#Cover Block for Slab

[goyalcementblocking]

Goyal Cement Blocking is a trusted name among concrete cover blocks manufacturers, providing durable and high-quality cover blocks for construction projects. Our products ensure strength, stability, and precision, making them ideal for residential, commercial, and industrial applications.

[dreamertf]

Follow the Instructions

/hello! Hope you enjoy this one, im gonna start tagging ai as #ai tf so if you dont want to see any ai images in your tfs you can block that tag. Ill also be putting a disclaimer at the top of each post that has ai.

/contains ai images & video

/includes; muscle growth, suggestion tf, straight to gay tf

"Yeah, Im feeling fine!"

Jason was tired of how weak and scrawny his best friend Max stayed throughout their time in high school and now, college. So he had given Max a new black market roid that promised to "make him a bro." He crushed up a few of the pills without looking at the instructions and baked it into a cookie he gave Max.

Jason wasn't so bad himself, 6'4" and muscular, with a charming face. Little did he know that his height that he had since he was a sophmore in highschool would be changing.

Jason stared at Max as his skin started to ripple and shift.

"Are you sure?"

"Never better, bro."

Max ripped his shirt off as his muscles swelled. A deep canyon of rippling abs leading up to two giant slabs of muscle. He flexed and stretched as his biceps filled out.

"Sorry, im feeling a little hot." Max said non chalantly. His muscles continued to grow as he flexed them.

"Oh my god it worked"

"What worked?"

"Oh nothing, dont worry about it."

"Ok brah"

Their surrounds changed from school as it turned into a living room, a living room Jason had been in so many times before, Max's living room. All of a sudden, Jason felt a pull towards Max. He couldn't stop looking at him, like literally. He traced Max's outline as each muscle became more prominent. He stared at the giant as he grew taller and taller, but something wasn't right. It was like everything around Jason was getting taller too.

Unfortunately, Jason hadn't looked into how the roid actually worked. On the back of the small blue box, it read ;

Are you tired of being weak and nerdy? We got you covered. We believe the human mind is a powerful tool, and our Bro Pill helps you to use it to your full potential! Not only does it shift your mindset to be more focused on sports and the bros, but it also changes various other aspects of your life in order to fit your new you! We recommend taking one pill weekly until desired affects.

WARNING: taking more than one pill a week may intensify the effect you have on other people

Jason panicked as he felt himself losing muscle and height. His features softened as he turned from a rugged man into a young 20 something twink. It looks like the god of Jason's creation has type cast him as his twinky boyfriend. Making Max a jock apparently didn't override his sexuality.

"What are you doing to me?"

His voice was still deep, too deep for someone like him.

"Make that voice a little higher, and can you please quit being so worried brah? Be like me, stop thinkin as much little guy huhuhu."

A wave of relief came over Jason as he collapsed onto the couch. His body continued to shrink as he lost his height, becoming about 5'6" compared to Max's new 6'8". His musculature toned down more, not as defined anymore.

"Whatever you say babe" Jason giggled, his voice much higher and more flamboyant.

"Thats my pretty boy." Conversely, Max's voice became much deeper and demanding. Jason felt himself starting to get hornier.

"I'm so happy i couldfind you. Your ass was like made for my dick huhuhu" Max said as he spread his legs wide as his pouch grew bigger. He had one more explosive growth as his shoulder broadened and his pecs filled out more. Jason shifted in his seat as his ass grew more plump and muscular.

"What do you mean?" Jason feigned innocence, turning the ditziness all the way up.

"Come here and I'll show you, slut."

[bloggerspam]

Lost in Grave Dirt

You've forgotten your name.

You've forgotten a lot of things, actually.

But you keep getting stuck on the fact that you do not know your name.

Maybe John? No, that doesn't seem right. Jane? You've forgotten if you're a woman or man, which feels like it should be important, but doesn't seem to be right in this moment.

Tom? Richard? Harry?

None of these feel right.

"Hello?" You blink. Right, forget the name—someone else is here and has been calling you for a while. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes, I can hear you." You call back, looking down at yourself. You're sitting in a ditch, legs half-buried in the ground. You're disheveled and covered in dirt, but you seem to be okay overall besides that. "Sorry, I was a little distracted. What were you asking me?"

"I asked if you were alright." The person standing at the top of the ditch you're in replies, cautiously, as if they are not sure if you are crazy or not. Which is fair play, really, considering where you have woken up.

"Right." You say, wondering if you should pick yourself up and dust yourself off. "I'm not sure. Would you happen to know who I am?"

The color drains from the person's face, eyes straying to the side, voice trembling a bit as they seem to read off of something. "Uh, does the name Daniel J. Fenton ring any bells?"

"Hm." You think on that for a moment, surveying the ditch and shaking your legs a little to free them. You don't feel like a Daniel, but then again, you don't not feel like a Daniel either. You tell them so, before looking back up in confusion. "Maybe I went by a nickname?"

"Like, Danny?" The person tilts their head, biting their lip. "Probably?"

You consider this, feeling out the possibly-not-new name. "Danny does feel more…right."

"So you don't remember who you are?" The person crouches, leaning more closer. "Or why you're sitting in…uh. There?"

"I have no earthly idea." You admit, to which the person snorts.

"Earthly. good one." They chuckle, reaching a hand down. "Do you, uh, maybe need help getting out?"

"That'd be nice." You take their hand, climbing out of the ditch with surprisingly little effort. You think you've been down there a while, but again, you can't quite remember. Still, you have a lot less aches and pains than you thought you would.

When you are successfully out, you start dusting yourself off, pausing when you see your new companion fidget uncomfortably. You're about to ask what's wrong when you catch sight of the small slab of stone at the head of the ditch you were in.

It's a tombstone, crudely made, with a name and years written on it as they usually do.

Daniel J. Fenton. April 3, 2004 to December 24th, 2023.

"Huh." You say, words slipping out as you carefully make your way over. "That's…interesting."

"I'll say. If I had a nickle for every guy I've seen rise out of his grave," your companion laughs, disbelieving and almost depressively, "I'd have two nickles."

You hum, something not quite sitting right. Your clothes are covered in dirt beyond belief, but beyond the normal wear and tear you're relatively clean. No out of place rips or tears, not even a speck of blood, on your once white teeshirt and blue jeans.

"Which isn't a lot," your companion continues, oblivious to your conundrum. "But it's weird that it's happened twice, right?"

You turn to look at the ditch, inspecting it for a moment, leaning over before your companion grabs you to yank you back.

"Whoa, what—" your companion turns you around, hands clamped around your biceps as if to keep you there, "we just got you out, why are you trying to get back in?"

"I'm not trying to get back in," you try and wriggle your way out, but your companion is not budging. You crane your neck as best you can, before giving up and staring into your captor's blazing eyes. "I just thought it was strange is all."

"Strange?" They finally let you go, moving over to look over the ditch themselves, as if to block your path. "What is?"

"Well," You make a face down at your beat up sneakers. "The grave looks very…machine dug. It's not really what you'd expect from someone crawling out of their own grave, right?"

Your companion freezes, turning slowly too look you up and down in a new light. Their entire countenance changes, as if a switch has been flipped.

"Come to think of it, you don't have a suit," They stalk back to you, taking your hands carefully into theirs. "And your fingernails are too clean to have dug yourself out."

"In the first place," You venture, as they let your hands drop,"Where's my coffin?"

That seems to puzzle them as well, both of you leaning over to peek at the empty grave. It truly looks too clean to have been done by human hands, the walls of it oddly straight. It's about 6 feet deep, with only the side you used to climb out looking slightly lopsided.

"…Huh." Your companion says. And really, what else were you expecting? "Should have noticed that first."

"Can't really blame you." You shrug, looking around and realizing you're also not sure where the missing dirt is, "I'd be more concerned about the amnesiac too."

"I think," Your companion finally decides, having also looked around and found nothing, "that maybe I should take you to my friends so we can sort this out."

"Sure." You agree, amiably. You have this vague notion like you should be more cautious, second locations and all that, but you also have this weird certainty that there's nothing that you can't really handle.

Do all amnesiacs have this kind of cockiness? Or is it just you? You eye your companion up and down as they take out their phone to contact their people, suddenly realizing that maybe you should have taken note of this before.

He's of African descent, skin a smooth and oddly comforting umber color. His eyes are cocoa brown, bright and rounded almond, reminding you of a chocolate Labrador. His hair is in beaded braids, some golden rings decorated here or there.

He's a handsome man, buffer than you are, though only slightly shorter than you. You think, in normal circumstances, that perhaps you would be in trouble. Your own arms are toned but slim, and though you seem to have some abs, you are more of a lean variety.

Still, you somehow know you could take him.

Strange.

"Alright," he says into the phone, "I'll see you at Leslie's."

When he hangs up and gestures for you to follow him with a smile, you realize that maybe you have forgotten something else important.

"So," You say as you trail behind him, "my name might be a mystery, but will yours stay one too?"

The man jolts, twisting around suddenly to a stop. "Right! Sorry," he holds out a hand, sheepishly smiling, "I'm Duke. Duke Thomas."

"Nice to meet you Duke." You smile as you shake his hand, feeling oddly warm. "I guess for now, you can call me Danny until proven otherwise."

"Nice to meet you too, Danny." Duke laughs, tugging you along, both of you walking side by side towards a motorcycle parked just outside the graveyard. "Let's get you sorted, yeah?"

You hop onto the bike behind Duke, feeling a little guilty about dirtying up the spare helmet you were given. The drive from there is smooth, refreshing on your skin—the sights slide by in technicolor and you lean back to flow with it, hands tight around Duke's waist.

You've forgotten your name, though you seem to have a lead on it.

You've forgotten a lot of things, truly.

But somehow, you remember this: this feeling of flying through a city, wind whipping around you, a kind of lightness to your body that feels like gravity is only an occasional visitor.

You find solace in that, this strangely familiar feeling and the warmth that seeps from Duke in front of you.

Somehow, you know:

All is as it should be.

[dotcie]

MDNI | simon 'ghost' riley x afab!reader | no use of y/n, no mention of name, weight, hair style, or skin colour | use of nickname "dove" | ghost fucks you on shepherds desk. that‘s it.

The scream that climbs out of your lungs dies unaired, against rough skin, and the world explodes into motion.

You bite down on the bare palm covering your mouth, elbows digging into the body that traps you in place. Feet shuffle, and before you can even get your bearings enough to tap into your training to fight back, you're dragged into the closest room.

The door is pulled shut behind you, latching with a quiet little click, and you're spun around to face your opponent—back slamming against the slab of wood blocking your freedom. It takes you more seconds of struggling to recognise that the hand over your mouth is accompanied by familiar tattoos and that the man in front of you is, indeed, Simon.

"Don't scream," he says, all casual and loose.

His lips quirk with an utterly devilish smirk once he lets go of you, and your clenched fists crash down onto his chest immediately; trying to push him away, to make it hurt. You shove at him, aim for his face, but he doesn't yield—just grabs your wrists mid air like it's nothing.

"You fuck—fucking psychopath!" you spit, pulling and puffing in his tight grip, but he doesn't let go.

"Hey, hey—" Simon begins instead, voice growing softer, but he's laughing, and the sound of it is laced with a gravity that draws an ache into the rhythm of your own heartbeat.

"Let go of me!"

He slightly tilts his head as he stares down on you, gaze raking over your face as if he is searching for something—how serious you are, maybe. An indicator of how upset you are, perhaps. His eyes linger on the slight frown curving the corners of your lips and the anger in your eyes. You stare back fiercely, heart caught in your throat.

"Sorry," he says, the shadow of a grin ghosting over his lips as he finally lets go of you.

"I'm going to kill you," you snarl back, palming your wrist.

"Y'wouldn't be the first to try, dove."

He says it in that same monotone manner he always does, and you heave a deep sigh, tipping your head back against the door for an agonizing beat—as though you're horribly exhausted by this little game of his.

Yet, he seems unmoved, his eyes unreadable. You've gritted your teeth for years at his silence, just to now drag it on out of spite.

You let your eyes roam through the dark room you've been dragged into. Ceiling-high bookshelves, expensive leather chairs, and a solid wood desk fill the room. There's no question that this must be Shepherd's office, and you swallow the question of how Simon managed to get in here. When you shake your head at him in silence disapproval instead, he blinks back at you unmoved.

It's the first time you get a good look at him since you left him in Brixton. He's in a plain, dark blue uniform, a row of medals clinging to the left side of his left chest. It's been a while since you've seen him in formal attire, and your eyes linger a little bit too long on his broad frame before they move up and take in his scarred face. The jaw you know, the crooked nose, the dark eyes that often carry a brutal, pale expression—now looking down on you soft and open.

"No mask, huh?" You hate how the words come out low and peeved, an exhale that flutters like a leaf carried adrift by strong winds.

"They said it'd be unbecoming to the other guests."

You laugh, just a breath, and your face crumples into a hundred shades of grief with it. The way his voice folds gently around your name immediately makes everything much worse.

"Look, y'told me not to contact you, and I didn't, alright, but we're both here and—shite, I dunno. Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe—"

"How much have you been drinking?"

"Lost count. It's Johnny's fault, really—you look stunning, have I told you yet?"

"You did." — "Good."

You freeze as he steps closer, but you don't pull away. Simon lets his touch linger, slowly skimming his fingertips over your jaw. He catches the way your breath quickens, and how your gaze flickers to his lips. You swallow hard, trying to breathe past the sudden thundering of your heart against your ribs. The flare of heat that sears through your veins is a warning, and the familiar longing cleaving you in two is just as sharp and unforgiving. You make an annoyed face at him for it, wanting to claw at his face and rip his clothes off at the same time.

"Let me kiss you," he murmurs, touching you like it's a question.

Your heart is in the back of your throat. Although you try to swallow it, your voice comes out as little more than a whisper. "Simon, I—"

He moves anyway, bridges the gap between you, and your hands move to his chest. Your breath catches and tangles up in your ribs, like it's the first time you've ever been here, the first time he's looking at you with this intensity that's palpable, that's alive and tangible and real.

