sleep while she dragged her feet.

Link swallowed. She pushed off the table, stumbling a little to fall into the unmade bed. She didn't have the energy to do it… She didn't want to.

They stared at the white expanse of the mattress. It felt like hours. Finally her eyelids felt heavy enough to let them slip closed. She fell asleep, settled into inky darkness.

Link was not gently shoved awake by a purple clad arm. Link was not playfully admonished for sleeping for 10 hours while the world still turned outside, and "Don't you know customers don't like tiptoeing around you Mr. Hero?" There was no sudden dip in the bed. No one asked “Are you planning on getting up for breakfast anytime soon or do you plan on feeding it to the birds, boy?” No whisper of long red hairs falling against their face to tickle their nose. No beautiful face waiting for her to wake. There wasn’t even a child in green shouting their name and jumping on them. There was nothing to say and nobody said it.

Link felt horrible. Their limbs ached more than ever. Their head hurt, and their mouth was dry. Everything felt heavy and uncomfortable. She groaned, loudly. No one was there to notice.

She fell out of bed more than anything, crashing against the floor. There was no blanket to fight, which was fine. But there was no cushion either. She huffed and closed her eyes again. Maybe she should just stay there. Curled on the floor, with the house crowded with unused tables and an unused bed. 

Idly, she realized she didn't have much to drag herself up for. There was nothing to save, explore or fight. There was no shop in her house to let Ravio open. The blacksmith had done just fine without her while she had gone saving two whole kingdoms. He had always been mad at her for being late anyway… The only reason to get up would be to find something to eat, maybe, and she didn't feel particularly hungry. 

Link sighed, cheek pressed against wood. They closed their eyes again and let it fade to darkness.

-

Gulley looked around the smithy. Link wasn't there. Again. The kingdom had been set right, Gulley knew that. Link should be there. He tugged on his mother's dress.

"It's been days. I've let him rest plenty! Can I go see if Link is up today?"

His mother sighed, looking out the window. "He's had a long journey dear, I'm sure he'll come back to work when he's ready. It's not like Link to simply stop working, after all… Besides, I don't know if you should really be rushing off past where we can see you anymore..."

Gulley pouted, staring at her. She chuckled, "Oh you've mastered that one haven't you?"

"So you'll let me go?!"

She hummed, "We'll go together. But let's make him something to eat. He rarely had breakfast to begin with."

Gulley groaned dramatically, but dragged his feet to the kitchen. She chuckled, watching him go.

The pair walked over to the house. Gulley rushed the last straightaway to the door. 

"Gulley, don't just barge in!" His mother admonished with a laugh.

"But I always do!"

"Please just be polite and knock," she giggled with a shake of her head, walking the rest of the way to the door.

Gulley whined lightly, rolling his eyes, "I tell you, he's not gonna answer."

"Knock," she said firmly.

Gulley huffed and knocked once.

There was no response.

"See?"

His mother sighed and knocked herself, "Link, dear, are you home?"

Quiet.

"SEE?" Gulley emphasized.

"If he's asleep we shouldn't bother him. Go ahead, open the door, we'll leave the food on the table."

Gulley pulled the door open. A table blocked the entryway. He blinked, then climbed over it.

"Gulley-" His mother huffed, setting the dish aside on the table to watch her son crawl inside.

"Link's bed isn't even made!" Gulley said, looking over the table obstacles towards his mother, "It's kinda dirty over here."

"What?" She looked at the pile of tables and huffed, awkwardly pulling herself up onto a table and going over to where Link's bed had been placed.

Link was curled on a single mattress, snoring through the day. Their hair was knotted in its ponytail. Hat on the floor. Their tunic itself was still dirty from all the worldly exploring. On the ground, a small gathering of cups and dishes.

She sighed, picking up the dishes. "Go ahead and wake him up. I'll get this done." She looked for the sink. It was blocked by a table. Ah, that explained the pile.

She set the dirty dishes aside, climbing back over the table, "Boys," She muttered under her breath.

