#Actually had this design within like the first Month or two of her creation

[aseuki]

Punches out Phemus's Gijinka design because it was practically inevitable at this point--

Don't be fooled by her mysterious look she's still just as silly as always asdkfjn

[goldemas1244]

Zulkarnain (Zul) Hashim bin Kamarul Zaman (Zhask)

@humanthatlikestuff You keep showing your Zhask designs so here I am with mine!

Status:

High school student

Transfer student

Two years unschooled - self-study for PT3

Has a pet Chalcosoma Atlas beetle named Meric

Gamer

Bisexual, Polyamorous

Likes blue

Malay

Attributes:

Has a hair-growing problem; maximum growth reaches underside of butt within a week

Red colourblind, has to wear special glasses

Wears headphones for sensitive hearing

Has a beard but no moustache

Heavily traumatised (DO NOT ASK ABOUT HIS NECK SCAR), covers scars with foundation until comfortable with showing

5'2''

Has back pains often

In love with his best friend Argus (on a manageable level) and Yve (he likes her dominance)

Best friends:

Muhammad Ridzuan Malik bin Ahmad Mikael (Argus) (Chinese-Malay) (Loves Zhask too)

?? (Helcurt) (Indian) (Nobody knows his actual name)

Nur Rafidah binti Ahmad Mikael (Rafaela) (Chinese-Malay) (Argus's twin sister)

Nurhawa binti Adam (Yve) (Malay) (Zhask is also crushing on her)

Aldous bin Mino (Self-explanatory) (Malay) (Minotaur's son)

Favourite teachers: Sir Balmond (Physics teacher), Puan Mak Aldous (Mrs. Aldous's Mom, Maths teacher)

Least favourite subject (Addmaths)

Initial creation:

I first started designing him on a whim for a comic. It actually worked out quite well and has since been the basis of how my humanoid Zhask looks.

I started a short comic series featuring Zhask and his besties. At this point, despite having a favourite person to look forward to, I was extremely lonely. Everyone got mad at me for even the littlest mistakes, I was constantly fatigued, I gave up on life at least twice, absolutely out of control. To add salt, my favourite person also was unliked by all of her classmates so I had to take care of her too. I had to build her up, even slightly, while barely receiving any myself.

I even had a manic attack over a laundry incident. Up until today I can't enter a public shower or wash my clothes by hand OR hang them on a wire because it fucking HURTS. I had to get a psychiatrist and a month or two off school. But despite my wanting to leave I couldn't. No transfer because I've only a few more months left. No longer leave because my favourite person was doing terribly without me so I HAD to come back because if I'm not there then she won't make it.

And so I poured that. I poured it into Zhask. In some worlds I hurt him. In others he was loved. In a world he loses everyone and everything. In another, he gains a husband in an accepting community.

But in this continuity, I gave him friendships. Help, a shoulder to cry on, unlimited trust, smiles every day. I gave him everything I never had. He is myself if everyone just... loved me.

I did give him hurt. But I gave him love to heal it.

I gave him life. The one thing I lost.

[transformers-fan-continuities]

Spotlight: Ties That Bind

This one’s a doozy folks! If you missed the last spotlight you can go read it here, but strap in for The Ties That Bind, an absolutely brilliant take on humanformers. It’s hosted here at @tiesthatbind-tf​ created by @artsy-hobbitses​!

Q) Give us a run down of your cont! What's it about, what's it called, what's it like?

Ties That Bind is a humanformers-based original continuity which is part Science Fiction and part Alternate History where the invasion of Quintessons and introduction of their technology to Earth in 1920 sets the world and humankind on a completely different trajectory. The active narrative spans a period from 1920 to 2070, covering the First and Second Quintesson Wars, the interplanetary Antillan War (leading to the creation of Unicron on Mars) and the Great War which involves the Autobots, Decepticons and Functionist stalwarts, and how it affects the characters.

The cast is pretty sprawling and the narrative is mostly centred around human drama with bits of humor interspaced and a dash of horror (mostly centred around how the previous government often chose to utilize the technology left behind from the Quintesson Wars to create new systems of oppression, which affected many of the characters, in the name of worldwide rebuilding efforts).

Q) What characters take the lead here? Any personal favorites?

I will admit to this continuity being very much heavy on the relationship between Old Bastards  Optimus Prime and Megatron, which is given considerable weight as they were best friends who had known each other since childhood and were deeply intrinsic to each other’s growths as individuals, which makes it all the worse when guilt and betrayal enter the party. Despite being captains in two corners of this battle, there’s a part of them that just cannot let go of their pasts together and they need to reconcile with how this will affect their agenda (Megatron) and how they lead their team (Optimus) who don’t necessarily share their history.

Other characters with significant development include:

Starscream, a Cold Construct in a toxic working relationship with Megatron with whom he is hiding a dark secret, who struggles to balance the underhanded viciousness he believes he needs to gain power and his innate desire from his Senate days to make the world a better place. 

Windblade, a Camien native who fights her government’s apathy concerning the situation on Earth which they see as unsalvageable compared to their more Utopian society. 

Prowl, a Cold Construct raised from childhood to be a cop in a police state, who finds out that he was brainwashed several times  to ensure his obedience and efficacy as a government asset and is now working to reclaim some semblance of the humanity he was never allowed to feel and figure out how much of him is who he really is and how much is programming.

Hound, a sheltered Beastman who joined the fight to ensure that Beastmen the world over would have the same rights he did in his homeland of Shetland Isle, but is forcefully stripped of his humanity and faced with his animal side during the war and has to relearn what personhood means amid his trauma.

Q) Is there a bigger point to this, like a theme or some catharsis? Or is it just fluffy fun?

God with the amount of time I spent sleepless trying to figure out how the logistics of this or the semantics of that were supposed to work in universe, I cannot for the life of me say it’s fluffy fun, but I can’t exactly say it hasn’t been pretty engaging either!

There’s elements of war being messy for everyone involved where there doesn’t seem to be a clear line between friend and foe at times, but I think for most part it prescribes to  Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s belief that people are inherently good, but are corrupted by the evils of society. Despite its dark themes (Including but not limited to child abuse, torture, illegal experimenation  and brainwashing), love and friendships do prevail, kindness does beget kindness, found families are made, even the smallest actions matter, and things do get better because there are people on both sides who genuinely want to, and strive to make it better.

With Cold Constructs and Beastmen, it also delves heavily into what it means to be human; to have agency and personhood.

There’s also a strong undercurrent of taking responsibility for one’s actions, even if they were made with the best of intentions (Avoidance of this is what eats up Starscream and Megatron from the inside, and what Starscream eventually embraces).

Q) How long have you been working on it?

There’s two answers to this!

I’ve had a Humanformers-related universe going all the way back to 2007 around the time the first Bayformers came out---basically I had a choice between learning to draw cars or draw people (I was an anthro artist back then) and I immediately chose people.

The 2007 draft however had no worldbuilding or connective storylines and was mostly a fun little venture into character design and practice which were actually instrumental to me experimenting and learning how to draw humans properly.

I left the fandom for about a decade and when I came back to it in late 2020 around September via the War for Cybertron series on Netflix, I immediately got hooked on the 2005 IDW comics I missed out on and wanted to get around to updating my old designs as well find a way to translate several of the concepts I wanted to explore in a human sense, so the 2020 update became its own full-fledged original continuity with detailed worldbuilding and history.

You can see the artistic evolution of several characters from their original incarnation below!

Q) It’s incredible to see your artistic improvement too! Give us a behind-the-scenes look! Show us a secret ;))

Say hello to my workspace! I’ve been working exclusively on the Ipad Pro since late 2016, which is fantastic because I can basically whip up concepts and sketches on the go anywhere. Nowhere is too out of bounds to work on TTB!

Also, do enjoy this sneak peek at true!form Rung, whose synthezoid human body took years to perfect.

Q) YESSSSS alright I must admit this is one of my favorite Rungs, and certainly my fave within TTB. Amazing. Phew, anyway. Where did you draw inspiration from? What canons, what other fiction, what parts of real life?

TTB was initially conceived as a faithful retelling of the IDW 2005 narrative before it was transformed into its own continuity and as such, it borrows heavily from concepts and mirrored plot lines introduced in that run! I chose to have the series inspired off it specifically for the amount of history and worldbuilding it introduced to the franchise.

Anime like Gunslinger Girl and Beastars inspired the depictions of Cold Constructs, especially the more harrowing aspects of their upbringing as government assets instead of children, and Beastmen (Beastformers) in TTB.

I haven’t depicted the world itself in my art all too much, but the architecture from Tiger and Bunny, which has sort of a futuristic Art Deco feel to it, is what you’d usually see in major cities. There is an in-universe reason for that---with a Point Of Divergence set in 1920 followed by 25 years (an entire generation) of progress basically being kicked to the curb due to the Quintesson wars, mankind was basically in a time-locked bubble until the end of the wars, and by then their heroes were 1920s-style rebellion leaders, which lead to 1920s fashion (especially among the Manual Working Class---Megatron, Jazz and Optimus all rock 1920s fashion at some point of their lives) and architecture being celebrated and retained as sort of a reminder of how things were before The Invasion. This anime’s background design is also where I adopted the tiered system TTB’s major metropolises are often built on (with each tier being designated to a different working class) from.

The main artistic style itself is a love letter to 90s cartoons, in particular Gargoyles’ deep and drama-driven character narratives and designs as well as The Centurions’ take on body armor logistics.

I also take inspiration, especially armor-wise, from the characters’ given heritage and background. As an example, Hotrod who is depicted as Irish has the flames on his armor done up with Celtic knots. Welsh aristocrat Mirage’s armor bears olden knight-style filigree and has his Autobot logo designed as a coat of arms. Indonesian Soundwave’s armor and Decepticon logo takes cues from Batik and Wayang Kulit while their mask is based off the Barong.

Q) They are absolutely gorgeous! Show off something you're really proud of, a particular favorite part of your cont.

The worldbuilding in general! Most Humanformers I’ve seen tend to treat it like a fun exercise which it is and is definitely valid, but I found myself wanting a full-fledged world to lose myself in and I sought to try and make that world myself by drafting a detailed history and timeline of events which would affect ongoing narratives, having indepth worldbuilding to include almost all societal aspects of the universe and  expanding on the concept of Beastmen and Cold Constructs existing in a human setting.

I’m not so secretly proud of the research and diversity included to make the cast look like the multicultural, globally-based team that they were meant to be instead of being locked to a single region! My original draft from 2007 was, to put it simply, quite culturally monolithic and I wanted to improve on that aspect with TTB.

I’m also proud that I’ve kept to it this far! I’m a notoriously flaky person jumping from one idea/fandom to another and to have kept at this continuity for the better part of ten months is honestly a personal feat.

Art-wise, this scene depicting a young Megatron working alongside Terminus and Impactor (cameo by @weapon-up-wallflower​‘s OC Missit!)  is definitely one of my favorites since it helps build up the world they live in and plays to familial bonds and comfort found in one another despite their less than ideal circumstances.

Q) Everything has come together so beautifully, you absolutely should be proud. What other fan canons do you love and why? Would you like to see them interviewed?

I am dying to hear more from @iscaredspider​’s Sparkpulse continuity! Her designs are MIND-BLOWINGLY GORGEOUS and I want to hear more about what inspired her to work on it!

Also YOU. Yes YOU BLURRITO. LET ME HEAR MORE ABOUT SNAP.

Q) [wails and squirms away in the mortifying ordeal of being known but in a very flattered way] I WILL SOMEDAY I PROMISE aflghsdjg thank you QwQ

Well that was fantastic, Oni, thank you muchly! A magnificent continuity with so much to look forward to! Coming up next is another personal fave of mine, the first inspiration for SNAP, so stick around...

[hopeless-ro-simptic]

Sweet Poison - Yandere Alpha! Tamaki Amajiki x Omega! Reader - Pt 2

Warnings: forced/unknown drug-use, this one is pretty safe for work I guess? Idk maybe there should be a warning that this is all over the place. I felt like we needed some background, a go-between from part 1 to the next part. 

Word Count: 1.8 k 

This part I feel like kinda downplays the whole yandere thing... i’m not sure i’m getting it to come across right but just wait till next part. This is more kind of backstory and explanation. 

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The first time that Tamaki’s eyes landed on you, he knew that you were the one. The sun that out-shown even Mirio. The sun that had him squinting, unable to look your way. You were a third year, like him, studying in the support course. You had been assigned to work with him on updating his costume, perfecting every minor detail until it was all completely perfect. You had wanted to be a designer, and your work was … flawless to Tamaki’s eyes. One look at his recently upgraded costume had him convinced you could easily make it big in the costume fashion industry.

It wasn’t until he smelled you, truly smelled you, however, did he truly lose his mind. To him your scent was absolute perfection, warm and inviting, making him feel like he was basking in the sunshine that you emitted. He was enamored when he first met you… his alpha was obsessed.

Any chance he got, any excuse, he would make his way over to the support workshop that you spent majority of your time in, always dragging either Mirio or Nejire along, never getting out more than a stutter to you about any changes if any that he wanted to make to his costume, most of the time not even asking you for anything and just watching from afar as his classmates handled their business in the workshop with the students that had been assigned to their respective costumes, pretending he hadn’t come just to watch you.

You had approached him first, struck up the first conversation that lasted more than three words. Making him practically jump out of his skin when one moment he had you in the corner of his eye as he listened to Nejire prattle off about how she wanted a way to better stabilize her in midair, the next you were lightly tugging on his uniform jacket, your omega scent enveloping him completely.

Before he could even react you had whisked him away from his safety net of his friend, off towards your workstation where you had launched into a long-winded explanation about a dream that you had had, one where you had seen a different version of his costume clear as day and how you just had to run the idea by him and see if he liked it.

His brain was too focused on the fact that you had straight out said you had dreamed about him.

It had taken you several moments of him openly staring at you, the first time that he had actually made eye contact, his face as red as a tomato to realize what you had said. You hadn’t meant to let that small detail slip out, only wanted to show him the drawings you had come up with, and within seconds you were redder than he was, your scent turning sour with panic. Would the alpha freak out? Would he insist that some other support student, one that didn’t have creepy dreams about an alpha they didn’t know, an alpha that probably was already courting someone else, work on his costume? You were devastated at the thought, the thought that you wouldn’t get to work on the Suneater’s costume. At the thought that he would find you creepy and an annoying needy omega. At the thought that he could reject you before you had even had a chance.

After all, he hadn’t been the only one that had taken notice of the other. You had clocked him the very first time he had stepped into the workshop several weeks ago already knowing who he was, noticed the way that his scent immediately had you calming down, your omega yearning to reach out and find safety in his arms as soon as you saw him.  Not to mention you had thought he was ridiculously cute, and had already had a smidge of a crush after watching him at the sports festival the previous year. You had found it beyond endearing the first time he had been dragged over to your station by his blue haired friend, barely getting out a stutter before his friend took over explaining what he had wanted updated in his costume.

As soon as his brain registered the absolute panicked sour scent wafting off of you he was moving into action, his fingers softly brushing your own before they slipped around your palm, holding your hand so gently as his thumb rubbed your hand reassuringly. His alpha pumping out it’s best calming scent, the one that was supposed to biologically tell omega’s that they were safe. The one that had you practically melting into his arms. He was a stuttering mess as he reassured you that it was fine, that he found it cute that you were so excited to work with him on his costume, and to please relax, that you were okay, everything was okay.

Once he had gotten you to calm down, the two of you had immediately separated upon noticing just how close you had gotten, faces remaining red throughout the rest of your conversation. He had been content to listen to you as you explained in great detail just all the changes that you had envisioned, and you had been beyond ecstatic that you had him sitting at your work bench, his attention solely on you. You don’t even think he noticed he was making eye contact with you the whole time, intensity in his eyes that had you running out of air.

Just a few short weeks later and the two of you had started courting. Your relationship feeling like a whirlwind once it started, the closer the two of you got, the more confident the shy alpha grew, living up to his secondary sex. Within two months you had already moved your nest into his room, being practically inseparable.

You were completely and immeasurably in love with your alpha. Knowing without a doubt that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. The high that you got when you were with him, touching him, kissing him, tasting him, nothing could ever come close to feeling as good. You never wanted it to end.

Unbeknownst to you, Tamaki was clouding your mind.

--

“Bunny…” Soft kisses were scattered across your face, fingers weaving into your hair and brushing it out of your sleepy face as you groaned softly at being woken up at such an early hour. You tried to cuddle further into the warm side of your alpha, but he was already whispering into your ear, an apology thick in his voice.

Your eyes shot open, pure panic in them that Tamaki immediately kissed your nose to dispel, his pouted lips mirroring your own.

“I know bunny, I want to stay to, but I have to go.” He was already completely dressed in his costume, ready to go. The costume that you had designed, not that the label had stated that, all costumes having to be signed off on and therefor claimed by one of the several designers that the school worked with.

The soft whimper that left your lips had him sighing softly, pressing his lips against yours, you relaxing within second against his touch, enjoying the way your brain went fuzzy, feeling warm inside. Still you pouted when he pulled away, desperate for more.

“Can’t you say you’re sick?” You sounded needy, like an annoying omega in one of the novels you had read, but you couldn’t help it, you felt physically sick with anxiety the longer he was away, last time he had only been gone for six hours and you had been cold and shaking when he returned desperate for his touch and the relief that came with it.

“I’m sorry, you know I can’t. I have to go catch the bad guys, to keep you safe.” That was what he had told himself over and over, that he was doing all of this to keep you safe. That he was going to be the strongest hero and get rid of as many scum off the streets as possible, just so he could have some piece of mind on the rare occasion that you went out with your friends. Not that he didn’t follow you every time. Still, even as he hid in the shadows, watching you and making sure you were safe, he felt restless.

Glancing at his clock he felt his heart break, he had to go now. Leaning down once more he rubbed his nose side to side against yours, pressing one last soft kiss to the tip of it making sure to coat his lips with the poison seeping through his skin before he forced himself out of bed, and out the door.

He had felt guilty, every time that he used the toxic drug that he could produce from eating certain mushrooms on you, but it didn’t stop him from continuing to do it. He knew the affect that it had on people, in small doses, the way that it made them high, made them feel like they were flying. The best feeling they had ever had, and he couldn’t help but want to make you feel that way. To be the only one who could make you feel that way, the way that you had made him feel every time he saw you.

He had found out one day while testing different foods with his quirk, deciding to test a poisonous mushroom just to see what would happen, knowing due to the special lining in his stomach it wouldn’t affect him.  Seen the way that it affected his sparring partner, even though he had given them the smallest dose he could under strict supervision from their teacher who hadn’t been completely okay with the idea but saw the benefits it could have. After they had come down from it they had given him a detailed description and he immediately felt hooked on the idea of giving it to you.

He had come back to his room that night, planning on asking you if you wanted to try it, only to find you distraught and upset from a negative comment you had received from one of your teachers on a costume piece you had worked on for months. He had just wanted to make you feel better, and no matter what his alpha did it wasn’t working, you were devastated. He was livid that they had made you feel like this, that they didn’t like the creation that to him was beyond perfection. Those idiots clearly had no taste, but he couldn’t fix that. The only thing he could do was make his pretty bunny feel better, and he knew just how to do it.

He didn’t think that months later he would still be doing it, but the way that you reacted, the way that you clung to him, begged to be near him at all times, the way that you were completely and absolutely obsessed with him had him swallowing mushroom after mushroom.

He would do anything to keep you happy, to keep you by his side.

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[isaacthedruid]

Please allow me to tell you about one of my favourite cartoons through this informal essay I did for school a couple of months back. 

Gravity Falls and How it Did The Unimaginable

**SPOILERS... KINDA**

The 2010s saw the creation of some of the most iconic animated tv shows ever made, the likes of Adventure Time (2010), Steven Universe (2013), Over the Garden Wall (2014) and The Legend of Korra (2012). To explain why this era’s shows are so admirable is honestly rather difficult. Yet, there are many factors that can be taken into consideration when looking for an answer.

The past decade was very successful in perfecting their craft and utilizing the animated format to their favour, creating some of the wackiest and fascinating cartoons ever made. With the advancements made in both 2D and 3D animation for film, this bled into the world of TV as well.

To mention that 2010s cartoons have stunning visuals would be an understatement. Everything about the animation was beautiful; the strong colour palettes, the clean and imaginative character designs, the colourful and immersive backgrounds and especially the mesmerizing worlds that can be found within episodes that are half an hour.

This era’s cartoons also led to a massive shift in storytelling, writing longer-running stories that spread out across seasons while also swapping out episodic adventures for serialization. This heavily aided in the popularization of these shows, due to the rise of internet fandoms and dropping the taboo that cartoons were only for kids. Many shows acknowledged their older viewers by leaving clues and even puzzles to be solved by the theorists who have a large appearance on social media platforms like Reddit, Twitter and Tumblr. As the shows progressed, their fandoms created many theories for what they believed might happen within their favourite series. The top three shows from this era all utilized these changes, being at the forefront of the shift and helping guide the creative vision of 2010s cartoons.

Often regarded as many people’s favourite cartoon, Gravity Falls presented one of the best mysteries of the decade with two seasons and only 40 episodes. Inspired by Twin Peaks and The X-Files, it’s considered as the kids’ version of these two iconic shows as this cartoon acts as many people’s first introduction to horror through bright colours and fun characters.

This series follows the adventures of Dipper and Mabel Pines, twins, who are sent to spend their summer with their great-uncle or Grunkle Stan in Gravity Falls, Oregon. This town is full of oddities like supernatural creatures, insane and eccentric inhabitants, and many puzzles. The Pines twins must adjust to the weirdness while uncovering the mysteries and protecting their new town.

While living in Gravity Falls, the twins are forced to work in the Mystery Shack, a tourist trap created by their Grunkle Stan that overcharges unlucky tourists, teaching about fake monsters despite there being real creatures all over town. On his first day in Oregon, Dipper accidentally came across a mysterious journal written by an unknown author that explains all the oddities to be found in this strange town. This book acts like an encyclopedic of the Weird for Dipper, an inquisitive 12-year-old kid who seeks answers.

Dipper is an extremely intelligent kid, his brain being far more developed than his body. He’s rather awkward and self-conscious as he often stumbles over his words or gets embarrassed trying to talk to girls. Despite this, the boy is an adventurer at heart who just wants to grow up and skip his upcoming teenage years.

While Mabel is quite the opposite in many ways, she is loud and has an in-your-face personality. Mabel is bouncy and fun, she is so excited to start high school. She is easily excitable and for the larger part of the series, she is in her boy-crazy phase. Mabel is a girly-girl as she likes all things; glitter, unicorns, rainbows, partying and crafting. Yet, she doesn’t often compare well with many of the other girls in town, they see her as weird and “too much”.

(In all fairness through, it is not too kind to either of the characters as their personalities are more complex than just awkward nerd and artsy girl-girly.)

Dipper and Mabel’s personalities are very different but somehow, they—along with their Gravity Falls family—manage to solve mysteries and save the town, multiple times.

Gravity Falls is an honestly genius series that completely changed the way cartoons were made. Originally when writing a series, you’d create a base of your story; characters, the universe and a basic plot. Yet, when creator, Alex Hirsch (who was in his early/mid-20)s and his small team first began constructing their show, they planned out everything they could possibly think of for the first season. Additionally, outlining some answers for their biggest mysteries that would be answered at the end of the series.

Despite being rated TV-Y7, this series really pushed the boundaries of kids’ television. From the teeth being ripped out of a deer’s mouth by a demon, rearranging the functions of every hole on a man’s face to an aggressive pop-rock sock puppet show that ended in a dramatic slow-motion scene of the puppets burning. Gravity Falls wasn’t afraid to get a little weird or creepy. Or create some genuine nightmare fuel. 

From the beginning, Gravity Falls had built a mystery into its series, hiding secrets and clues all throughout the show. Most notably were the backwards-recorded message and cryptograms, using roughly nine different kinds, even creating two of their own.

The inclusion of cyphers and mysteries for fans to solve is possibly the reason why this series was so successful. As one of the first shows to do something like this, Gravity Falls used social media and internet fandoms to its advantage.

As mentioned earlier, cartoon fans have quite a presence on social media platforms like Twitter and Tumblr. They create theories and share fun ideas about their favourite shows. Viewers of Adventure Time, Gravity Falls and Steven Universe were all included in their share of theory fun.

Sometimes, fan theories end up being correct but when you’re Gravity Falls creator, Alex Hirsch, you don’t just watch from the sidelines as your viewers figure out the biggest mystery of your show. No, you create a hoax to get your viewers off your trail and that is what he did. Around 2013, only halfway through the first season of the show, viewers had started to follow the clues, theorizing who was the author is Dipper’s mysterious journal.

Unfortunately for the Gravity Falls production crew, the viewers were right— for the sake of readers who have never seen the show, I will not mention who the author was as it would be the biggest spoiler.

In 2013, a supposed leaked image of a tv showing a younger version of the show’s crazy old man character, Old Man McGucket, writing in the infamous journal was uploaded anonymously (by Alex Hirsch) to 4Chan.