Your hands on his chest curl into fists. "C'mon, don't do this, we talked about—"

He doesn't let you finish, kissing the words right out of your mouth.

Simon pours all his feelings— every drop of love he holds for you in his heart, every last fraying thread of longing, everything—into the kiss. You tremble under the warmth of his lips, cursing yourself for giving in, for meeting him here alone. You're not a good person—you are a terrible person, and you're not going to stop, because now Simon is sucking in your bottom lip, and inching his hands up your thighs, up over your hips, palming your ass, and it feels good and it is terrible and he wants you just like this, and you—

Simon picks you up by the thighs, and there's no room in your head to protest; you wrap your arms and legs around him instead, deepening the kiss like you're starved for it. He crosses the room effortlessly, kicking a chair out of the way with his foot with a screech, before setting you down on the cool surface of Shepherd's desk.

[read more]

[kaynanarie]

Eyes of Gold (Part 17)

(A WukongxReader story inspired by Beauty and the Beast and Lutung Kasarung.) (First) (Prev)

            Pain pounded through your head like a war drum, pulling you from a groggy sleep. You groaned and felt for the source, wincing when your clumsy fingers found a tender bump at your temple. Opening your eyes only added to the ache, the dim light jabbing through your skull like sharp daggers. Your body felt heavy and uncoordinated as you cautiously sat up and steadied your senses.

            The first thing you noticed was the heat; muggy air pressing in close, clinging to your robes and skin like a damp, heavy blanket. With it came the lingering, acrid scent of smoke and soot. Once you could squint your eyes open, the space around you slowly came into focus. It was less of a room and more of a cell with rough stone walls and a solid metal door without a handle. Even your ‘bed’ was little more than a carved slab of rock covered by a threadbare blanket.

            Nothing about it felt familiar or welcoming; a far cry from the Fruit and Flower Mountain you had come to call home. As you struggled to remember where you were or how you got there, bits and pieces stitched themselves together like wisps of mist from your hazy memory.

            Spending time with Shihou only to be interrupted by the villagers’ plea for aid. Sun Wukong shattering the frozen lake and his surprising resemblance to your peach friend. Jumping through the waterfall and finally kissing Shihou. His rejection and reveal of the Monkey King’s intentions. The heartbreak and betrayal that drove you from the safety of the palace. Your sister’s deal with the Bull Demon King and your unwilling role to play in it. The last thing you could remember was being captured and knocked unconscious. A gentle brush where you had been struck did little to sooth the ache in both your head and your heart.

            Given the stone walls and fortified door, it was obvious you had been handed over to the son of the bull. But, without a handle to even try, you had no idea what to expect or what to do next.

            A, small, secret part of you hoped your peach friend would somehow know you needed help; that Shihou would find you, save you, protect you like he always promised. Maybe the Monkey King himself would be inclined to mount a rescue given his inexplicable claim over you. But with the harsh words and heartbreak left in the wake of your sudden disappearance, expecting aid from either monkey was little more than wishful thinking.

            Through the heavy gloom surrounding you, a beam of light illuminated the far wall in a soft, golden glow. Swaying to your feet, you shuffled across the room until you reached a window to the outside. Thick, iron bars were embedded in the surrounding stone, blocking any escape attempts. Not that it made much of a difference; the hole was no bigger than your face, only a wispy breeze and ray of sunshine able to squeeze through. A small patch of sky was barely visible with puffy clouds and a lone hawk drifting along the blue. You couldn’t help but envy its freedom.

            Time passed slowly, only marked by the dizzying circles of the sharp-eyed bird on the hunt. You had nearly dozed off again when a metal clang startled you and triggered your headache back to full force. The heavy door swung open and two demons crowded into the tiny room. Both were tall with red skin, yellow eyes, and jagged teeth. They wore matching armor and carried identical spears; clearly guards of whatever demon held you captive.

            “His Highness has summoned you,” one of them growled. Before you could answer, much less protest, each arm was grabbed and you were hauled up and out of your cell.

            The rest of the dungeon was eerily similar, the same hot air and gray stone lining the torchlit halls. Your head swam and your feet stumbled under you but the bruising grips on your arms forced you to keep pace with the guards’ steadfast march. The more turns you were dragged down, the more dread tightened your chest and turned your stomach.

            You knew you were a prisoner of a demon prince but beyond that, everything was an unnerving mystery. Where you were and how far were you from home? Would the bull king’s son be kind or cruel? With the endless tunnels of solid stone, what were the odds of escaping? And would you even survive an audience with your unexpected betrothed?

            As the endless gray and flickering flames blurred together in your muddled mind, the sudden splash of red at the end of the tunnel was jarring to see. The guards stopped just before the curtain and announced in a booming voice, “We’ve brought the human, your Highness!”

            A moment passed before someone answered, younger but with unwavering authority. “You may enter.”

            The heavy fabric was held aside and you were shoved into the next room. More stone greeted you, this time arching high and wide into an enormous cavern. Even with the open space, the intense heat and smoky scent was nearly suffocating. Crimson banners and support pillars reached from floor to ceiling, circling around a raised dais. As you were marched closer, an ornate throne came into view along with the figure seated on it.

            He looked like a youth; no longer a child but not yet a man. Dark hair and fair skin contrasted elegantly against the red silks of his robes. Embroidered dragons and phoenixes decorated his armored kilt, both extravagant and battle ready all at once. He lounged on the throne, bare feet kicked up and chin leaning against his fist. The other hand idly twirled a gleaming lance with practiced ease.

            The guards stomped to a halt and forced you to kneel before the prince. Despite his human-like appearance, he radiated the dangerous aura of a powerful demon.

            “Finally awake, I see,” the young man spoke, barely glancing your way with bored disinterest. “About time. I was beginning to wonder if you’d save us the trouble and not wake at all.”

            “Where am I?” you blurted out before you could think better of it. “How long have I been here?”

            “The Flaming Mountains. You’ve been asleep since I brought you here nearly two days ago.” The judgmental stare he pinned you with sent a shudder down your spine. “I must say, as dingy as your little village was, I wasn’t expected my chosen betrothed to be handed over in such a disheveled state.”

            You fidgeted a bit under his scrutiny, acutely aware of your crumpled robe and unkempt appearance. Shoving your nerves aside, you redirected the conversation to answer your own question. “So, you must be son of the Bull Demon King, then?”

            “Correct; seems you’re not completely dim…for a human, anyways.” He stood from his throne, shoulders squared and chin raised high and proud. “I am Red Boy, son of the Bull Demon King and Rakshasi the Princess Iron Fan.”

            His lance was leveled down at you, the sharp edge pressing just under your chin. Ice washed through your veins, breath froze in your lungs, and your heart raced with panic but you dared not move.

            “You will address me as ‘Lord’ or ‘Prince’ if you wish to keep your tongue. We may be betrothed but it does not make us equals. I’m not keen on an arranged marriage, especially to a human. It is only out of respect for my father that I agreed to this political match. If you wish to keep your village safe from harm, I suggest you stay agreeable as well.”

            Once the weapon was withdrawn, the tight squeeze in your chest relaxed enough to finally breathe. The threat was clear but beyond that, his words gave you an idea and the tiniest shred of hope to act on.

            “Apologies, Lord Red Boy, but I’m afraid there’s been a mistake,” you forced the words out, shaky but determined. “You see, the Bull Demon King is not the protector of my village.”

            A curved brow arched up in surprise. “That’s a bold claim, human,” he sneered, eyes flashing in warning. “Explain yourself.”

            “Your father made the deal with my sister not realizing the village was already under the protection of Sun Wukong–”

            “THAT DAMN MONKEY!?” While Red Boy’s enraged shout was startling, the blaze of fire that spewed from his mouth was even more so. He took a deep breath to compose himself, puffs of black smoke still seeping between his gritted teeth when he addressed you again. “You presume to know the business of my father and the Monkey King?”

            “I–I’ve been staying as a royal guest of Sun Wukong,” you stuttered out. “I was there when the kings… agreed that the village would stay under the Monkey King’s patronage.”

            Red Boy’s sharp smile held no amusement. “You’re suggesting my father lost his claim?”

            “I just know Sun Wukong has continued to protect the village while Bull Demon King moved on with his soldiers,” you answered carefully.

            The prince sat back on his throne, fingers steepled and face pinched in thought. “I don’t believe you,” he finally said, dark eyes glowing like heated coal. “Why would the Monkey King hand over his supposed ‘Royal Guest’ for a deal that’s no longer in accord?”

            “He didn’t.” You shook your head, on hand soothing over your injured temple. “My sister has wished for my absence from the village for a while. She arranged for my abduction without Sun Wukong’s knowledge.”

            Red Boy still seemed unconvinced, staring you down with something akin to pity. “And this isn’t just you trying to weasel your way out of the marriage agreement?”

            “Would you rather go through with the wedding and find out it wasn’t necessary?” you countered boldly.

            He pondered your words, head nodding slowly in agreement. “You make an excellent point. Perhaps I will send word to my father to corroborate your story.” Red Boy gestured to one of his servant. Immediately, a scroll was unfurled and the demon began writing out a message. “If you’re telling the truth as the monkey’s ‘Royal Guest’, the deal will be off and your fate will be decided from there. But if you’re lying…” The tip of his lance glowed before igniting, the flames dancing hot and threatening along the blade. “I will personally show you how unforgiving the flames of this mountain can be.”

            At the snap of the prince’s fingers, the demon guards grabbed your arms and hauled you back to your feet. “In the meantime, you will continue to be my guest until word returns on your claims.”

            Red Boy turned away in a clear dismissal and you were dragged out of the throne room before you could plead your case further.

            The march back to the dungeon was just as disorienting. Before you knew it, you were returned to your stone cell, iron door closed and locked behind you. A gourd of water and stale bread had been left for a meal but you had no appetite.

            All the hope had been drained out of you, every threat and ominous promise weighing heavy on your mind. Red Boy, while maybe not as powerful as the Monkey King, was still dangerous and had no qualms about harming humans, you included. Even if Bull Demon King did confirm your story, there was no guarantee of your release or safety.

            Weary and disheartened, you bypassed the bed in favor of huddling against window. The hawk was still circling and the setting sun colored the clouds in shades of pink and purple. It was a small comfort but you clung to it, enjoying your glimpse to the outside. Even as the distant light faded over the horizon and the sky darkened to night, your only wish was to live long enough to see the sun again.

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~🍑 Peach Friends 🍑~

@joyfulllittlething @iluxurycruisedthatship @drspecialhell @moondrop39-dovewing70 @happycarp @chibifox88 @rutabaga-menace @resident-cryptid @reynboe-sage @taffycandyqt @alicee-carter @epochal-oracle @unnisumi @borealis33 @aerkame

(If you would like to join the tag list, let me know!)

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Finally done! Apologies for the delay, I've had computer problems for the past month and my laptop finally gave up the ghost this past weekend. I'm using my old, slow one until my new one arrives. In the meantime, Red Boy! 🔥

Huge thanks to @blackknight-kai and @drspecialhell for helping me so much with this chapter, love you guys! 💖

You can also find this story on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60643669

[smallestapplin]

I humbly request First Aid nsfw with whatever content you feel in the mood write, I just love your work teehee

I love him, I’m too down bad

(Please feel free to delete, have a good day<3)

First Aid is a cutie, I’m a sucker for any G1 character (or animated) I went with a human gn!afab s/o! (Also i love your work aaaa)

Mdni you will be blocked! Adults only!

-

-

First Aid is attentive and even that is an understandment! His visor glowing softly in the dim light of his habsuite as he worked on opening your human valve open, he has been at it for what felt like hours, his servos gently rubbing yout thighs as he laid between you legs, his helm keeping you from closing them no matter how sensitive your body became.

“First Aid, please, I can’t…mm, fuck! Can’t take much more…!” You toss your head back with a cry, practically sobbing his name.

“I’m sorry, my light, but I just want to make sure you are properly prepared. I don’t want to risk hurting you.” He kisses your inner thigh before trailing his glossa back through your needy sex.

His spike twitches against the berth, leaking pre-fluid onto the metal slab, and his puffy valve clenching around nothing. He wants to please you so badly, to worship you, make you overload over and over and over again, make a mess on his glossa. First Aid wants to spike you, he does! There isnt a day that goes by where he isn’t feeling like a pervert imagining what your cute human valve feels like around him, but he’s much too big for you.

It’s not completely lost, however, he found he is addicted to the way you taste, he can’t get enough he never wants to stop! You taste so good, each overload you give him is never enough to sate his thirst for more of your slick. His optics never leave you, taking in ever last expression yout make, noting it all to memory.

His own frame shaking as you arch your back with a loud cry falling from your spit covered lips, you sound so alluring, tempting him in for more, calling to him, begging him to keep touching you.

“Please, please, I can take it, fuuuck just let me have a taste, please!” Tears stinging your eyes as you just want to make your partner feel good too, but he can barely hear you.

Moaning against your all too sensitive pussy. Your throw your head back, hips bucking trying to ride his face as he slowly pushes his long thick glossa into your weeping hole. You squeal, hips jerks sloppily as you cum yet again, your eyes rolling back as the pleasure is mounting, a mix of too much and not enough. And not enough it is, at least for First Aid, your pleasure and comfort is his number one priority, and it’s just to make sure you can take us spike later, so this is fine!

“So good…so pretty for me. I love you.” His mutters into your skin, glossa never leaving your pussy.

“First Aid.” You whine his name, only earning you a pitiful whine frm him.

You’re just too good, too intoxicating, he can’t seem to help himself. You can at least rest well knowing he is the king of aftercare, because you are going to need it.