Gulley jumped on Link's bed, "Hey Link wake up!"

Link whined, curling up further.

"Linnnkkk, you're laaaateee."

"F'r what?" They grumbled, "I don' need t'do anyth'n."

"Ohh momma his funny old timey accent is really strong now. He's really tired." Gulley dropped himself over Link, trying to worm over and look at their face.

"Don't tease him about the accent honey, it's not nice," she said, turning on the faucet.

Link squinted. 

"Have you really slept straight through three whole days?" Gulley asked.

Link's squint turned into a glare. "Mn. No?"

Gulley kicked his legs over the side of Link's bed, "I think you did. It looks like it."

"Off," Link huffed. She put no effort into pushing Gulley away. Gulley did not listen, either.

"We made breakfast for you. Momma's cleaning your dishes too."

Link sighed, shifting to lay flat on the bed. Gulley remained laying across their chest. She swallowed, making a few movements with her mouth before attempting to speak again, "Thank… you," they mumbled haltingly, trying to get the modern version of the words out, "I was about to get to it."

"Link, sweet, I'm a little worried," Gulley's mother said, putting the cleaned dishes to the side. She shifted to climb back over the tables. "I know you needed some time to recoup but-" She gestured at the tables, "What is this?"

"...I was going to move them."

"And then what happened? Do you need help moving things?"

They shrugged, closing their eyes again. Gulley wiggled over to snuggle into Link's side.

"Link."

"Whattt?" she whined.

"It will do you some good to stretch. You can't just lay here forever."

Link sighed, "I'm not going to. I've just been tired."

She walked over and tapped their shoulder, "I know. Come on, sit up, I think you've rested enough."

She dramatically raised and dropped an arm. Letting the limb fall limp. "Your child is on me."

"You've never had a problem before!" Gulley chirped, giggling lightly.

"Gulley."

He pouted. He rolled over Link, making them grunt, and hopped off the bed. Link sighed and dragged against gravity to raise their upper body. She stared forward, hardly blinking.

Gulley's mother rubbed their shoulder, "Your hair's a mess. I could help you trim it later?"

Link blinked, "What? No, no I-" She raised a hand to tug the ponytail holder, wincing at the knots. She decided to leave it in. "I don't want to do that," she frowned and swallowed, "er…yet."

"Hm. Ok," She looked around, "How about we clear up some space and get you some food! Alright?"

Link nodded, shifting to stand up. She stumbled slightly, thrusting their hands out to grab the bed frame. 

"Alright there?"

"He usually falls out of the bed," Gulley said, "I think that's the most coordinated he's been yet!"

Link squeezed their eyes shut and nodded, "Yeah, just fine." She stayed still for a moment, then nodded again. "Moving tables. Right." 

Link and Gulley's mother were able to put the furniture into an order that left enough space to walk around. They found the chairs, and Link slumped onto one as soon as she placed it.

"I assume you haven't been eating enough," she said, pushing the food she brought at them, "especially since your cabinets were covered."

Link glanced to the side, face a little flush, "I've been fine, thank you. I appreciate it."

"Least I can do for the new hero of Hyrule, hm?" 

Link's brows furrowed as she picked at the food, gaze distant. Even after it was over… She could never leave that destiny behind, could she?

"Is something wrong, dear?"

Link blinked and shook their head, "No, I think I'm just not awake yet." They smiled, "It's- this is all really too kind."

"You got our Gulley safe home, it's hardly anything."

Link glanced at Gulley, who grinned broadly at her. Gulley who was so young. Who should've never been brought into this just because Link had never been able to keep the world safe enough. Because she kept failing the goddesses in getting rid of Ganon once and for all- She nodded, putting on a smile.

"Um. How's the smithy?" They asked, hoping to create a distraction from themself. It worked. Gulley launched into describing the daily events, his mother interjecting with clarification or denial of more fantastical events. Link only half listened as she slowly ate. 