Despite the image only being on up for a few hours, it spread like wildfire. Much to the team’s success, theorists stopped searching for the answer to “who is the author” and just accepted the image of McGucket as the truth.

To further push the fake-out, three words were posted to Alex’s Twitter, “fuming right now.”

The tweet was deleted a few minutes later and fans genuinely believed that someone from the Gravity Falls team had leaked the most important part of the story.

While doing research, I came across a Reddit post from April 10th, 2013, the day after ‘leak,’ Alex’s tweet was uploaded. In this post, user, TheoDW uploaded an image of Alex’s tweet with the caption, “It seems that Hirsch got mad at last night’s leak. He already deleted this tweet.”

Seeing the reactions of these Redditors in 2013 is kind of weird and crazy to look at. “He has every right to be upset. Someone internally released a plot revealing screen shot of series breaking spoiler information,” a deleted Reddit account commented.

“This is Alex Hirsch’s biggest success by far, he spent a huge amount of time carefully planning out the series, and then in a moment someone releases a major spoiler. It would make anyone upset,” the user, Time_Loop commented.

“Seriously, this is a nightmare for a storyteller, and shows a breach of trust. I feel so bad for him–honestly, I hope whoever did the leak gets caught and appropriate action is taken. You don’t f–k with someone’s story like this. It’s unprofessional.” the user, lonelybeloved angrily commented.

In 2014, this ‘leak’ was finally disproven when viewers were given an episode on McGucket’s backstory and an amazing tweet from Alex Hirsch. 

Alex had post an image of himself playfully pointing at a monitor with the supposed leaked picture with the caption, “1) Make hoax  2) Upload to 4Chan  3) Post angry tweet about "leak" 4) Delete tweet 5) Let internet do rest”

It is so interesting to look at these comments know that all of this was orchestrated by Alex.

I wish I had been old enough at the time to follow theories and fandom stuff like I do now with current cartoons but really looking at this from an outside perspective, this was insane!

The real author wasn’t revealed until 2015 and when viewers first got the answer to this biggest show on their screens, they must have freaked out!

Following the finale in 2016, a single frame of a stone version of Bill Cipher, the show’s villain, flashed in after the credits had finished.

Alex Hirsch and his team actually created a real-life statue of their villain for their viewers to find and on July 20th, 2016, the Cipher Hunt began.

By following clues, the Hunters found themselves all over the world; Russia, Japan and then travelling throughout the United States for the final 12 clues. When the hunt took them to Los Angeles, actor, Jason Ritter (voice of Dipper Pines, also a massive fan of the series) and Alex Hirsch’s twin sister, Ariel Hirsch (the inspiration for Mabel) joined in the fun helping the search.

Finally, the hunt ended on August 2nd when someone tweeted out an image of the found statue in Oregon, the same state in which the fictional town of Gravity Falls exists. The Cipher Hunt had ended but finding the statue wasn’t Alex’s goal for the scavenger hunt, it was about the journey and bringing together the viewers, more than having them actually find the statue.

Creating its own hoax, an international scavenger hunt and quite a bit of nightmare fuel, Gravity Falls was a show truly unlike any other.

The 2010s saw some of the strongest cartoons ever made, Adventure Time, Gravity Falls and Steven Universe acting as the leaders for multiple different changes in the medium; storytelling, worldbuilding, interaction with viewers, utilizing social media, representation and further pushing music into the cartoon world. From what was created this past decade and what has already been released in 2020, I’m so excited to see what comes next.

I have another one of these which is on Steven Universe’s representation and music if you would like to see that too!! 

[itscalledbisexualcrisis]

Platinum (Kuvira x Female Reader w Metal Allergy)

AU: Something I’ve been thinking of lately as someone with metal sensitivities myself. I thought of this a while ago and thought it was really funny if Kuvira was with a reader with a metal allergy.

Summary: HC between Kuvira and Reader with a metal allergy

You were born with a skin allergy to most metals: so no metal jewelry, no metal clothing, and you had to be careful with what you interacted with on a daily basis.

Ironic since you were from the Metal Clan, born to metalbending parents as a non-bender

Kuvira was someone you met one day while working for the Matriarch of the Metal Clan

At first you tried your best to stay out of her way. She was the renown beautiful captain of the special forces and you were a simple secretary to Suyin.

She intimidated you in all of the ways that you wish you could be: powerful and fierce.

Because of your allergy, it was hard some days when your hands would brush something your skin didn’t like. You’d need to excuse yourself from situations to heal your skin from the inflamed hives blooming.

Kuvira noticed how sometimes you would leave meetings promptly and not return for a long time

That’s what started her fascination with you, trying to figure out this curious quiet young woman

It was very slow how your relationship built up: starting off with small jokes here and there, then leaving meetings together, to showing up to meetings together.

People would often catch you both together; sitting by the river having tea, an avid game of Pai Sho in the courtyard, you waiting for Kuvira after dance rehearsal, her not so subtly waiting for you outside of Suyin’s office.

So it wasn’t a surprise to most people when you two announced your official relationship.

Something bothered Kuvira though. She was aware of how you kept space between the two of you during the first few weeks of dating. She just chalked it up to you being traditional, something unusual but not unheard of within the clan.

She knew you always wore long sleeves and high neck collared shirts and she doesn’t even know if she’s seen any part of your body that wasn’t covered the neck down.

That part didn’t bother her, she respected how old-fashioned you were and even enjoyed how you reacted to her reserved demeanor.

She adored how your relationship bloomed in the most innocent ways, and craved knowing more about you.

But the lack of physical touch that was starting to get to her. She got in her head every time she reached for your hand and you’d hesitantly pull your fingers back, or carefully curl them around hers. It was as if you were cautious she’d hurt you. And that didn’t settle with Kuvira at all.

One day, Kuvira saw a magnificent gold bracelet in a boutique on the way to your apartment.

Usually she wasn’t one for lavish gifts to show her affection, but the second she spotted it in the shop, she knew it would look lovely on your wrist.

But when she presented it to you, you had to carefully put it back in the box and push it back towards her, telling her that she needed to return it.

It stung seeing the way you flinched away from her. She thought since you never wore jewelry that the gold band would compliment your complexion. The rejection was awful and she doubted if she really knew you at all and how stupid this idea was.

You quickly followed up, seeing how upset Kuvira was getting. You took her hands in yours and crouched to meet her eyes. She was seated stiffly in your kitchen and you rubbed soothing circles across her knuckles, trying to ease the tension.

“Don’t take it the wrong way, it’s beautiful. I love it.”

You blushed and turned away from her. “It’s actually kind of embarrassing…”

She’s very surprised to find out you have sensitive skin to most metals, except for platinum, the purest form of metal.

“I know it’s odd.”

“Yeah you live in a metal city, but you’re allergic to most of it.”

Her comment made you burst out laughing and you couldn’t help but throw your arms around her neck in a tight hug.

Oh the many shades of red Kuvira turned that day with your face buried in her neck. She wanted to hold on to your hips, finally feeling your touch after all these weeks, but she was suddenly very aware of the metal rings adorned on her hands and the metal armor plated on her uniform.

“Here I was thinking you were just very conservative.”

You raised a suspicious eyebrow, looking down on Kuvira while you had her face cupped in her hands. A sly smile crossed your lips and followed with you straddling Kuvira’s lap, making her flush even more.

“Oh, Vira, you couldn’t be more wrong,” you huskily whispered in her ear.

And Kuvira learned that night that you were anything but innocent or old-fashioned.

After that night, she was very careful with your allergy, opting for not wearing jewelry on her hands, afraid of copper or nickel scratching irritating your skin.

She takes care to put away her uniform and changing clothes before giving you hugs or climbing into bed with you.

One morning she rolls out of bed and the gold bracelet she tried giving you gleams up at her from her desk. She still thinks it would look so good on you with its simple design and careful molding.

She wonders if you ever had any custom metal jewelry made to accommodate your allergy?

Well time to find out.

So that’s how Kuvira got to work researching metal allergies and the kinds of metal that wouldn’t make you break out into hives.

Finding platinum wasn’t hard: Zaofu was abundant in all kinds of metals. Creating anything out of it was the hard part.

First off, Kuvira was a talented fighter and dancer. But being a jewelry-maker or DIY-er is not in her wheelhouse.

On top of that she couldn’t manipulate it with her bending; even she couldn’t bend platinum. So that meant she was going to get her hands dirty for this project.

She spent hours learning how to weld and grind down sheets of platinum in her room.

It truly was an annoying task, at first most of her creations resulting in crooked metal pieces with burnt ends and cramps in her hands.

She brushed up her roughed up hands to training and dance when you asked. She was a little embarrassed by how she was so dedicated to this project, choosing instead to keep it a surprise for when she was done.

Kuvira wouldn’t admit it, but she secretly also loved the attention you gave, kissing her calloused hands.

She hated the whole process knowing that literally all around her there was available metal she could easily bend to make her desired goal.

More than a few times, others would hear bangs and shouts coming from her room, as she threw the stupid platinum across her apartment in frustration.

At one point she just glowered at the rigid metal, seeing maybe, somehow, possibly her metal bending could solve her problems and she could miraculously bend the platinum.

And her perfectionistic self, hated every scratch or indent in the initial bracelets she made. She finally got over the hump of making something that looked remotely wearable, now was just design.

She just wanted it to be smooth cause if you cut yourself on a piece of metal at her expense, she thinks she would rather sink herself deep into the earth and die.

It was a month long process of trial and error. Of working in Baatar Jr’s lab on perfecting the small ring of metal. He was helpful during the process, more than she wanted to admit. Being an inventor and all, he knew more about manipulating metal by hand than she did.

(Truly it was his tips that allowed her to get her design right)

It was one night when you were cooking dinner, when Kuvira presented the gift to you, wrapped in a little white box with a lopsided green bow she obviously tied herself.

“Oh! What’s this?”

You had been busy chopping green onions when she suddenly took the box out of her bag and pushed it towards you.

Kuvira sat across from you at your kitchen island, nervously wringing her hands in her lap. She kept her eyes transfixed on the small package as you carefully untied the bow.

To be honest, you were more enthralled with the blush dusting her cheeks and how adorable it made her look.

When you opened it, you were very surprised, not expecting jewelry of all things for Kuvira to give you.

“It’s made of platinum!” she burst out quickly before you could question her decision. “I know you said you could only wear platinum, and there aren’t that many boutiques that sell platinum jewelry in Zaofu.”

She was shaking in her seat, the anxiety in her throat as she watched you pick up the metal carefully and examine the delicate piece. It was a simple twisted chain which ended up connected by strands of metal leaves in the center. The platinum glimmered brightly and you let it lightly settle in your palm.

The silence made Kuvira more anxious and she started going off in an anecdote about where she got the metal and her process while making it. You were very amused when she described how frustrated she was and how she had gone through many many sheets of platinum to create something substantial and beautiful enough to give you.

Your face broke out into a wide grin and before she knew it, you pulled Kuvira close to you, into a passionate kiss. Her heart fluttered and she sunk into your kiss, loving the way you gently cup her cheek. Her arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you even closer to her.

“You are incredible, you know that,” you whispered against her lips. “Can you help me put it on?”

[vintage-squid]

Threading Our Future

Summary: When up-and-coming designer Virgil Psykhe lands an interview with his favourite fashion label, he has no idea that the attention he's drawn to himself is being taken away from someone very important: the Lady of the Summer Court. Scorned and furious, she sends her son to kill the insolent human.

But when Janus lays eyes on Virgil for the first time, his breath is stolen by the fluttering of his heart and he knows he won't be able to follow through with his mother's orders.

A modern fae re-telling of the Eros and Psyche myth!

Pairing: Virgil/Janus (background Logan/Patton) Characters: Virgil, Janus, Roman, Remy, Patton, Logan, Remus  Rating: T Warnings: mild violence and blood mention, nonsexual nudity, literal sleeping together  Word count: 10 363 

----- 

Virgil Psykhe groaned as he stood from his chair, bracing both hands against the small of his back and pressing until he felt a satisfying series of pops from his hips and up his spine. He should know better by now than to spend hours on end hunched over his projects without taking proper breaks, but he honestly couldn’t help it. Once he got focused, his whole world narrowed to sketch, cut, sew, trim. It was like he was possessed by some crazy spirit who deemed his sarcastic, introverted ass worthy enough to use as a vessel for creation. At least, that’s how he described the near-frenzy he would fall into when his worried fathers questioned after his health.

Was he getting enough sleep? (No.) When was the last time he’d had something to eat? (Did the granola bar he had earlier count?) Would he be willing to drink more water if Papa cut up some citrus to add? (Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea...)

He knew their fretting came from a place of love. As the youngest of three, he was the baby of the family. Both of his older sisters had married a few years ago, now living with their husbands in a couple of larger, nearby cities. They had told their parents the distant moves were for their husband’s jobs, but Virgil knew better. His sisters had never seemed to fit with the unique … energy of their small hometown.

Virgil, however, had yet to even move out, let alone find anyone who would want to spend the rest of their life with him. Thankfully, while his dads did want him to eventually find love, they were mostly just happy to support his dreams of becoming a famous designer.

Rolling his eyes, Virgil glanced around his cluttered studio. Like he would ever actually be a big name in the fashion industry. Yeah, sure, he wanted more than anything to get his designs out there for models of all backgrounds and appearances to showcase the beauty that was in every body type, but he didn’t want his first name attached to that kind of attention. Nope. No thanks. He would much rather people enjoy his work for what it was, not just because it came from him.

Maybe a pseudonym would work? Eh, he still had time to think about it anyway. It wasn’t like he was going to be traveling far from his studio in his dads’ basement any time soon after all. Picking up his phone, Virgil glanced at the time and cursed under his breath. Shit, he was late to meet up with Remy, and he had forgotten to plug his charger in. He groaned as he shoved his phone in his pocket anyway and grabbed his wallet, headphones, and house key. That drama queen was probably going to bitch and moan about being made to wait until Virgil finally agreed to pay for his drink. Not that Virgil really minded, but he had appearances to keep up.

With one last glance around to make sure he had everything, he dashed up the stairs to head out.

-----

Jogging down the street, Virgil turned past the Spirits’ Temple, where the town’s inhabitants left offerings to the spirits of the forest on the first of every month. Tradition claimed that each month was to be dedicated to one of the twelve local spirits who held dominion over different areas of day-to-day life, and that by honouring them, the town would prosper. At the height of the monthly festivals, there would be candles lining the marble steps, fake vines and string lights wrapped around the temple’s stone columns, and a wide spread of wine and honey-sweetened foods to be served. Some of this would be up for grabs on the buffet table, but a selection was always saved to be placed in one of the twelve bronze braziers, which one depended on the month, lining the sides of the temple. Each brazier was set in front of a stone statue carved with a symbol that denoted which spirit it belonged to.

At some point during the evening, everyone in town would take a moment to approach the massive fireplace along the back wall of the temple and toss in a part of their meal with a quietly murmured prayer for luck in some strange-sounding language. To this day, Virgil wasn’t sure what exactly he was saying, but his dad had taught him the correct pronunciation, and he was too superstitious not to follow through. Besides, it wasn’t like he could look too ridiculous doing it when literally everyone else was doing the same thing.

Approaching one of the two coffee shops in town, and the only one he ever frequented, Virgil shook his head to rid himself of thoughts of weird small-town rituals. Inside, it was easy to spot Remy sitting at their usual table with his sunglasses tucked into the front of his shirt and a drink already in hand. As he slid into his side of the booth, Virgil was surprised to see his favourite order (hot chocolate with whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles, and a slice of banana bread) already waiting for him.

“I was gonna apologize for being late, but clearly I don’t have to,” he said, glancing up and narrowing his eyes. “What did you do?”

Remy threw both hands up in a gesture of innocence. “Hey now, why did I have to do something wrong in order to surprise my best friend with his favourite goodies?”

Virgil snorted and crossed his arms, giving his friend a Look.

“Fine, fine!” Remy blew out a sigh and dropped his hands onto the table. “So, maybe I did do something, and maybe you’re gonna be a little mad at me for it, but I promise it’s okay! It’s gonna pay off and you’re totally going to thank me for this one day!”

Virgil dropped his face into his hands with a groan and dug the heels of his palms against his eyelids. “Just spit it out, Remy. What the fuck did you do?”

“Remember that photoshoot we did a couple weeks back with the latest ‘famous-one-day’ designs you sewed up?” Virgil could hear the familiar sounds of Remy typing on his phone. “Well babe, you’ve been making ‘one days’ for too long! So I decided to make ‘one day’ into ‘today’! Ta-dah!”

Bracing himself, Virgil peeked out from the dark safety of his hands, blinking a few times to clear his blurry vision and focus on the phone screen wavering in front of him. Right there, staring back at him from within Remy’s well-manicured clutch, was an email addressed to Penelope with attached photos from their shoot.

“Please, please tell me you didn’t sen-”

“I sent our pics to your favourite fashion label! The one and only Penelope! Known for their breathtaking lines like ‘Faith’ and ‘Fidelity’ that reimagined what it meant to be fashionable! And the best part!” Remy paused for dramatic effect, all but wiggling in his seat. “They emailed me back! They want to do an interview with you next month on the first!”

There was a loud thud as Virgil’s head met the table. If they hadn’t been sitting in public, he definitely would have started screaming too. Instead, all that came out was a muttered, “I fucking hate you. Why would you do this to me? You know I suck at talking to people; they’re gonna hate me and then tell all of the other companies to never work with me and then I’ll definitely never make it.”

A hand settled on top of his head and began to run through his hair, gently scratching at his scalp at the same time. “Don’t be so dramatic, Virge. This is gonna be great for you, I promise. When have I ever led you astray?”

Virgil glared at his friend and opened his mouth, but Remy cut him off.

“Ahp-ahp! Rhetorical question, babes. You're going to thank me for this, I promise.”

When Virgil remained silent, the hand that had been petting his hair slid down to cup his cheek and lift his chin up.

“Hey,” his best friend murmured softly. “If you really, really don’t want to do this, I can email them back and cancel, but I think you should go for it, Virge. This could be your big break!” Remy’s thumb had begun running a soothingly back and forth over his cheek. Virgil didn’t even try to hide the way he relaxed into the comforting gesture, leaning more weight into his friend’s palm. “I’ll even come with you to the interview, okay? I’ll be right there the entire time - gotta make sure they meet your number one model after all,” he added with a playful wink.

Damn Remy and his extroverted influence. Virgil sighed and sat up fully, reluctantly pulling away from the comforting hold and silently relieved when Remy’s hand dropped to link their fingers instead. “I guess as long as you’re there too, then I won’t be the only one making a fool of myself.”

“That’s the spirit!” Remy cheered, ignoring the looks some of the other patrons shot their way at the noise.

Keeping their hands interlocked, Virgil picked up his hot chocolate and took a sip of the sweet ambrosia as he listened to his best friend ramble about his plans for their future.

-----

Somehow, the word got out. Everyone and their cousin’s dog knew about Virgil’s interview and had seen some of the photos that had been leaked. All of them wanted to get a glimpse of not only the representatives of the big fashion label (who may as well have been celebrities to the small community), but also the unobtrusive young man who had brought the attention onto their town.

Virgil clung to Remy’s hand as they approached the café where the interview was going to be taking place. It wasn’t their usual haunt, something Virgil was grateful for; if things went south, he didn’t want that memory attached to one of his favourite places. People were already gathering outside, gossiping amongst themselves or attempting to peer through the front windows. He longed to pull his hood up and hide his face, but Papa had spent all morning helping him make sure his hair and make-up (and everything else) looked interview ready. Not to mention he wasn’t even wearing his favourite hoodie to tuck himself away into.

At Remy’s insistence, he had donned one of the outfits he made last year. The top was made of a flowy material, tighter at the wrists and loose in the arms, wrapping comfortably around his chest to tie in the front above his navel. It was sewn from a high-quality plum linen with a black lace webbing over top. For the bottom, Virgil had pieced together different shades of grey and black fabrics until he had a pair of loose patchwork pants that sat at the hips and left a strip of his stomach visible. He had completed the look with a fresh pair of high-tops that tied the look together despite the discordant styles. With one last look to his best friend for reassurance, Virgil nodded and they waded through the crowd together, on their way to their future.

-----

Singing to herself, Roman stepped through the woods with all the ethereal grace granted to her by her station. As she made her way to the quaint little human town, Roman was accompanied by a pair of mourning doves. While one had alighted on her shoulder, the other fluttered about, and both were cooing in harmony with her otherworldly song.

Her body was draped in a sheer chiffon number, as blood-red as the wine she drank from each year at the celebration of her power and beauty. It was naught much more than a thin layer of fabric over one shoulder and wrapped about her shapely waist, exposing one breast and leaving little work for the imagination on the rest of her body. The finest embroidery coloured the lower hem with twisting rose vines, as if they had sprung from the ground she walked on and reached up for her attention. Her hair was left to tumble free, as wild and untamed as the waves she had been born from so long ago. The Lady of the Summer Court had arrived.

In no time at all, the temple the humans of the village had built for her and her compatriots so long ago came into view. Roman hurried her steps, eager to feast on the delightful offerings she knew would be awaiting her. She hoped one of them left pomegranate; it was her favourite. The plump fruit so easy to tear open to reveal the juicy flesh inside - and the crunchy seeds! Oh!

Grinning, Roman moved around the side of the temple, stepping between the columns to slip inside and make her way towards her ceremonial statue along the right with the other ruling gentry of the Seelie Court. However, when she got close enough to see into the massive dish, indignation began to boil in her blood. Before her, in her brazier, lay half as many offerings as were given to her in the years passed. She looked around, hoping to find something else had been set aside or misplaced, but there was nothing. Seething, she spun on her heel and stalked towards the front of the temple in search of answers.

Outside, two attendants were working to douse the remaining candles to be collected on the morrow after Roman had departed. Well, they were certainly going to be in for a surprise when they returned to find their pitiful offerings still there in the morning. Even with the great distance between them, as a fae, Roman’s sharp ears did not struggle to overhear the conversation between the two humans.

“-believe something like this could happen in our little town,” the one on the right was saying. “Especially from that quiet kid! What’d you say his name was again?”

“He’s the Psykhe’s youngest boy, Virgil.

“No kidding! Sam was telling me the kid showed up for the interview wearing this wild statement piece, like a full fashion runway. I bet his dads sure are proud. I heard half the town was outside Burnsen’s hoping to get a front-row seat. They certainly weren’t here, that’s for sure.”

“Damn shame,” the second human agreed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a turn out this small for a Spirit’s Night. I just hope it doesn’t come back to bite us in the ass.”

The pair continued their gossip as they finished with the candles and moved onto tidying some of the other nonessential decorations. Roman wasn’t interested in listening any further; she had what she needed. Turning away from the pitiful little temple those putrid humans had so desecrated on her day of honour, the Lady of the Summer Court stormed back into the forest, seething vitriol.

“How dare these humans offer this worthless boy the worship and reverence meant for me! My status is all but set in the very stars and they do nothing more than drag it through the muddy earth!” She screeched, scaring away the doves who had been lingering nearby. “So much for me, the ancient mother of this forest who feeds and fosters the very nature of this place! If nothing lusts, then nothing reproduces! Did they ever consider that before they forced me to associate my status with a mere mortal child?”

As Roman cried out, the very trees parted for her, leaning their trunks away and raising their boughs out of the path of the furious fae. She paid them little heed as she marched down a trail long familiar. “Won’t this boy, whoever he is, be glad to know he has claimed the honours that are due to me by right? Not for much longer, this I swear by my very name! He will regret this beauty to which he has no claim!”

At the climax of her tirade, Roman stopped before the ivy-woven doors of her son’s lofty domain. She would teach this Virgil what happened when you scorned the fae.

-----

Across town, still wearing the outfit and makeup from earlier, though much disheveled, Virgil ran as if his life depended on it. At this point, though, his life may as well have been over, so what was the point in struggling on? Down the street and through the park, he sprinted until he could go no further and crumbled to the ground at the top of the large hill that overlooked the fish ponds. On his hands and knees, he clutched at the damp earth and panted heavily through his heaving sobs.

It was over. Penelope didn’t want to pick him up as a designer. Sure, they liked the selection that Remy had sent them, enough to come talk to him about it, but when the representatives had taken a look through the rest of his portfolio? They hadn’t said they hated it outright, but Virgil was certain his designs were too gothic, too dark, too risky for mainstream fashion. They were going to talk with some of the higher-ups back at the designer studio, but Virgil wasn’t going to be holding his breath. He’d seen their expressions clear as day while they flipped through his work.

Collapsing forward, Virgil buried his face into the crook of his elbow and curled his knees towards his chest, sobbing even harder. He had told Remy after the interview that he needed some space, but now that he was out here alone, he wanted nothing more than a hug from his best friend. Fuck, how was he going to tell his dads about this? It would break their heart!

Virgil shook his head free of the thought; he couldn’t handle any more right now. So he lay on the ground with his cheek pressed against the cool night grass, and cried until he passed out from exhaustion.