[wenwenbittercake]

Chapter 2: In the lion’s den (Sukuna x reader x Uraume) 🦌🔥🦌🔥🦌🔥🦌

(Sorry for late update and oh boy this one is a lot. I hope you guys enjoy. A little bit of Uraume x reader there so beware 🤭🤭

chapter 1 : The hunter's Prey

Chapter 3: Hope induced by despair

Warning: blood, killing, cannibalism, public embarrassment. Also, in this fanfic i use he/him to call Uraume since before his reincarnation he was male. If it is an issue please tell me. Art by : woshihedawei on twt )

“My lord, I greet you well from your ga-“  words of the followers were cut short from the sight.

There, on lord Sukuna’s right shoulder is a woman, no a doe? Her lower half is of a doe’s and her upper body is of a woman. Her face was concealed by her long black hair. Sukuna holds her like a sack of grains with little to no care. He grins in triumph as he held the woman on his shoulder. On of his large arm, holds her by his waist so she wouldn’t slip off. A part of him wonders if she’s dead. Her body weight almost feels as if she’s dead however, occasional muscle spasms of the doe woman assure him that she’s much alive but unconscious. As he walks into the mansion, passing by cult followers, they all awe at the sight, most of the servants stopping on their tracks to do so. Sukuna scoffs at their reaction. As if their lord isn’t a 4 eyed beast with a mouth on his stomach. Not to mention the extra limbs he possesses. He walks through maze like wooden corridors of the mansion. His looming shadow stretched across the wooden paper sliding doors, shifting and bending with each step along the corridor. Making his way to the person he wants to meet the most.

  Uraume as usual, preparing recipes with the help of ten other servants in the kitchen area of the mansion for Sukuna when he brought in his recent prey. Without even turning around, his ears picked up on the familiar sound of heavy footsteps on wood and-

“URAUMEEEE”

Uraume, with a sigh, stop their task in hand. Turning their attention to Sukuna with his head low.

“It seems my lord had a splendid hunt from your tone my lo-“ “THUD” Uraume eyes widen to the object that dropped on to the butcher block.

Everyone in the kitchen stop what they’re doing, turning their attention to the matter that drop on to the butcher block. Just a breath away from gasp. Uraume stop them with a stern glare, making every servant in the kitchen scurry out. Only after the last servant leave and the sound of the sliding door shutting is heard, Uraume grope the skin of it, examining it like a slab of meat. After all, in Uraume’s eyes, man or animal, both are just a slab of meat for them.

“My lord, would you prefer grilled deer meat or human sashimi for your feast?”

Sukuna’s roaring laugh filled the kitchen, threatening to shake the very roof of the kitchen down as he grabs his jaw and stomach to control his laughs.

“You are a great jest Uraume, truly. However, this doe is not for eating.” With an odd gentleness, Sukuna carefully tucks the inky strands of hair that covers Y/N’s face with his fingernails, making sure his sharp nails don’t graze on her pale milky skin.  Revealing her unconscious beauty. Even with doe like features on her facial features, her beauty still radiates from wild grace and human elegance. “Take her to the courtesans' quarters. See that she is made presentable. I wish to see her dance at tonight’s feast.” Sukuna claw like fingers, drift from playing with Y/N’s soft doe ears to her soft cheeks, squeezing them, making her unconscious self-pout. This causes the forever tormenting, lord Sukuna to slip an amused smile. Oh how easy it is for you to amuse him.

  “Splash!” Y/N gasp awake to the sudden feeling of cold water being splash over her head. Making her gasp for air and cough on water. She hurriedly pushes her hair out of her face to assist the surroundings. You are in a pool of water. No, you are in a tub. A wooden one and the water is cold. You hug your knees in your chest, almost in a defensive effort. The action causes you to let out a pained whimper, realizing the blood that is oozing out of your wound making the once clear water, slightly red.

“Don’t strain yourself.” A cold voice appears behind you, making you sit upright in alarm. The man emerges from behind you.

He walks to the end of the tub with a bucket in hand which he drops it to the corner of the room. You take in your surround to realize you are in a dimly lit, four walled room. The walls made of sliding bamboo paper door, and you can make out the sounds of shifting feet right outside the doors. The man seems to notice your attention as he mutters,

“Ignore them, their miniscule brains cannot comprehend your existence.” His words cold and unempathetic. Almost in a condescending tone.

You realize not only his words are cold when his pale hand reach into the water, pulling out the leg that is injured out of the water in a rough manner, causing you to let out a yelp. You try to straggle out of his icy fingers, but his fingers tighten on your ankle the more you struggle.

“Halt! I wish to not repeat my words.” His tone sharp and clear, making you stop on your tracks.

You can only shiver as your body is awkwardly out of the water with his freezing grip tight around your ankle. You can see the man fiddle out something from his pouch around his waist. He retrieves a needle out with a thread connecting it. You almost pull away but the man just gives you a sharp glare, making you stop from you notion.

“Hold still, your wound needs to be closed.” With that the man carefully starts to stitch your open wound on your thigh.

  You grip on the edge of the wooden tub from the pain and to hold yourself steady from being in an awkward position in the tub. Thankfully, the man has no sadistic tendencies as he treats your wound as fast as possible with more care than you would ever put to yourself. You feel conflicted by his hash treatment earlier, opposing the tenderness he has shown when he treats your wound. He gently places your leg back in the water after he’s done with sewing your wound. He wordless baths you with a washcloth. Not a single emotion exposed from the man as you watch curiously at him washing your body. As he scrubs your arms, you can’t help but noticed how masculine and feminine he looks. His white hair and lashes somewhat resemble snow. Soft snow you use to roll around on the forest clearing with your friends. You can remember how soft and cold it felt, you can almost feel it.

Uraume flinch at the feeling of the woman’s soft fingers threading through his air. It was so light, but he felt it. He flinches; a shade of vulnerability crosses his face. His eyes wide, mirroring of the woman’s.

“Please refrain from touching me.”

You kept your head low as the man now you know as Uraume instructed you to. The heavy material of the kimono stuck to your fur and the length of it tangles with your hooves. It hot and uncomfortable, making you internally groan in frustration. Your hooves clatter as you walk down the dark wooden corridor lead by Uraume. The corridors only lit faintly by the yellow candles lights illuminating from the rooms on the other side of the paper sliding doors. You can hear the distance booming laughter of men and instruments playing. The music and the laughter all mix in a concoction of chaos. The closer you get to the source of the noises, the harder it gets for you to breathe, the tighter the kimono starts to get. Your labored breath starts to quicken. Beads of sweat starts to form on your peach fuzz temple as you stand in front of the door, where you assume lord Sukuna would be. The lord Uraume said you must entertain. Wait why must you entertain him?

“Do as he command you to. Don’t question, don’t resist if you value your life.” The thought left you when you feel the cold touch of Uraume’s hand over your shoulder.

A part of him feels bad for this woman, seeing how she’s already trembling even before seeing his lord. However, the twisted part of him want to see if he can make her tremble more. His icy fingers drift from the tight hold of her shoulder to slowly drifting down to feel the smooth texture of her kimono sleeves with just the tip of his fingers. Not feeling her skin until just for a brief moment. Just for a few seconds. Uraume holds the back of your heated hand in a feather light touch.

So brief that you thought you imagine it. Before you could think more of the matter. Uraume sharply make his presence known.

“My lord…The doe has arrived.”

The voices and the music inside silence as if they never existed.

“Come in.” The familiar voice make you froze in your place. Your eyes widen. You’ve heard of this voice before. Before you can question more, the sliding doors open and your horrors greet you.

Sukuna’s eyes lighten with delight at the sight of his doe. Her beautiful fur hidden under all those fabrics, much to his disappointment. However, soft patches of fur peeks out of her nape and the doe like features of on her facial features are enough to please Sukuna for now.

“Come my dear, do not be afraid.” Sukuna said with a knowing grin.

Y/N hasn’t registered the jest which edge the sadistic part of Sukuna further. The room full of follower’s eyes follow to lord Sukuna before traveling to Y/N’s face before back to Sukuna. Only when he slips a smirk does everyone in the room start to laugh maniacally to the point where it looks like an act. Y/N grimace at the sight. She doesn’t dare to step into what looks to be a big hall, lit with bright candle lights and suffocating incense, but in actuality, a lion’s den that she might not be able to crawl out of. Y/N took a step back, wanting to run back down to hall and jump out any window she could find but her efforts were stopped by Uraume’s firm hand against her back pushing her in. She looks back to him with betrayed eyes only for Uraume to slide the door shut on her face.

“Feast your eyes upon my finest prize as of late. She may wear the skin of a woman, but beneath all that cloth, she is naught but a deer. Tell me, do you find it so hard to believe?" Sukuna’s deep voice crackle the air into silence. The followers stop their laughter in an instant like puppets on a string.

"My lord, how could such a thing be? Do you mean to test our wit with this riddle?" “Oh you will see, such thing could be possible.” Sukuna’s eyes darken with malicious intent. He grins from these lips and from the mouth of his stomach, exposing those familiar beastly sharp teeth. All Y/N could do is shiver in her sport, not daring to move an inch. "Come forth, stand before me. Let me take in the whole of you." Sukuna’s eyes follow as you move forward.

Your hooves clatter on the tatami mats as you step forward into the middle of the room. You gaze on the floor, not daring to look up.  How room feels almost hotter now. The hot candles and the obnoxious smell of incense intensify as you approach lord Sukuna. It’s making you lightheaded. You did lose a lot of blood earlier, making you weaker than you actually are, and all of this is making you feel like you are trapped in hell fire of sorts.

“Strip”

The word snaps you out of your daze notions. You look confuse, almost not understanding why you must take off these fabrics when Uraume had carefully put on me with great efforts.

"Remove your kimono. I would have our guest witness the deer that lies beneath your guise."

At that moment, you don’t feel uncomfortable. The shame of nudity is something unfamiliar to you. You live in the wild with nothing. So, as every living creature you’ve met. So, when you slip off the kimono, you felt nothing of shame just fear from not knowing what is going on. Finally, when all the confining fabrics of the kimono drop to the floor. You almost felt free as the cool air touched your bare skin. Freedom that’s short lived as soon as the eyes of the followers’ stare at you. Their inappropriate eyes stare at you like an object, not a living being that can feel their stares. Only then, you experience the shame of nudity for the first time. The discomfort starts to seep into your skin.  Your arms cradle your chest, your hands gripping your shoulders tight to bring in some comfort. Your legs threaten to buckle and fall. Your eyes widen in confusion and fear at this foreign feeling.

"Gaze upon her, isn’t she exotic?" Sukuna could barely contain his excitement as he watches his doe squirm on her hooves. She’s trembling and he can see it, yet he makes no attempt to consol her. “Your grace, you have done exceedingly well in your hunt. Truly, you possess an unmatched eye for discovering treasures even in the most untamed of places." One of the follows said in awe. Sukuna just scoffs. He rather not hears the praise of his cult following right now. Now his interest is held to this poor doe. "Come now, I know creatures like you are fond of jumping around, aren’t you? Go on, hop.” Sukuna purposely lowers his tone as if to tease a child but in the context of the situation. It only sound of ridicule over Y/N.

 Y/N through teary eyes, not knowing what is going on, she does as what Uraume told her to do. Listen to lord Sukuna if she wants to live. She hops. A small leap to her side. When her hooves land on the mat. Sukuna starts to laugh in triumph.

“More, go on, hop around more.” Sukuna rumbles out through his cackling laugh. Every follower around him starts to laugh along with him. Making a fool out of y/n.

Tears start to fall down your cheek. You don’t know what’s going on nor know why they are making you do this. All of this is strange, odd and unnaturally cruel. With shaky legs, you hop, with every hop, more laughter from the crowd comes out, the louder Sukuna gets.

“Go on, hop like a little fool you are.” The last jib causes you to fall on the tatami mat with a thud. You last hop makes your legs unable to hold yourself up under the sheer pressure of embarrassment and shame.

You huddle on the floor, holding you knee and you face in your lap, closing your eyes, you wish to disappear.

This is not real.

This is not real.

I am not here

I am not here

I don’t exist

This is not real

A glimpse of concern morphs onto Sukuna’s face when his doe falls. He slights get up from his lean back sitting position. Something that the followers fail to notice since they are too entrance in the doe.

“Lord her fur, can we touch it?” “Yes lord can we?”

The followers are not even looking at Sukuna when making such request as they are too entrance in the doe. Sukuna face morph into disgust at the sight of perversions shown on the followers’ behaviour. Some of them even started to crawl closer to his doe from where they sat on the floor. Sukuna felt immense disgust at the sight.

Roaches…Disgusting roaches that he could squash in less than a second.

“I hereby forbid any human in the 100-meter radius from moving until say the word now.”

Y/N eyes finally open when she heard those words. First, she realizes the silence, that unnatural silence. Did those men leave? She timidly looks up, slowly from her position. The sight causes her to let out a gasp. There, in front her, men just a few inches from her, in a position of trying to reach to her. However something is freezing them in place, she doesn’t know what but it’s unnatural. Their face quivering in fear, eyes wide open. Her gaze quickly shifts to Sukuna when he got up from where he sat. He stretches and yawn, his muscles rippling, seen from how he wears only one sleeve of the kimono and the other arm off, showing off his two powerful right arms and the slit along his stomach. Markings tatters his expose body with ink. He strides towards her, much to her horror, he steps on to the frozen followers of his, crushing them under his feet, literally. Blood splatters across the floor with every steps. It oozes along the tatami mat until it reaches your fingers that you planted on the mat. It stains your pale soft hands that never do no harm. With Sukuna’s final steps, the splatter of blood reaches your face. You felt the warm liquid on your cheek and jaw, but you don’t dare to look down. Your eyes strain on lord Sukuna’s face. Much to his delight. He gets down on one knee, to see you eye to eye.  His piercing gaze meet your eye before it travels down to your lips. His calloused thumb reaches up, swiping the droplets of blood that landed on your lips, causing a rouge smear along your lower lips.