"When are you coming back?" Gulley eventually asked.

Link looked up, fork frozen halfway to their mouth. The food fell off it. Link set it down. "Back …to work?"

"Yeah! It's boring without you!"

Link raised an eyebrow, because Gulley was far too animated to have just described a boring day. 

"We are curious, Link. It's been some time. We missed you."

A dark tiredness curled around her mind and said, loud and clear: They only missed you because you just had to go be a hero. But. People needed her, what choice did she have? She couldn't ignore the gods. Ignore her destiny. …this was a punishment for pretending she was done, a trial, a granted restart. The world- worlds, needed a hero and it wanted her. Which meant. Which meant… no Uncle, no Zelda, no Rosa, no Marin, no Ravio.… 

"Link?"

"Sorry, thinking about it. Um. I can go back to work tomorrow. I'll try and clean the house today." 

"That sounds like a good idea hon."

No friends. No family. Link concluded, dully. She can be a worker, though. She knows how to do that without pain.

"Do you want some help with it?"

"No," Link halfway whispered, "No, I'll be good."

[simpforwebtoonmen]

Meet again || Vasco x Reader

˚✧₊⁎ You meet Vasco at a food stand in front of Club Vivi. The two of you are great friends, best friends even. So why did he disappear for such a long time without telling you anything? ⁎⁺˳✧༚

a/n: the event probably (definitely) won’t be accurate. also, not proof-read.

The food stand was empty. All that was left was sizzling and fresh food and a shirtless man taking care of the stand. He was extremely built, anybody could tell that he worked out, and everybody would assume that he was some kind of gangster due to his tattoos and the facial scar in the shape of an ‘X’ over his right eye- his right. 

And of course, you knew this man was a gangster. You also knew that this man was no man at all, but a boy, a teenager. A boy you knew well. And the same boy that left you behind for a very long time. 

You eyed the skewed food that still sizzled since it was cooked fresh. You weren’t exactly sure if you trusted Vasco’s cooking, but if he was trusted to run a food stall by himself then it’s fine then, right? 

The boy let out a surprised noise, “oh! (name), is that you!?” You hummed and only glared at him. For weeks, you always thought about what you were going to say to him when you saw him again. You planned on cursing him out and maybe (certainly) punching him in the face, not that it’d faze him. 

But now that you’re here, you’re stuck. You have no idea what you should do. Cursing and punching him in front of all these people definitely won’t look good for the owner of this food stand. So, you decided to suck it up and save the tantrum for later. 

“hey, Vasco...” You greeted him unenthusiastically. Vasco hummed in confusion, tilting his head to the side while looking at you with wide curious eyes. “Is something wrong?” he asked. You looked at him with an unimpressed expression, shouldn’t it be obvious why you’re upset? 

Before you could respond to him another customer approached the food stall. He was tall and wore a dark green jacket along with a black cap. Though you couldn’t see his eyes, you could see the scar that ran across his lip. 

You looked away and thought nothing of it. Must’ve been in some kind of accident, right? 

“Huh? Tabasco?” the guy next to you exclaimed. You looked back up at him, surprise and suspicion written all over your face. He knew Vasco, which probably wasn’t good. Vasco had the tendency to get himself into trouble, so this mysterious guy could’ve gotten himself tangled up with Vasco. Not good, not good at all. 

“huh?...Who are you?” Vasco remained unbothered and went back to cooking. The man scoffed, “wait, so you don’t remember me?” “nope.” You nearly laugh at Vasco’s fast retort, but remembered that you’re angry at him and you’re not allowed to laugh at Vasco’s jokes (even though it wasn’t really a joke). 

“You’re a real character man.” 

“Fishcakes are (however much).” 

The man next to you paid for a fishcake. “How do you know Vasco?” you questioned him. He looked surprised to see you, almost like he didn’t even notice you which you tried to ignore to avoid being offended. “Huh? wait is that his name...? Well, Tabas- I mean- Vasco and I used to know each other, but I guess he doesn’t remember me,” the man shrugged and took a bite out of his fishcake. 