-----

In the twilight between wakefulness and sleep, Virgil stirred when he felt a pair of arms slide under his body and hoist him up into a strong hold. His head lolled to the side until his temple dropped against a firm body. Then, a kiss was pressed to his forehead, tickling his skin with...a mustache?

“Go back to sleep, little human,” a high, scratchy-sounding voice said. “Jay doesn’t want you to see anything just yet! We don’t want to ruin the surprise, eh?”

Virgil’s face scrunched in confusion, but before he could crack his eyes open to see who was carrying him, a warm breath blew across his face and carried him off to his dreams like a gentle breeze spiraling high into the air.

-----

When Virgil woke for the second time, it was with far more peace and tranquility than he usually felt when greeting the day. His bed was extra soft and luxurious beneath the swell of his hip and he was comfortably warm, though he couldn’t feel the usual weight of his blanket. Stretching his arms far above his head, Virgil suddenly snapped his eyes open when his fingertips were greeted not with the hard wall behind his headboard, but with a damp, spongy texture instead.

Scrambled to his feet, he looked around to discover he was at the edge of a clearing, carpeted with a thick moss that his feet sank slightly into and surrounded by trees who towered so far above him their canopies seemed lost secrets of the sky. To one side a stream babbled a song, its waters bright as day and clear as glass. Breathless, he turned a slow circle, feasting on the seemingly supernatural wonders with starving eyes. The sight that greeted Virgil as he turned full around, however, could have subsisted him for a lifetime.

At the very heart of the grove, sitting in its focal point, rose what he could only describe as a palace. The trees which made up its supporting columns were an ivory birch, though much wider than any Virgil had ever seen, with leaves seemingly grown from pure gold that glittered in the dappled sunlight they let through. Framed by these otherworldly goliaths, ivy vines had been woven together to form a grand door which opened of its own accord and bid Virgil to enter. Under a spell spun from his own awe and curiosity (and probably some of whatever magic this place had to be made of), Virgil strode forward.

Inside, the palace seemed to emulate its own light, reflecting off the vaulted ceiling and highlighting the polished stone walls decorated with endless silver reliefs of animals real and imagined. Virgil trailed his fingertips along the slithering spine of a snake as he passed, admiring the lifelike detail in each scale, but before he could venture much further, a voice spoke.

“Welcome.”

Virgil jumped, spinning around to search for the source of the voice, but no one was there. When they spoke again, it sounded like they were right over his shoulder.

“You have been invited into the home of the fae as a guest of honour, Virgil.” The man in question felt a strange twinge in his chest hearing his name from the voice. “If you follow the doors to your left, you will find a dining hall in which you may eat your fill; the foods are from your home world and you need not fear consuming them. To your right lay the bathing and bed chambers. Please, make yourself at home. You are safe here, my darling.”

“Who are you? How do you know my name?” Virgil called out into the empty room.

There was a small pause before the voice replied. “You may call me Janus for the time being. It matters not how I know your name, but you need not worry that I will give it to anyone else.”

“Not creepy at all,” Virgil murmured before raising his voice once more. “Where are you? Why can’t I see you?”

“Ahh, my darling, take care with your curiosity before it gets you into trouble. Fret not, I am here with you, though you cannot see me. I know it is hard, but you must trust in me, my love. I shall visit you this evening after the light of day has given way to the dark of night. So long as you promise not to look upon my face and let me remain shrouded in shadows, then I shall answer more of your questions then.”

“What? I’m supposed to trust you, but I’m not allowed to look at your face? What the fuck, dude?”

“I understand this may be a cause for alarm, but you must understand my perspective, dear one. If you were to gaze upon me uninhibited, I fear you would not fall in love with me in a manner which would be best for us both. Promise to me, Virgil.”

“Okay, okay, I promise. Why is this so important to you anyway?”

“Thank you. I wish to form a genuine bond with you, beloved, and I cannot do that if you are influenced by my appearance. That is not how I desire to court my future husband.”

“Husband? What do you mean future husband!?”

Virgil stood in place, waiting for any further response from the invisible person, but it seemed his host had vanished into the very air he spoke from. Blowing out a heavy sigh, Virgil looked from left to right and decided the faint grumbling in his abdomen was something he could ignore for the time being; he probably wouldn’t be able to stomach anything right now anyway. So, he made his way towards the baths, hoping a splash of cool water could wake him from this crazy dream.

Unfortunately, even after dunking his head under the cool water, Virgil was still stuck in the extravagant palace with an invisible host. He braced his hands on the sides of the stone bowl carved from the wall, staring blankly at the trickling waterfall that fed into the dish he had rinsed in. How the fuck did he get into this mess? The voice had mentioned something about this place belonging to the fae? What the fuck? There’s no way any of this could be real. Well, that Janus had said he would answer Virgil’s questions tonight, so there seemed little more he could do than wait.

The bedroom he had been given was grand, far larger than even his entire basement suite back home, and all of its drapings were more luxurious than Virgil had ever seen. He ran his fingers down the curtains that hung from the bedposts, marvelling at the quality and the depth of the colour. What he wouldn’t give to be able to create with fabrics of this pedigree. He fiddled with the tie of his shirt around his middle and settled onto one of the plush armchairs by the window. Now, to wait.

-----

Hours later, Virgil was startled awake from a light doze by the sound of footsteps approaching his door. He scrambled to his feet, keeping one hand braced on a bedpost to orient himself as he squinted through the darkness. It was so dark he couldn’t even make out the vague outlines of the furniture around the room.

The door opened.

Virgil tensed, gripping the bedpost tighter and raising his other arm in front of him defensively. From what he could see, backlit from the hall, the figure entering the room was about his height, maybe a little taller. It was difficult to make out in the dark, but the shadow he cast onto the floor seemed to be larger than his body mass would produce. The door closed, leaving the two of them alone in the dark.

“Janus?” Virgil asked nervously, hoping there wasn’t anyone else in the palace who would be coming into his room this late at night.

“Breathe, Virgil, it is only me.”

It was as if a spell of calm soothed over him, easing the tension from around his neck and within his chest. Virgil took a deep, relieving breath. Janus hadn’t come any further into the room, seemingly content to linger by the door.

“Um… hi?” Virgil winced at how awkward he sounded, but continued on regardless. “You said you would answer more of my questions, right?”

“That is correct, beloved. I will tell you as much as I am able to at this time.” There was the sound of shuffling in the dark. “May I join you on the bed? I think we will both be much more comfortable being seated for this conversation.”

Virgil bit his lip, looking between the bed and Janus despite not being able to see either. Eventually, he nodded, and then blushed when he realized what he’d done.

“Yeah… yeah, you can come sit over here, I guess.”

“Thank you, my darling.”

When the pair had gotten settled, Janus was seated at the foot of the bed, leaning up against the bedpost and seemingly unbothered by the strange situation. Virgil, on the other hand, had his back pressed against the headboard with his knees hugged to his chest. His feet were buried in the blankets and he was absently scrunching the soft material under his toes in a comforting, rhythmic motion. It was Janus who broke the silence first.

“What would you ask of me first, dearest?”

Virgil blew out a sigh. “Why did you bring me here? What are you going to do with me? Am I ever going to be allowed to go home? Will you-”

"Sh sh sh,” Janus crooned, “One at a time, beloved, all will be answered. In short, I do not know when you will be able to return to your home, or if you ever will, but it is for your own good!” Janus hurriedly added before Virgil could panic. “You see, there is someone very powerful who is very angry with you. Intentionally or not, you have caused her a great disrespect, and she will not rest until her dues have been met.”

“How do you know all of this?”

Janus sighed. “Because she is my mother, and she sent me to kill you.”

“What!?” Virgil screeched, throwing himself off the bed and slamming against the nearby wall. His nails scrabbled at the stone, desperate to clutch, claw, escape. No, no, no, he didn’t want to die! He snapped his head back and forth, searching for any sort of way out, but he was blinded by shadows and fear. A sharp cry escaped him when a hand suddenly wrapped around one of his own and he whimpered as it squeezed, expecting pain. Instead, a gentle crooning cut through the ringing in his ears.

“Breathe, Virgil, you are not in danger. You must calm down and listen.”

Janus’ voice was surprisingly tender for how powerfully it could be heard through Virgil’s panic. He was able to focus on it like a tether to pull himself into a more relaxed state of mind. At some point, he had begun to time his breathing with Janus’ as well, steady and even to a count known only to the fae holding him. When Virgil had relaxed enough to come back to himself, he tensed all over again, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“How can you say I’m safe, when you’re gonna kill me?”

“Because I have no intentions of killing you,” Janus replied, now cradling both of Virgil’s hands to his chest. Even this close, the darkness was so impenetrably thick that Virgil had no hope of glimpsing his face. He kept his eyes averted regardless. “I brought you here to remove you from my mother’s gaze and conceal you from her misplaced wrath.”

Virgil was silent, processing, as Janus gently tugged on his hands and guided him back onto the bed. There, the fae leaned against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him and carefully pulled Virgil to recline on his chest. Virgil resisted for only a moment before complying. Everything else about this was already way out of his depth to manage, he may as well allow himself to be comfortable wherever he could. Janus was either going to kill him or leave him alive, and there likely wasn’t anything Virgil could do to sway that decision at this point. So, Virgil settled himself against Janus’ chest with his body laying between Janus’ legs and stretching out until their legs tangled together. He was grateful now for the dark that hid a probably searing blush as his cheek pressed flush against the fae’s warm skin; Janus wasn’t wearing a shirt and his nude torso was warm to cuddle against.

“Now,” Janus murmured, shifting Virgil’s focus from his embarrassment to the situation at hand. His fingers ran over Virgil’s scalp and through his hair, carefully brushing out any tangles and soothing in the same motion. “If you will let me continue, I was going to say my mother had ordered for you to be killed, however, I do not agree with her decision. She is acting rashly over a slight you did not directly commit.”

“What did I even do to piss her off so bad?” Virgil murmured from where his face was tucked against Janus’ collar, resting more of his weight closer with each breath.

“I do not know the exact details, only that you were the cause for drawing her worshippers away from the temple on her day of adulation. The fae do not take kindly to being stolen from, especially not my mother.”

“The interview,” Virgil breathed in horror. Pushing himself upright, he clutched at Janus’ arm. “I swear, I didn’t mean for everyone to skip out on the Spirit’s Festival! If it had been up to me, none of them would have even been at the cafe! I didn’t want them there, you have to believe me!”

“Calm yourself, beloved. I believe that you did not intentionally act to anger her. However, you must understand that even a perceived slight is considered very real and serious to the fae. That is why you must remain here under my protection, until my mother’s ire cools or I can convince her to redirect her anger.”

As Janus fell silent, Virgil curled in again and pondered what he had been told, trying to remember anything he could about the fae. It wasn’t like there was one consistent guidebook he could follow, but some of the stories the older people used to tell his grade school classes at the library were starting to make a little more sense now. He had been told the forest couldn’t lie, so maybe that meant the fae were bound by the truth? A stretch, sure, but weren’t all myths rooted somehow in reality? They were also regularly told that the spirits of the forest loved beauty, especially in the form of attractive people, and could bestow gifts on those they enjoyed looking upon. Virgil had always felt so disheartened hearing that. He wasn’t anything special, just a plain-looking boy, so the forest would never favour him.

Why then had Janus?

“So,” Virgil broke into the quiet, “you supposedly brought me here to protect me from your mother, but that doesn’t explain why you called me your future husband earlier.”

Janus hummed. “When I set out to observe the human who had offended my mother, I was prepared to be faced with a disgusting example of your kind. What I found instead was the most beautiful face I had ever laid eyes on.” Virgil gasped when the hand that had been in his hair slipped down to cup his cheek and tilt his chin up. He felt a pair of lips brush so lightly against his forehead that he thought he imagined it. “You were sobbing so hard for a deeply rooted pain. I found myself desiring nothing more than to stop your tears and see how much your already breathtaking countenance would shine when lit by a smile.”

“I - you -”

Virgil was sure that he had been kissed before, because now he felt those lips curl into a smile.

“Is it so hard to believe you are so attractive?”

“Well, yeah,” Virgil huffed, his eyes closed as he leaned into Janus’ palm. “It’s not like I heard it all that often.”

“Mmm, I shall have to change that, then,” Janus whispered, resting his cheek on Virgil’s head, cradling him close once more. “Do you have any more questions, beloved? If not, it is time for you to rest, you’ve had a long day.”

The gentle petting and warm embrace were taking their toll on Virgil’s exhausted mind. He let himself rest heavily on Janus, nuzzling his face into the crook of his neck and wrapping an arm around the fae’s chest. “Jus’ one,” he murmured, voice already dipping into that sleepy slur. “Wanna make sure m’dads know ‘m safe…”

“I’ll see what I can do, my love. Rest now, Virgil.”

Like a spell had been cast over him, Virgil drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

-----

When Virgil had awoken, he was alone in the massive bed. He was surprised to feel a twinge of disappointment in his chest, having hoped Janus would stay despite the fae not wanting to show his face. Sighing, he slid out of bed and got himself ready for the day, slipping into some comfortable clothes he found in a set of drawers. When he came down for breakfast, his host’s invisible voice greeted him and informed him that his dads had been told of the situation and were relieved Virgil was alive and relatively safe.

The next few days played out much the same. Virgil was left to his own devices during the day, waited on by some sort of invisible staff as he explored the palace. He never saw another soul, but whenever he needed something, he learned to simply call out for it and it would be delivered to him by magic.

Each night, Janus would arrive in his bedroom once the sun had disappeared. He never asked for more than Virgil was willing to give, but Virgil found himself cuddled close every night without fail. They would speak for hours - about Virgil’s dreams, his dads, and Remy - nothing was too simple for Janus to inquire about. The fae was fascinated by every aspect of human life, and Virgil enjoyed discovering a sense of romantic joy over the little things he had experienced. There was something about Janus that soothed away the ever-present worries that were always yelling inside Virgil’s head.

There was one worry that couldn’t be silenced, however. No matter how much Virgil was coming to trust his protector, he could not ignore the fact that he had no idea what Janus even looked like. It was eating away at him not to know, and the longer he sat alone, the Janus in his head looked more and more like a monster waiting to prey upon him. This couldn’t go on. He had to know.

-----

During the day before he was going to enact his plan, Virgil spent his time in the massive library he had discovered on the second day, scanning the shelves and making a show of selecting a couple books. He made himself comfortable in one of the oversized cushions piled near the floor-to-ceiling window and pretended to read. Between absently scanning the pages, Virgil looked up and glanced around the room, as if his mind were wandering with the tale he was apparently focused on. In reality, he was scouring the room for ideas.

Countless candles were lit around the library, their wax melting at different stages, some newly pooling while others formed thick layers around the base of the candelabras. They were lit now, but there was no way for him to have an already burning flame in the bedroom when Janus arrived for the night. He would have to find some way to light one on his own. Maybe he could just -

“Excuse me?” He called into the air. “Could I please have more candles, and some matches for them? I want to go read in my room, but, um, the smell is really nice in here.”

Like always, the items he requested popped into existence on a low table nearby: three candles and a pair of matches. Huh, he hadn’t actually thought that was going to work.

“Thank you!”

Hugging both books to his chest, Virgil collected his new tools and jogged up to his room. There, he placed the candles onto the small table between the armchairs and lit them with a match. The second match, he carefully tucked inside the front knot of his shirt, pressing against his breast. Now prepared, he settled in to actually focus on the novel he had picked up. There was nothing but time to kill.

-----

By the time Janus arrived, Virgil had already blown out the candles and crawled into bed. He cuddled in as soon as Janus had laid down, laying his head on the fae’s chest and trying to keep his breathing steady as they fell into their usually nighttime conversation. Janus’ claws delicately traced the bumps of his spine the entire time they spoke.

Once Virgil was sure Janus had fallen asleep, he began the slow process of extracting himself from the fae’s embrace. Janus really was a cuddler, and loved to hold Virgil close while they slept, but thankfully he was also quite a deep sleeper. Virgil was able to carefully pull himself away and tuck a pillow into Janus’ arms. The fae squished it to his chest and curled onto his side, none the wiser.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Virgil went to work. He grabbed one of the candles and fished the match out from under his shirt, striking it against the table to light it. One hand held onto the base of the candle, while the other carefully cupped around the flame, protecting it as Virgil walked around to the other side of the bed where Janus lay. With a deep breath to steady himself, he pulled his hand away and gasped at the sight in front of him.

Janus never wore a shirt, which meant Virgil’s hands had felt the broad expanse of his naked back every night they had slept together. That didn’t explain why there were now a pair of gorgeous, tawny wings sprouting from between Janus’ shoulder blades. The feathers looked softer than anything Virgil could imagine and shined like spun gold in the candlelight. Virgil ached to caress the speckled feathers, to scrunch his fingers in the fluffy down near the wings’ base, but as he reached out, Janus rolled over and Virgil’s breath was punched from his lungs. The face of his protector was carved by the gods. Janus’ skin was a rich, dark brown, reflecting the candle light to accent his strong jaw and sharp cheekbones. Virgil could only imagine what colour his eyes could be behind his lids, framed by perfectly shaped brows and a shapely nose. Oh! Those lips! So plump and full! What would they feel like pressed against his own?

Enraptured, Virgil tried to get a better look, but as he leaned forward, some of the melted wax from the candle spilled over and landed on Janus’ cheek. The fae yelped, startling awake and clutching at his face as he threw himself upright. Virgil jumped back in shock, falling on his ass while somehow keeping the candle lit. The clatter drew Janus’ attention and his head snapped to the side to look at Virgil, who saw the moment Janus’ eyes widened with understanding and heartbreaking betrayal.

“You promised!” Janus hissed. “You promised me you wouldn’t look! Does your word mean so little to you!?”

“N-No - I, I just, I wanted-”

“What!? What was so important that you had to break your promise?”

“I wanted to, to make sure you weren’t some sort of … monster … who had kidnapped me to… to eat me,” Virgil muttered, suddenly feeling incredibly foolish. Why did he have to give in to his anxieties so easily? The next moment, his heart crumpled with Janus’ expression.

“Get out.”

“Wait, what?”

“I said. Get. Out.” Janus growled, spreading his wings high above his head as he leaned over the edge of the bed. “Get out of my sight, and out of my home! If you cannot hold to one simple promise, then I will not protect you! You can deal with my mother’s wrath on your own!”

About to protest, Virgil cried out in fear as Janus slashed out him, narrowly missing his face with those lethal claws. He didn’t waste any more time, dropping the candle and scrambling to his feet to run out of the bedroom. The empty halls echoed with his laboured breathing and the slap of his bare feet against the tiled floor as he sprinted through the palace and out the ivy-woven doors. The moment he was out, the doors slammed shut behind him.

Panting heavily, Virgil bent over with his hands on his knees, his entire body trembling from fear and exertion. He dropped to the ground and clutched his head in both hands, curling smaller and crying as silently as he could muster. It was a long time before his breathing evened out and he was able to drag himself back to his feet.

A glance around the clearing revealed what he had known upon his first arrival: he had no idea where in the forest he was, or which way led back home. So, he did the only thing he could and picked a direction to start walking. Through the night he stumbled over roots and around tangled shrubs, not stopping until he finally tripped over his own exhausted feet and fell into the shockingly cold waters of a stream. He spluttered and gasped, miserably dragging himself back up the bank. The sun was rising overhead, the forest waking up around him; he didn’t have the time to huddle here in a ball feeling sorry for himself.

-----

As the day progressed, Virgil noticed the trees beginning to thin and the gaps between the trunks growing wider. Suddenly, the canopy overhead parted to reveal a mountain, vast and tall, that should have been visible long before this moment. Placed at irregular intervals up the cliffside were six palaces woven of different plants woven together with even more grandeur than Janus’ home. Over the edge of the mountain, the tips and edges of presumably more palaces - these ones sculpted and shaped from various stones - were visible against the pale sky.

Virgil squinted, trying to get a better look at the strangely familiar shapes carved into the rock face near each palace. He gasped. The symbols matched those carved into the statues above the bronze dishes in the Spirit’s Temple, more specifically, the dishes meant for the spirits honoured in the spring and summer. That would mean - there! On the left! Beneath a palace of myrtle trees and rose vines, was the symbol belonging to the seventh spirit. That had to be the home of Janus’ mother, the spirit - or fae, rather - who was supposed to have been honoured at the start of this month.

Biting his lip, Virgil looked back the way he came then up at the palace once more. If what Janus said was true, and he wasn’t going to be offering protection anymore, then Virgil would have to face her on his own. It was either that, or cowering away until she tracked him down and killed him. Also not a desirable option, but Virgil would rather have some form of control over the end of his life. Beginning to climb, he just wished he would have been able to say goodbye to his dads first.

While there were worn deer trails to follow, the journey was not an easy one. Virgil had to cling to the rocks, heaving himself ever upwards, trying not to slice his bare feet or palms on the uneven shale. The summer sun climbed alongside him, growing hotter and hotter, sapping his energy and strength. Still, he pushed on until he stood before the lush gates shaking with exhaustion and dizzy from the heat.

Before he could gather his wits, the thorny vines that sealed the palace from the outside world began to withdraw. Where they parted, massive sanguine roses bloomed, as if to cushion a passerby from the sharp thorns. From within the depths of the palace strode out a figure so radiant and commanding, Virgil immediately felt subservient to her will. He quickly looked away, cheeks hot, as both of her breasts were exposed and only a lightweight wrap covered her lower body. His body recoiled when her piercing laugh broke the silence.

“Finally! The wretched beast comes crawling to its master, the Lady of the Summer Court. Had enough of playing at royalty, have you? Look at me when I’m talking to you, Virgil!”

Virgil immediately snapped his head back towards her, paling when his eyes met with her seething ire, but unable to drop his gaze any lower. He gripped the sides of his pants with white knuckles. “I - I’m so, so sorry! I n-never meant-”

“Look at this!” The fae cut in, causing Virgil to flinch again. “The pathetic mortal trying to inspire pity from me with your anxiety and melancholy! I will not be made a fool and relegated to some cheap handmaiden!”

With a shriek of rage, the Lady of Summer darted forward faster than Virgil’s eyes could track. The next moment, he was sprawled on the ground, ears ringing. He brought a shaky hand up to his stinging cheek and felt his stomach drop when his fingertips came away bloody. Rolling onto his back, he choked. The Lady was looming over him, one of her hands dripping with his blood as she pinned him down with a foot on his chest.

“It seems only fair to me, mortal, that I give you some chance to win back my good graces. Therefore, you shall complete a task for me, or else I will take your life as compensation for your disrespect.” The Lady of Summer announced with a wave of her hand. Virgil looked to the side, wincing as the cuts in his cheek dug into the gravel, and watched in surprise as a pile of mixed grains appeared nearby.

“You will sort this mass and disarray of seeds - wheat, barley, millet, poppy, chickpea, and lentil - into individual piles. I will know if a single grain lays with the wrong group. You have until this evening.” With that, the Lady of Summer kicked off his ribs and spun her skirts, vanishing into thin air with a flourish and leaving only the heady scent of roses as a sign of her presence.

Virgil lay on the ground in silence for a long time after she disappeared, barely daring to breathe. When he was finally able to bring himself to move, he slowly rolled onto his hands and knees, hissing at the pain in his ribs - definitely bruised. Crawling over to the pile of seeds, he reached a hand out but hesitated before he could touch the tiny grains. How the fuck was he supposed to sort these? He could hardly begin to tell them apart! Sitting back on his ass, Virgil dropped his face into his hands and burst into tears.

Then, he heard a high-pitched giggle.

Flitting to-and-fro above him were four - five - eight, no - seven? Seven little pixies were spinning, twirling, dancing through the air above him. Their bright, insect-like wings caught the sunlight and sent out flashes of colour like a rainbow in motion. One-by-one they drifted to the ground, settling in a half circle in front of Virgil and his miserable collection of seeds. They stood only several inches tall and were dressed in leaves and petals. A pair stepped forward in front of the rest; they were holding hands.

“Hello, hello!” The one on the right chirped, waving up with his free hand. He had gorgeous light blue butterfly wings that fluttered when he spoke. “We heard you crying and came to see, to see! What happened here, here?”

Virgil sniffled, wiping away his tears and snot on his sleeve. “Well, um,” he hiccupped and took a deep breath. “It’s the Lady of the Summer Court. She wants me to sort all of these seeds by type before tonight, but I have no idea how I’m going to do that so she’s definitely going to kill me!” He slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle a sob, tears running down his face.

“Easy now,” a new voice murmured as two little hands pressed against his knee. Virgil blinked his eyes open to see the second pixie - this one with veiny wings like a beetle’s - rubbing his leg soothingly. “You need to take slow, deep breaths to calm yourself.”

Virgil nodded and attempted to follow suit, counting to four on each inhale and exhale until the tears had slowed and he was able to relax somewhat to continue the conversation. “Th-thank you, um, what are your names?”