Sukuna smirk at that sight, oh how he wishes to paint you red in that moment. Instead, he holds a firm grip on your jaw with his thick hand. He leans real close to you, enough that you could feel his warm breath against your face and his 4 eyes staring down at you. Your lips just mere inches from his. Then...

“Now”

(Thank you for your support from my Chapter 1 post. It really means a lot to me. Thank you everyone.  Again, I apologize for any grammatical error as English isn’t my first language. If you are confused why I use ‘you’ and ‘she/her’ to acknowledge reader sometimes is because when I use ‘you’, it is meant to be personal and to show the perspective of reader however when I use ‘she/her’ this is to show reader in the perspective of others. That’s all I hope you guys enjoyed and stay tune for the next ones) @paradisestarfishh

[hollowmem]

A sweep going south

GN!Reader x Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Tw: mentioning of blood, impalment

I decided to take on a 2 week challange that may or may not extent to a month, we will see. I will be posting everyday, a new story with a prompt I will get for that day

Day 8: Impaled - Gaz

The stairwell creaked under their boots, every step echoing through the hollow, half-ruined building. Dust hung in the air like a fog.

"Bet you a tenner this place collapses before we even finish" Gaz muttered, sweeping his rifle across the next landing.

Y/n smirked behind their mask. "You’re on. But when I win, you're buying dinner too."

Gaz chuckled low in his throat. "You’re assuming we'll make it out of here alive"

"Positive thinking, Sergeant" Y/n teased, nudging him with their shoulder as they moved into the next hallway.

The walls were cracked and crumbling, rebar jutting out like broken bones. Sunlight streamed through the gaping holes in the ceiling, painting the wreckage in harsh, white light.

"Clear right" Y/n called, checking a side room. It was empty except for a toppled filing cabinet and some broken chairs.

Gaz swept left. "Clear"

They regrouped at the center, exchanging a brief nod. Everything felt too quiet. Too easy.

Gaz gave the rusted metal supports an exaggerated, skeptical look. "D'you reckon these things are still holding this dump up?"

Y/n glanced at the leaning beams and grinned. "Define 'holding'" A chuckle crackled between them. The easy rhythm of moving and covering each other made the tension almost bearable. Almost.

"Soap's probably finished his sector already," Gaz said as they moved toward a stairwell leading down. "Lazy bastard gets all the easy jobs"

"Maybe next time you can swap with him," Y/n quipped, checking the corners as they descended. "Play rock-paper-scissors for it"

"I'd win. I always win" Gaz said smugly.

"Sure you do" Y/n said, rolling their eyes.

They reached the next floor — or what was left of it. Part of the ceiling had already collapsed, piles of debris blocking the far end of the hallway.

Gaz moved forward to check it out, careful but casual. Y/n watched him for a second longer than they needed to, the sunlight outlining his vest.

Then —

A deep, loud crack ripped through the air. Y/n barely had time to swear before the ground shook under their boots. A massive explosion tore through the building, louder than anything they had ever heard, and everything turned into chaos.

The shockwave hit them like a hammer. Y/n was thrown hard into the cracked wall, knocking the air out of their lungs. Pain shot through their ribs and skull — blinding and sharp. Then the floor gave way, and they were falling.

Concrete and steel rained down. Something heavy smashed into their side, pinning them down.

For a heartbeat, everything was silent — a sick, ringing silence broken only by the groan of the building dying around them.

Y/n coughed weakly, choking on dust and blood. Their left leg was trapped under twisted rebar and splintered wood. Sharp pain flared with every breath. Blood dripped from a cut on their temple, blurring their vision.

“Gaz!” Y/n tried to scream, but it came out a broken rasp.

Panic clawed at them. Y/n dug their fingers into the rubble, trying to pull themselves free. Every movement sent pain shooting up their trapped leg, but they didn’t stop.

“Soap, Price, anybody!” Y/n gasped into the comms. “I lost Gaz! I can’t—” A burst of static drowned their words.

Fingers raw and bleeding, Y/n fought to shove aside slabs of concrete and twisted metal. Their vision swam, black at the edges, but they forced themselves onward.

Through the swirling dust, half-blinded, Y/n caught a glimpse — black tactical gear, crumpled beneath a collapsed section of the ceiling.

“Gaz!” They cried, dragging themselves forward, every inch a battle against the pain.

Somewhere deep down, their body was screaming for them to stop — to lie down, to breathe, to just give up. But Y/n ignored it, driven by one blinding, desperate thought—Find him.

Dragging themselves forward through the wreckage, Y/n finally reached him — and their blood turned to ice.

Gaz lay crumpled under a collapsed beam, half-buried in debris. His gear was shredded, soaked through with blood. But it was the thing that pinned him that stole the air from their lungs.

A thick steel post — torn from the very bones of the building — had impaled him clean through the gut.

It punched straight through his stomach, jutting out from his back at a sickening, twisted angle. Blood poured from the wound, dark and heavy, pooling beneath him, and spreading around.

Gaz’s head lolled weakly to the side, his face ghost-white under the grime, sweat slicking his forehead. His lips moved, trying to speak, but all that came out was a wet, choking sound.

“No, no, no,” Y/n choked, crawling the last few inches to him, ignoring the way their injured leg screamed in protest. “Gaz, stay with me, mate. I’m here — I’m right here.”

His gloved hand twitched, reaching weakly for them. Y/n grabbed it, clutching tight even as their own hands shook. Blood slicked between their fingers — his blood.

The of him — the ugly, brutal way the metal sight split him open — made their stomach churn. No movie, no battlefield story had ever prepared Y/n for this. It was wrong — wrong that someone as stubborn and alive as Gaz could be reduced to this broken thing bleeding out under steel and stone.

“You’re gonna be alright,” Y/n whispered fiercely, lying through their teeth. “Price and Soap are coming. We’ll get you out. Just hold on, yeah?”

Gaz’s eyelids fluttered. His breathing was shallow, rattling wetly in his chest.

The comms crackled to life at their side, distorted voices shouting their name — but Y/n couldn’t tear their eyes away from him. The building groaned again, another shudder rippling through the wreckage.

“Stay awake,” Y/n begged, tightening their grip on his hand. “Look at me, Gaz. Don’t you fucking dare leave me.”

"Price, Soap, someone — I need backup!" Y/n shouted into the comms again, but there was still no answer. No one was coming yet. The fear hit them harder than anything else.

"Please don’t fall asleep, you will be okay," Y/n spoke with tears in their eyes, wanting to do anything, but unable to even stop the bleeding — not alone.

Gaz’s hand gave one last twitch… then fell limp.

"Gaz?!" Y/n gasped, shaking him, ignoring the agony screaming from their own body. "Stay with me, mate. Stay with me—"

But he didn’t. His eyes, glassy and faraway, stared through them. His chest didn’t rise again.

The sound of boots slamming against the wreckage barely reached Y/n’s ears. Shouts. Shapes moving through the dust and sunlight.

Price.

Soap.

They came to a stop, rifles half-lowered — they froze at the sight of Y/n hunched over Gaz’s body.

Price didn’t even reach for a med kit. One look at the wreckage of Gaz’s body — the thick steel still driven through him — and Price’s face locked down, grief flashing through his eyes. No one said "Hold on" or "Stay with us." They didn’t even have time. He was already gone.

Soap swore under his breath, voice thick. Price knelt beside Y/n, one gloved hand resting heavy on their shoulder, grounding them. "Come on, kid," Price said quietly, his voice rough like broken gravel. He crouched beside Y/n, eyes flickering over them, taking quick stock of their injuries.

Blood, bruises, broken — but breathing. Still breathing. Y/n didn’t move. Couldn't.

The world felt muted, like they were underwater — sounds too distant, movements too slow.

"He's gone," Soap said, voice barely above a whisper. And no matter how loud Y/n's heart screamed, no matter how hard they clung to Gaz’s limp hand, they couldn't pull him back.

[thefusioncelestial]

Mix 13: A Geeky Bulk

Anonymous asked:

I am a chubby and hairy American Guy who is a little on the geeky side of life. I love Jamar Pusch's pecs and how he can make them bounce. Could you merge us please?

For the uninitiated, for those going the natural route of being big & cut at the same time comes in two cycles; the bulk and the cut.

The bulk is when the user focuses on gaining mass, and that means an big calorie intake. That means covering that coveted slab of visible muscles; the abs. But while they join the population of bears, the muscles, when paired with exercise, encourages muscle growth with the building blocks just sitting there.

The cut? Think of it as revealing the results. You go in the opposite direction on calorie & fatty intake and bask in the results. Continuous use of this basic method is how the skinny kid becomes the long lost cousin of Captain America.

Here is one dude who does this:

Jamar Pusch.

Worked his butt off to get that look. You would swear that he was sculpted rather than built up.

Unbeknownst to himself, he is the target of that infamous group we call the prowlers. In this case, a father who wants to give was Jamar has to his wimpy son. You would think that with all the money in the world that he could just pay for the best trainers & dieticians, but many wealthy people can be illogical & demanding.

He procured a bottle of red liquid. All he has to do is pour on the target, and have the one who attends to assimilate touch them.

Jamar is finishing a typical photo-shoot, the best result will go on his Instagram, the rest to whoever he dms. The man is looking for love like the rest us.

His shoot has been infiltrated, a couple of payments here & there under the table, and the father and son arrive to the location using the new info. There are other people there admiring the modern day Adonis. The duo poses as fans. The event concludes, and Jamar goes to a trailer he rented for use for a nearby music cultural event, and the duo follows him.

There is a knock on the door. He opens and sees the father & son standing there gleaming. The son has a nervous energy about him, but Jamar pushes this away as a nervous fan. He beckons them into his trailer for a private supervised one on one meet & greet, and they obliged him.

The father was more excited than the son. Maybe the son was just getting introduced to this world to inspire him to workout? How fatherly.

Unknown to all three of them, a third fan was just out of earshot in the area. He saw this as an opportunity, goes to the trailer as well. The door is unlocked. He goes in, but what he sees angers & shocks him.

Jamar sits the pair down and offers them drinks.

They accept.

The father sees this as his chance.

He uncorks the bottle and splashes the contents on Jamar. He turns around to protest, but soon he freezes up like a statue. The only thing he could do is plead & scream in protest.

"I must thank you Mr. Pusch, I appreciate what you are about to do for my son. He is about to go to college, and I find he will have a better time if he can "hang" with the physically gifted type. Tell me, what sports are you into," he asked in a jubilant manner that turned stern.

His son looked nervous. The father glanced over with a frown at his son.

"Hopefully you will give him your confidence too, I tried so hard to instill courage into him, but his mother may have babied him a bit too much. No matter, let's get this over with," he said.

"Charlie, go shake Mr. Pusch's hand," he said.

The young man walked over silently. Jamar tried his best to move but couldn't. He then saw something. Hope.

The silent fan who came over saw all of this in the trailer. His mouth was agape. Was Jamar about to get kidnapped or worse killed? His anger took over. He dropped his phone that he was going to use to get pictures, and ran over to the father.

The shock of an intruder made the father's heart stop and blood freeze. Was he caught by security? The person coming over was a large man after all. By the time he registered to do something else and than wish for laser beam eyes, he was knocked over.

The son too was shocked at this. He moved his hand away from Jamar, and turned to his father.

Truth be told, he didn't want to change like this. He didn't want to steal someone else's body to appease his father or anyone else for that matter. If he was going to change, it was going to be on his terms. What Charlie wanted to do right now was save his father.

He found his courage.

He ran over, and with an adrenaline boost peeled the large man off his father and shoved him away. But he pushed him in the direction of Jamar.

He crashed into Jamar, and it began.

Surprisingly, Jamar didn't fall over or collapse. He just sort of absorbed the impact. For the large fan, it was like jumping into a combination of marshmallow & quicksand. His body sinked further into Jamar until all there was left was just Jamar.

Jamar cocked his head back & began to shift.

Mentally, Jamar was in this fan's head space. He was getting assimilated by him. Jamar & this fan talked it out. Explaining things from their perspective and then uniting under one cause of escaping from these crazy people. Jamar also convinced him to let him drive the wheel. He sensed that whatever was happening was a done deal, and he would be better steered to handle whatever they are about to become. The mind space inverted. They were in Jamar's mind. The fan broke down into confetti and merged into Jamar. It was time to kick some ass.

In flipping the mind merge, Jamar was able to reverse the physical merge process. The fan would upgrade him.

He let out a soft moan. His body began to quiver & shudder.

His skin grew softer as layers of fat grew all over.

"Hmm."

A warmth washed over stomach, each wave an inch of fat covering his abs.

There was rustling in his pants. His rod grew longer and strained against the tight pants. He grunted and then chuckled.

His neck bulged out & his head lengthened.

His facial features shifted, bigger eyes, smaller lips. A slightly more upturned nose. He kept his ears. His hair shortened.

He took on a darker skin tone as well, but soon after hair began to grow throughout his body.

He opened his eyes. The father & son were shocked by what they saw.

The father snapped out and commanded Charlie to touch the fused Jamar, but nothing happened. One pair per dose, and the father used all of it in one go.

He gave the father a beating. He had to change himself and consume someone else because some jack rabbit of a father wanted a shortcut. Security came in after seeing the trailer move a bit, and apprehended the pair.

The father was charged with attempted kidnapping later on.

The son wasn't a total wash and Jamar would mentor the young man.

As for Jamar, his life trajectory changed. The fan that saved him, was a part of him now, imparted some interesting interests. With the connections he built up, Jamar went into acting; doing mo-cap & voice acting for video games, one of which involved a galaxy far far away. He is having a blast too:

In time Jamar would deal with layers on his stomach. He has been here before many times. He just fast tracked a bulk cycle. Time for the cut.

Wait, did that water bottle move by itself?

[whereispearlescentmoon]

Hermit-A-Day Day 14: Groups and Collabs

A reminder that my Hermit A Day series are all both individual bits of writing and also supplemental material for my fic Glitch!

Today will be slightly different from the others due to the nature of the prompt!

@hermitadaymay

Interviews on the apparent existence of a Fight Club on Hermitcraft 10, transcribed by the Admin.