You hummed and thought for a moment. You knew Vasco for a very long time, so if he was friends with a man like him then you would’ve known. “Do I know you?” you asked, more so to yourself. He glanced down at you, seemingly trying to remember if he knew you or not. 

It’s been almost a year since Jake, this mysterious man, has ran into Vasco. So if he has met you then it could be that you look so different that he couldn’t recognize you. 

And at the same time both you and Jake shrugged, letting it go. 

“Oh, I’m Vasco by the way,” Vasco continued as if he wasn’t listening to the conversation you and Jake were haven’t (because he wasn’t). “I’m Jane Kim, an aspiring nail artist.” 

Suddenly there was another presence. A girl with pink hair and distant eyes. She sucked on a binky and held one of Vasco’s fishcakes in her hand. She looses balance and tips backwards, but makes no effort to keep herself from falling. The man next to you tried to catch her, but another man beat him to it. 

A man in a black suit, three long braids, a gorgeous face, and was accompanied by a group of men dressed in the same black suit. From what you could tell, they were all body guards, but the man with the long braids was the boss. 

You didn’t understand anything when he spoke to the woman he carried in his arms. You loose interest and turn back to the food stall, taking a fishcake and stuffing it in your mouth, “hey, you’re gonna let me have this for free, right? Since we’re friends and all...” You looked up at Vasco only see him in distraught. “Hm? Vasco, are you okay?” you asked him.  

You reached out to him and put a hand on his bare shoulder, you tried your best to ignore the feeling of his hard muscle under your hand (and resisted the urge to squeeze). 

“T-That girl...didn’t pay...” he muttered, but you heard him. “O-Oh,” you looked around the area, twisting your head from left to right. The girl and her body guards, along with the mysterious man were gone. 

Nervously, you looked back at Vasco. “Haha...seems like they left...maybe they’ll come back later to pay-” 

It was too late. Vasco was already storming off into Club Vivi. You squeaked, “ah! wait, Vasco!” and naturally, you ran after him. 

~

“What’s he making all this ruckus for? It’s just one fishcake,” you muttered to yourself. You sat at one of the nearby tables and watched as Vasco beat the absolute shit out of a bunch of body guards. When will it ever end, you ask yourself. 

Sometime later, that same mysterious man, now dressed in a black suit like the rest of the body guards, approached Vasco calmly. You could see he had no intentions of fighting Vasco, so you sat up in your seat and watched in anticipation. 

He handed Vasco the amount of money that girl owed. And finally, Vasco left the Club peacefully. 

You groaned, “I should probably follow him.” After all, you only stayed because it was Vasco, your friend. 

Shortly after the crowd began to dissipate, you got up from your seat and followed Vasco out of the establishment. He flinched at your sudden presence, “ah! where did you come from?” he questioned you. “I was watching you the whole time you damn idiot, you didn’t notice me cheering you on?” 

“You...You were cheering me on!?” he asked, his eyes growing teary as he began to swell with emotions. You laughed wholeheartedly, “Hell no! Hahaha!” 

He sulked the entire way back to the food stall. 

Jake squinted at the two of you as you walked out of the club. When he had his fight with Vasco, he did notice a girl that teased him and laughed the same way you did before he actually fought Euntae. “ah, so that’s her,” he finally remembered where who you were, then he shivered, “...what a scary woman...” 

Why is it that he finds you scary? Guess you’ll never know.  

-

“Oh yeah, you looked upset earlier. Was there anything you wanted to talk about?” Vasco asked you as he went back to sizzling his food. You sucked in a breath, this is it. this is time to get mad. This is the time to get upset and yell and tell Vasco how much he hurt you for disappearing. 

You couldn’t find it in you. You were sure that Vasco had his reasons for disappearing, whether it would be because he was training to become stronger, or he continued his journey to beat up bad guys. Either way, you couldn’t stay mad at him forever. 