“You can call me Pat, Pat!” The first pixie announced twirling himself up into the air and drifting back down again.

“Ah, so you are quite new around here,” the second pixie mused, keeping his hands on Virgil’s leg. “You may call me Lo. Names have great power to the fae and it is imperative that you do not give yours away lightly, else someone may have complete control over your will.”

“But the Lady of the Summer Court already knows my name, and so did Jan- her son.”

“At any point did you give it to them, though?”

Virgil thought back over the last few weeks. “No… no, they both just, sorta, knew it somehow. Oh, uh, I guess you can call me Vee, then?”

Lo nodded. “Then it is likely they only heard your name somewhere, but they do not own it. Do you understand? They can exert some measure of power over you, but they cannot remove your free will entirely. Now then. Why is it the Lady wants you dead?” The pixie offered a small smile, nodding his head as Virgil explained how he got into this situation, that he knew Janus (though he referred to him as Jay), and why he wasn’t with the other fae anymore. When he finished, it was Pat who puffed up angrily.

“The Lady has gone too far, too far! You didn’t mean to make those people leave, leave! And it sounds like you didn’t actually make a binding promise, so Jay is acting a bit silly, bit silly. So, we’re gonna help you sort these seeds, and get everything cleared up, up!”

Logan nodded in agreement. “Indeed. Pat, you stay here with the others to aid Vee. I am going to go have a word with our feathered friend.” With that, Lo leaned in, kissed Pat’s cheek, and flew off down the mountainside.

Virgil watched the glint of Lo’s wings until he was out of sight, then turned back to the remaining pixies to watch as their quick, tiny hands got to work on the grains. “So… how do you know Jay?

Pat grinned widely up at him. “Jay is one of the Princes of Spring, Spring!” He works with love magic, and helped Lo and I get together decades ago in exchange for our help weaving that pretty gate in front of his palace, his palace!”

While they continued to converse, the pixies worked away at the seeds to form six unique piles, sorted from darkest to lightest. Before long, the entire jumbled mass had been reorganized without a single seed out of place. Once their job was complete, the five other pixies twittered their goodbyes and flew off up the mountain. Only Pat remained, sitting on his knee and chattering away as the sun set. Virgil shivered as a chill breeze licked at his exposed skin.

A sudden snap rent the night air, spooking Virgil, who lurched forward to cradle Pat in his hands protectively. Looking over his shoulder, he felt like vomiting when he saw the Lady of Summer standing over the grain piles with her arms crossed. He internally thanked any of the spirits who may be on his side that her chest was covered this time.

“This is not your work,” she hissed. “These were not organized by your hand, but by his!” She pointed an accusing finger at Pat, who had been peeking around Virgil’s arm but quickly hid back against his chest at the attention. “How dare you attempt to deceive me, you cretin!”

With a wordless shriek, the Lady lashed out with her vicious claws, aiming for the unmarked side of Virgil’s face. He scrambled back on his hands and heels, his ass dragging on the ground while Pat clung to the front of his shirt. Before she could take a second swipe, however, the dust and grit kicked up around them, obscuring their vision.

With his eyes covered, Virgil could only hear the flapping of large wings that cut off before there was the thud of a body dropping in front of him. Opening his eyes, he gasped. There, with his back to Virgil, stood Janus, with his great wings spread wide and his claws flexed at his sides. Lo, who had been holding onto the fae’s shoulder, now zipped down to the pair on the ground, holding Pat close and ensuring he was unharmed while the pixies huddled together on Virgil’s lap.

“You will not lay another hand on him,” Janus hissed, standing over Virgil protectively. Virgil felt Pat grip his thumb, but he couldn’t look away from the pair above them.

“What are you doing? Get out of the way, my son.”

“No. You wanted your revenge on him, and you got it. Look at him; he’s terrified, injured, and exhausted. The original disrespect against you was not even intentionally caused by him; it was the doing of numerous others. I do not fault you for your affront, but you are carrying on like a tantruming toddler!”

The Lady of Summer took a step back and clutched at her bosom. “You dare to speak to me like that?”

“I do, and so does the rest of the Seelie Court.” Virgil watched as Janus rolled his shoulders back and stood straighter. The Prince of Spring then reached into a bag tied at his hip and pulled out some sort of wooden charm dangling from a hemp rope. At the sight of it the Lady of Summer gasped and covered her mouth. “I have spoken before the Queen and her retinue, and she has decreed you will leave this mortal alone. In exchange, he will return to his town and gather a proper celebration for you by the end of this month.”

Virgil held his breath, not daring to twitch a muscle as he awaited his fate. The Lady of Summer let nothing show in her expression, but the hard lines of her face had softened attractively as Janus spoke. She shifted, looking over Janus shoulder and directly at Virgil. “You. You will do as this deal demands?”

Nodding rapidly, Virgil held up his hand in oath. “I will, I promise. I’ll go back home and speak with the curator of the Spirit’s Temple. We’ll host another festival and you’ll get the offerings you were supposed to be given at the start of the month.”

As if a switch had been flipped, the Lady of the Summer Court beamed a smile and grasped her hands over her heart. “Well then! That wasn’t so hard, was it! My dear, smart son, finding a way to set things right. I’m so proud of you, my little songbird.” Looking at her son, she cooed and cupped Janus’ cheek to tilt him up to kiss his forehead, smiling at his grumbling. “I won’t linger much longer, don’t you worry. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of my future son-in-law after all! I’ll see you soon, Virgil, dear,” she called, a cool edge to her voice for a moment before she smiled brightly once more and waggled her fingers. With a dramatic wave of her hands, the Lady of Summer vanished once more.

A quiet settled over the remaining quartet, broken by a tinny clearing of a throat. Lo stood in Virgil’s lap, tugging Pat up next to him. “I believe it is time for us to depart as well. I am relieved we were able to arrive in time to prevent any harm coming to you, Vee.” The pixie looked from Janus to Virgil and smiled. “Let us know when you are in the woods, we would enjoy visiting under more ideal circumstances. Farewell, for now.”

“Goodbye, Vee, Vee!”

In a flash, the pair of pixies flew off into the night, their hands held tight together. They flew loops and circles over the others before darting off in the direction the other pixies had traveled hours ago.

On the ground, Janus helped Virgil to his feet. He cooed in sympathy, tenderly touching the tips of his fingers beneath the angry red cuts on Virgil’s cheek. “I am so sorry for what she has done to you, darling. And I am even more sorry that my own actions drove you from the safety of my side. I was meant to protect you from unearned rage, but instead I subjected you to further punishment and drove you towards your would-be killer. If I hadn’t gotten here in time-” Janus exhaled heavily, his wings sagging behind him. “I am so sorry, Virgil.”

“I mean, I’m not gonna say it’s okay, because none of this has been okay, but, I guess I can understand where you were coming from. If I were as attractive as you, I’d also be worried about people taking advantage of me.” Virgil blushed and dragged his big toe through the dirt. “So, yeah, I forgive you, or whatever.” He looked up with a fire in his eyes and jabbed his finger into the center of Janus’ chest. “But don’t you ever do that again, you hear me?”

Janus hands cupped around his own, cradling it close. “I swear, to the end of my days, I will treat you with the dignity and respect you deserve, my dearest.”

Despite the tenderness of the gesture, Virgil was unmoved. “I mean it, Janus. If you want us to work out, then I can’t be afraid that you’re going to banish me from your home every time you get upset. It’s not a relationship if you’re going to treat me like I’m disposable. I’m worth more than that. If you want more reassurance, or something, on my promises, then we can work something out, but what you put me through was terrifying, and I can’t go through it again. I won’t.”

Janus sighed, holding Virgil’s hands up to his lips and resting there a moment before slowly gathering Virgil into his arms. His embrace was loose enough to break, if Virgil wanted. “I understand, darling, and I will never be able to apologize enough for what I have done. However, it is not my words you want, but my actions, and I will do whatever you desire of me in order to make it up to you.” He cupped Virgil’s uninjured cheek. “I want us to work, too.”

There was a long pause as Virgil searched Janus’ golden eyes for any signs of deception. When he found only an earnest honesty, Virgil allowed himself to be held closer. He wasn’t sure which of them moved next, but they came together as one, lips pressing softly at first before quickly gaining heat. Then he was spun and dipped down, laughing hard as he clung to Janus’ shoulders, the fae’s wings held aloft to keep them balanced.

Maybe ‘future husband’ didn’t sound so bad after all.

[blouisparadise]

Here are some amazing bottom Louis fics posted or completed during the month of August. We really hope you enjoy this list and that you give these fics a lot of love.

Happy reading!

1) Move Out | Explicit | 1525 words

Harry and Louis are moving in together, so they might as well make the most of Harry's apartment.

2) Take Off Your Business Suit | Explicit | 3082 words

“Yes, let me get another chair.” Louis said, leaning up off of the desk. He stood up but before he could leave the office to get another chair, Harry was grabbing his hand.

The words that came out of Harry’s mouth made Louis’ knees weak and heart beat quicken. “Just sit on my lap.” Harry said. Whatever he said afterwards didn’t make it into Louis’ ears as he was moving quickly over to Harry and placing himself on Harry’s lap.Louis would take anything Harry wanted to give him; hand touching, lap sitting, all of it.

Louis hadn't realized he was holding his breath until it came out in a quiet sigh. “Okay so th-this one will be slightly different right?” He asked as he pointed at the sheet of paper in front of him.

3) So Good, It's Making Me Drool | Explicit | 3364 words

He kept his back turned to Harry, whispering the few words he knew that would make Harry go absolutely wild. “If I’m only yours, maybe you should take me to bed and teach me who I belong to.”

4) What I Like | Explicit | 4245 words

Note: This fic has mentions of BH.

Harry gets tired of the "older women" jokes and the incessant teasing from Louis.

5) ll Belong To Your Creation | General Audiences | 4349words

Louis had always thought it was impossible to do so. Thankfully, upon doing research he learned that he still can as long as there are no complications throughout the whole pregnancy. He also stumble upon a birth vlog where a mum was able to give birth naturally even after going through c-section with her first and second pregnancy.

6) An Axolotl and the Fake Date | Explicit | 5976 words

Harry runs a stall at a farmers market every weekend and Louis comes by one day with an odd request.

7) Feels So Right | Explicit | 8804 words

The one where Louis is Troy, Harry is Gabriella, and we find out what really happened after karaoke at that ski resort...

8) Giallo! | Mature | 9776 words

Louis was a mess. A stuttery mess of weak knees and grass stains on his fresh linen clothes, his cheeks blooming a natural pink that matched his sunburnt nose. Upon his return from University, his family abandon the bustling city of London to bask in the comfort of their summer villa. With such a property came maintenance, Louis' father hired a strapping young fellow with tanned skin littered with ink and a charming smile aided by dimples in both his cheeks. Between reading, baking and painting, Louis stares at Harry, he couldn't help it. They grow close under the sun of Greece in 1989.

9) Interlude: One Night in March | Explicit | 10671 words

Note: This is a sequel to this fic.

“Said I would, didn’t I?” Harry let his hands roam over Louis’s bare back, his muscles rippling with that same frenetic energy he always had, swirling just beneath the skin, just beneath Harry’s fingers. “May come a time I’ll have to carry you again.”

Cupping the back of his head and burying his fingers in Louis’s hair, he pulled Louis back into another deep kiss, moaned a bit when Louis squeezed his chest again, harder this time, like he wanted the shirt off. But instead he drew his hand down Harry’s side and tugged at the hem, as though to say best keep this on, before he licked into Harry’s mouth, drew Harry’s tongue out to play only to pull back enough to speak.

“May come a time I’ll actually fucking let you.”

10) Hate To Smoke (Without Me) | Mature | 12164 words

Sleep. Harry just wants one good night of sleep. However, his neighbour has a thing for headboard-banging-against-the-wall-sex every night. After a secret set-up and a bet, Harry may finally get the sleep he so much desires.

11) Call You Mine | Explicit | 12755 words

“I have a request.”

That’s what Louis Tomlinson says to Harry when he opens the front door a bit too aggressively. The latter feels justified after a round of annoyingly incessant knocking that was much too loud in the drowsy sludge of early Saturday morning.

“Zayn’s asleep,” is Harry’s tired, hoarse reply, irritation prickling at his skin. Less than a minute ago he was in bed, feeling perfectly content sprawled out on the mattress with the chilled air from the fan cool against his bare skin. And now he’s leaning up against the wooden door frame in nothing but his briefs because Zayn’s best mate decided that showing up unannounced at seven in the fucking morning was a brilliant idea.

“I’m not here for him,” says Louis curtly.

12) A Vivid And Wistful Melody | Explicit | 13128 words

"Slowly, he takes his violin out of its case, listens for a few more minutes to Louis’ flute, before joining him as best as he could. The flute stops for a few seconds, and Harry imagines Louis blinking cutely, taken aback, before huffing with a smile, and starting to play again, on a suddenly far happier tune. Harry closes his eyes as he twirls around the living room, violin in hand and music filling the air. He pictures Louis doing the same in his own flat while being careful as to not step on his cat.

Somehow, even with heavy eyes and tired limbs, this is the happiest Harry has ever felt in years."

In which they are neighbours stuck at home and they happen to start talking through a wall with a piano, a violin, and a flute. They end up writing the soundtrack of their own love story.

13) Until This Blood Runs Cold | Explicit | 13685 words

In a town as small as Louis’, everybody knows everybody and gossip spreads faster than the wildfires that rage on just outside their backdoors in the sweltering heat of summer. When something happens here everyone knows about it within seconds. Neighbors call neighbors and notes are left on doorsteps, old telephone lines ringing until there isn’t a single person who is left in the unknown.

So it’s definitely hot gossip when a vampire moves in across the street from him, the very same one who’s just become Louis’ boss.

14) A Road To Hope | Explicit | 18280 words

Note: There is no explicit smut but its implied BL.

“We’re far from the people and their issues, don’t hold back. Please.”

It’s true. They are far away from anything that could stop them, the middle of nowhere being the safest place on Earth for them to fall in love. The sacred land where sacred love is created. However, Louis is certain that even if they weren’t safe, he wouldn’t resist the sight of Harry, his pleading eyes, his warm skin beneath his touch.

15) Your Eyes Of Blue, Your Kisses Too | Explicit | 21785 words

When they get out onto the streets away from the crowds Niall turns to walk backwards, “So did you get any leads?”

“Well- uh.”

Niall shakes his head, “Too busy kissing that pretty boy onstage, I see. Gonna blow the whole case for a piece of ass?”

16) Thinking About Peaches | Explicit | 23724 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic, which is #18 on this list.

Eight smutty drabbles following the events of bruise you like a peach.

17) Quiet People Have the Loudest Minds | Mature | 38065 words

Broadway shows were one of the few things that could keep Louis’ attention for a full two hours without needing to move about. But not tonight.

The alpha next to him was both infuriating him and practically turning him on at the same time. He needed to leave. The alpha, that is. Louis was staying.

18) Bruise You Like A Peach | Explicit | 40694 words

Note: The sequel to this fic is #16 on this list. 

There’s two reasons Harry despises Econ.

The first is that it’s boring as fuck. The second reason is a bit more personal, a bit more focused in a way. As in it’s focused on one specific thing, or in his case, person.

His name is Louis Tomlinson.

19) Falling Out Of Fashion | Explicit | 42123 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Harry Styles has been the established face of the Grimshaw House of Design for two years. It’s a prestigious and coveted modeling contract Harry took away from once-famed supermodel Zayn Malik. With the model transition Grimshaw’s designs went from a more urban, Zayn-forward aesthetic, to a Harry-favoring flowery, flowing femininity in the Grimshaw designs for men.

So when Harry sees a dress Grimshaw made for a famous Marvel actress, “only a tease”, Nick says, of the evolving look, Harry knows Grimshaw is shifting his aesthetic.

Harry wonders if he can pull off the look.

Or could Grimshaw be looking for a new face?

20) Secretly Dating | Mature | 43615 words

Lottie groaned, looming over Louis with a glare. “If we’re late, Mum and Dad will never let Harry see me – ie. see you.”

It was the first time they openly addressed the fact that Harry saw more of Louis than Lottie on their supposed ‘dates.’ He supposed he knew as much, but it still startled him. “You’ve been setting us up!”

Lottie snorted, cocking out her hip and brushing her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Honestly, Harry. You’re so dense. To be fair, it was at Louis’ request.”

Louis’ mouth gaped like a fish as he jumped to standing position, wobbling only slightly. “Don’t sell me out!”

Lottie rolled her eyes. “Come on lovebirds.”

21) You’ve Got My Devotion (Hate You Sometimes) | Mature | 95417 words

Harry was in the biggest boy band in the world. He was also one half of the best (or worst, depends on who you ask) kept secret relationship in the music industry.

Now, almost five years on, after One Direction has broken up, and Harry and Louis' relationship has as well, a video threatens to put everything at risk.

One determined Irishman, a massive publicity stunt and two begrudging exes are all it takes to bring One Direction back to life and maybe, just maybe, Harry and Louis' mangled love life too.

22) The Healing Song | Mature | 111851 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Louis was carrying the large stuffed elephant like it was a baby, it’s trunk hanging over his shoulder and down his back and it’s front legs were resting around his neck, like it was hugging him. Said elephant was a present from Louis’ close friend Steve, who had thought Louis needed something to hug on bad days and had gifted him with a stuffed elephant the size of a one year old.

Steve had been right. Some days Louis did need something to hug, and this elephant was as good as anything.

Louis was having one of the rougher days. The harmonious state of the anxiety free life of a fearless Louis had ended the week after he met with Harry. It ended as abruptly as it had started. It was like pushing a button. Lights out. Almost as if the universe said “You’ve had your fun, crazy one, now go be sick” and slammed the door in his face.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

[evienyx]

DSMP Citizens POV 6: The Greater SMP Shoemaker

No dsmpsona this time, but actually inspired by a tag from a reblog of the first of these POVs, which gave the idea of a citizen who has a crush on one of the main cast. I went really into it with this one, but I hope you enjoy, nonetheless.

- - -

DSMP Citizen POV Masterlist

- - -

In a land of creation and destruction, of magic and myth, there were a surprising lack of places where one could get good clothes. The Dream SMP server didn't have the sort of large shopping complexes that servers like Hypixel did. Smaller businesses were built up, and even then they would mostly focus on actual clothing. There wasn't really many places for someone to buy shoes.

That was where the Greater SMP Shoemaker came in.

The Shoemaker, Reese, to those who were closest with them, had moved to the server after the L'Manburg Revolution, about a week before the election, and they had quickly seen an opportunity.

"You're gonna make shoes?" Their friend, a resident of L'Manburg and the one who had given them the idea to move here in the first place, asked, sounding rather skeptical.

"Indeed I am," the Shoemaker confirmed.

"Where? L'Manburg?"

"Already a shoe shop there. No, I'm gonna be making mine in the Greater SMP," the Shoemaker said.

Their friend raised an eyebrow and snorted. "Good luck with the politics, Reese. The king over there was just put in by Dream. At least we're having an election."

Then, a week later, the election ended in a near-dictatorship and a fledgling rebellion, and the Shoemaker was perfectly happy as their request for a plot of land was confirmed and they set to work building up their shop.

Two weeks later, their friend in L'Manburg was gone, joining up with Pogtopia and complaining about raised taxes all the while, and Reese opened their doors to the public for the first time, the advertisements for their shop having been hung around the day before.

Business picked up quickly, and it worked out well. No one wanted to go into (L')Manburg at the moment, what with President Schlatt declaring himself Emperor, and the L'Manburg Shoe Shop had closed already anyway as the workers ran off to join the rebellion as well.

The Shoemaker went through their days enjoying what they were doing, creating shoes from materials that they bought from nearby businesses or that they found themself, waiting until they heard the chime of the bell at the door signaling a customer.

About a month after they opened, just after the execution of a teenager, the bell rang out through the shop, and Reese stood from where they sat sketching out a new shoe design in the back room to enter the main part of the shop.

"Welcome to the Greater SMP Shoe Shop," they said, wiping their hands on a towel to get paint off. "How may I help you?"

The Shoemaker looked up and froze as their eyes landed on King Eret, the monarch in charge of the Greater SMP.

"Your Majesty," Reese managed to say, bowing their head in respect. "My apologies. I... didn't know you were coming, today."

King Eret smiled, her teeth sparkling in the light flowing from the window, rays of sun dancing across her sunglasses. "No need to apologize," he said. "I tend to drop in quite unannounced. I suppose I should be the one apologizing to you. I simply had heard that you opened recently, and I wanted to come check it out."

Reese's face was slightly warm as they stammered out, "Well, uh, welcome to the Greater SMP Shoe Shop. Feel free to browse around, and if you have any questions go right ahead and ask 'em."

King Eret nodded and stepped farther into the shop, their cloak billowing around them. The Shoemaker did their very best to keep their eyes firmly on anything but the monarch slowly making his way through their humble store.

They managed to engross themself in a book they had stuffed under the counter a few days ago, one that a friend of theirs had gifted them, and were halfway through the first chapter when King Eret's voice shook them from their stupor.

"Do you custom orders?" She asked, turning her head to face the Shoemaker. Reese was sure that, behind the sunglasses, the king's gaze was right on them. After a moment, they nodded.

"I do. It's an extra fee, of course, but I've custom-made quite a few pairs of shoes."

King Eret grinned. "Cool. How would I go about ordering those?"

"Uh..." The Shoemaker ducked down and grabbed a notebook from under the counter. "We'd need to make an appointment. I already have one scheduled for today, and I only do one per day, but I'm sure I can call them and ask them to move-"

"No, no, it's all right," King Eret said, waving their hand. "I can wait. When's the next available spot?"

"In three days. We could do around noon? I'm normally rather slow at that time."

"Noon in three days' time, got it," King Eret said. He moved toward the door. As her hand landed on the doorknob, she turned her head to offer another smile. "Thank you. Have a good day, Shoemaker." Then, without another word, they opened the door, stepped outside, and were gone.

Reese realized twenty minutes later as they were sitting their customer down for the scheduled fitting that their face was still warm.

King Eret returned a few minutes before noon three days after the Shoemaker had last seen him.

"Apologies for being early," the monarch said, this time accompanied by two guards on either side. "I thought it better than being late."

Reese nodded, feeling the heat rising in their face again. "Come in, come in."

King Eret waved a hand and the guards stationed themselves outside of the door, standing at the ready. The Shoemaker held the door open for the king, who stepped inside with so much grace that Reese wondered if the monarch was simply floating.

"Right this way, your grace." Reese led King Eret into the back room, their hands shaking just a bit as they pulled back a chair that they had specifically purchased from a carpenter the day before in order to have a nice, new, cushioned one ready for the leader of the Greater SMP. "Have a seat."

King Eret swept down into the seat, their ankles crossed and hands folded on their lap. The Shoemaker bit their tongue, grabbed their measuring tools, slipped on their glasses, and tried their very best not to think about how goddamn pretty the king was.

A few minutes passed, Reese falling into a stupor as they did the measurements the same way that they did every day.

"You're very good at this," King Eret said, shocking the Shoemaker from their daze. "How long have you been doing this?"

"Uh..." Reese pushed their glasses up their nose. "About thirteen years. I learned when I was a kid."

The king hummed. "Why did you learn?"

The Greater SMP Shoemaker stilled for a moment before they said, "My father was a shoemaker. With him gone, I... I learned so that I could be closer to him."

King Eret was silent, a few seconds passing, before he asked, "Did something happen to him, if you don't mind me asking?"

Reese felt their eyes stinging, and their hands stopped moving. They blinked, and a tissue was hanging in front of their face.

"I'm sorry," King Eret said, her hand offering the tissue to them. "I didn't mean to pry. I've... never been the best with talking to people."

Reese took the tissue, wiped their eyes, and swallowed hard. "No need to apologize, your Majesty. I can tell you if you wish to know-"

A finger was held to their lips and they choked on their words. "No, of course not. I would never ask you to share something that you are so clearly uncomfortable with." King Eret furrowed his brow. "What's your name? I never caught it."

The Shoemaker wet their lips before saying, "I'm Reese, your grace."

"Nice to meet you, Reese," the king said, a smile quirking on their lips. "My name is Eret, though I suppose you already knew that."

A laugh bubbled out from the Greater SMP Shoemaker's throat and they nodded, spinning around in their chair to reach over to the notebook lying open on the table and jot a number down.

The shoes that the king requested, custom-made ;leather boots with heels so tall that Reese didn't even think that they themself would be able to stand up in them even if they tried, had to be sketched out before anything further than measurements could begin, as the Shoemaker had absolutely nothing to go off of.

"The design should be ready within the week," Reese said, standing up with the king as the appointment finished. "I can send them to the palace for you, if you'd like?"

King Eret shook their head. "I can come in to see them, if you'd be available, then? It would be easier for the both of us, I'm sure."

The Shoemaker stilled before nodding quickly. "Of course, your grace. Whatever is best for you."

The king smiled, but she cocked an eyebrow. Still, he didn't elaborate on whatever it was that he was clearly thinking, and so Reese did not question it.