Interview 1: Ethoslab

Ethoslab: Xisuma, I really don’t get what the big deal is. It’s not like PvP is illegal on the server. We do it all the time.

The Admin: What’s confusing to me is that you all decided to keep it a secret. I’d like to know what’s going on on my server, Mr.Slab.

Ethoslab: Dang, Mr. Slab. You’re serious about this? Alright, what do you want to know?

The Admin: Can you describe to me how you got involved with this ‘Fight Club’?

Ethoslab: Well that’s easy. Pearl invited me.

The Admin: You were just invited? No special initiation or anything?

Ethoslab: Well, she sent me something in the mail to come meet her at her base. Then when I got there, we fought. She had a whole arena set up for a mace fight, platforms and bouncy pits and armor stands. Super impressive. She won most of the rounds but I won a couple and that was enough to let me in.

The Admin: Where in her base? I don’t think I’ve seen an arena like that when I’ve been.

Ethoslab: Oh dude it’s so cool. It’s in the ballroom. She like, flicks a switch and everything comes out. The whole middle of the floor transforms. You could go in there and not even notice it’s an arena.

The Admin: I certainly didn’t. And do you have an arena at your base? Have you initiated anyone?

Ethoslab: Nah, I haven’t gotten around to it. I’m planning on using fishing rods though, eventually.

The Admin: So you don’t all use maces?

Ethoslab: Uh no, I don’t think so. Pearl said they all have their own. I haven’t seen the others’ yet.

The Admin: Alright, I think that’s everything then. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Slab.

Ethoslab: Never call me that again.

~Interview Ended~

Interview 2: Pearlescentmoon

The Admin: Do you know why you’re here, Ms. Moon?

Pearlescentmoon: No, not really. And why are you calling me Ms. Moon? That’s weird, dude.

The Admin: I’ve invited you here to interview you in an official capacity about the Fight Club. As your admin.

Pearlescentmoon: Dang it. Who told you?

The Admin: Mr. Slab did. He described your ‘arena’ in great detail and the initiation process.

Pearlescentmoon: Aw nuggets, alright. What do you want from me then?

The Admin: I would like to know how you got involved. Mr. Slab only said your name in his interview.

Pearlescentmoon: I guess it can’t hurt, I’m not great at keeping it a secret anyways. Cubby invited me.

The Admin: I see. And was the process similar to Mr. Slab’s initiation?

Pearlescentmoon: You’re being so weird. Just say Etho.

The Admin: This is an official interview.

Pearlescentmoon: I know you just call us our names on files and stuff. I think you’re just trying to be a big bad admin because it’s fun.

~Pause in the interview~

The Admin: Anyways, Ms. Moon, was your initiation process similar to Mr. Slab’s?

Pearlescentmoon: Fine, alright. Yeah, pretty much the same. He invited me by opening a private channel in the chat. Then I went to his base. Cub has his arena all hidden, but there’s a calibrated skulk sensor you can activate that opens it up. It’s a two floor arena with bubble elevators at the corners and a bunch of copper blocks to use for cover and hiding. It’s pretty tight but big enough to move around quickly. It’s easy to lose people in it.

The Admin: And the weapon? It’s not maces too, then, if it’s so cramped.

Pearlescentmoon: Nah, Cubby’s weapon is fireworks in crossbows. I fought him for a few rounds and won a whole two times. I needed to prove that I was good enough to get in. That it was enough for me to get initiated.

The Admin: I see. Well I think that’s enough for me. Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Moon.

Pearlescentmoon: Love you, ‘Suma. C’mon say it back. Say you love Ol’ Pearly.

The Admin: *sigh* Love you too, Pearl.

~Interview Ended~

Interview 3: CubFan135

CubFan135: Hey man, what’s up? You never have meetings in your office unless the sever’s about to explode. It’s not about to explode is it? I haven’t gotten any weird readings on my moon tracker.

The Admin: The server isn’t going to explode. Just sit down, Mr. 135. I have some questions.

CubFan135: Oh I like that. Can you do Mr. Fan though? The numbers are superfluous.

The Admin: *sigh* Alright, Mr. Fan. I wanted to know a bit about the ‘Fight Club’.

CubFan135: Never heard of it.

The Admin: Please don’t be difficult. Mr. Slab and Ms. Moon already told me everything. I know it exists and I know that you initiated Ms. Moon into the club personally. What I don’t know is how you got involved.

CubFan135: Fine, I guess if they already told you. I got invited by Gem.

The Admin: Right, and what’s her arena like? Was the initiation the same process as you gave Ms. Moon?

Cubfan135: Why do you want to know? We’re not breaking any server rules.

The Admin: I just like to know what’s going on my server, Mr. Fan. No one’s in trouble. PVP is perfectly legal.

Cubfan135: Hmph. I got invited by the mail, Gem sent it. She’s got the trident arena. And I mean, Gem’s arena is pretty great. It’s right under her base, you have to swim through a tunnel to get to it. Then you have to find a little opening and boom, you’re in the arena. It’s a pretty classic looking fighting ring except for the water columns on the corners and in the center and the water at the bottom. You’re supposed to use those with a riptide trident to kind of chase each other around the arena.

The Admin: Right, and you had to win a fight to get accepted?

Cubfan135: No, I don't think that was in the rules Gem told me. I mean we did a couple of rounds, I won one and Gem won one. But she never said I had to win to get invited. Did Pearl make it seem like she had to win to get invited? Me just showing her the arena was the invitation, I wouldn’t have not let her if she didn’t win. It’s not like I have a mind wiping device. Yet.

The Admin: Please don’t develop a mind wiping device.

Cubfan135: I make no promises. Innovation calls.

~Interview Ended~

Interview 4: Geminitay

The Admin: Have a seat Ms. Tay. I have a few questions about your ‘Fight Club’

Geminitay: Dang it! Who snitched? Was it Joel?

The Admin: Until now I didn’t even know Mr. Beans was in the Fight Club, so no. I’ve so far interviewed Mr. Slab, Ms. Moon, and Mr. Fan. Mr. Slab is who initially made me aware of the existence of the club. So far I have detailed descriptions of three of the arenas. All except Mr. Beans’ I guess.

Geminitay: Ugh I swear. These Hermits man, can’t keep a secret!

The Admin: You’re not in trouble, I just want to know what’s happening on my server, Ms. Tay.

Geminitay: I will do whatever it takes to get you to stop being weird and just call me Gem.

The Admin: These interviews have to be formal.

Geminitay: Ew, fine. Let’s make this quick then.

The Admin: Right, then. How were you initially made aware of the club, who invited you?

Geminitay: Joel invited me, it’s his club. He came up with it. I think maybe he didn’t realize we just have normal PVP battles and stuff all the time on Hermitcraft because he’s new? Or maybe he just likes being dramatic like all of the Hermits.

The Admin: Don’t look at me like that, I’m not being dramatic. This is perfectly normal formalities.

Geminitay: Right, totally normal. Anyways, so, yeah, he took me to a bar in his city and opened up a secret passage behind the bar tender. It leads into a sword fighting arena. It’s pretty cool, he used glass to make you feel really boxed in but still like you’re being watched. We fought for a while. He’s actually really good at PVP, don’t tell him I said that, but I think it was pretty even in the end. Then he told me he wanted me to invite one other person and to build my own arena. The rest you heard about, I guess.

The Admin: I have. So those are the official rules then? Once you’re invited you make your own arena and invite someone else? Anything else?

Geminitay: The first rule is actually don’t talk about Fight Club which we’ve all failed spectacularly. So congrats to us.

The Admin: I’m really not gonna tell anybody. I just have to interview Mr. Beans and then I’m done.

Geminitay: You better not. Can you stop calling me Ms. Tay now? It’s like, super weird.

The Admin: Alright let me just finish writing then.

~Interview Ended~

Interview 5: SmallishBeans

The Admin: Do you know why I invited you here, Mr. Beans?

Smallishbeans: Uh no, I don’t think I’ve done anything recently so.

The Admin: This is about your Fight Club.

Smallishbeans: I’m not in trouble am I? I read all the Hermitcraft rules when I joined, it didn’t say anything against PVP.

The Admin: You’re not in trouble. I keep having to tell you all that, wow. I’m not the principal of Hermitcraft, I just like to know what’s going on.

Smallishbeans: I mean, yeah if I’m not gonna get kicked out or anything, what do you want to know?

The Admin: No one is getting kicked out about this. PVP and PVP arenas are not only allowed but encouraged. I literally modified the world to let you keep players’ heads when they die, why would I do that if I didn’t want PVP?

Smallishbeans: So Cleo can make more armor stands and they would kill you if you limited their options.

The Admin: That is a plus. But anyways, I’ve heard all about the different arenas and the rules from the other members of the club. All I want to know from you, Mr. Beans, is why keep it a secret? You said it yourself, there’s nothing in the rules against PVP.

Smallishbeans: I guess like, right, it’s more cool that way? Like all the mystique and stuff. You get to make a cool secret passage way or try to hide it in plain sight the way Pearl did! And it’s more fun to fight in those custom arenas built just for one kind of weapon, because then people get creative with the actual landscape. Not so much for me, you can sword fight in pretty much any flat space, but the others. Gem had to work out those water columns and trouble shoot the armor and Cub had to work out how much cover was enough and make it advantageous both to stay on the ground and go up and Pearl figured out how to hide those pillars and pits and use decor like the chandeliers and the dancers to fight.

The Admin: So the attitude of secrecy adds to the drive for innovation?

Smallishbeans: Exactly! I wanted everyone to be able to get creative and I think it’s better to do that when there’s a little bit of mystery about it.

The Admin: I agree. I think what all of you have done is really cool. You did a good job, Mr. Beans. It’s your first season and you managed to make something that not only brought you all together, but that encouraged everyone to innovate and builds in ways they may not have before. I’m proud to call you one of my Hermits.

Smallishbeans: Aw man X you’re gonna make me cry. Please don’t write down that I’m crying. It’s actually really embarrassing.

The Admin: Maybe I should end the interview now then.

~Interview Ends~

[justafairytailofinnocence]

Jareth x dreamy reader🔮💭🌌

Part 2

Masquerade ball scene🎭👗💃🔮

(A/n: hello, thought I'd make another part 2. I wanted to make it a bit different from the movie version. Enjoy 😉. Please comment and reblog, helps me alot 💖.)

Requests: open for labyrinth

Part 1 here

You knew where you were going. You were certain. You were the optimist. A dream mixed with sweetness. The definition of a sweet dream.

The environment was clumped with overgrown vines, trees, shrubs, and more stoned walls. Twas another obstacle, something to deter you from the path you went before.

"She'll never make it. She's not even heading in the right direction." Two short, stubby hairy creatures with protruding snouts, identicle to the next observed you sludging through the jungle. One spoke in a high high-pitched accent and the other a deep husk. It was like, similar to that of two young children watching a grown-up waiting for the moment to tell them 'I told you so'.

"She'll end up lost." The high pitch one said.

"Stuck." The low pitch responded.

"Mhm, stuck, that's what I said, stuck."

"You said lost."

"Mhm, stuck, lost, forever and ever."

You ended up reaching a tree, grabbing its vines, clinging to it carefully, not falling into the vines, or the vegetation that over grew even more. You swore they moved. Moving and increasing like snakes to block your path.

The one on the left shook his head, making a tsk sound with his tongue. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, never going to learn."

"No."

"Never going to make it."

"Never."

"Lost."

"Stuck."

"Forever."

"And ever."

Growing frustrated you tried to look for any sort of branch or loose vine that's strong enough to swing you across from the small island with the giant oaken tree to the platform covered in broken, grey, stoned paver's against the concrete slab.

You thought for a moment of jumping in; perhaps that's the only way. You would need all your strength to break through the dense vegetation, but, better than nothing.

"Oooooh, shes going to jump in."

You looked up to see a small creature sitting on a tree branch, wearing medieval scottish garb.

"Jump! Jump! Down ya go!"

"Down, down".

"Thar she goes."

"Into the unkown."

"Where will she stop."

"We won't know."

The two creatures then proceeded to laugh. Thinking there was no other way you paused to speak to them. "Excuse me, but would you please help me to get across."

"Oooh, help ya, quite bold of ya ta ask."

"Help you with such a task."

"To break the rules."

"To help with you to glory, or to your doom."

"Oh, help, help, power, power. The power we hold."

You were getting fed up. You didn't have time to waste for such nonsense. "Please, I don't have much time."

The two gazed at each other and then back at you. They then held up their hands, whispering to each other.

"Ok."

"Very well."

"We will agree to help."

"If you can solve a puzzle."

"Solve a mystery."

"Very well, what's the mystery, what's the riddle." You asked, smiling. You always had fun with these kinds of things. Surely, it's not too difficult of a task.

"Oh, brave, very brave. We will agree to help you."

"If you can figure out—"

"Which."

"Is which."

"Who is knick."

"And who is knack."

"Is he this."

"Or is he that."

They laugh once more.

You had to think for a moment. It seemed obvious for knick to have the higher voice and knack to have the lower. Though, knowing this place, tricks and turns come at every corner. You had to think hard, "well..." the creatures listened intently.

"You must be knick," you pointed to the one with the highest pitch. "And you must be knack." And the same for the lower pitch creature.

They glanced at each other, bewildered. "She—she's right."

"Correct."

"Now we have no choice."

"Help the girl."

"Save her from doom."

You smiled in brightness, you were getting the hang of this. Usually, you weren't the brightest of the bunch, often feeling half witted compared to other work colleagues or strangers that speak to you as if they had any idea of what you mean.

"Yes, now, will you please help me?" she said gently to the creatures with kindness.

"Very well." Knack hopped down from the tree as the other did the same. "Nnn, ok, let's see here, oh yes, just a twist and a snap, nnn," he muttered to himself. "Knick, where was tha spot again."

"Spot?"

"Aye, the spot, you know, tis a tap, one, two three."