You breathed out, admitting defeat. “It was nothing, don’t worry about it.” 

“hmmm...well, if you say so,” he shrugged and continued cooking. A few other costumers approached the tent and bought a few fishcakes, complimenting Vasco’s cooking skills. 

Suddenly, Vasco froze, then he turned to you. “wait...did you ever...pay?” 

“...you said I could have it for free.” 

“I did not.” 

“yes you did.” 

“Did not.” 

“Did to.” 

[girldragongizzard]

Epilogue 1: The dog days of Winter

We've taken to using my rooftop for the experiments.

Or, rather, we continue to do so. We never stopped.

The building management has completely given up. It's become clear that I'm a permanent non-rent-paying resident of the property and that I will go where I please, and that any authorities that are called will not do a damn thing about it. But, also, since around the time that Säure mysteriously disappeared one Saturday afternoon, after his last horrific rampage back in October, things have been going remarkably well for the whole block. The city and county at large, really, but particularly well for the Magnolia apartments and all the businesses that shared the first floor.

Because of that, it's possible that some see me as good luck, though I know I'm really just another feature of that luck.

A lot of the horrific shit going on in the rest of the world seems to be taking kind of a break, but I don't know if that's related at all. Still, it does give us some emotional room to enjoy the smaller things. In any case, a lot of people are writing about the global effects of dracomorphosis, and you can read their blogs and articles, so I'm going to remain focused on my local experiences. They're what I can write about best.

So.

The experiments.

On the rooftop with me today, on a cold Saturday in January, is Chapman, Kimberly, and a new person.

And Kimberly is so goofy with nervousness. She does know how to dress warm in her style, with fuzzy black mittens, a thick black scarf and knit wool toque, fat furry black boots, long johns, quilted jacket, and a poodle skirt. This should be good enough for 55 degrees, really. It's not that cold. But she's shivering, and I know it's a mammalian response to excitement, akin to shock. And she occasionally jumps up and down, and claps her mittens together. Then, while most of the time she's very quiet and serious looking, she gets a wild grin on her face and it looks like she just wants to run wildly around the rooftop.

Any time someone asks her a question, it takes her a second to respond, and it's either too subdued and quiet to understand, or she just responds with a loud, "Yeah?"

So, for anybody who's familiar with the conversations she's been having with Chapman, it should be pretty obvious what's going on.

And I'm just watching.

I can't not be here for this.

I've gotta be here for Kimberly.

And I've gotta spend time with Chapman when I'm not spending time with Rhoda.

But it's the new person I'm paying particular attention to right now.

She's kind of a tall, skinny woman, with short, spiky blond hair, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt with broad horizontal stripes under a lab coat. And the way that she's standing next to this huge cardboard box from a refrigerator delivery and talking to Chapman about the particulars of how to render hir circuitry, I feel like I'm being deliberately reminded of a huge chunk of my childhood.

She looks to be in her twenties, close to Kimberly's age, but I know she's much older than that.

I guess when you're the Artist of Transformation, you can appear however you like whenever you'd like.

She's going by the name Jones, though, which breaks the visual illusion a bit, if you were following me in the first place. (It's OK if you weren't, I'll explain it to you in the comments if you need me to.)

So, here she's pointing at the box and saying that Chapman needs to put the circuitry on the inside because otherwise it will break the aesthetics of "the transmogrifier". And Chapman is holding hir chin with one hand, hir elbow with the other, and sighing and nodding. While Kim grins really big and beams at me with what looks like utter embarrassment.

"That is going to be harder," Chapman says. "I can do it, but it will take longer. The more surface area I can utilize, the faster it will be to draw the channels needed, believe it or not."

"I know," Jones says. "But my work is almost all about appearances, you know. And that's sort of important on my end. It's a compromise."

"Really."