As the week passed, the Shoemaker found themself often drifting off in thought, ticking off the days until their next scheduled meeting with the king.

"Holy shit," King Eret said, a grin that looked involuntary on his face. They adjusted the sunglasses that rested over their eyes as they leaned over the counter to admire the designs that Reese had sketched out. "These are incredible." The king looked up at the Shoemaker and asked, "Why did you make more than one?"

Reese, their face tingling, shrugged vaguely. "Uh, options?"

King Eret laughed, the sound deep and swelling, echoing around the room. "Well, either way, you're very talented. These are all beautiful."

The Shoemaker was sure that their face was a brighter red than crimson forests of the nether. "Thank...Thank you, your grace. That means... far more than you could know."

"Of course, Shoemaker Reese," King Eret said. "I've told enough lies in my life. No reason to do so now."

It took Reese just under two weeks to finish the boots. They worked on them during their free time in the day, and then toiled on them into the night as well.

"You can take a break, you know," one of their friends said one day during a visit. Their friend sat on an armchair while Reese continued to work on the left boot.

"This is for the king," the Shoemaker replied, reaching over to the table to grab a pair of scissors. "They have to be perfect and on time."

"If there's anything that I've learned from living on this server since before King Eret was put on the throne," their friend said, "It is that they are cool. Things will be fine if you're a little bit late, I'm sure the king won't mind."

"They won't," Reese said. "They're... very nice."

Their friend was quiet for a moment before saying, a lilt of amusement in her voice, "Oh, Prime, you like them, don't you?"

The Shoemaker felt their heart skip a beat, their face burning as they turned to their friend. "No!"

Their friend laughed, bright and tinkling, throwing her head back and grinning widely at the ceiling. "Holy shit, you do! You have a crush on the king!"

The Shoemaker shoved their face in their hands as the laughter somehow got even louder.

As soon as the boots were finished, Reese sent notice to the palace. They were preparing to send them once they were given guidelines on how to do so. However, they never got the chance to, as the next day, the bell over the door chimed and the Shoemaker looked up to see a gleaming crown and shiny sunglasses.

"Your Majesty!" the Greater SMP Shoemaker exclaimed, their cheeks warming just a bit. They pretended that they could attribute that to the heatwave currently sweeping through the nation. "I didn't know that you would be coming!"

King Eret smiled and gave a nod. "I wanted to pick up the shoes myself. You worked so hard on them, I thought you might like the chance to present them yourself."

Reese's mouth was dry and their heart was pounding. "Thank you, your grace. I'll get them from the back."

As they moved to the back room, Reese felt sweat beading on their face. They pushed up their glasses as the frames began to slip down the bridge of their nose.

The Shoemaker carefully picked up the package that they had put the boots into for safe-keeping. They walked back to the front counter and placed the package down. It hadn't been sealed, and so they easily opened the box and slid it gently toward the king.

King Eret carefully pulled the boots out of the package, setting them on the counter in front of the two of them. The boots, Reese had to admit, were some of their better work. The black leather was polished to the point that it gleamed, and each edge was clean-cut and sharp.

The king ran a hand through her hair, running her hand along one of the boots, as if marveling at how smooth it was. "How did you make these?" He looked up at the Shoemaker, and, despite the sunglasses, they were sure that his eyes were wide. "You did this all by yourself?"

Reese nodded, blood rushing past their ears. "I did. I make all these by myself."

King Eret laughed, sounding a bit in awe. "I knew that, but seeing it... knowing that you took the measurements and made the designs and then made these... It makes it so much more real, and that's so, so incredible." The king looked up at the Shoemaker. "You're incredible, Shoemaker Reese."

Through their pounding heart and burning cheeks, Reese managed to stammer out, "Thank you, your Majesty. You're far too kind."

"I don't believe so," King Eret said, their jaw still dropped as they admired the boots. "You might be one of the most talented and dedicated people I've ever met, Shoemaker Reese."

For some reason, despite the fact that they thought it was utterly crazy to do so, the Shoemaker said, "Just Reese, please, your Majesty."

This time, they were the one who had stopped the king in their tracks. King Eret was still for a moment, and they were sure that her eyes were on them, but then her mouth morphed into a beaming smile. "Reese it is, then."

There was a pause and King Eret parted his lips to speak again, but suddenly, outside of the door, Reese watched as the two guards that the king had brought with him dropped to the ground. Both of their bodies shimmered before disappearing, reclaimed by the server, and the Shoemaker realized with a start that something had killed them.

Reese's eyes landed on something thin and sharp sailing toward their front window, and they wasted no time in vaulting over the counter to tackle the king to the ground just as the window shattered. Right where King Eret had been standing, an arrow was embedded in the wood.

"What the-"

The Shoemaker grabbed the king, helped them up, and pulled them around the counter before they both ducked as another arrow sailed into the shop, sticking in the wall.

"We have you surrounded!" A voice sounded from outside. Reese watched out of the corner of their eye as the king whipped his communicator out and tapped out multiple messages. "Release King Eret into our custody or we'll burn your shop to the ground."

Reese blanched at the thought, but grabbed the king by the wrist as she went to stand. "Don't you dare," the Shoemaker hissed.

"I have all three of my lives left," King Eret said. "This shop is everything to you."

"It is not," Reese shot back, "But either way, you're the king. They could kidnap you, forcefully change your respawn point, and then kill you three times over with ease. Then what? The Greater SMP has no leader, there is no heir, and you're dead."

King Eret's throat bobbed, but they nodded. "Then what do we do?"

The Shoemaker asked, "You messaged your guards?" The king nodded and Reese sighed. "Then we wait."

Unfortunately, they couldn't wait it out for long enough.

"You have one more chance!"

Reese held tight and fast to the king's wrist to keep her from standing and sacrificing herself to save their shop that could be rebuilt, just like half the other buildings on the server were during the dozens of wars that broke out.

"Fine, have it your way!"

The Shoemaker grabbed King Eret and yanked him into the back room as soon as they heard the plume of fire being lit.

"I'm sure they have the building surrounded," Reese said, "But at least we can try to avoid the smoke in here until help arrives."

King Eret grabbed their communicator, scrolling through messages that were popping up. "There've been delays. Apparently, these guys planted multiple different batches of TNT around the nation and are threatening to detonate if anyone attempts to intervene." The king swallowed. "I don't want any of my people getting hurt."

Reese's shoulders tensed. "All right, so we figure out our own way out while your guys deal with that."

"How do you propose we do that?"

The Shoemaker couldn't help it: They grinned. "There's something else that I got from my father other than just shoemaking."

Being a phantom hybrid was irritating, sometimes. Reese burned a lot more easily in the sun, and they had to constantly make sure that they were wearing their pairs of glasses enchanted with glamour rather than their regular sets to make sure to keep their eyes concealed. The bright green color of phantoms that would shine in their right eye, other than just disturbing people, would always be rather annoying for the Shoemaker, forcing them to see the arteries and veins running through a person's body, their heart beating in their chest and their brain resting in their skull, even through walls and barricades. Now, though, they whipped their glasses off, ignoring the way that their vision blurred as abruptly everything was tinted with a soft green, save for the organs of the men surrounding the house, which, through the walls, Reese could see clearly.

"There's the fewest over by the window out of my bedroom," Reese said finally. "Only two, and no more in sight line. If we can take them down quietly, then we should be able to get out."

The room was heating up. The glow of the fire flooded under the door.

"Let's go."

As they led King Eret through the house, the monarch asked behind them, "You're a hybrid?" Honestly, it wasn't much of a question.

The Shoemaker nodded. "Phantom. I can... Basically, I can see where they are through the walls. That's all that's important at the moment."

They reached the window, shielded by curtains, and ducked down.

"They're both to the left," Reese said. "I don't know how to take one down without ending up caught by the other, though."

There was a beat of silence before King Eret asked, "Do you have a knife?"

Reese, who did keep one in their bedside drawer, handed it to the king. Abruptly, she slashed it over her arm.

"What are you doing?!" The Shoemaker exclaimed, grabbing their bedsheet to wrap it around the wound.

"Don't touch it!" King Eret said sharply as Reese reached out. They froze and watched as the monarch stood up and moved toward the window. "The left, you said." The men were still there, so they nodded. King Eret peeked out of the curtain, opened the window quietly, and then flicked blood from the arm that they'd sliced onto the two men.

There were muffled noises of pain and then the outlines of the men disappeared.

"Wither hybrid," King Eret explained as he beckoned the Shoemaker, who asked nothing more of the matter, over. Reese ducked under their bed, pulled out the bag stuffed with their valuables that they always kept there just in case, and then straightened up and nodded to the king. The two hopped out of the window, glanced around, and then ran for the tree cover nearby.

They met up with a group of soldiers from the Greater SMP forces, and King Eret was escorted back to the palace as Reese was held in safe custody until the threat around their store was dealt with.

Well, what used to be their store. It was burnt to a crisp, all blackened wood and broken dreams. The shoes were all ruined, their furniture was ashes. The boots were cinders. That was probably what hurt the most.

Reese toed at what remained of the counter and watched as it crumbled to dust. They coughed and made a face. Why did things in this server burn so easily?

"I'm so sorry."

The Shoemaker turned to see King Eret standing in front of their burnt storefront, about ten guards standing at intervals behind him.

"This never would have happened were it not for me," the king continued. She pressed her sunglasses against her face a bit more and frowned as she surveyed the damage.

"It's not your fault," Reese was quick to assure. "Neither of us could've known this would happen."

King Eret shrugged. "Still." There was a beat of silence before the king asked, "What will you do now?"

Reese sighed. "I don't know. Rebuild, though it'll take awhile to make enough shoes to constitute a shop again. Stay with a friend until then, I guess."

King Eret shifted and the Shoemaker wondered if they were crazy for thinking that the monarch looked nervous.

"I was actually wondering... Would you like to stay in the palace, until you can reopen your shop?"

Reese blinked. "What?"

The king cracked a smile. "I have many extra rooms. Citizens have stayed in them before, though often not for very long. It wouldn't be any hassle. It's the least I could do to repay you, afterall."

The Shoemaker took in a shaky breath as soon as they remembered how to breathe, their face burning brighter than the fire that had destroyed their store. "Of course. I would love to."

King Eret's smile widened into a grin. "Wonderful. I'm happy to have you, Shoemaker Reese."

"Just Reese, your Majesty. I thought we went over that."

"Reese it is," King Eret conceded. "On one condition."

"Which is?"

"You call me Eret. No more of this 'king' or 'your grace' shit. Just Eret."

Reese sputtered. "Your Majesty, that's... I can't... You're the king."

"Yes," King Eret nodded, "But none of my friends call me 'King Eret.'"

The Shoemaker blinked. "We're friends?"

The king's cheeks darkened now. "I would say so."

Reese swallowed down the lump in their throat and said, "All right. Eret."

The smile that the king gave probably could have lit up the whole throne room.

(That evening, as the Shoemaker lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, they wondered what in the world was going on.

King Eret had talked with them all the way back, their conversations light and airy, easy as they had somehow been while they were surrounded by assassins, and Reese had found themself laughing far too much and far too genuinely.

They groaned and buried their face in the silken pillow beneath them and tried not to think of their friend, teasing them about a crush that they would never admit they had and yet most definitely, without a doubt, had.

Their cheeks warm and bright, the Greater SMP Shoemaker tried to pretend that things were normal as they fell asleep in the royal palace for the first of many nights.)

[agntofhydra]

Sawbones

summary: Red String of Fate Soulmate AU 

Soul mates have a red thread tied to each others pinkies that only one of them can see. 

You're the Resistance's head medic. You can see the red thread of fate that leads you to your soulmate. Poe doesn't believe in the soulmate / thread theory. You don't agree with his tactics, nor does he approve of yours. Leia and Holdo just really want a win. 

pairing: poe dameron x reader

rating: mature for later chapters

read me on ao3!

SAWBONES

ONE // TANGIBLE

You’d never given much thought to it, too many other obligations and priorities took precedence over where exactly that small, red thread tied around your pinky led. 

When you weren’t completely swamped, however, you’d like to see how far your eyes could follow the trail until it seemed to fade, yet still pulled taught by whomever was on the other end. You’d find yourself atop one of the many hills in D’Qar, wishing it was tangible, wishing you could actually pluck and feel the twang of the vibrations across the string. Maybe they could feel it too, wherever they were. They could be anywhere. The galaxy was infinite, and it was slim that people ever discovered their soulmate. Only one could see it, the other one blind until they had developed feelings for the other. 

A mechanical whir knocked you out from inside your head. A meddroid was standing to your left, waiting for you to take the chart from its grasp. 

“Sorry, FX-7,” you grabbed the stack of papers. 

“Engineer Jasti almost blew their left upper appendage off due to a malfunction in the blaster cannon of the x-wing they were working on,” FX-7 informed you. 

You blinked at the droid. Left arm, you thought. Just say left arm. 

“Bed 5,” the droid finished, walking away. 

Flipping through the pages, though you really didn’t have to because Jasti - along with several other engineers - frequented your medbay. You sighed as you pulled back the curtain. 

“Again?” 

Jasti shrugged. “Blame Dameron. He’s the one who puts these x-wings through hell.” 

You rolled your eyes, checking over the bandaging FX-7 had applied. Satisfied, you gave Jasti a bacta-shot just for good measure. She yelped and you threw the needle in the bin. 

“I’ve had words with General Organa. Is he scouting for First Order intel or is he just taking them out for the fun of it?” 

A snort came from the bed behind you, and you threw back the curtain. Laying in the bed with an arm over his eyes was Yolo Ziff, a pilot in Blue Squadron. Confused, you flipped through the pages in your hand, wondering why you hadn’t seen his name come up. 

“Snuck in here for a few seconds of peace, Doc,” he said, arm still over his eyes. “Dameron’s got us practicing escape maneuvers and barrel rolls until we run out of fuel. Even when I’m out of the seat I feel like I’m still piloting.” 

You audibly scoffed, handing him a small vial of blue liquid to quell his motion sickness. He took it gratefully as you dimmed the light above his bed. 

“The audacity this man has, to have his pilots coming to the med bay just to escape him.” you chewed the inside of your cheeks. “Doesn’t even check on them. I’ve never even met the guy.” 

“I’ve seen him maybe twice,” Jasti interrupted your rambling. “When he’s not in an x-wing, he’s in someone’s room. I think it’s Galen, that sweet holographer this week.” 

“That was the beginning of this week,” Ziff laughed. “She tried to soulmate trick him the other day. He got so pissed he took off into the hills with BB-8 and came back this morning.” 

“Soulmate trick?” You asked. 

“He can’t see the thread,” Ziff explained, arm now by his side and making eye contact with you. “Countless women have tried to convince him they can, and theirs leads to him. He doesn’t trust the concept anymore.”

“Can’t you see your thread, doc?” Jasti said quietly. 

You looked down at your right pinky, following the thread as it cut through the wall, leading to Maker knows where. The small action was an answer in itself and Ziff let out a low whistle. You don’t know how it got out amongst the Resistance base, and right now you wish you could slingshot whoever it came from into Dathomir.

“I’ve never met someone who could,” he said, now sitting up. “Can you just see yours or everyone else’s too?”

Uncomfortable with the topic, you had busied yourself with organizing the vials and beakers in the medicine cabinet between the two beds. 

“Just my own.” 

Both Ziff and Jasti seemed to deflate - just a little. 

“Do you know who yours is? Have you ever gotten close?” Jasti questioned. You locked the cabinet once you were finished and put both your hands in the pockets of your uniform. 

“It sort of disappears after a couple hundred meters…” you shrugged. “I’ve tried to see how long it goes for, but I think I’d need to be in somewhat close proximity to figure it out.”

“How close do you think?” 

“Same planet as least,” you reasoned. “Sometimes, I feel a vibration, a pluck from the string that makes me feel like whoever it is is near. I don’t investigate, though.” 

“Why not?” both Jasti and Ziff said in unison. 

“I’ve got my hands full with injured engineers and runaway pilots,” You replied, grabbing Ziff’s empty vial and tucking Jasti’s chart into the designated spot on the wall above her bed.

 “Get some rest. Both of you.” 

 ✗ ✗ ✗

 Vice Admiral Holdo regarded you with a small smile. Even through the hologram, she put you at ease. 

“I’m at about 35% of max occupancy,” you updated her, reading off your list you’d created only an hour ago with the help of FX-7. “Minor scrapes and injuries, nothing bacta and my steady hands can’t handle.” The corners of your mouth pulled upwards. 

“Thank you for being our most consistent asset, Doctor. Your work is truly invaluable.” 

“One thing, Vice Admiral,” you caught her before she signed off. “I have concerns about the quality of our x-wings and those piloting them. Do these constant missions hold any worth?” You almost winced at your bluntness. Of course, Organa, Ackbar and Holdo herself wouldn’t let Dameron and his squadron joy ride whenever they pleased. Yet, from what you’d heard of Poe Dameron, it seemed as though he could truly get away with whatever he wanted. 

Her soft smile remained. “I’m glad you’ve brought this up,” she began. “We’ve recently come into some intelligence that calls for the creation of a true operation. I would like for you to be in attendance, inform the squadron of any risks and avoidances they should be attuned to.” 

“I will, gladly. When?” 

Upon your response, Leia Organa appeared over Holdo’s shoulder. 

“Whenever you get here. I advise you to walk fast,” Leia said with a wicked smile. 

Shaking your head, the hologram disappeared and you quickly buttoned your medical coat, making sure you didn’t have any mystery stains on yourself before beginning the trek through the underground hallway into the meeting room. 

You could hear the murmur of voices amongst the team, and as you entered, you were met with a rather small gathering. A few faces you hadn’t recognized, along with a few pilots, and of course Admirals Ackbar, Organa and Holdo gathered around the central table. Although you had never actually laid your eyes on him, you knew the man who also occupied the table was the one who had been the talk around D’Qar for months.

Poe Dameron was truly as striking as he was described. His gaze was locked on the planet slowly spinning in the middle of the table until the whoosh of the doors slid open, announcing your entrance. His palms pressed to the table’s edge, he straightened when he saw you, dark eyes making your stomach churn.  The room quieted as you took your place to the left of Holdo, across the table from Poe. 

“You must be the Doctor,” he smiled. His teeth seemed to illuminate the room and you hesitated for a second. A small, split second.

“You’d be correct. And you are…” you trailed off, feigning ignorance. You knew that a man like Poe Dameron was never not known, and you thought he could be knocked down a peg or seven. 

“Poe Dameron,” his hands folded behind his back. “Black Squadron Leader. We haven’t had the pleasure,” he lifted an eyebrow. “Yet.”

“No, we haven’t,” you responded, disregarding his innuendo. “I have, however, met several of your pilots. I wish the circumstances weren’t in the environment of my medbay.” 

Poe furrowed his brow at that, and you stopped yourself from widening his eyes from the realization that he wasn’t aware of his pilots basically hiding from him by coming to her med bay, feigning illness or just needing a quiet place to rest. This either meant that Poe was completely oblivious to the fact that he was working his pilots too hard, or didn’t care and wasn’t too happy with the fact that they’d sought you out before or after flights. 

Some leader, you quipped in your head. 

“I’m glad you could join us on such short notice,” General Organa said with a knowing smile. You nodded politely and Ackbar increased the size of the holograms of information on the table so it was visible to the rest of the room. 

“Our flight squadrons have recovered intel on a possible smuggling ship floating within the orbit of Kessel,” Leia nodded her head towards the planet, the cynosure of the table. “It’s been in our knowledge for a while, and we’d received no information that it didn’t simply belong to a spice smuggler.” 

“Until now,” Poe chimed in. “It’s been stationary, in the orbit of Kessel for too long not to be something, our intel suggests it’s a storage unit or pit stop for the First Order.”

“How do we know it holds something valuable, of interest?” a technician asked. 

“Red squadron and I flew by it last week. No need for there to be sleeping TIE fighters guarding it. I’m assuming the TIE fighters were manned, but off so they didn’t show up on our radars.” 

The technician nodded. 

“So, we aren’t gonna try our hand at the Kessel run?” one pilot muttered to another behind her and she pursed her lips, trying not to let out a chuckle. Especially in Leia’s presence. In all actuality, she’d probably laugh too. 

“What’s your plan?” you asked, eyes locking with Poe’s. You fought to keep the air in your lungs. 

“I take Red and Blue Squadron, and we find out what’s on that ship.”

That wasn’t enough for you. “You take your best pilots, blasters hot - and if it backfires? If you’re met with First Order reinforcements, a Star Destroyer?” Poe narrowed his eyes at you, but you weren’t going to stand across the table and let him flip a coin with lives. You continued.

“What if the ship is just spice?”

Poe clenches his jaw, rolling back his shoulders and you definitely don’t focus on the thick muscle peeking out from his unbuttoned flight suit, veins traveling up from his clavicle to his mandible. You wonder where he’s sensitive - the curve of his neck? His carotid? Maybe it was right under the curve of his mandible. Your mind berated you shortly after your thoughts dissipated for asking. 

“If it’s not? If we uncover invaluable information that could give us the upper hand on those bastards?” 

Carotid, you decide. 

“It seems too hasty,” you defend. “No extraction plan, no real strategy. I’ve heard plenty about you, Dameron. I know you’re good, but are you so good that you can protect all your pilots if it goes sideways? Are you able to abandon the mission without finding out what the ship holds?” 

It’s surprising that Ackbar, Organa and Holdo would let you two bicker this out. However, Holdo and Organa did ask for your presence and your insight, so they couldn’t really object to your extremely plausible concerns. 

“Would you like to hop in a ship and come with? Oversee the operation yourself, Doctor?” Poe said slowly. The edge he gave to your title made your blood burn. Never had someone ever used your title as an insult, made it sound like a slur. It was something you sacrificed everything for. More than he could ever know. 

“I’m sure you’re more than capable of overseeing an operation, Commander.” Two could definitely play this game. “But this isn’t an operation, this is you crossing your fingers and hoping your intel is reliable.” 

“I’d have to agree,” Holdo nodded. Ackbar threw his hands up in exasperation. 

“How are we supposed to gain anything by risking nothing?” He turned to you. Poe smirked at his words. You suppressed yourself from opening glaring at your superior and instead turned your direction back to Poe. 

“You risk these lives, you’re in charge of contacting the families of the fallen. You deal with the fact that it was all your call, despite the glaring fact that you need more information.” You bit the inside of your cheek - hard. It didn’t matter how good Poe Dameron was. The information and operation was too risky, too murky and grey when, for everything at stake, it should be a little more clean cut. 

“These pilots know what they’re risking every time they get in an x-wing. It’s why they joined. Do tell me Doctor, why exactly did you join?”

The tension in the air was so thick, you and Poe were mere centimeters from each other's throats. If he was close enough and you had a scalpel, you no doubt would slash at his. Leia minimized the holograms and cleared her throat. 

“We need to find out what’s on that ship, but I have to agree that we do need more reliable intel. Do some more scouting, more recon, and we’ll reconvene when there’s more to go off of.” She then turned the table off and it seemed that the meeting was over. Poe still held your gaze, his eyes never leaving yours as you sighed. 

“I can’t fix them out there,” you softened. “I can’t help. Understand that.” 

“Then you picked the wrong role,” Poe responded, crossing the table and coming towards you. “If we lose that ship and it turns out to be valuable, all because you want more information, that’s your call.”  

“As much as you may hate it, my judgement was asked for. I won’t apologize for having a conflicting opinion.” 

You swear his gaze flickered somewhere below your eyes before darting back, too quick to realize where exactly he had looked. He swallowed. 

“Neither will I. Pleasure to finally meet you,” he nodded curtly.  

A sharp twang vibrated your smallest finger on your right hand, the thread tied there felt like it was physically being pulled forwards from its resting place at your side. Now, the thread felt tangible. You could feel the cut into your skin, the pressure from the pull. You looked down, following the thread not even a meter away to see it end in a perfect loop tied to the pinky of Poe. 

He wrinkled his forehead as you looked up at him, face flushed pale and blood rushing and pumping so hard it was all you could hear. The room suddenly felt so loud and so small. It felt like you were trapped under Kaminoan waves, fighting for breath, fighting to surface but you were paralyzed. Poe voiced your name in concern and you barely registered it. Swallowing hard, your gaze flickered back down to his left hand that was now reaching up to grip your shoulder. You stepped back before he could make contact. 

“I will see you around, Commander.” 

And with that, you fled the room, all but sprinting to your medbay, your sanctuary, your haven.  You emptied the contents of your stomach in the refresher.

[a-la-la-llama]

The one where Marinette Steals the Batmobile #1

I’m trying to get a schedule going for my writing and planning on writing one-shots and posting them every Monday. We’ll see How this goes, Enjoy!