Knick hopped down from the tree, looking like he hasn't slept in ages. He groaned getting up "errr let's see here, was it here, err no, no t'wasn't."

"Aha!, I found it." He stood at the edge of the small mount. "Give it ere, y'know, the ol' knock." Knick held out his hand for the long stick, that actually resembled a small staff.

"The ol'clock" he said.

"The ol'knock?" You questioned.

"Mhm, that's what I said the ol' knock."

"You said ol'clock" you mentioned.

"Mhm, that's what I said the ol' knock." Knack handed knick the staff.

Knick stuck the staff inside the hole. "mhm, there it is."

"Knew it was there."

"You were close."

"Very."

"Best stand back." You and knack took a step back expecting something rather big and tremendous.

He then started hitting the ground thrice, precisely three seconds in between. And—as you waited—

Nothing. Nothing happened.

"That was it" Knack said slightly disappointed. "Must be more to it then that."

"Give er a minute." Knick said, repeating the same movement once more.

All of a sudden, the ground began to quake. The vine's, roots, and vegetation slithered away. Creating a pathway for you to cross.

Knack posed with the stick expecting a 'thank you' of sorts.

"It's clear." You said thankful.

"Pathway m'lady." Knick proudly spoke.

"Always a boaster aren't you." Knack clicked his tongue tsk-ing at knick.

"Thank you both." You said walked along the gravel like path with mis matched grey stone pavers.

You felt confident, all you needed to do now was pass through the goblin city and get to the castle where you can find the king and return to your normal life, redeeming your wish, taking it back.

The two creatures waved at you as you looked smug, however, in that moment—something went wrong.

The floor beneath you began to crumble, creating a hole you fell through. "Woa!" You screamed.

The creatures staring unphased spoke. "Now, knick, did you remind her of the hole there."

"Don't beileve so."

"Well, she's well on her way to her doom now."

"Never to return."

"Never to come back."

"Trapped."

"Lost."

"Stuck."

"Forever."

"And ever."

"Mhm that's what I said lost, stuck, forever and ever."

They then started to laugh from the mounted island with the giant oaken tree.

-------

You slid down to what almost felt like a water slide, dirt and mud covered your clothes as you screamed. Turning, twisting and speeding down the slippery rabbit hole.

Eventually, you landed in a place that seemed rather empty, dark, and voided of any life. To your astonishment, a wooden stave dripped in tar lit on fire. So the king was playing fair—for now.

You grabbed the wooden stave, expecting it to disappear as you touched it—assuming it was another illusionary trick.

You wandered through the mysterious catacomb, believing it was an old city from another time. You took a moment to glance around at the structures; you were fascinated.

They seemed old, ancient, as if structured from inspiration from another city like Atlantis, Egypt, Greece, Rome pompeii, before the doom.

You trailed on for what seemed like hours, or rather perhaps twenty minutes. That was until you stumbled upon a structure, a structure that resembled an old standing mirror. The outer rim was decored in ornated wood and silver, and patterns of fairytails surrounded it. You couldn't help but run your hands down the side of it. Although, seemingly, some of these patterns resembled small items sparking old memories throughout your life. He wasn't kidding when he claimed he knew you better.

The glass of the mirrors reflection suddenly started to shift. Within the reflection, an illusion played out, like something that only happened in movies. You watched closely. It showed a room of white with sparkling glitter falling along with huge bubble like crystals floated around.

You were hypnotised. Entranced. Many of the women and men donned in different vibrant colours of frock coats, sack-back gowns, and masks resembling different animals.

Curious, your finger lifted to the mirror. Your finger push through the mirrors glass like liquid. Like moving water. You pulled your finger out, afraid and bewildered.

Looking closer, the men and women that danced in the costumes all waltzed; laughing, chattering and singing. Somehow, it drew you in, you always loved the ball scenes in movies.

This seems too familiar, somehow, like wasn't this from the movie. The part where she lost track of time, memory and herself.

Hesitantly, you looked behind the mirror. Nothing. And it seemed the only way through this was through the ornated wooden, silver mirror.

Shaking your head, you pushed through, taking a deep breath and holding it. It was quick. Like a flash. Your body felt a cold wetness for a second, and the next, you opened your eyes.

You wandered through, astounded beyond belief of the whole setting. You could hear singing and like in a trance, you began to loose your train of thought. As your eyes glanced down, you wore formal attire that seemed way too otherworldly or perhaps something you remembered wearing once before.

You traversed through the venetian masquerade ball. Many of the men and women, laughing your way as you passed. They seemed unphased by your presence. You turned and spun slowly trying take in your surroundings, trying not to lose touch with reality.

Oh, but how far you've already drifted from it.

You fidgeted with an item of yours that was close to you. Each moment, each time you moved closer, the more you started to forget, lose train of thought. Becoming one within the world of daydreams.

Oh y/n, you're already losing. You just don't know it yet.

Your vision became a sudden blur as suddenly you even forgot your name. You listened to the sound of the music, as many danced around you. Was, was this your purpose. Yes. This must be why you're here. To dance. To dream. To dance and dream. To be here. Forever.

Oh, you poor, callow minded creature, I've already won. You'll remain here forever. You've lost your innocence. You'll never see your dear ones again. You'll never go back. Forget about your home, the ones you hold so dear, dreams of realism, and live forever within a dream of our own.

You began to sway, having no little reason to believe this was your purpose. You moved fluently, dancing to yourself. Moving your arms and gracefully swaying your legs. Stepping in a glide to fit in with the crowd. Wasn't this what you wanted. To fit in when no one understands you. Now they can, here, where you can be safe and sound. Where no one can judge you and your free to be someone.

To be yourself. To live within your fantasises.

As you heard the sound of the gentle music sing. You spun and spun, feeling the reality drain away. Feeling happy. Free. Joy. Love.

Suddenly, you stopped in someone's tracks, and you delicately held your arms beside you. Dreamily looking up. He stood there. A man that felt familiar but you couldn't grasp the name of.

He wore a glittery, deep, blue frockcoat with an ornated cravert attached to a white poet linen blouse beneath. Without a word, you stood back, gripping the fabric of your attire. You didn't trust him. He seemed. Evil? No, not exactly the correct words but—

Evil, well that's a bit far-fetched, don't you think.

The mysterious man held an odd venetian mask to his face attached to an ornated handle. The horns from the mask somewhat made you curious. You shouldn't approach. However, he held out his hand covered in a white glove.

Your hand hovered over his. However, you continued to dance, dismissing him. You spun and turned. Locked in a daydream.

Much to his annoyance, he tried to garner your attention. As you danced, many of the ladies and gents laughed and tried to offer their hand. Purposefully trying to block your path to guide you back to the mysterious man.

However, you simply drifted past them. Elegantly frolicking past the crowd. You felt free.

Careful y/n, look, their eyes are gazing upon you. Their judging your actions.

You continued to joyously spin and turn, kicking your leg in the air as you moved freely, ignoring the voice.

The mysterious man glanced with impatience. Surely this was supposed to happen, yet—he wanted something more...

He attempted to grasp you, following your movements. Yet, to no avail could he hold your attention. It was agitating. You were an irritating creature.

Only until did he take a step, you stopped in front of him. Stuck in a daze. He glanced directly at you. Looking into your eyes. His mouth slightly parted, showing a mixture of tantalisation and pique.

You moved to glide around the dance room. He couldn't control you. He trapped you. Yet. He couldn't grasp you. You were a dream, he couldn't touch.

Eventually you stopped at the mirror, the same one you entered. You took a look at yourself dreamily. You could see an illusion, the illusion of yourself in the reflection of the glass but—wearing different clothes—Were those what you wore previously. Was that you? Didn't you have a purpose? You were here for something?

City? To get to the city? To meet the ki—

You gasped as someone gently touched your shoulder. Looking up, it was the same mysterious man whoms voice sounded familiar. "Oh dear, daydreaming again are you." He said in a mysterious, mystical tone.

"The—mirror—I saw?" You looked back.

"And that was." He grasped both your shoulders, prompting you to take a closer look. "I think you should look again, carefully this time. Look deeply within the mirrors reflection y/n."

You looked once more in the mirror's reflection, seeing nothing but the reflecting dream. "I-i beileve I saw—"

"A dream y/n, you saw. A. Dream." He spoke, concluded. "Dreams. Oh, what's that? " You laughed, smiling.

"Illusion." He smiled back in response. "Would you like me to show you." He guided your gaze back to the mirror. You saw yourself but, wearing different clothes. You watched as many people you thought you knew speak ill of you. Your loved ones resuming their normal lives without you and flashes of words you remembered that made your heart ache. You turned to him, tears streaking down your face. As though you were confused, not knowing why and yet feeling the pain washed over you.

"What. What is this." You say watching it. It felt so real.

"This is your reality y/n, this is what's real."

You wanted to take it all away. You wanted to imagine again. "If this is reality, I do not want it, take it away—please"

"Of course, you can, look." In the mirror you saw, yourself, in royal attire, that fitted only you. The style formed from a balance of your imagination and dreams. You saw yourself spinning forever smiling, not existing in that horrid illusion he showed.

"You can remain here with me. They won't mind. you're free here y/n. Free to do whatever you oh so desire." He offered his hand out to you.

Taking it out of curiosity. He smiled. He will keep you here, until time runs out. Forever making you his. A dream within his world.

He glided you across the room, as you danced in unison. Twirling, spinning, gliding, turning, dancing—to remain here. Forever.

Dancing with this mystical stranger felt right and—wrong. As he spun you, smiling. You were trying to remember something. A flicker of a memory, something within your mind. "City?"

To feel safe.

"Wasn't there a city, somewhere."

You need to feel free.

Y/n.

"There's a city I must go to."

Stay with me.

"I'm certain."

I'm your haven.

"To."

Your my dream.

"To go beyond, the walls of the—GOBLIN CITY! THE CASTLE!"

Your eyes flickered as if you awoke from the spell. You broke away, pushing him. You grabbed the fabric of your attire trying to run. In that moment, the guests were trying to surround you, to block you once more. You pushed and shoved them, rushing toward the mirror from which you came. The mysterious figure you recalled felt familiar, turned out, to be the king himself. Of course, he was tricking you. To make you lose yourself, to steal time away in order to make you forget, so you would lose.

That's why you remembered that scene in particular, oh how foolish you felt—but—you broke the spell.

The king, in frustration, grasped a crystal ball from thin air. Throwing it toward you. Showing all your greatest fears and wounds in a mass of shadow. As your eyes widened, you grabbed a chair, breaking the surface of the mirror's protective seal. You jumped through the liquid. Almost in an instant, you felt yourself falling, floating. To a near trash heap, only you describe it as a literal dump.

You held your hand to your head. As though you had a pounding headache. Once you realise your surroundings and gather your barings. You looked down, seeing the elegant attire you wore in the dream, a torn, trashed garbage piece. Suppose it was still clothing. Much to your annoyance. You sneer in disgust. He practically just dressed you in an illusionary trick.

You were sick of this, yet, you were thrilled. You loved the excitement of that dream, waking up. Now you were more determined more then ever to take back your wish and finish this off.

You trudged off through the trash pile, to the goblin castle beyond the goblin city.

Perhaps, you might even ask if he could return your clothes too.

[puddlestories]

Crumbling Dungeons and Lost Hope- Idea

Link & Implied Character (could be another Link if implying AU as in the tags, or could be implied as x reader, I wanna expand on this idea as a longer fic so please do let me know which you'd like to see, maybe even comment which Link you'd like if that's your choice!)

CW: other character referred to as "beloved" once, implied character death

Idea: trapped with Link during a cave in, a dungeon mission gone wrong, the old architecture no longer holding around you.

Small drabble, so not under a read more cut; not proof-read.

They both laid there, as still as the rocks around them, hope crumbling and slipping from between his fingers, a plea leaving his dry, cracked lips, "please, oh please wake up!" A lone man continued to speak, voice cutting out in sections and coughing occasionally with the thick dust within his lungs and throat, all moisture robbed from his mouth making it difficult to speak- it was already difficult to breath anyway.

Tears made paths on their dusty cheeks, black and grey already smudged across their skin, previous tracks blurred along with the ceiling which had collapsed blocking all other paths in site and leaving the two covered by debris. Each direction was either piled stone in chunks and slabs or was simply looking into a dark void, space tunnelling to the side but no light able to penetrate the cavern created around them, the air pocket a small arch they resided in, the gap to their left dangerous territory, not worth traversing, the stone above practically creaking and groaning under the increasing weight and unstable rocks, larger slabs tilted into a V, very slowly grinding against the floor, soon the cave inwards- there wasn’t likely to be an exit through there anyway, plus he couldn’t pull them through with him. It was difficult to breathe with all the dust thrown into the air, and difficult to see with a lack of light, the dust acting as a fog, thick and encasing.

"Wake up, kid," he pleaded again, voice stretched thin with tears "we've got to get you home."

More rocks crumbled around them, only desperate sobs and the harsh rain of chips and pebbles falling from within the jagged walls and down between small gaps within the rocks to the floor, the channels too small for even a hand to fit. Harsh, dry sobs increased in volume and frequency as Link cried and pleaded inaudibly, voice breaking with the strain of how hard they cried and continued to cry, the weight of the situation pushing down from above, the stone cracking and splintering in places, their fate known yet denied by animalistic preservation. He cradled their smaller body yet gripped onto them protectively, curling around their frame. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get either of them out of this situation, the other boys hopefully safe outside and away from this situation, most likely already attempting to traverse the area, pulling rocks and shifting larger boulders where they could, any attempt to reach them both- it would work. Link knew that no one would be able to help, not in time at least, he knew they would try, that at least brought a sad melancholic smile to his face. Eyes closed tight with a blind childish hope he wouldn’t have to see what would happen, lack of light or not, maybe if he didn’t look it wouldn’t hurt as much; maybe it wouldn’t be real.