"Yes," she nods definitively. "Before we can transform Kimberly into her true self, we're going to have to transform this box into its true self, which is a transmogrifier. And that requires things like this." She pulls out a plastic game spinner from her coat pocket and a brad from her other pocket. "And we're going to need to draw up a dial on the side of it. Also, a visual representation of some rivets and vents and other controls and dials would be really cool, but less necessary."

Chapman rolls hir eyes.

"Don't give me that."

"I want to trust her on this," Kimberly says. "Can we do it her way? Please?"

"Yes," Chapman says. "It's just… Yes, OK. No, this is way cooler, obviously. Let's do it."

Jones claps her hands and beams at everyone. "Perfect! So, we've got two Sharpies, right? I'll work on the outside while you do the inside. Common, let's tip it over. We'll rotate it as we go."

Chapman's sigh sounds like it could give me lift.

"Is this what you usually do for transformation?" Kimberly asks.

Jones shoots her a deadly serious look and says in a flat voice, "No. This is specifically for you."

"Oh." Kimberly looks like she instantly regrets being there at all.

"Relax," Jones says, loosening back up. "I know exactly what I'm doing, and I love it."

Kimberly's hesitant grin looks more like a grimace, but Jones doesn't notice because she's now entirely focused on working with Chapman.

"We are absolutely going to be doing this differently for the larger populace," Chapman says as sie pushes the box over, and then reaches down to adjust what is now the bottom flap so that sie can work on it.

"I was thinking, like, pills, or something," Jones says.

"I definitely cannot do shit with pills," Chapman grumbles as sie gets into the box.

"Well, that's a you problem," Jones quips cheerfully.

Getting Jones to come here was a trick.

Getting her attention was easy, once we'd located her and devised a way to deliver to her the pendant Chapman had made. And all that work had been done with some massive scanning circuits drawn in chalk on my rooftop, and many, many nights of Chapman frowning and cussing about it. Which was then followed by the use of an artistry fueled homing rocket, which sounds as utterly ridiculous as what we're doing today. But when Chapman explained that using hir Art to channel kinetic energy was really the simplest thing sie could do, I guess it made sense.

The rocket just had to be designed to survive the trip, and to not hurt anyone upon "landing".

In the end, it turned out to be a simple hobbyist's rocket with a payload bay that was then covered in Chapman's signature decorations. But the rocket part was converted into a cardboard jet engine of sorts with the strategic application of physical intakes on the sides of the fuselage. And that was part of the steering mechanism as well, apparently. And before I could protest that it looked unworthy of the task, it had been launched with the pendant aboard, and gone.

"It's the next phase that I hate," Chapman said, heading back to the roof hatch. "Now we've got to talk to each other."

Two days later, sie received an email from Jones, upon which sie informed me by texting me, "It begins."

Over the course of the following month, I didn't see much of Chapman. And when I did, sie insisted on talking about other things. But sie eventually explained, apparently when things were starting to go well, that Jones needed to be argued into visiting and working with hir. And, not persuaded by good arguments, but enticed simply by being argued with. At a certain point of investment, she would lose patience with the email and need to do the arguing in person.

And then, theoretically, once she was here, they could settle the arguments and get to business.

And then I'd asked Chapman, "Why?"

Chapman had then looked directly at me with exhausted eyes and simply waited until I apologized.

Now, as I'm watching the two of them, it really looks like Chapman is doing the bulk of the work. There's a constant shifting come from hir while sie is in the box. While the grating static that comes from Jones only happens when she puts her pen to the box, and she does that for about a second or two every few minutes. The rest of the time, she just stands staring at the box and frowning, taking various poses of exaggerated concentration.

After a while, I can't contain myself and I key up a question I soon regret, "Are you putting on an act?"

Scowling at the box, Jones says, "Do you know what a magic trick is, Meghan?"

"Yes," I say.

"It's theater," she says anyway. "I'm not the Artist of Metamorphosis, thank everything. But that means I don't work biologically. I'm the Artist of Transformation. That's magic, and that's theater. Everything I do is theater." She gestures sideways at Kimberly, "And our volunteer, here, needs a good show. Otherwise, why participate in it?"