Part 2     Part 3

  Fifteen year old Marinette didn’t know what her future would hold but her younger self did not expect this. Five months before her thirteenth birthday she was given the Ladybug Miraculous. After that she was named the guardian of more than a dozen pocket sized gods while still trying to defeat Paris’ villian. By the time she turned fourteen, she had defeated her partner's father, took a hold of all the miraculous’, and became an orphan. The kwami’s supported her in her time of need and understood she was adjusting to not having all her previous weight on her shoulders and the grief of losing her parents in the final battle. With no real person to turn to, she decided to lose herself. What better place for a teenage superhero to retire in than a dark city filled with highly unstable people such as herself. With the Kwami’s and her parents, Master Fu’s, and her own savings she teleported to Gotham City.

  Just because the miraculous were made to stop evil did not mean the Kwami didn’t like getting into mischief. Especially a certain cat, fox, and mouse with no one but the god of creation to stop them. The same thing could be said about Marinette, however, she too was curious about making trouble. The city was practically in rubble but it already had heroes and she no longer wanted the weight of being a hero. Marinette also couldn’t stand the long faces of the tiny gods who wanted nothing more to explore the world. Within the first months of her stay in Gotham she became a well known thief that could rival the infamous Catwoman. She never stole anything for her own gain of course, most of the time it was miraculous’ in museums or bad people’s stuff. At the moment she has three notorious gangs wanting her head for stealing their guns and feeding them to Plagg. The only thing ever left behind was a red symbol much like the design of Master Fu's box.

  “Kitten! I’m so bored, why can’t we go out?”, Plagg whined atop of Marinette’s head.

“You heard what Tikki said, we have to lay low for now since we stole that emerald and ancient headware piece from the museum”, she said.

“But those new kwami’s are so mean!”, Trixx added.

“That’s why they are in the box and you guys are allowed to roam around.”, countered Marinette.

“Mari, you really shouldn't be wearing this many miraculous.”, chided Tikki from her tray of cookies.

“I’m fine, I am only wearing five anyway!”, she responded.

“I for one think three days is enough time. Plus, we don’t have to steal anything, just go out for a joy run!”, Mullo said.

“I agree, please Mari!”, Trixx begged.

“It’s not up to me Miri’s, you have to beg Tikki.”, she responded. Marinette smiled as the three swarmed the red god with pleas and threats to destroy all the cookies in the house. It was all worth the glare Tikki sent her way before she gave in.

“Fine. No stealing, I swear if I find out you did I’ll make you return it!”, the goddess threatened. Just like that a multi mouse, fox, and cat made their way across the rooftops for their latest adventure.

  “What should we do, now?”, asked MultiMouse.

MultiMinou narrowed her eyes at a dark parking lot with only one car parked in it. “Since we finished our joy run, how about we take a joy ride?”, she said with a cat-like grin.

MultiFox wagged her tail in excitement, “It looks nice too! I bet Kalkii would help us transport it to the Kwami dimension to take it for a spin.”, she squealed.

MultiMouse divided herself once more, “Mullo. Kalkii. Merge!”

  The four jumped off the roof they were perched on and made their way towards the car before transforming into their smallest selves. Entering the car through the front all the way to the air ducts was a simple task for the mice. Once inside, Multi Mouse, Minou, and Fox worked on the gas pedals and steering wheel while MultiHorse worked on the portal in the passenger seat.

“How do we even start this thing!”, Minou whined.

“It has a screen right here. Maybe we push it?”, suggested Mouse.

Tapping the screen, the car let out a soft hum before various blue lights turned on. The mice all had one thing on their mind, “Merde!”

  Marinette had had a couple of run-ins with the dubbed ‘BatFam’ in her time in Gotham already. She had expected it to because of her being a well-known thief and all, of course they would try to stop her. Marinette also had a huge upper-hand against them with her powers. One minute her bright orange tail is being chased by three and the next she is standing right in front of them watching them curse, wondering where she went. Illusions were the best thing to ever have! Marinette especially liked messing with the youngest one because of how angry he would get. Once, she saw him wait until no one was there and proceed to cut a trash bin in half with his katana. When he is with the one with the red helmet the two curse like sailors. The boy who has a cowl that looks like an egg, similar to Aspik, gets frustrated when his heat sensor malfunction when he is looking right at her. When the youngest isn’t around she’ll tail the one in blue and whisper things while he is patrolling. Most of the time it’s ‘Boo!’ or ‘Rawr!’ and what she has heard the people in his ear call him before as Minou, ‘Dick’. The man screams like a little girl and gets paranoid easily. When he tries to tell his partners they brush him off!

  That wasn’t the point right now. The point was, Marinette found herself trying to steal the Batmobile. As if matters couldn’t get any worse, MultiFox turned to her left to see the youngest and Batman making their way towards her, trying to steal the Batmobile! So, MultiMinou did the only logical thing to do. As soon as the portal opened she slammed on the gas leaving the two in her dust. Darn Plagg and his chaotic-ness! Hopefully the drive would be worth the wrath of Tikki.

  It was not worth Tikki’s anger at all. Of course Marinette, Mullo, Trixx, and Kalkii threw Plagg under the bus for it but they didn’t get out of it unscathed. True to her word unlike the five, Tikki forced them to return the vehicle to Batman the next night. They also had to write a note apologizing to Batman for all the trouble they caused. MultiBug went with the four as they teleported straight into the secret Batcave and pushed the car out of the portal. Luckily no one seemed to be there and they left quickly after placing the note on the windshield.

  Red Robin was there. Red Robin blinked once. Twice. Red Robin rubbed his eyes.

The Batmobile was still there but the five identical girls were gone.

He calmly turned around back towards the computer. He must be hallucinating right? When was the last time he slept? That didn’t matter. He had to check the cameras to see if they got that and once the rest got back from patrol they could tell him if it was real. He turned back one more time towards the car and noticed the note. Better to not touch it in case it disappeared again. Coffee. He needs coffee to explain this.

  Marinette ended up passed out on the couch as soon as they got home just like Tikki predicted. Seriously, that girl should listen to her more. Miraculous’ can take a huge toll on humans. All the active Kwami were nested on top of her unconscious body when Tikki decided to ask what exactly was on the note.

“The note? Oh that note! Well…”,Plagg dragged out with a yawn.

  Dear Mr.Batman and Traffic Light boy.

We are very sorry for taking your Batmobile for the day and I swear we didn’t mean to. We thought it was an abandoned car and wanted to learn how to drive. When we got in we realized this was a mistake but you were very close to us and we didn’t want to get in trouble so we took it! Don’t worry, we didn’t do anything with it but drive. Since we are making confessions do you think we should add the rest? Might as well Kitten so she doesn’t get mad at us. No, Trix don’t write that, stop it!

-We were the ones that scared the Blue Boy.

-Tell him that ‘Dick’ isn’t a very good vigilante name.

-Traffic-Light boy we saw you cut that trash bin in half.

-Traffic-Light boy and Red Helmet need to watch their language.

-Egg head, your cowl looks like an egg.

-Those guns we stole all got destroyed, don’t worry! Have you ever melted them? It’s really cool to watch.

-We ate that granola bar that Red Helmet had in his pocket.

-It made us feel really funny.

-We caught Egg head when he passed out while grapple hooking.

-Oh, write that we are really evil. I wanna make them scared!

-We are really evil!

-Blue Boy has really good jokes that make us laugh.

  “Then it’s signed with their usual red symbol, a green cat print, mouse ears, fox tail, and a horse spur.”, Alfred concluded.

“Shiitake mushrooms! They knew my identity and didn’t even realize it.” Nightwing screeched, grabbing his hair.

“That granola bar was a ‘special’ brownie.”, Red Hood stated.

“I do NOT look like an egg! ...Ok maybe I do.”, sighed Red Robin.

“I told you I kept hearing things and I was RIGHT!”, shouted Nightwing.

“They can’t be real if they liked your jokes, Grayson.”, Robin said.

“Ouch, Traffic-Light boy! That felt like you cut me in half like that trash can.”, teased Nightwing.

 Batman took the note from Alfred and rewatched the footage from the caves cameras. They five looked younger than Robin and obviously held some type of magical abilities to create a portal. From what he could tell they weren’t actually doing bad things and when they did they felt guilty about it. He pulled up the note left at the museum that was also an apology.

  “They are just kids, Alfred.”, Batman mumbled.

Alfred hummed. “Kids who need some guidance I suppose, Master Bruce?”, he suggested.

[ayuuria]

Yashahime Translation: Animage Magazine September 2020 Issue

Please do not repost this translation without my consent! This includes screenshots of any type and amount. If you wish to share this translation, simply link to this post.

For more information regarding the use of my translations, click here.

This is an old article that was published back in August of 2020, before Yashahime began airing so please keep that in mind as you read this. I never translated this article until now so this is not a reprint or anything like that.

The Half-Demon Girls 2020 autumn SPOTLIGHT!

The feudal and modern era, the fantasy adventure that traverses the two time periods has started once again in the Reiwa period. The curtains will finally rise this fall on the feudal fairytale full of mystery and romanticism spun by three half-demon girls.

“Inuyasha” (original work by Takahashi Rumiko, published in Shōnen Sunday Comics) is an action adventure that was unfolded by a half-demon living in the feudal era named Inuyasha and a modern girl who time traveled to the feudal era named Higurashi Kagome. The anime ran from 2000 – 2004 and the depicts complex, jumbled human drama between humans and demons and the struggle for the Shikon Jewel. “Inuyasha The Final Act” was broadcasted from 2009 – 2010 which concluded the series and brought the curtains to a close.

Continuing that world and depicting a new adventure is “Hanyō no Yashahime”. Living in two different eras while still being twins are Towa and Setsuna, Sesshōmaru’s (Inuyasha’s elder brother) daughters. Then there’s Inuyasha and Kagome’s daughter, Moroha. These three girls who have both human and demon blood are the protagonists of this work. Why did these girls end up moving together? Who is Towa and Setsuna’s mother? Why are the three of them living separately from their parents?... Currently, the full story is wrapped in mystery.

This month, we went directly to Sumisawa Katsuyuki-san who was the series composition writer and script writer for “Inuyasha” and “Inuyasha The Final Act” and now for this current work as well. For the anime staff too, the feelings for the Inuyasha series seems to have strongly taken root even now.

Higurashi Towa Sesshōmaru’s daughter and Setsuna’s elder twin sister. She slipped through time when she was little and was raised as Sōta’s (Kagome’s younger brother) daughter. She tends to get into fights easily.

Setsuna Sesshōmaru’s daughter and Towa’s younger twin sister. However, she does not remember Towa whom she was separated from when they were little. She is a member of the demon slayers headed by Kohaku.

Moroha Inuyasha and Kagome’s daughter who has lived on her own since early childhood. She spends her days slaying demon bounties and takes the alias of “The monster killing Moroha”.

Sesshōmaru’s Two Daughters

Cool and beautiful, the proud and cool-headed Sesshōmaru was a prominently popular character in “Inuyasha”. His daughters, Towa and Setsuna, also have traces of him about them. “Setsuna and Towa strongly inherited Sesshōmaru’s “Yin” and “Yang” respectively. For that purpose, when thinking about their image, Rumiko-sensei also stated, “Please forget about the mother’s existence for now” (Sumisawa)

Behind the Character Creation

The character designs for Towa, Setsuna, and Moroha were done by Takahashi Rumiko-sensei. “At the beginning, Rumiko-sensei told us “I can’t draw a character if I don’t understand them”. The designs depicted here are the result of finally getting the OK after presenting many setting plans from our end.” (Sumisawa)

The Characters of “Inuyasha” Too

Sōta, who is the parent who raises Towa, is a familiar existence to “Inuyasha” fans. In addition, Kohaku, who is the head of the demon slayer group that Setsuna is a part of, is the little brother of Sango who is Inuyasha’s comrade. He was also an important character who held the key to the struggle for the Shikon Jewel. Will other characters from “Inuyasha” make an appearance besides them?

The Feudal Fairytale Going Between Two Eras Series Composition: Sumisawa Katsuyuki

— First, please tell us the details of how this work came about.

Sumisawa: Over 3 years ago, the producer for anime “Inuyasha”, Suwa Michihiko, said to me “I want you to write a continuation for “Inuyasha””. I thought “Goodness, what is this person saying” (laughs). Afterall, “Inuyasha” was concluded. Takahashi Rumiko-sensei is a perfect original creator so there wasn’t a single unanswered thing. I don’t think there are many mangas that conclude so beautifully and properly that it’s deeply moving. On top of that, I wrote the script for the anime called “Inuyasha The Final Act” and brought it to an end myself, so depicting something beyond that is impossible.

— What sort of story direction did Suwa-san come up with?

Sumisawa: When I also asked back “Inuyasha and Kagome don’t have any problems, the Bone Eater’s Well (which connects the modern and feudal era) can no longer be traversed, Naraku was defeated and the Shikon Jewel is gone. What sort of story would we make?” and he responded, “Coming up with (a story) is your job isn’t it” (laughs).

— That is a very unreasonable request (laughs).

Sumisawa: Yes. That’s why I put it on the backburner for over 2 years after that. It’s just that when I was invited to and attended an anime event in Washington D.C, there was a person there cosplaying the Great Dog Demon (Inuyasha and Sesshōmaru’s father). That person said to me “Please hurry and make a sequel to “Inuyasha”!”. It seems that even now, they felt that “Inuyasha” was still a passionate real time work. With that, what I came up with after rethinking “Maybe I can write something with this” was “the story of Sesshōmaru’s daughter”.

— Why Sesshōmaru’s child instead of Inuyasha and Kagome’s child?

Sumisawa: When the work features the child of the protagonist as the main character, the parents steal show when they make an appearance. Even Rumiko-sensei analyzed that “Even if you make it a story about Inuyasha’s son confronting some incident, you can’t surpass the method in which the problem was resolved in the work “Inuyasha”, so it’s impossible”. In that case, I suggested to Rumiko-sensei “If it’s Sesshōmaru’s daughter, it would be a different development”.

— What was Takahashi-san’s reaction when she heard that idea?

Sumisawa: At first, she was unsure like “Hmm” for a long time. It’s only natural. Among the characters that Rumiko-sensei created, Sesshōmaru was a character that she had a strong emotional attachment to. However, she told me “But if it’s Sumisawa-san, it might be doable” and I said, “Please allow me to do this!”. I was grateful that Rumiko-sensei trusted me. I strongly felt that I had to live up to that trust. Actually, I thought of an idea where the setting would be the “modern era” and Sesshōmaru’s daughters would fight demons with Sesshōmaru being mostly uninvolved. However, that didn’t work at all. Now, I’m embarrassed at myself for coming up with that plan.

— That sounds entertaining in it of itself.

Sumisawa: No. First, the atmosphere wouldn’t be serious. Also, if you don’t have the component of going between the feudal and modern eras, it wouldn’t be the “Inuyasha” world. If you only have one (era), it wouldn’t be “a feudal fairytale”.

— Then, how was the title “Hanyō no Yashahime” decided?

Sumisawa: We didn’t really struggle to come up with this title. Rumiko-sensei invented the word "half-demon” (half human and half demon), so “HANYO” is understood overseas. Thus, we purposely put this globally understood word “half-demon” into the title. “Yashahime” is used in other (works) as well, so our aim was to put something in front. The “feudal fairytale” in the logo “Is like what “mobile suit” is to “Gundam”” as Sunrise’s Ogata Naohiro-san put it.

— So it becomes a new feudal fairytale with the half-demon girls as the main characters.

Sumisawa: The thing is, I said earlier that “Inuyasha” was a manga that didn’t leave a single thing unanswered, but actually, there’s a little bit of content that wasn’t shown in the anime. For example, when Rumiko-sensei did a one-time revival of “Inuyasha” for the Great East Japan Earthquake revitalization support project, “Heroes Come Back”. This was published in volume 30 of the “Inuyasha” Wide Edition comics. That and to show “Inuyasha The Final Act” within the episode limit, we ended up not touching some of the episodes (within the manga). So I thought I had to write those in.

— Currently, the two biggest questions fans have been focused on are “Why are Inuyasha, Kagome, and Sesshōmaru not raising their children?” and “Who is Sesshōmaru’s wife?”

Sumisawa:

Yes. I can’t answer that here, but under Takahashi Rumiko-sensei’s supervision, there’s no way we would leave out those very important topics. Of course, these are properly shown in the main story so look forward to seeing it. Please be at ease.

[apiratewhopines]

Killian, Persuaded

Chapter One — Don’t Panic

Summary: In which our hero panics

Read on AO3

“All of us are done for”

-Don’t Panic, Coldplay

It was no secret Killian Jones lived a charmed life. How could it be when his handsome face was plastered across glossy magazines covers and splashy websites on a daily basis? Dark hair carefully tousled to look as if he woke up that way. An athletic figure always encased in the latest fashion and, more often than not, topped off with black leather. A smile said to cause an increase in heart rate for those lucky enough to experience it firsthand. And perhaps the most defining feature, one gossip columnists and celebrity photographers waxed lyrical about, impossibly blue eyes that could charm or chill in equal measure depending on his mood.

He inherited his father’s roguish good looks and, fortunately for the world, his mother’s better nature.

As he rolled out of bed early one fall morning, it was with the deep sense of well-being one could only achieve from a pampered existence, free of the stress and worries normal people carried like millstones around their necks. He walked through a hallway laid with Italian marble liberated from a Renaissance era villa to a bathroom featured in Architectural Digest as the most luxurious in the world, causing an Arabian prince and a Russian oligarch to accuse him of sleeping with the journalist who produced the piece.

He had, of course. But that didn’t mean the title wasn’t deserved.

He stepped into an enormous shower that provided an expansive view of skyscrapers and the ocean beyond through the one-way windows forming the walls of the room. It was one he was so familiar with he didn’t even notice it anymore. As he washed off the lingering scents of the night before—stale cigarettes, spilled booze, and expensive French perfume—he rolled his shoulders under the perfectly calibrated water pressure of his rainwater showerhead and let the massaging jets work their magic, precisely hitting all the important hydrotherapy points as they had been designed to do.

Stepping out, he wrapped himself in towels of the softest Egyptian cotton embroidered with the Jones family crest. As his father always said, just because they were in the colonies, it didn’t mean they had to forget where they came from. Never mind that the colonies hadn’t been colonies in well over two hundred years. His family had always preferred to live in the past.

Killian’s father was also keen on never forgetting who they were. As if such a thing would even be possible when all articles about them started with a brief reminder their roots could be traced back as far as the monarchy and noted they were in possession of a bank account rivaling the tech giant nouveau riche of the vast city quite literally laid at his feet every morning.

Although, it should be noted his father would never be so tasteless as to discuss money. Comparing bank accounts was the province of those who didn’t have enough. No, the elder, esteemed Mr. Jones preferred to simply let his massive wealth speak for itself, silently scorning those who had less while appearing to think nothing of it. And why should he? It’s not like he had done anything to earn it other than being born into the family.

Generation after generation passed down entitlement and piercing blue eyes like they had patents on them. His father offset his lack of the most noted Jones feature by putting his blue blood on full display whenever possible. Some might even accuse the head of the family of overcompensating.

The truth of the matter was, Killian was the product of a long line of smug snobs so it was amazing he had turned out as well as he did.

Or perhaps not so amazing when you considered his mother had been a stranger to this world of glittering privilege. That’s not to say she was completely without resources. In the real world, she would have even been considered wealthy in her own right. But in the Jones sphere of reality, the general view was his father married so far down the ladder, he was practically romancing pond scum instead of a clever, beautiful soul who devoted her life to helping others and raising her two sons.

Killian realized at an early age it was, in fact, his mother who could have done better.

His parents had been an odd couple that never stood a chance. While no one would ever know for sure, because the only thing worse than talking about money was talking about your feelings, the general consensus was when his father saw his mother exiting the courthouse one day it was love at first sight. She was leaving her latest case as a Human Rights lawyer and he was coming from being the defendant in a string of slumlord lawsuits.

His father had always appreciated a pretty face, a trait he definitely passed down to his youngest son, and his mother could never resist the chance to save someone. Even if it meant losing herself along the way. Even, and perhaps especially, if the person didn’t want to be saved.

Doomed from the beginning.

Shaking off the odd sense of melancholy that threatened, he threw his towel into the corner and walked unashamedly into a closet so large it could easily house a family of four with room to spare. It was a grand space, two stories softly lit by Baccarat chandeliers and filled floor to ceiling with custom clothes tailored to his exact, and enviable, measurements.

Another longstanding family expectation was to always look your best. Nature had been kind to the Jones clan but it never hurt to play up what you were blessed with. Clothiers practically threw garments his way knowing they would reap the benefits of a timely paparazzi snap. The three piece suit he wore when he proposed to his fiancée sold out within seconds after the picture went viral and the designer currently had a two year waitlist for his creations.

The pressure of being a trendsetter never bothered him. Honestly he couldn’t care less what people thought of him. Being universally adored did wonders for your confidence.

The same could not be said for his estranged older brother. While Killian received the lion’s share of swagger, Liam had inherited their mother’s self-righteous streak with none of her sweetness to temper it. He was a chore to be around at the best of times so it was no surprise barely a year after the death of their mother, and only a few months after his graduation from university, Liam proceeded to thumb his nose at centuries of Jones tradition by defying their father and enlisting in the Navy thereby renouncing any claim to the family fortune.

He hadn’t even had the decency to join Her Majesty’s Naval Service. In a complete break with the family, he visited the nearest strip mall and was recruited by some of Uncle Sam’s finest.

From that day forward, their father insisted he had only one son. Liam was painted out of family portraits, his name stricken from the family tree, his signature removed from the vast network of accounts and properties. Killian still remembered the last time he saw him, laughing as he waved from the backseat of a cab, looking as if the weight of the world had been taken off his shoulders.

It was the only time he’d ever been jealous of his brother.

Now, more than fifteen years later, he often wondered where Liam had landed. If he was still laughing or if the harshness of a world without means, without the Jones family name to soften any and all blows, had crept up on him. The abandoned boy, the one who had watched from a spotless mansion window as his best friend and hero walked away without a second glance, hoped so. But it was a mean, half-hearted wish. Hidden beneath layers of hurt, the reality was he would never want any harm to come to his brother.

Deep down, he wished he had followed him out the door.

Selecting a black suit and contrasting tie at random, he started getting dressed. Normally, his valet would be on hand to smooth wrinkles and polish off his look. However, the man had taken a long overdue vacation to tend to his ailing mother. Killian wasn’t so far removed from the real world he couldn’t dress himself for a few days but the sense of being out of sync wouldn’t dissipate.

He couldn’t account for the feeling. Admittedly, this time of year was harder than most. It never failed that autumn brought falling leaves and personal loss. First his mother, then his brother. To complete the trifecta, a vision of a blonde with a guarded smile filled his mind, green eyes flashing and chin tilted up in challenge.

With a ruthlessness that was completely unnecessary, he tugged his tie in place and risked a glance in the mirror for the first time that morning. Or maybe it had been months. Carefully cultivated nonchalance stared back at him. He wondered when he had lost the fire in his eyes and how long it would be before he gave a damn about something again.

Perhaps it was easier this way.

And perhaps if he kept taking the easy way, the next time he saw his reflection he wouldn’t recognize himself at all.

—

It was with some surprise he found he had thirteen missed calls when he bothered to check his phone. While his social media accounts were heavily trafficked, there were few who had his number and even fewer who actually used it in this day and age. The fact all the calls originated from a single source—his best friend of sorts—made it even more shocking.

There was a time when it would have been rare for Robin Locksley, heir to an ancient title and completely bankrupt estate, to be awake before noon. What was the point really when all you had to look forward to was crippling debt? That all changed when he settled down and started a family only to lose his wife less than two years later.

Normally he would have given into his curiosity and returned the calls but for once, he had someplace to be. The family’s legal and financial advisors recently called an emergency meeting and requested his presence in addition to his father, who normally handled these types of things. It was an unusual move to say the least but his father assured him it was because they wanted to talk him out of a risky investment. Misguidedly, they thought his son might get him to see the sense of their arguments.

Killian could have told them not to bother. His father no more listened to him than he did anyone else. Still, it was nice to feel wanted for something other than a free ride so he cleared his non-existent schedule and took one of the family’s fleet of limos to the tastefully understated brick mansion serving as a headquarters for their business ventures.

He could count on one hand the number of times he had bothered to visit. Honestly it seemed like everything ran a lot smoother if he didn’t get too involved. This laissez-faire type of leadership was the only way men of his class ran things. Anything more would be a disgrace to the honorable name of Jones. Or at least that was what his father said. Since he didn’t have any real interest in the day-to-day runnings of their portfolio and numerous acquisitions, it worked out well for everyone. The fancy business degree currently gathering dust somewhere in his penthouse could have been wallpaper for all the use it got.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized his time would be better spent at the yacht club or with his eminently suitable fiancée. She had been inexplicably absent the prior night and hadn’t returned the texts he sent to check on her. He was sure she would breeze into his arms at some point today with a perfectly absurd excuse and be delightfully motivated to make it up to him. The faint wave of nausea presenting itself at the thought was immediately dismissed as the result of too much caffeine.