Head pressed flush into their chest, cotton now scratching against his sensitive skin, a lack of burning warmth or movement from below, constricted in fabric, he whispered a final sentence that his quivering and stressed voice would allow.

One final plead.

"Don't leave me here alone, I can't do it without you..."

One final sob. One final shudder. One final forced, shaky breath.

...and the crumbling sheet of stone which made up the last of the ceiling collapsed, finally encasing them both, claiming all life within the previously abandoned dungeon; with the final rush of trapped air and thundering noise of elements colliding, the room was finally ground into quiet. A faithful companion not leaving his beloved's side, after all, 'till death do they part.

[impala-dreamer]

Captive Audience

A Story from The Boys Universe

~Y/N gets invited to a party but fails to realize that she's the favor...~

Soldier Boy (Ben) x F!Reader

1,700 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Sex and Drug Use. 18+ ONLY

A/N: Written for @jacklesversebingo . "Lick it and find out." Please show some love and reblog. Reblogs are important!

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Green. Green. Green. Everything about him reminded her of a forest. A deep, dark, mist-covered wood that should have scared her, but managed to ensnare her every single time.

Dark green eyes like the leaves; body solid and long like a tree trunk.

Looming over the table, he cast a shadow across her nakedness, blocking the light and noise from the party raging beyond the swinging kitchen door. It was loud, obnoxiously so, flooding the big house with new wave rock and roll and the unmistakable sounds of ecstasy cresting.

But none of that mattered.

There was nothing in her eyes but him, nothing on her mind but the delicious nervousness of wondering what he’d do to her next.

Ben had tied her up good, wrapping prickly kitchen twine tight around her wrists and forcing them above her head. They dangled off the end of the wooden slab and he had attached the rope ends to the closest table leg, keeping her stuck there in place. Her arms ached already, but she was happy to be on display for him.

Blunt nails dragged up her bare legs and dipped between her thighs. He pulled away with a grin.

“Nice an’ juicy. I like that.”

His voice was slow and certain, not a hint of flirtation lingering in his tone. He didn’t need to charm her anymore, she was already right where he wanted her and there was truly no escape.

Not that she’d try anyhow.

The table was cold but warming to her body heat more and more every moment. Her top was warming as well, both from his hands and his gaze. His eyes were like laser beams working their way up and over every curve of her form, and she wondered if x-ray vision wasn’t one of his powers. Patience surely wasn’t one, as he reached for her tits, callously closing his big hands around each globe and kneading almost too roughly. She hissed at the touch and moaned when his thumbs grazed over her nipples.

“Fuck…”

She whimpered. He grinned.

“Oh, you’re gonna be a blast, arentcha?”

Pleasure sparked through her system as his nails dug like pinpricks into the dusky shadow around her nipples and she chewed her bottom lip. Her eyes fluttered when he twisted; her breath caught when he tugged.

“K-keep going and find out, soldier,” she teased, hoping to earn another hard twist.

He obliged and her back arched off the table.

“God!”

Ben chuckled under his breath. “If I had a nickel for every time a broad called me that, I’d be… well, I’m already rich, so...”

Y/N shivered when he pulled back. “Rich, handsome, kind of a jerk- what else you got?”

Amused by her flirtatious bite, he stood back and dug into his pocket.

“Got some party favors,” he replied, pulling out a small baggie full of white powder.

“Thanks…” Y/N licked her lips. “I’d love some.”

He laughed and sucked his teeth. “Oh, this ain’t for you, dollface.” The plastic tickled her stomach, but he warned her through gritted teeth to hold still.

She held her breath too, just for good measure, and closed her eyes as Ben drew a line of cocaine down the center of her.

“This is new,” she whispered.

“It’s fuckin’ hot is what it is,” he corrected.

His breath was like steam on her flesh, the thick shadow on his cheeks beautifully distracting.

He bent over her and pressed his nose to her chest, breathing in the drugs and her scent from tit to clit.

Ben stood up with a jolt and wiped at the powder on his nose.

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s good shit!” He shook himself and his pupils dilated, eclipsing the green. The surge invigorated him and Ben dropped down again, this time running his tongue down the length of her, following the pale trail the coke had left behind.

Her moan was loud and needy.

“Delicious.” He hummed against her soft skin; tongue lingering at the peak of her cunt. “Does your cunt taste as good?”

Vibrant eyes flashed upwards and Y/N melted, spreading her legs for him.

“Why don’t you lick it and find out?”

He cocked an eyebrow and then grabbed at her, strong fingers peeling her thighs apart even further. The skin burned under his touch, bruises readied themselves to spring up once the pressure was gone.

Y/N sucked in a heavy anticipatory breath as he exhaled against her folds. She was soaked already, throbbing just imagining the feeling of his lips on her cunt.

She didn’t have to imagine for long.

Ben kissed her clit.

She gasped.

He dragged his tongue down her slit.

She whimpered.

He jabbed two thick fingers into her.

She nearly screamed.

“Don’t be shy,” he urged, curling his digits deep inside. “Ain’t a real party if no one can hear you having fun.”

Y/N’s arms twisted against the ropes, desperate to drop a hand to his head and tug on the gorgeous tawny locks. “I’ll be sure to keep that in- holy fuck!”

Mid-sentence, Ben jerked forward with his mouth and bounced his tongue against her clit, sending sparks through her system. He licked fast and hard, almost to the point of hurting her, but he held back just enough to make it worth every ache.

Right at the brink, he pulled away. He gazed down with a smirk on his plump, ruddy lips and laughed.

“You seem stressed…”

Y/N thrashed on the hard table, denied and pitiful. “Frustrated is more like it.”

He winked.

The bastard winked at her, knowing full well how close she’d been and how bad she wanted it.

With a seeming snap of his fingers, he was naked next to her, clothing tossed haphazardly onto the floor by the door. His shoulders were huge, arms like thick branches, chest hard and twitching with every movement. His cock already hard and hanging down on his left thigh. Y/N’s eyes shot to it instantly and Ben puckered his lips, enjoying her lustful stare.

He wiped her juices from his face and rubbed them on his cock before stroking slowly. “You like that?”

She nodded. “Mmm, I do.”

His fist bobbed over the tip. “How much? Tell me.”

Y/N wriggled, stuck and hungry for him. “Love it so much. Fuck, your cock is so perfect. I need it…”

“Yeah?” He picked up speed; his upper lip twitched.

“Please… I need your cock so fucking bad.”

Teeth bared, he breathed deeply; chest heaving and biceps flexing as he jerked off in front of her. He put on a show; stepping up on his toes and arching his back as he thrust into his hand. He was crazed and wild-eyed; preening like a porn star. He always loved a captive audience.

Y/N was near to drooling; every bit of her wet and desperate for him. She squirmed and pouted, begging with everything she had.

“Please, fuck me, Ben. Please!”

“You need it bad, don’t you, doll?”

Y/N rolled her hips against the air. “Please!”

Ben licked his lips and looked her over. “So many choices…” Finally, he moved to the head of the table and pressed his legs against the edge. His cock dangled aside her face and he looked down, face glazed with authority and thirst. “Open up.”

Her jaw dropped immediately and her tongue shot out, reaching for his swollen head.

Instead of a gentle slide inside, Y/N earned a hard slap against her cheek. His cock was solid and smooth. The hit stung. She winced and it came again, another quick hit, this time against her lips. Y/N pushed her tongue out as far as she could and Ben rubbed his cock over it, tapping a few times before jabbing into her mouth.

He hit the back of her throat and Y/N swallowed down a retching gag.

He was big and unrelenting.

“Fuck, you take my cock so good… Knew you would. Fuck!”

Her neck was twisted, throat full and struggling. Her breath was quick and her body shivered. Every thrust rolled her eyes deep’ every pull back left with a tight pop of her cheeks.

Ben was vibrating, fucking her throat deep and hard. He sneered as she sucked; head tossed back and eyes glazed.

“So fucking good!”

When he could feel it surge, he jerked away from her mouth and climbed onto the table, straddling her hips. She tugged at the ropes, wiggled beneath him, but there was no release for her in either way.

Bending close, he squeezed her tits, thumbed at her nipples again. Y/N moaned loudly, screamed when he bit down hard on her right tit. His teeth dented the flesh, nearly breaking the skin. He licked it clean and sat back, fisting his cock once more.

“You want this?” he asked, jaw set tight, eyes narrowed on her lips and the longing in her eyes.

“Yes, please!” She gasped, body aching badly.

He sat back, crushing her thighs. “You want all this? You want my cum?”

Unconsciously, her mouth hung open again. “Please!”

His lip trembled, his wrist quickened.

He came with a roar that echoed in her bones.

“Fuck!” Ben doubled over and sprayed her stomach with his hot cum. He rocked into his fist again, shooting another quick load that landed on her chest.

He grinned and took a beat, breathing deeply, laughing with satisfaction.

“You…” He wagged a finger at her. “You’re a fantastic piece of ass.”

He was gone before she could reply, hopping down from the table and scooping up his clothing from the floor.

She watched him dress, lying helplessly on the table, still bound and painted in his cum.

“But…”

Y/N whimpered and he spun around, seemingly remembering she was there.

“Oh, yeah…”

Ben came close and pressed his lips to her ear. She held her breath, waiting for a kiss that never came. He exhaled against her throat and left her with a few words that sizzled in her brain, forever rattling around and reminding her that he was not one to take home to mama.

“Thanks for the fun.”

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@akshi8278 @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @the-wounded-healer05  

[jeridandridge]

For Lovers At Night part 5

My too much gene kicked in so there’s one more chapter of this fic coming. Enjoy! Previous chapter

The text puts a knife in her chest causing her to let out a sob, hand flying to her mouth to cover it. Getting up she walks with her phone in hand out the hall through the doors breaking down only when she’s outside. Letting the sob escape her throat she doesn’t care that it’s starting to drizzle. Taking several deep breaths she tries to stop crying long enough to call you. As the dial tone rings, Melissa feels like her heart is going to fly out of her chest and not in a good way.

“Hello?” A voice on the other end sighs.

“Hon, can we talk please? I need to talk to you.” Melissa’s voice wobbles as she speaks a mile a minute.

You’d never heard her sound like this, so small and unsure of herself in the time that you’ve known her.

“There’s a lot we have to talk about apparently.” You hum. “I need a bit of time, Melissa.”

“Time?” She asks quietly, “how much time?” She’s all but pleading with you at this point and she doesn’t care how she sounds. “I can’t lose you.” She whispers.

The line goes quiet for a moment until you speak again. “I need to gather my thoughts about everything. I think you owe me that much.”

“Okay,” Melissa takes a deep breath. “Just please don’t shut me out.”

“I’d never do that. I’m not an asshole, Melissa. I’m hurt and I need time. I’ll talk to you soon.”

The call ends and Melissa brings her hands to her face holding in a scream. In a matter of hours her entire life got flipped around in a way she never thought would happen. After a few more minutes outside Melissa breathes trying to calm herself to go back to her kids. Going back inside Abbott she cleans up her desk and tucks the card you sent into her purse before the tears start flowing again.

A couple blocks over you busy yourself cleaning up the store and bar in prep for the night ahead.

“you’ve been cleaning that same spot on the bar for ten minutes.” Your friend and colleague Jacob says coming up beside you.

“I’m- yeah,” you shake your head moving down the slab of granite. “My head is in the clouds.”

“And you don’t have that dopey lovesick smile on your face.” Jacob hums, “was it too soon for flowers?” He winces.

“Considering her husband posted on her Facebook for their anniversary last month, I’m gonna say yeah too soon,” You huff tossing the rag down with a sigh.

“Oh no,” Jacob lets out slow and full of pity.

“Don’t do that, dude. I dont need that right now okay? I need to get through this weekend and figure out what the hell to say to her.”

“How did this all happen?”

Looking at your friend with a sigh you slouch forward crossing your arms.

“I looked her up because she’s so mysterious ya know? I looked and she came up, still has old pictures of him and that damn post on her wall. I don’t know what to think at this point.” You shrug completely confused and hurt.

She definitely wasn’t lying about being with women before, that much you knew and the way she looked at you felt real. She looked at you like she loved you. Talking to her on the phone and hearing the sadness in her voice made you even more conflicted.

“You have feelings for her right?” He asks leaning against the bar.

“I’d be stupid not to wouldn’t I?” you scoff.

“Theres your answer. Hear her out and talk to her when you’re ready.” Jacob advises the only way he knows how.

Thinking about your friend’s words for the rest of the day, you go through the motions at work putting on your best fake smile as you greet and chat with customers. As you cater to your patrons your phone sits on your office desk buzzing with a text chain from Melissa you don’t see until much later.

When you get up to your apartment that night you get ready for bed shuffling over to the mattress feeling almost disgusted with yourself. You slept with a married woman and you had no idea if she was telling the truth or not about how she was treated by her husband. The post you saw online rubbed you the wrong way, you were still friends with enough people from your hometown to know what a bad relationship looks like yet you still didn’t know for sure.

Laying on your back you look at the ceiling with a sigh. Now or never, you grab your phone looking at the long string of texts you have from Melissa.

I know you said you needed time but I need you to know I meant everything I said to you. About my family, work, how I feel about you.

I know I fucked up and I’m so sorry. More sorry than you’ll ever know, Amore.

Please don’t push me away.

Dropping the phone onto your nightstand you turn over curling under your blankets wanting to sleep the day away. Only sleep doesn’t come. Tossing and turning with racing thoughts of the redhead you dissect every moment carefully from when you met up until you kissed her goodbye after your date and every single moment puts a ghost of a smile on your lips. Her still calling you ‘Amore’ in the texts made this even harder for you. Closing your eyes you listen to the raindrops hit your window and thunder rumble in the pitch dark.

At the same time, Melissa is overtired and wanting desperately to sleep but she can’t stop the tears or her thoughts from keeping her body awake. She’s never felt like this before in her entire adult life and she knows it’s her fault. She should have never lied in the first place and she sure as hell should have never let Kristen Marie put her on Facebook.

when Joe posted that message on her page it didn’t effect her, she already knew it was for the show he constantly put on for her family of being a good husband when they are all aware he is anything but. What she hadn’t known was he made it public, and now the thought of losing you and explaining everything to her family makes her chest ache.