"Oh."

"Now, the reason we're getting away with using a simple cardboard box is three fold," she says, stepping forward and adding a circle to represent a rivet near one of the corners of the box. Just so. "For one, Chapman's Art is absurd. Have you seen what sie can do? It defies all logic."

"No it doesn't," Chapman protests.

"Please don't interrupt," Jones retorts. "Anyway, sie can do things like slap some kind of esoteric squigglies on a piece of paper and cause an explosion with it, and that's in hir sleep. So, the substrate that sie uses is nearly irrelevant."

"Also very not true," Chapman says.

"Shush."

"You shush."

"Secondly, we're combining Arts, which is totally a big no-no for anything nuanced or careful, which, thankfully, we're not doing in any way," Jones explains.

"Oh, Hailing Fucking Scales," Chapman shouts. "OK, turn."

"Not yet!" Jones yells back. Then she jabs at the top of the box with her Sharpie to place another rivet, and then says more quietly, "OK, now."

Chapman starts getting out of the box to carefully turn it over while Jones steps forward to try to forcefully roll it while Chapman is in it, and it just hits me I am actually, yes, watching siblings interact with each other.

They are acting entirely like little children, too.

"Stop, stop, stop, stop," Chapman is saying, while Jones continues her explanation.

"Thirdly," Jones says. "My magic only works while no one is looking, so we've got to put Kimberly in some sort of box. We can't see her transform, after all. That would be too weird for it to happen. And we're doing this on the cheap, because we're cheap."

"Oh," I say again.

"So, yeah, it's an act," she kicks the box, and Chapman pops out of it and throws hir Sharpie at Jones.

Kimberly has been sidling over to me while this has been going on, and now she's right by my side.

She leans over and murmurs fairly quietly, "Maybe we shouldn't be annoying the immortals with questions."

"No, it's fine," Jones turns to her and says.

And Chapman waves hir hand dismissively, saying, "Yeah, no, you're good. Keep it up."

And then they go back to the business of constructing the transformation device. And the afternoon proceeds pretty much like that until it's done.

In the process, I learn pretty definitively that while I can sense the use of Art, I don't sense every use of it. Though, it doesn't have to be aimed at me to trigger the sensations. And I'd already worked out that the amount of energy being harnessed or altered will affect the range of my sense, a lot like being able to hear sound. But, it is some other specific quality of the act of an Art that causes the notable vibration, or whatever it is that I'm picking up. I don't know what it is, but I do get Jones to tell me when she's using her Art and when she's not. And it turns out she's been using it constantly since before she arrived. Chapman confirms something similar about hirself.

Also, because each Art is so different, it's probably going to take a while to learn just what it is that I'm sensing. But Chapman is all about helping me figure it out, when we're done with this.

So, with that, it starts to sink in that the whole act of arguing and bickering with each other, and the occasional roughhousing, is an indelible part of combining their Arts. And I end up thinking about Ptarmigan and how she talked about working with nightmares and what was a nightmare and what wasn't. And how she'd sometimes engage with them through her scribbling, and sometimes she wouldn't. I think, sometimes, it seemed like the strongest use of her Art was when she was talking to someone, and I never sensed anything then.

I remember that a while ago Rhoda said that the Artists were to us as humans were to ants. That when they talked to us, it was like when scientists were communicating with ants by laying down pheromone trails. To one party or the other, it might seem like something that makes sense is being communicated, but really neither the scientist nor the ant has any way of knowing what the other is thinking or intending.

And I also remember when Ptarmigan tried telling me that the world was a plural system, like a person with DID or OSDD, that we were all its system members, and that Rhoda was its frontrunner in a nightmare.

So, that's got me thinking, what if the universe is like that, too? What if reality itself is just one big colonial entity. And what these two Artists are doing right now is trying to act as translators between Kimberly and the rest of the universe, in order to negotiate some sort of agreement?