He mounted the steps with a level of trepidation he normally reserved for babies and churches. The hard facade suddenly seemed imposing and it occurred to him the only vehicle in the cobblestone driveway was the one he arrived in. He would be joining the meeting as it started so the absence of his father’s preferred antique Rolls Royce was disturbing to say the least. Mr. Jones prided himself on his punctuality. Truly, it was his only redeeming virtue.

Shrugging inelegantly out of his overcoat, he knew he wasn’t imagining the brief look the staff exchanged when he crossed the threshold. Tension, an infrequent visitor in his cosseted life, formed in his shoulders, muscles bunching under the clean lines of his suit. He made his way unaided to the second floor, pausing on the landing when he heard the emotionless drone of some random news anchor echo down the hallway. It wasn’t until he heard his name fill the space his feet started moving of their own accord. He reached the boardroom at the tail end of the story but it was enough to get the gist of it.

There on the television, the ribbon running the details even as the reporter gleefully narrated it for an rapt audience, was a picture of his father. Time had been kind to the senior Jones, his hair still dark and falling in wavy perfection around his handsome face. Dimples winked charmingly as dark eyes twinkled with a sense of mischief that was totally an illusion. He was a hard man who had petrified after the death of his misunderstood, but nonetheless cherished, wife.

‘Anonymous sources reveal Brennan Jones, widely considered one of the richest men in the state, fled from authorities last night...’

Tearing his eyes away from the screen, he noted everyone was focused on his reaction, or lack thereof. Those brave enough to face him head on would notice the twitch of muscle in his cheek, a nervous tell the people closest to him knew was a sign of deep emotion. He felt like he stood there for days before someone stepped forward. It evidently fell to Marco, a friend of the family who had the distinction of being the only advisor hired by his mother, to be the messenger. “Killian, I’m so very sorry.”

Not sure what this man had to apologize about, he asked with a bemused grin, “Whatever for?”

Shuffling nervously, Marco stared at him again. Looking around the room at the shell shocked faces, he didn’t resist when the older man took him by the arm and led him back into the hallway. “I guess you haven’t heard. Of course, we had no idea it would come to this. I wish I could give you happier news.”

Mind uncomprehending of the scope of tragedy waiting for him, he said, “I would settle for any explanation at this point. Why was my father on television this morning?”

“Oh Killian, my boy, you probably should sit down...”

“I prefer to stand,” he murmured, internally bracing himself. Marco had always been one of the least annoying of the host of advisors employed by his family. The unassuming man had the kind of face that made you think of grandparents and unconditional love, or at least that’s what Killian thought when he was a child. Now he knew while grandparents were real enough, unconditional love was a fairy tale.

“Your father raided the meager funds left in the family coffers and left the country to avoid prosecution for wire fraud and tax evasion.”

“Meager funds,” he repeated, feeling lightheaded. “I’m not sure I understand. The last time I was at one of these little get-togethers, we had over half a billion dollars in assets.”

“That was many years ago, my boy. Your father made some poor investments and he never was the best at curbing his lifestyle to fit his income.”

Swallowing thickly, Killian ran his hand through his hair and forced himself to remain calm. If what Marco said was true, poor investments was the understatement of the century. In a pale imitation of a joke he offered, “So what? We’ll have to sell some property and maybe a couple of the yachts? Start sharing a helicopter with another family?”

“Unfortunately, the situation is more dire than that. Most of the property is already gone. The only yacht left is the one he stored in Maldives, probably in anticipation of his getaway.” With a kindly hand on his shoulder, Marco gave him an apologetic look. “I’m afraid it gets worse.”

In disbelief, Killian shook his hand away and propped himself against the wall. It was an artful pose that didn’t hint at the real reason he was leaning, namely he needed the hard surface to keep from sinking to his knees. “How could it possibly get worse?”

“The family money wasn’t the only thing he took. Your fiancée went with him.”

—

Killian was surprised to learn the hardest part wasn’t listening to the substantial inventory of assets already lost. It wasn’t seeing the short—far too short—list of property still in play that would be offered in a fire sale to end all fire sales. It wasn’t the fact people he thought of as friends were already circling like sharks, ready to take a piece of the family prestige home with them at a fraction of the cost.

It wasn’t the media demanding answers to prying questions every time he left his building. It wasn’t the news cycle replaying the details of his embarrassment over and over again on an endless loop. It wasn’t that somehow his name had become a punchline overnight, cannon fodder for late night talkshow hosts and comedians.

It wasn’t watching his family home, the last tangible thing connecting him to his mother, being emptied out. Observing the gentle landscape surrounding it being surveyed in an attempt to siphon off parcels from the main section to try to bring in more money at auction was surreal but unavoidable considering the circumstances.

It wasn’t the hushed conversations that followed him, fracturing into silence as soon as he was within earshot. Nor was it the pitying glances the staff gave him when he had to dismiss them with excellent references but a fraction of the severance they deserved.

It wasn’t crawling into an empty bed and pulling cold sheets over his head every night. It certainly wasn’t missing his fiancée, a woman he had committed to but, in hindsight, hadn’t liked all that much. If he was being completely honest, her leaving was the only silver lining in this particular rainstorm. Although her manner of leaving left much to be desired.

It wasn’t even the sudden lack of everything. His whole life he had been comforted by possessions he used as a replacement for love. Every article of clothing a substitute for the affection he never received, every priceless piece of art a proxy for family photos never taken much less displayed, every impressive technological gadget a surrogate for the support sorely missing from his life. His six car garage was now empty, a willing sacrifice in order to compensate the slate of advisors needed to carve up what was left of his life and repay the debts of his father.

Now that the clutter was gone, he actually felt a certain freedom in the emptiness.

No, the worst part was the silence. The feeling of being utterly and completely alone despite doing everything in his power to keep it from happening. With the shock of a lifetime to provide perspective, Killian realized now he had twisted himself into someone he didn’t know in a misplaced attempt to please a man who would never be proud of him. He let go of all the things that made him happy—the people who made him happy—to try to meet some unattainable standard of perfection in the eyes of the horde he had mistaken for loved ones. People who had abandoned him the second he was no longer the darling of their social stratum.

Still, he would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the buzz. He knew it was meaningless but the constant hum of activity gave him the illusion of being a part of something.

He knew some of the silence was his own fault. He had turned off him phone and frozen all his social media accounts. It seemed wise given the shit show that was currently his life and all the expensive advisors agreed laying low was the best course of action in situations like these.

Luckily, his dwelling and a few pieces of furnishings were his outright, bought with the small trust he inherited from his mother so at least he wouldn’t be living on the street. He had a comfortable cage to crawl back into every night. A lonely place to be sure, but no one could take it from him. It was a lot more than most people would ever have and a lot less than he wanted.

For the first time in a long time, he looked out over the city and truly saw it.

He had no idea how long he had been standing there lost in thought when the elevator bell rang. Someone made it past the doorman and the front desk. Trying to figure out how his visitor managed to get all the way to the penthouse was a welcome distraction from his gloomy musings. The ringing kept up a steady pace but he didn’t make any effort to key open the door.

That is until the noise took on a familiar tune.

The unmistakeable though slightly off-kilter sound of Hooked on a Feeling rang out in the harsh meep of the doorbell. With something approaching wonder, Killian ran over to the security pad and punched in his code. Instantly, the elevator opened revealing a sight he never thought he’d see again.

Staring back at him through blue eyes identical to his own was the face of his long lost brother. Through the intervening years, Liam grew his hair out and it now curled in a way that made him think it was probably raining outside. Faint scores of wrinkles defined the areas of his profile showing Liam had continued to find joy in the struggle of life. Completing his perusal, he noticed his brother had bulked up, muscles replacing the softness of an idle life, probably a side benefit of his years in the Navy. His clothes were of the outdoor variety, navy utility pants topped with a gray fisherman sweater and pea coat, and they made him look like he stepped out of a travel magazine catering to ecotourists. “Liam, I...how did you find me?”

“Finding you has never been a problem, little brother. You don’t exactly fly under the radar. Reaching you on the other hand...well, I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to find a different way in since you won’t answer your damn phone and there isn’t a lock to pick on this contraption,” Liam explained, looking Killian over with a worried expression that gradually gave way to a bright smile. “You look like death warmed over.”

“Good to see you too,” Killian answered sarcastically, still trying to get his bearings. While Liam had changed in a few superficial ways, his determined expression and uncompromising attitude seemed unshakeable even after all these years. The bruised ego and hard feelings of their long separation faded away like it never happened and he was fifteen again, basking in the glow of a beloved brother. “Why are you here?”

“Why do you think? I’m rescuing you from your ivory tower.”

“I don’t need to be rescued,” he scoffed. Times made be bad, but it wasn’t like he was starving. He still had his pride and it forced the next words out of his mouth before he could stop to consider if they were true. “Certainly not by a man who acted like I didn’t exist my entire adult life.”

Stiffening, Liam advanced into the room, taking no notice of the breathtaking view or the recently minimalist design. Suddenly Killian was engulfed in a fierce embrace, pulled into his brother’s strong hold. He heard Liam say in a gruff voice, “Our father has a lot to answer for but know this, I thought of you every single day since I left.”

A little piece of him broke, even he couldn’t have said if it was his resolve or his heart, and he felt tears well up. Uncomfortable with the stir of emotions, he joked as he hugged Liam with equal intensity, “Aye, serves you right you bastard.”

“Too right,” his brother agreed, pulling away to clap him on the back. Barking out orders in a way that gave Killian a glimpse of the other man’s military background, he didn’t even argue when Liam said, “Pack your bag. I’m taking you home.”



[carrotycake]

the world put you in front of me (and we aligned)

A chance encounter at an Ishgardian dance, and Ysayle finds herself falling in love all over again.

4.1k words | Rated M | FFXIV | Estinien/Ysayle pairing | AO3

*

It’s funny, Ysayle thinks. She has spent so much of her life fighting and despising everything the nation of Ishgard stood for, that to be standing here, on the balcony of one of Ishgard’s largest manors, feels a tad hypocritical. For the first time, she appreciates the beauty of the land stretching out in front of her, the late-night sunset (which is as close to a summer as Coerthas gets) casting orange and pink hues across the grey pointed spires of the city itself. She rests her arms on the balustrade, observing the chatter of guests down below. It is oddly peaceful, despite her protestations at being invited in the first place. And still bitterly cold, of course, despite it being summer. Ysayle, shivering, rubs her hands together in an attempt to warm herself up; she had left her coat inside and the thin fabric of her gown was not nearly enough to ward off the freezing night air.

She sighs, her breath exhaling into a cloud of mist in front of her. Had she not gone by the name ‘Iceheart’ for years, revered by her heretic followers? She had survived many harsh Coerthas winters, only for her to shiver now at the merest hint of a breeze. Admittedly, she had found the warmth of the ballroom inside to be a little much, packed as it was with nobles, commoners, and politicians alike. The fresh air, cold as it was, was extremely welcome.

It was Aymeric, of course, that was behind the ball, and her invite to it – the Warrior of Light’s dear friend, and perhaps the most influential man in the city. Endlessly charming, he had persuaded her that it was an olive branch, of sorts, to mend the rifts between heretics and men. And – well, she had wanted to make amends. Lead those who walked after, and all that.

“Out here enjoying the festivities, I see?”

A familiar voice drags her from her thoughts, and she turns to see the tall, lithe body of Estinien crouching carefully on the gables above the double doors leading back into the ballroom. She frowns, irritated that he had caught her unawares in a moment of introspection.

“How long have you been sitting there?”

He shrugs, getting to his feet and gracefully hopping onto the ground beside her; ever the dragoon, she notes. He’s not in the armour he wore the last time they had seen each other, before Azys Lla. Like Ysayle, he is dressed in an approximation of Ishgardian formal wear, his long white hair tied in a loose half-ponytail. He’s handsome, her mind helpfully supplies, and she wills the thought away before it becomes trouble.

“Long enough,” he replies, leaning on the railing a fulm or two away from her, his gaze distant. He frowns. “Formal…balls aren’t really my thing. I needed some air. And – a break from drunk nobles trying to get me to dance with their offspring.”

Ysayle chuckles, despite herself. “I must admit, I did not recognise you at first. You clean up well, when you’re not head to toe in dragon blood.”

He bows his head. If Ysayle is not mistaken, she sees the hint of a blush colour his pale cheeks.

“Well,” he mutters, “You are the opposite, Iceheart. I believe there was not a soul in that room that did not notice you upon entering.”

She raises an eyebrow. “In a good way, or a bad way? Pray, do elaborate.”

Estinien splutters for a second. “Well, I – It is a nice dress. That is all I meant. No doubt the haberdashers will be inundated with requests for similar styles by tomorrow morning.”

A slightly backhanded compliment, but a compliment, nonetheless. “Damned by faint praise, I see.”

She turns to look back towards the sunset. “It is actually one of Tataru’s creations, so they’ll have a hard time prying the pattern from her little hands.”

Tataru had taken over creative control of this project, because formal dances were certainly not Ysayle’s area of expertise, and the Lalafell had been only too happy to help out. The light, drapey cerulean fabric of the dress belied the traditional Ishgardian style, but Ysayle had never cared much for tradition anyway. It was pinned and tucked beautifully, with embroidered details on the neckline and hem. It even – scandalously – showed off a little cleavage, something Ysayle wasn’t necessarily unhappy with.

They stand like that together, a little distance apart, for a few minutes; enjoying the last rays of the sun in what appears to be a companionable silence. How many times had they done this, a mere few months ago? Accompanied by Alphinaud and the Warrior of Light, of course, but together nonetheless. Sunsets always seemed even more spectacular when seen on islands beyond the clouds. Ysayle had never thought to see such beauty again in her lifetime; she had expected to die on Azys Lla, one last act of service as Shiva.

The gods, as it happened, must have had other plans, as she’d fallen from that great height and landed in the middle of a Vanu Vanu outpost; the last remnants of Shiva’s protection shielding her from further harm in the fall. Word had gotten back to Camp Cloudtop of her survival, and she had eventually woken in the infirmary in the centre of Ishgard. Mere days after her own discharge, and Estinien was staying there under the very same care as she had.

She had avoided visiting, though, despite Alphinaud’s almost-insistence that she do so. She had never thought this far ahead in life; now there was peace, real peace, and her old role was no longer needed. Lord Aymeric, introduced through the Warrior of Light, had requested her help in rehabilitating the remaining heretics and repairing the city in exchange for a pardon for her crimes, and she was not about to turn down such an offer. The Scions had allies, and she herself was still blessed with Hydaelyn’s gift, so she might as well make herself useful.

In quieter moments, however, her mind always drifted back to Estinien. She admitted to being a little disappointed when he disappeared from Ishgard without a trace after his recuperation; the small, naïve girl within her longed to believe that they could have been…something, more than just acquaintances passing in the night.

“You are deep in thought, my lady,” he says, a statement more than a question. Ever with the formalities, even when they were at each other’s throats with opposite ideals.

She shakes her head. “Just reminiscing. My life has taken on a trajectory I could not have anticipated before I had met you and your allies. I have much to be grateful for.”

“I admit, I was – glad to hear you had lived. My own fortunes were, you could say, not so lucky after our victory on Azys Lla. I did not hear about – you – until after I had awoken in the infirmary.” Estinien looked – embarrassed, perhaps? Ysayle could not tell, in the dim light of the evening.

“I-” He falters, swallowing. “I wanted to apologise. For things I have said. Knowing now the full truth of the war betwixt man and dragon, I – I said some unkind things. ‘Twas not your fault that I was ignorant.”

Ysayle takes a moment to think on his words. They were not the people they once were, after all. The truth, she thinks, has changed them both. She looks at him, then – he does not shy away from her eye contact – and nods.

“Apology accepted. For what it’s worth, I have a great deal to apologise for as well. My conscience is not clear, by any means.”

Estinien cracks a small smile. (She tries not to think that a smile suits him. It really does.)

“Aye, that is true.”

Their conversation was momentarily interrupted by a change of music from the ballroom – a slightly faster tune, reminiscent of folk tunes Ysayle heard as a child at communal dances in Falcon’s Nest. It was clearly designed to bring more couples onto the dance floor, and was so far having the intended effect. Ysayle could see the Warrior of Light, dressed in finery (another of Tataru’s creations), swinging Alphinaud a little too fast round in circles on the dancefloor. Aymeric could be seen, too, dancing politely with Hilda; commoners and nobles alike danced merrily to the band’s music. If this was their new republic, Ysayle thinks, then she quite likes it.

It is this train of thought that compels Ysayle with more bravado than she has; not thinking about where it might lead, she turns to her brooding companion.

“Well, when all is said and done-” She holds out a hand to Estinien, “Care for a dance?”

His brow furrows. “I’ve never- I mean. Forgive me, Ysayle. I’m not much of a dancer.”

She smiles lightly. “Neither am I. But we are alone, for the time being. Indulge me.”

“As you wish,” he frowns, still a tad reluctant, but he takes her outstretched hand regardless and pulls her close and Ysayle thinks, oh.

Oh no.

It has been a long time since she has been this close, physically, with anyone, and she wonders if Estinien can feel her heart thudding loudly in her chest. They stumble at first, taking a few attempts to figure out the rhythm of the song versus the clumsiness of their feet, but eventually settle into a gentle waltz.

Ysayle is acutely aware of the position of Estinien’s hand on the small of her back; its warmth – and he is so warm – practically burning through her dress. They are closer than they need to be, exactly, for the formality of ballroom dance, but Ysayle finds that she does not mind. He is avoiding her eyes now (deliberately, she thinks), so she instead concentrates on the position of her hand on his shoulder, her other hand clasped tightly in his as they circle aimlessly together across the balcony.

“So,” he begins, uncertainly, once they’d found their rhythm, “Where did you learn to dance, then? You seem to have more of a head for it than I.”

Ysayle smiles. “A little, as a child. And we had plenty of impromptu dances when I was-” When I was with the heretics¸ she would have said. Another time, in another life. Estinien, evidently noticing her hesitation, raises an eyebrow.

“Forgive me, my lady, but I simply cannot imagine a band of heretics indulging in such trivial things as dances whilst plotting the fall of Ishgard.”

“You are a fool, then, if you believe that we did nothing but sit around and curse the Holy See whilst getting drunk on dragon’s blood,” Ysayle scowls, swinging Estinien round a little more forcibly than she had intended. He stumbles, a little, before righting himself.

“I did not give much thought to the heretics unless they were forcibly attacking the city,” Estinien says, his tone serious, but the quiet glint in his eyes relaying a certain kind of humour. Ysayle rolls her eyes. He always knew exactly how to push her buttons to get her riled up when they were travelling together, and it seems not much has changed.

“I’ll have you know,” she huffs, “Lord Aymeric himself requested my assistance in restoring the city-”

“To avoid a jail sentence, yes,” Estinien has an eyebrow raised, smirking. He positions his arms just so, allowing her to dip backwards as part of the dance. His arms are secure, holding her in place perfectly before swooping her back up. They continue their circles together, Estinien chuckling at Ysayle’s irritation.

“For someone of little skill, you have picked up this dance remarkably fast,” she comments, her face flushed – from the exertion of the dance, or from Estinien’s attention, she was yet unsure.

“I’m a fast learner,” he says, and was it her imagination or was he a little closer to her than before? He stares resolutely ahead, his expression faintly jovial, and Ysayle tries not think about how good his arms felt holding her up.

The upbeat song currently playing comes to a close and, after a brief interlude, a new one starts up, slower than the previous one. Adjusting their pace accordingly, she thinks back a few months to their expedition together. Gods, she had not cared for the dragoon upon first meeting him. He was narrow-minded, and brash, and had been all-too willing to fight and kill the very creatures they were trying to make their allies without a second thought.

And yet – she had grown to like him, over those many days travelling. At first, the attraction had been purely physical. He was handsome, after all, and Ysayle had caught a peek of him removing his armour to see chiselled muscles and a wiry frame; something inside of her had fluttered, momentarily, when he had removed his helmet in front of her for the first time, revealing uncharacteristically soft, fair hair and deep-set blue eyes.

“Don’t get used to this,” he’d muttered, noticing her looking at him. “I can’t eat your soup with a helmet on.”

She’d blushed, then, almost as much as she was surely blushing now.

Even with Estinien’s growing connection to the Eye of Nidhogg – she’d felt it, creeping, growing, gnawing at him even as they travelled together – and his insistence that killing the wyrm was the best solution, she had caught glimpses of a kinder man underneath his harsh determination. Alphinaud had seen it too, as had the Warrior of Light. It endeared him to her, whether she wanted it to or not. And in the long weeks that had followed her miraculous survival, there had been much time for her to dwell on these thoughts.

Halone’s tits, she was in it now, wasn’t she?

It occurs to Ysayle, just then, that the slow pace of the current song meant that their little, secluded waltz had become less of a dance and more just – swaying gently, endlessly circling, not really paying attention to any kind of rhythm. The whole world, for a second, felt like it was just the two of them, the stars aligning to bring them together in a single moment.

“Your hands are cold,” Estinien murmurs, and she forgets for a moment that she still had one of his hands in hers. Usually a woman of great eloquence, she suddenly finds she is tongue-tied, she cannot speak-

“Y-yes, well. Perhaps it is you that is warm,” she whispers, her breath hitching in her throat as he brings her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. He almost seems surprised at his own boldness, his eyes crinkling in a rare bit of humour at her response.

“Mayhap,” he replies. The night is almost completely upon them now, the only light illuminating their faces being the candlelight from the outside lanterns and the ballroom itself. Their eyes meet, Estinien’s expression unusually soft.

Ysayle is not sure who makes the first move but suddenly his lips are on hers, her arms snaking around his neck, his hands on her hips, guiding them in a new kind of dance. In the end, it does not matter, because she is kissing him, and it is suddenly all she can think about. How long had she thought of this moment? How long had she imagined what Estinien’s kiss would feel like? It was, in truth, longer than she would care to admit.

He kisses with the air of someone who does not have a huge amount of practice, but makes up for whatever experience he lacks with strong, guiding hands; Ysayle soon finds herself pressed up against the iron railings of the balcony, the coldness of the metal on her back in sharp contrast to Estinien’s warm embrace. She feels goosebumps on Estinien’s neck where she is touching him; – yes, her hands are always cold, so cold – she moves a hand round to his lapel, using it to anchor herself to him and pull him closer, ever closer.

They break apart to catch their breath, and she looks up at his face, flushed as red as she’d ever seen it, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Do you, perchance, have a residence in Ishgard, Ysayle?” he breathes, still so close to her. Ysayle knows where this is going, knows where this might end up. And she wants it, Halone knows she does.

“That depends,” she says, curling a lock of his hair around her finger. Estinien exhales, almost impatient.

“On?”

Ysayle pulls away, just enough to see his face fully. “Is this…something you want? Truly?” Am I someone you want? She doesn’t say it, but the words settle between them anyway.

He frowns, a trademark scowl, and grasps the hand currently playing with his hair.

“It is. I am not one to deliver undue suffering to a soul such as yourself. And-” He looks flustered, struggling to articulate, “-this is something I have thought about often. In times of difficulty. The possibility of…something more.”

Oh.

“Well then,” she murmurs, his answer more than satisfactory, “In that case, I have a small apartment in the lower wards of the city.”

“I would very much like to get out of here,” Estinien replies, pressing a kiss to her cheek, another along her jawline. She lets her nails scratch the back of his head, just a little, privately enjoying the effect it seems to have on him.

“If you would permit me, my lady-” He breaks away suddenly, a spark of mischief in his eyes, and scoops her up bridal-style. She splutters, wriggling.

“What are you doing?!”

He peers over the edge of the balcony cautiously. “Avoiding any odd stares we might receive from my good friend’s guests. Now, hold still.”

Before Ysayle has any chance to protest, Estinien bends his knees and leaps, and Ysayle’s heart is rushing, the wind howling in her ears momentarily, and it is not far off what a dragon in flight feels like-

He lands, gracefully, some distance away from the mansion, and places her back on her feet with an uncharacteristic amount of care.

Hand in hand, she leads him through the lamp-lit streets, following well-worn paths to the lower area of Ishgard. More than once he catches her against a wall in a bruising kiss, so the walk takes considerably longer than it normally might on one’s own, but Ysayle is too busy wrapped up in Estinien’s arms to care.

The night is fully upon them now, so upon reaching Ysayle’s apartment there is a small amount of stumbling in the dark until she manages to find a lantern. Estinien, helpful as ever, is predictably distracting as she reaches for a pack of matches, hindered by his hands on her waist as he caresses her from behind.

“You know a lantern isn’t really necessary,” he growls, apparently eager. She rolls her eyes – realises too late that it was a gesture he could not see – and bats him away, momentarily.

“I don’t know about you,” she retorts, “But I like to see my lovers when I’m in bed with them.” She manages to strike a small flame into the lantern, illuminating them both in dim, soft candlelight.

Estinien raises an eyebrow, tailing after her as she leads him to the bedroom. “And has the Lady Iceheart had many lovers, in the past?”