Which.

It's.

I'm probably completely wrong. But I kind of like that thought at the moment. It helps me make sense of what I'm seeing. It helps me be OK with how this act between the both of them sort of feels like when a Kindergarten teacher talks to an adult as if the adult is one of their students.

And then, when the two of them are done, they both physically relax and smile at each other. I think they've completely dropped the adversarial posturing.

"OK," Jones says. "All we do now is lower this thing over Kimberly here, with your consent, of course. And then I rotate the spinner from human to werepoodle, as you see written on the box. And we give it a second, then we remove the box."

"Yep," Chapman says.

"What?" Kimberly asks in obvious disbelief, a hint of nervous laughter in her voice.

"We just did all the seriously hard work," Chapman says. "The rest is just activating the device, and we made it that simple. It's really like when Meghan puts the pendant on. Five years went into that piece, too, you know."

Kimberly half points at the box and protests, "But five years didn't go into this cardboard box, though. Right?"

"No."

"It was synergy," Jones says. "And also, when Chapman made that pendant, sie was working way outside hir wheelhouse. This time you've got me involved."

Kimberly looks at me and asks, "What does it feel like?"

"Nothing much," I knuckle into my tablet. Then I sigh and take my princess form to deploy my thumbs, "I didn't notice the change until I started doing things. Moving made it feel wrong right away, but that's because I'm not Chapman."

"I based the human form on my pre-transition self," Chapman explains. "She felt physical dysphoria over it."

"You had to transition?" Kimberly asks.

Chapman waves fingers to the side. "That's off topic, but yes. I'm just always most comfortable as a post transition trans masc enby, if I'm human. Which requires going through the process every life. It's a thing."

"I have a similar problem that's harder to describe," Jones says. "Every Artist has these quirks. Even when we're other animals, or storms, or computers, or whatever, we're queer in some way. I mean, by human standards. I prefer the word atypical. It's more accurate and broad enough. But queer people are cool, so queer works, too."

"Yeah. I like queer a lot," Chapman says.

"OK. Fuckin' cool," Kimberly says. Then she slaps her thighs. "I guess I'm ready for this? I'm kind of scared, actually. It's a big, weird step."

"Oh, if you don't like it, we can turn you right back," Jones says. "That's super easy. We just put the box over you again, and turn the dial the other way. Boom. Done."

"Oh," Kimberly says. "It's still scary."

"Like transition?" Chapman asks.

"Yeah? Kinda? But this is magic. Or Art. It's weirder."

"We did this entirely to your specs, your request," Chapman says. "In theory, based on my scans to back you up, you'll just feel even better. It'll be like taking HRT. You know, when you took those pills and nothing obvious happened, but you felt better right away? Like that. But even more reversible."

"OK! Let's do it! Let's get it done before I jump off the roof to avoid it!"

Jones holds up a hand. "Don't do that.

"I won't," Kimberly says. "I want this too much. But I'm getting that intrusive thought from all the adrenaline."

"OK. Come stand right here, in the middle of the roof, then, please."

"Got it."

And then, once Kimberly is situated, Chapman and Jones both pick up the box and lower it over her.

"You doing OK in there?" Chapman asks.

"Yep!" Kimberly says. "I think so!"

"Okidoke," Jones says, and then reaches out and twists the dial to aim it at the word "werepoodle". And then she says, "One Mississippi."

"Huh," Kimberly's muffled voice comes from the box.

"Picking up the box," Chapman tells her, and then sie and Jones remove the box.

Nothing about Kimberly appears to have changed. I didn't even feel any kind of shift when the dial was turned. Though that's similar to what happens when I use the pendant. Or, what doesn't happen.

Kimberly looks confused and disappointed, holding her mitten clad hands up and turning them over. She's obviously clenching and unclenching her fingers within the mittens.

"You did say 'werepoodle'," Chapman says.

"Right," Kimberly responds.

"It's not a full moon."

"Oh, right!"