She places the lantern down on the chest of drawers with a thunk. “A few. Borne out of convenience, mostly. Some out of love. All enjoyable, for the most part.”

It might have been a cold way of looking at it, but her time leading the heretics had come with its perks, namely that there was no shortage of people interested in her and her powers. She would never have dared manipulate anyone into sex or abuse her power in any way, but she had not been without company, had she so wanted it.  

“And what about the famed Azure Dragoon?” she says, her tone a little more defensive than she had intended, “I’m sure the position comes with its own amount of attention.”

“Some,” he concedes, “But for the most part, I preferred to spend my free time training. A few dalliances, here and there. Nothing serious.”

Ysayle nods. Fair enough, she thinks. You’d have to be out of your mind if you actually wanted to sleep with that grouchy, stubborn arse of a dragoon anyway. Yet here she was.

“Well then,” she says, instead, “I still wish for your company tonight, if you’ll have me.”

Estinien is already against her, capturing her mouth in his and lifting her – a little roughly, not that she minds – onto the bed. “I was hoping we would get to that eventually,” he grins, wickedly.

“You’re an arse,” she replies, but there is no heart in the insult, not really. There’s not much time for thinking, after that, and she is happy to lose herself in Estinien’s arms for the time being.

Ysayle wakes from what might have been the most restful night’s sleep she’s had in some time. She casts a sleepy glance over her small apartment; the curtains had been left half-drawn the night previously, and the morning light was casting a bright glare across her bed, and the sleeping souls that lay within.

Ah, right.

Estinien is still sound asleep next to her; they must have moved apart in slumber during the night, but she distinctly remembers falling asleep in his arms. For the first time, she sees him and all of his scars in full daylight, and fights the urge to trace them gently with her fingertips. She settles for brushing his bangs out of his eyes; he is so peaceful in sleep, she thinks, his usual furrowed brow replaced with one of general content.

There are bruises too, newer ones, scattering across his neck and chest. Ysayle blushes, a little, because she knows that she is the one who put them there, and that there are similar marks on her own body. They will be covered with clothes, eventually, but for now they sit as a reminder of newfound passions and a lover she can’t quite forget.

His eyes flutter open, and an immediate scowl crosses his face as he adjusts to the bright light streaming in.

“Gods, do you always wake this early? To this kind of racket?” His voice is raspy with sleep, his long hair a little dishevelled.

She throws him a mock-frown. “Usually I remember to shut the curtains. I might have been…a little distracted last night.” She runs a finger along his jaw, lifting his chin so that she could lean and kiss him. He leans into her touch, a different kind of reverence.

“Ah,” he says, softly, when she pulls away, “Yes, that would make sense.”

Their clothes, haphazardly rumpled on a nearby chair would also suggest a measure of distraction. They had only paused long enough last night for Estinien to peel off Ysayle’s dress and his own clothes and place them somewhere off of the ground before continuing his ministrations.

“I don’t have anywhere to be today,” she says, by way of invitation, unsure as to how her overture would be received now that it was morning. Morning, bringing with it clarity, and the uncertain light of day. Estinien may not want anything more than whatever the previous night had been.

To his credit, though, Estinien reaches for her and brushes a few strands of silver hair behind her ear.

“Me neither,” he says, and Ysayle’s heart thuds in relief, “What activities have you planned? Lunch out, mayhap?”

This elicits a laugh from her, despite herself.

“Mm,” she smiles, “Maybe later. For now, I want you all to myself.”

Estinien responds in kind, using his advantage of strength and centre of balance to hold her firmly by the waist and flip her over, laying on her back.

“That can be arranged.”

His eyes are dark with want, and Ysayle finds that it pleases her greatly to be able to obtain this kind of reaction from him. She wants �� well, she wants Estinien. All of him. Now. Obviously.

What she really wants, though, is Estinien for longer. Knowing that they might have something to come back to, a home found in each other’s hearts – the thought terrifies her, as it wasn’t something easily articulated to her stoic lover. Still, she thinks, perhaps in time.

For now, she has the man she wants in her bed, and that is enough.

[cakejots]

cataclysmic creations

What happens when Marinette gets overly attached to a gift from him but also not really from him? Chaos.

Rating: T, Words: 2482, Chapters: 1/1

Read on AO3

“I suppose this should do, Plagg.” Adrien held up his handiwork with sore arms, beaming with pride. But anyone looking at him would think that he’s in pain.

“That’s not a very exquisite design, is it?” Plagg snickered.

“Shut it. Her birthday’s tomorrow and I just don’t have the skills for it, alright? Guidance from videos can only go so far.” He cringed at the unevenness of the fabric, some sections were woven tighter than others, and some looser. The number of tiny holes that peep at him from the looser areas was just embarrassing. Adrien deflated a little bit and lowered his arms slightly. “I just hope she likes it.”

Plagg went behind the textile and shoved his tiny butt through one of the bigger holes just to spike him. Adrien growled and tried to kick his Kwami but Plagg was already on his way to the computer table. “Though I have to say, these look so much better!”

Adrien was relieved that at the very least, the red paper roses he crafted were met with approval. He didn’t want to think about the number of failed attempts it took to get to where he was now, and the amount of time spent watching videos on it. He’s just glad that they looked real enough to fool people at first glance.

“Still, why stop at two roses when you could’ve gone for a bouquet? You think this is gonna compare with that?”

“I don’t have time, Plagg.”

“Then why not just buy one?”

“Marinette’s not one for physical items, but I feel she’ll appreciate it even more if she knew time and effort were spent on them.”

Ashamed as he might be about the quality of his creations, Adrien was glad that he could spoil her with gifts. But she doesn’t need to know about that.

Marinette had told him not to sweat about giving her anything for her birthday as his company with her is a gift itself. But knowing her, she was probably afraid that doing so would risk his identity. So being the good boyfriend that he is, he would go against her wishes (or not) and surprise her with what he has been known to give: roses, but with a twist.

He’d present her with not just one, but two roses to show his love and affection for her. Not that he needs to do that to convey his feelings, both are aware of where they stand in their relationship. But he’s a romantic at heart, can’t blame him for wanting to do more.

Marinette deserves the constant reminder of how special she is to him after all. And with the twist being that the roses were handcrafted, to proclaim his undying love for her.

And of course, Adrien being Adrien, that alone wasn’t enough. Oh no no no. See, Adrien is Chat Noir and Chat Noir being Marinette’s boyfriend meant that he would give her birthday presents regardless of her wishes. The only restriction he had was that he can’t be original in his gifts.

But Adrien didn’t have that restriction. And since Adrien wasn’t Chat Noir, at least to everyone else, he was free to be as creative as he can be with presents. So he had decided to crochet a blanket for her as Adrien’s birthday gift to Marinette.

Why a blanket? Well, he wanted Marinette to have something that reminds her of him, and what better way to do that than to have her see and feel his gift the first and last thing of the day? Call him cringy, clingy, or whatever, he doesn’t care. This is their relationship, not anyone else’s. Sue him.

The crocheted cloth was just a simple blanket with nothing but a uniform colour of blue. It wasn’t the prettiest, but he wanted her to hold onto a piece of him, even if she doesn’t know it.

And luckily for him, Marinette loved both gifts, a lot. But since the blanket was more practical than the decorative roses, she had spent more time with it.

He just didn’t expect her to hold onto it all the time.

The first couple of times he visited her, he was overjoyed that she had taken special care of his gifts. The paper roses were placed in an elegant glass vase right next to her desktop, and he always caught her staring at them with a lovesick smile whenever she was waiting for his arrival. With the blanket draped over her shoulders of course.

And the blanket, oh gosh the blanket! Despite his belief that it belonged to recycling bins, she had refused to leave that disaster of a blanket alone. The slightly smaller blanket size had enabled her to always carry it around wherever she went within the room. That sight itself had warmth bursting forth within his chest.

Yes, she loves it that much.

Their time spent together stayed the same, with the addition of the blanket wrapped around herself. Or if it’s too hot, she’d fold it into a bolster and hug it. Or if they were relaxing on the floor, she would lie on top of them. And whenever he visited without her knowledge, he’d see her resting her head on top of a blue pillow while reading fashion magazines. Sometimes, he would even spot his alter-ego in them. It was endearing to see her attachment to his cataclysmic creation.

As the cooler months approached, that meant endless cuddles with Marinette for Chat Noir. Well, nothing wrong with expecting more cuddles from her, right? They had their occasional cuddles during the warmer months. And his Lady had always cuddled with him during cooler months, so it was safe to assume Marinette would do the same.

Right?

But that wasn’t what happened.

Oh no.

That was not what happened at all.

She had cuddled with her blanket far more than she did with him. It was to the point that he received way fewer cuddles from her than he did during the warmer months.

Was it because of the materials he had used for the fabric? It traps heat much better than he can provide, of course she wasn’t going to cuddle with him. What if he pushes her away during their sleep together? Is that why she would prefer being enveloped by the blanket? It’ll never push her away like he did. Or maybe blankets are better and softer to hold onto than his body. Whatever it was, he just knew that this can’t continue.

“You don’t want to cuddle with me anymore?” Kitten eyes fixated themselves on hers, begging for her attention.

Her eyebrow twitched. “Chat no, that’s never the case! It’s just… This gift’s really precious to me.” Does she need anyone else to validate her feelings? Probably not. It was a gift from Adrien, the first person she had ever given her heart to. Even though she had agreed to move on, it still held sentimental value to her regardless.

Chat eyed her and pouted. From the sound of it, Marinette seemed to know that she’s cuddling with that blanket more than with him, and he didn’t know if he should be happy or mad about it. One thing’s for sure though, he was definitely not jealous. Nope, not jealous at all. Jealousy? Don’t know her.

“We can still cuddle! Come here, you big kitty!” She enticed with open arms, and the blanket tossed away from her. Chat lit up and he plopped himself into her arms, pleased that she was now cuddling with him instead of that blanket. The warmth that was now present allured him to sleep with his arms around her waist.

Early next morning, Chat awoke to the constant shaking of his body. The heat source he had from last night was gone. He looked to his side and right there in plain sight, Marinette was snuggling with that unsightly thing. She even had that wrapped around herself and not the two of them.

That audacity.

Chat wasn’t amused at all. Nothing about this was endearing nor adorable anymore. Not when her attention was on that thing and not him.

Plagg was also being an unhelpful ball of chaos when Adrien opened up his heart to him, voicing his genuine concerns and asking for help over the issue regarding his girlfriend’s overt attachment to that thing.

“You brought this upon yourself,” he sneered.

He was actually enjoying his misery.

Little shit.

“You love that blanket more than me.”

It wasn’t even a question like before. It was a god damn statement, just straight up facts about how he felt. This was getting ridiculous. He was jealous, there he admitted it, of the gift he made for her. A gift that technically has his essence. A gift from him. A gift from Adrien-him. He was jealous of himself. An inanimate object from him to be specific. What even?

“That’s not true.”

How dare she deny it.

“Then leave that thing alone and come lie on me while you work on your sketches, like always.” He spoke through gritted teeth.

Marinette couldn't do that. She was currently lying on top of her folded blanket with her upper body elevated from the floor, doodling. It was way too comfortable to move.

“Make me.”

Chat stood so abruptly that Marinette jumped at the movement, and suddenly she was rolling away from her blanket pile. She quickly snatched the other end of the blanket before Chat could do whatever the hell he wanted to do with her blanket.

A tug of war ensued.

“Chat, stop! You’ll rip it apart! Just let go!” Marinette yelled as his claws started digging into her precious fabric.

“No, I had enough. You let go! Come and cuddle with me again!” He demanded.

Chat didn’t know what was going on. Marinette has yet to topple over despite this being an unfair tug of war, hero versus civilian. He should be ashamed of himself for allowing this to happen, but he’s not. He needed to get rid of that piece of junk ASAP.

He could always kiss her injuries goodbye later.

Marinette really had no intentions of letting up anytime soon, that was clear from her face, grip, and stance. Chat decided that Adrien would stop giving her birthday gifts if they were to hold more value to her than he does.

The thought itself led him to unconsciously dig his claws further, creating hideous holes on the already-ugly blanket. He was ripping his own creation. His own blood, sweat, and tears, and honestly, he should stop. But he doesn’t.

“I’ll cuddle with you! Just please let go!”

Normally, Marinette’s pleading was enough for him to give in, but not this time. He wasn’t going to budge. “No! That thing stays away this time, it has already taken up the privileges it doesn't even have in the first place for far too long!”

“Chaaaaaaat!”

“Marineeeeeeette!”

And they both landed on their butts.

Marinette gazed at what remained in her hands and started bawling.

Chat didn’t think they’ll be able to rip it apart, he was expecting her to give up and let go just how strong is she?. Now he felt bad, but before he could walk over to her, she tackled him, arms tightening around his waist.

She was hugging him and crying and not even hitting him or scolding him and he has no idea what’s happening anymore.

“Princess, I’m sorry, please stop crying.”

“No.” He winced. “I’m sorry, Chat. If I had just let go and cuddled with you, this wouldn’t have happened.” Marinette held him tighter and wept.

“No, Marinette... Please, I’m so sorry, I can fix this. Just please stop crying,” he begged.

“How, Chat? You’re not even Adrien,” she wept.

Chat was silent while running his fingers through her hair to soothe her.

“I can,” and he muttered his de-transformation phrase.

Marinette closed her eyes from the sudden brightness and she was gaping at Adrien now. It didn’t register to her that he had de-transformed until then.

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “I can, so don’t worry about it anymore. I’m so sorry for revealing who I am. I just— I don’t know what else to do and I hate it when you cry.” He sneaked a peek at her.

Marinette’s wailing had stopped and she was just looking at him with those wide sapphire orbs. Emotions ran through them and he’s not sure if he picked them all up.

“Please say something.”

After a few beats, “Adrien.”

“Hi.”

“Where did Chat Noir go?”

Did— did she really just ask that question?

He just de-transformed in front of her! Did she not see that?

“I’m Chat Noir!”

“And I’m Ladybug.”

“Wait, wha—”

In a pink flash, Ladybug was lying on his lap, arms circled lazily around his waist.

His eyes widened. “M-My lady?”

“Hey, Chaton,” she smiled.

“Oh my god! Why did you reveal yourself?” Disbelief splashed across his face.

“Why did you reveal yourself?” She threw the question right back at him.

He grabbed her face, shaking it by the beat of his words. “I didn’t know what to do!”

“And, I was trying to salvage the situation! But seeing how chaotic it has gotten, Plagg would be so proud.”

A burst of hysterical laughter could be heard by Adrien’s side, and that chaotic black hole came into view. “You bet I am, Pigtails.”

Adrien looked like he’s losing his mind. “You just revealed you’re Ladybug! How do you salvage that?”

“Chaton, you don’t get it, do you?”

Her head was still in his hands, and he shook her head again, his urgency visible through his actions. “No! Of course I don’t! How?”

“You like both Ladybug and Marinette, don’t you?”

“What? I love both Ladybug and Marinette, thank you very much.” Then it suddenly hit him. He just admitted that he was still in love with Ladybug and should get slapped for two-timing. But more importantly, the two people that have been wreaking havoc in his heart, albeit unknowingly, were both the same person. In his lap.

“Oh.”

Adrien’s eyes bulged out. “Oh my god!”

“There you go,” she smirked. “Couldn’t deprive you of that feeling.”

He didn’t really know if this feeling was one he welcomed now. To be outed as a cheater, but also not really one. This was too much to wrap his head around. How did she get over it so fast?

“You better fix that blanket!” She removed herself from his hands and pushed her face into his stomach. Ladybug embraced him tighter, finally glad that she didn't have to strain her neck any longer.

“Of course, my lady. And you better start cuddling with me again,” he ran his hands through her hair once again.

“Of course, mon Chaton,” she laughed. “I’ll cuddle with both of you.”

“No!”

[inkribbon796]

It’s Not Rabies, It’s . . . Ch. 3

Summary: Lunky gets to meet some more of the family.

A/N: This was a suggestion-request from the anon Nightfall on AO3. Which resulted in this story and since this one was getting a bit long it inspired a bit for the Visitation Day on Sunday which will be a lot less angsty.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

Chapter 3: Meet the Family

Bim was on stage when, apparently, Dark had contacted Wilford, saying to come to the Manor when they both finished up at the studio.

Which Dark tended not to do unless it was something serious. Usually he ordered Illinois and Yan to jump at his command.

But Wil took him home and they found Dark’s office empty. Which was strange because all his important meetings with them were in there.

There was talking in the living room and Wil quickly poked his head out of the room and let out a delighted gasp.

“Now who is this delightful little configuration of being?” Wilford threw open the door and Bim followed more hesitantly.

Bim stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Dark with a child in his arms. He looked at that kid and he could feel his hackles rising.

“Hello,” Wil leaned in close to the child, bracing his hands on his knees. “Are you lucky number seven?”

The spawnling screeched at Wil.

Wilford chuckled, absolutely delighted. “Is that so?”

The madman looked up at Dark with a huge smile, “Their hiss sounds a bit like your echo, Darky.”

“They’re Kay’s child,” Dark told Wil. “Their name is Lunky.”

“Really?” Wil’s enthusiasm didn’t dampen, he clapped his hands on his knees and stood up to look around. “Where is that boy?”

“Hey dad,” King smiled and waved at Wil from where he was sitting in an armchair.

“Congratulations my boy,” Wil moved to his side to clap his hand on King’s shoulder. “Who’s the lucky partner I’ve never met?”

“No one,” King told him. “I got stabbed by a soul splitter and almost died. It gave me a kid instead.”

“That sounds fake as shit,” Bim told him.

Lunky made a little screech.

Wilford roared with laughter, “Learn quick, don’t you?”

King surged up, “Are you teaching my kid to curse, I have to deal with that later.”

“Kid’ll learn sooner rather than later when Anti shows up,” Bim defended with a huge smile on his face as King stomped over to him.

Before King could shake or punch his younger brother, Dark spoke up, “Let’s not Kay.”

The animal magnet threw his arms up in the air, and glared at Bim, “Next time I get you alone you insufferable brat.”

Bim gave him a sharp toothy smile, “Try it Dolittle.”

“Bim, if you keep antagonizing him, you might not win,” Dark warned.

“So to clear the air, this is my nephew?” Bim asked, walking over to the spawnling who maintained eye contact with Bim and both of them began a low warning growl as Bim approached.

“Bim,” Dark warned, shielding Lunky with his aura. “They’re not competition, leave them alone.”

“That’s not why I’m growling,” Bim growled defensively.

“Then why are you growling?” Wil chuckled, leaning his elbows on the back of the couch and resting his chin on the palm of his hands.

Bim glared at Wil before huffing in frustration at Lunky.

“To answer your earlier question, no Lunky is not your brother. You were, to quote Beauregard, a “creation of pure science” and since I killed the other scientists it’s not happening again anytime soon. Besides there are already six of you, and you are all grown adults. Having another child would serve no purpose.”

“I could get a sister,” Yan called as she ran from upstairs with a binder of colored squares and started holding the colors up next to Lunky’s face. “What’s a girl gotta do to get some quality girl time around here?”

“I don’t control that,” Dark reminded her, neither he nor King moving Lunky away from her.

“Come now Darky, we’d get to have another angel running around the house,” Wil pouted.

“That’s what grandchildren are for,” Dark reminded.

“Yes but we have to give them back,” Wilford frowned sadly. Then he seemed to think about that. “We could not give them back.”

“Dad, I am right here,” King reminded. “We don’t live here.”

“A shame,” Wil commented, then he held his hands out. “May I hold them, pretty please?”

“Just don’t kidnap them,” King allowed.

Dark passed Lunky over to Wil, Lunky made an unhappy screeching cry and tried to hold onto Dark’s coat.

Wil chuckled, “Don’t worry, I’ll give you back to him.”

Lunky was suddenly very quiet, going completely limp, their eyes large dark orbs as they started devouring Wil’s aura.

“What a little delight,” Wil smiled. “Can they talk to animals too?”

“No, it’d be so much easier if they could,” King sighed.

Dark walked over and lessened the spells keeping Lunky 3-D and they popped back into their actual form. Wil almost dropped them but Dark caught the spawnling.

Lunky quickly stretched onto the wall and started investigating the room.

“Huh,” Bim commented, “weird gift, do they sleep on a drawing of a bed or an actual bed.”

King let out a bubbling, uncomfortable laugh, “They don’t.”

“What? Sleep?” Bim asked.

“Yes,” King answered. “I’ve barely been sleeping.”

Dark pulled a scroll from the Void and passed it over to King, “This is what I used to use on all of you.”

Looking Dark dead in the eye, King said, “You are the best, if this even works half as well as it did on me.”

Dark smirked at him.

The conversation kept going and Bim went off to hunt again and Wil raced off to the attic with Yan to find something. Leaving Dark, the Host, and King alone with Lunky in the living room. The spawnling seemed to be resting but King knew it wouldn’t last and he would actually go to sleep.

Lunky was resting against Dark’s shoulder, still a flat image, and Dark was just sitting in one of the armchairs, watching them rest.

“You know,” King commented. “When they’re like this, I kinda forget they can be an absolute nightmare.”

“Hopefully that spell works for you,” Dark replied.

“How long did it take Bim to start talking?” King asked. “We came in when he was already talking and walking.”

“We got Bim when he was eight months old, he was walking before he started talking. Wil accidentally said the word “fuck” and that was his first word. I was furious. He started talking when he was almost two. Lunky is a little bit more developed than Bim was. However, Bim was completely artificial.”

King made a face that showed that he wasn’t too reassured by those words. “Okay so should I be doing something?”

“The Host should suggest that there is a strong possibility that Lunky could never be able to fully speak,” the Host warned.

The room went quiet.

“Is that caused by something in their aura?” Dark asked.

“It is something within Lunky’s nature,” the Host reported. “There is a possibility that the Host is wrong, but the Host doubts that.”

“Okay,” King said.

Dark frowned, “A large portion of the heroes can sign, you and Illinois can sign, so can I, Wilford seemed to be able to read his mind. Communication shouldn’t be an issue. It would be a shame if we wasted their time and sanity trying to push them to communicate in a way that makes them uncomfortable.”

“Yeah,” King was very quick to agree, taking in a huge breath and nodding, looking more resolute by the second. “I can talk to birds and dogs. Humans are just another animal, right?”

“Some more so than others,” Dark offered as a barbed comment.

King looked nervous as he looked at Lunky, “I just don’t want to hurt them. I want them to be happy and safe.”

“You’ll do fine,” Dark reassured.

“Because you raised six kids?” King tried to smile.

“Well experience certainly helps,” Dark smiled. “But I meant to say that you won’t be trying to raise this one in secret like I did with all of you.”

“How did you manage that, anyways?” King asked. “We went to Disneyland one year. Dad broke an entire rollercoaster and killed fifteen people.”

“I used the Anomaly to perfectly replicate areas we wished to take you,” Dark answered. “I even replicated police involvement to keep your father entertained.”

“You absolute ass,” King cursed. “You took us to bootleg Disneyland?”

The Host chuckled at that.

“I will have you know it took a full year to investigate the entire park, including how character actors and crowds reacted,” Dark defended. “Did you expect me to bring Wil, Bim, and Arthur to an actual theme park and have nothing happen?”

“Fair,” King grumbled, and then groaned as he checked his phone. “Alright let’s get back to the base.”

“Before you leave,” Dark held up his hand and a necklace with an eye design on it. It swirled with a myriad of colors. “Something I had to learn the hard way. Spawnlings require aura to survive and grow. Like physical activity for a human. Their own will not feed them. So you have a choice: human or demonic aura.”

“To eat?” A pit formed in King’s heart.

“Yes, a new spawnling can strip all the aura from a human and render them a hollow, dry husk, matured demons have more control over it,” Dark warned. “What would you like to feed your child?”

“Uh, how do I get demon aura?” King asked apprehensively.

“Well now that depends, either an older, more experienced demon can donate their aura to a younger one, helping that spawnling grow stronger,” Dark explained. “Or you could kill a lesser, weaker demon and take all their aura to make oneself more powerful.”

That alarmed King instantly. “Demons can actually die?”

“Not from a single hit or even a volley of hits, killing a demon is a drawn out process but if the lesser is significantly weaker and the other demon is significantly stronger the fight is almost not fair. I have to kill some upstart every couple of months who tries to wander into Egoton thinking they can just take over. Typically I can just run them out and if they’re smart they won’t come back, other demons not so much. Why not put all that energy to good use?”

“O-Okay,” King allowed.

“I figured you would side with the humans so I took the time to mix my own aura with another demon’s that I recently subdued,” Dark told him. “At Lunky’s current appetite this should last him a couple months.”

King moved to put on the necklace but Dark stopped him. “Try to avoid putting it on, we wouldn’t want Lunky to associate you with food, now would we? You have far less aura than I do.”

“Right,” King pocketed the necklace and King took Lunky back who was upset to leave Dark’s arms and aura, but was quieted when they were given the necklace to chew on. Wil and Dark said their goodbyes. The Host took Lunky and King back to the base.

A calm settling back over the city.