The following day for you is strange. When you wake at your usual ten am, it takes everything in you not to grab your phone and send Melissa a good morning text as you’d come accustom to. Instead you lay there for a few minutes enjoying the sound of birds outside along with the usual traffic. Getting up and going about your morning proves difficult for you. Once ready for your day you check the time, realizing Melissa had her lunch break in less than two hours. Picking up the device with a sigh you send a quick message.

Can you meet me the cafe near Abbott during your lunch?

In a classroom not far away Melissa’s heart jumps when she sees her phone light up. Opening it immediately she feels hopeful reading the message, glad her students were in gym at that very moment. Not wanting to test her luck too much she replies with a simple yes I can then gets up practically jogging to Barbara’s classroom.

“Hey, I have to cancel our lunch plans today. She wants to meet at the cafe.” She can’t stop the smile from crossing her lips.

“Melissa, be careful with that woman.” Her best friend warns. “You still have to deal with all the legal proceedings with Joe and your mother.”

Melissa nods shoving her hands in her pockets. “I know, I know that. I just really need to see her Barb.” She shrugs with a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Barbara looks at her friend in astonishment. “You love this woman.” She comes to the realization. “Go on during lunch, you text me as soon as you get back here.” She points.

As Melissa’s break time approaches you walk the couple blocks to the cafe on the corner, wondering if you’d see her coming from the school from the window. Sitting there waiting you order a water trying to keep your cool while mindlessly scrolling on your phone. As you do you receive a text from Jacob.

Hear her out and remember she’s hurting too

Letting out a sigh you tuck the phone in your pocket. When you lift your head you’re met with the sound of the door chime and green eyes landing on you. Standing up at the table you don’t make a move, gesturing for Melissa to sit across from you.

“Hey,” you let out not breaking eye contact with the woman. Even dressed in her work clothes she was absolutely stunning. “You look as tired as I feel.

“Yeah,” Melissa takes a seat wanting so badly to hug you. “I didn’t really sleep.”

“That makes two of us,” you nod pushing one of the two coffees in front of you forward.

Melissa looks at you with a grateful not picking up the drink. Just how she likes it she thinks.

“So uh, I’ve never had to do this before.” You shrug not sure where to start.

“And I’m not good with the whole feelings thing.” Melissa adds playing with the corner of a napkin. “I know you owe me nothing, but let me explain everything?” She asks softly.

While you were upset, an explanation is exactly what you wanted. Nodding, you urge her to go on.

Taking a breath the redhead fiddles with the napkin between her fingers. “What I told you about him, everything is true. The cheating, the lying, the not caring, it’s all true. We were young and stupid when we got married, and he didn’t wanna miss out on being one of the guys.” She shrugs taking a breath.

“You’re not gonna tell me you two have kids are you?”

“No,” Melissa shakes her head immediately. “No kids, just an overbearing family on my side.” She chuckles. “In fact, my brother and cousins threatened to kill him after they found out he cheated on me the first time.”

Letting out a puff of laughter you shrug. “Can’t blame them. It’s the Italian-American way.”

Melissa ducks her head with a small smile, eyes going to the paper. “Yeah. And I ain’t saying I’m a saint, I cheated when I was a teenager but as an adult? Never did. My marriage started out fine, but a few years in he got sloppy with hiding it. I never cared enough to ask for a divorce because growing up my mother made a big deal about marriage but anyway,” She shrugs it off not wanting to get emotional. “I didn’t think any of it mattered and I wasn’t good enough for anyone else so why go through the hassle?”

Looking over the woman’s features you see a mixture of sadness and pleading in her eyes as she nibbles her bottom lip.

“What changed?” You ask quietly resting your hand on the table almost touching the redheads.

“you made me feel like a woman that was desirable and worth talking to.”

“Melissa, I can’t mess around with a married woman.” You sigh shaking your head. “I meant what I said in that card, I-“ before you can finish your sentence Melissa hits you with another bomb.

“I asked Joe for a divorce.”

Sitting stunned you just blink at her for a moment.

“He was there at the school when those flowers were delivered. Which are beautiful by the way.” The redhead gives a shy smile.

“Well fuck.” You sit back in shock taking in the information.

“Hon, It was the best thing that coulda happened to me, I finally told him how miserable I was and that’s what I needed to do,” Her eyes water, the dam about to break again as her voice turns to a whisper. “And you gave that to me even- even if that means I lose you.”

Extending your fingers you turn your hand, palm up to the redhead, your fingers entwining together a moment later. “You’re not gonna lose me, Mel. I just-“ you sigh, “I need to process everything and I bet you do too.” It had been a strange twenty four hours and you still couldn’t believe the woman you were in love with was still someone else’s wife.

Feeling the warmth and gentle squeeze from Melissa’s hand you lean forward slightly meeting her eyes. “Let’s take things slow, start over.” You suggest.

“I can do that.” The redhead nods. As long as she could keep you that’s all she cared about.

“Okay,” you give her a soft smile gently pulling away. The rest of your short time together comes easy, the awkwardness chipping away as you two sit and talk as you usually did.

Tapping the screen of her watch Melissa sighs knowing the forty five minutes she spent with you wasn’t long enough but would have to do for today.

“Back to the rugrats?” You ask knowing her lunch wasn’t very long.

“Yeah, Barb is getting ‘em from recess for me. I uh, thank you for talkin to me, hon.”

“I’d never ghost you or ignore you, Mel.” You shake your head leading her out the door of the cafe. “I really, really like you. I meant that. Now we can just pump the breaks a bit yeah? You and your family are going through a lot now.”

“Yeah,” Melissa lets out in a puff of laughter. “I can’t wait to be interrogated by my ma and Nana later at dinner.”

“In that case I’d say that’s punishment enough.” you chuckle putting your hands in your pockets, still a bit of space between you two as you stand there on the sidewalk. “Well, I’ll see you later, Mel.”

“Can- hon, can I have a hug?” She asks almost unsure of herself.

Unable to say no to the woman you step forward wrapping one arm around her shoulders and the other around her waist in a warm embrace. Closing your eyes you take in the feel of her body, her signature smell, how her hands feel playing with the back of your jacket.

“Thank you, Amore.” She whispers, most definitely needing the loving touch as much as you did. The redhead pulls back first, giving you that shy smile that has just the corner of her lips up slightly.

“I’ll see you soon.” You assure her, knowing that you really couldn’t stay away from her long, especially now.

In the Schemmenti household a weekly dinner happens at Nanas house, and this week was no different except when Melissa pulls up with a large tray of ziti she only sees her parent’s car in the driveway. Coming into the house with the tray she smells food cooking and her nana talking, that was a good sign.

“Is a hit happening?” She pokes her head into the kitchen.

“My mia Cara!”

Maria Schemmenti crosses the kitchen going right to her granddaughter kissing her cheeks and taking the tray from her. “Come sit, food is almost done.”

Even though she’s up in years the oldest redhead that Melissa took after the most in looks and actions moves swiftly going back to her many dishes on the stove.

“Hey kiddo, you okay?” Johnny Schemmenti was a no nonsense guy, always ready to jump into action for his family especially his mini me Melissa. Sharing the same green eyes the two hug and Johnny places a kiss to his daughter’s head.

“Ya know what dad? I’m better than I’ve ever been.” She smiles moving to sit back down with her dad. “Ma looks pissed.” She says quietly watching the blonde woman move around the kitchen.

“Hi, ma.” The youngest redhead calls out getting no reaction from the woman.

“Melissa I will speak to you when I’m done helping your nana.”

“Caterina don’t give that girl the cold shoulder.” Nana points at her.

“That’s okay, Nana. I’m the only one here so apparently I’m in for an ambush. Did you put the hole in the backyard, Ma or is it somewhere else?”

Johnny has to bite back a laugh hiding his proud smirk with his beer bottle.

“Melissa this isn’t an ambush. I’m only wondering why you had to cause a scene instead of telling us you weren’t happy.”

“Mi stai prendendo per il culo,” Melissa huffs.

“Melissa Ann!” Caterina snaps.

“If this is how dinners gonna go tonight I’m outta here. I don’t need all this. Nana, dad, I’m sorry I’ll see you on Sunday.” She gets up kissing her dad’s cheek, grabbing her purse as she goes.

“Sit back down, Tesoro. Your mother means well but she ain’t going about it the right way.” Maria shoots her daughter in law a look that gets a huff from the blonde.

Melissa listens to her Nana, sitting back down next to her dad. Elbows on the table she covers her face with her hands taking a breath feeling like she’s a little kid that was caught and is now getting in trouble.

“Look you wanna know what happened? Joe cheated on me for years, did ya know that? That weekend the guys had the cops called on them and I had to sweet talk the cop? Yeah, they were ready to kill him. We done here now?” Melissa lets out with a challenging look to her mother.

That night almost ten years ago had been a rough one. A bunch of the cousins rented a house in the Poconos and the long weekend in the summer heat ended with Joe taking off on a four wheeler and Johnny Junior having his hand stitched up in the cabins kitchen after a drunk Joe made a joke about another woman he was seeing. Junior and the cousins scared him good, eventually the cops came ruining the weekend for Melissa.

“The boys knew this whole time?” Caterina asks quietly.

“Of course they did. So did Barb, and Nana.” She nods to her grandmother taking a breath.

Melissa’s mother looks at the oldest woman with an agape mouth.

“Mel, we want you to be happy. You happy with splitting from Joe?” Johnny asks his daughter.

“I can’t put into words how happy I am, pops.” She shrugs with a small smile.

“See, Cat? That’s all I need to know.” He nods to his wife, getting up to get the plates for the table.

“At your wedding I knew he was no good.” Maria shakes her head. “The negativity sheds off of him like his hair does.”

Melissa chuckles staying put as her parents move about the kitchen setting the table. As they do, Maria comes over kissing the top of her head.

“Mia Cara, when we’re done you make a plate and take it to your new friend. Give her a sneak peek of family dinners.”

The redhead looks at the matriarch of the family with a warm smile knowing her Nana would understand everything that Joe told the family.

As Melissa has dinner with her family you move around your apartment cleaning up and ordering groceries as you usually do on your days off. Seeing Melissa that afternoon was nice and you knew as soon as you saw her the anger you felt would lessen. You were upset but not so much with her. Now you were upset with her husband and how he treats her.

If her being free of him and the cage she felt trapped in meant you had to feel bad for those few hours from finding out to the moment you met up with her for lunch then so be it. You were tempted to text her an invite to come over for the night to decompress and talk more. As you leave your apartment and hop down the stairs to the alleyway out back to get rid of your garbage you see a car you do not recognize parked almost blocking the alley, and a man getting out of the car.

A man you recognize as Joe.

Final chapter

[undertheopensky]

Sleeping By The Gravestones 2

Whumptober Day 28: Sacrifice

Characters: Legend, Hyrule, Four

Trigger warnings: Presumed character death, violence, blood, I am dead serious about the blood warning on this one

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Missed the first instalment? Read here!

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As they race down the narrow stone staircase, all Legend can hear is the screaming.

It’s close to the worst thing he’s ever heard. High pitched and wailing and agonised, the kind of sound no Hylian throat should ever make. The echoes make it otherworldly, reflecting back on itself until it seems to go on forever without a breath.

His eyes blur. He wishes he could just not listen but the sound reaches claws straight through to his brain and his spine and he can’t even cover his ears because he needs his hands free there could be enemies at any corner –

Instead the bottom of the stairs ends in a massive, iron-bound door. It’s so big they’ll struggle to move it even on the off chance it’s not barred, and the screaming is still so loud even with the muffling it makes Legend’s chest hurt. How are they going to get in? They don’t have time, what does he have, could he burn away the wood –?

Time hauls up his monster of a sword and Legend has a stunned moment of he’s not really going to – before the man brings it across the barrier with a thunderous crash.

The doors splinter and sag. Time hits them once more before one tears away from its hinges and they’re through, into a wide stone chamber that’s lit by too-pale torchlight and all Legend’s thoughts go to static.

The tiny smithy looks like a child laid out on the altar. Hands bound at the wrist and stretched over his head, ankles tied to the other end of the stone slab. Crimson flows off the edges in macabre waterfalls; blood soaks his tunic and floods the stone, pooling almost as far as the nearest bundle of linen. The nearest body. There’s at least a dozen, cultists in dark robes scattered around the room like windblown chaff, all of them as still as tiny Four.

Hyrule catches sight of Four – throat laid open too still and too pale – and gives a low, wounded cry.

Legend realises later that the screaming had never paused at all, but when Hyrule calls out it rises in pitch and volume into a shriek and the hazy darkness at the ceiling crashes down on them.

Legend’s thrown to his hands and knees by the force of it. It feels like a weight, there and gone again, and he’s scrambling back to his feet and laying sticky-wet hands on his sword as the others shout and grab their own weapons. But when he scans the room, there’s nothing to fight. No monster, no villain, no sign of whatever is still screaming. He knows now it isn’t – it can’t be Four.

He takes an unthinking step forward, towards Four’s body, and something sweeps him off his feet and sends him sprawling.

There’s more shouting as Legend rolls to his feet, ignoring the blood now coating his back and half his side, and tries to spot what had hit him.

The sconces lining the walls don’t stop the room from being dark. Shadows hover menacingly in every corner, drape themselves from the ceiling and gather on the floor. None large enough to hide a monster larger than a keese, but – foreboding, all the same. Like the shrieking that still hasn’t let up, muddling everyone’s voices, the echoes making the inside of this small stone room ring like the inside of a bell.

On the other side of the room – Time is moving to block the doorway, face grim. Hyrule’s already darting over to Legend. Warriors and Sky are starting to circle around the edges of the room, after a shouted conversation Legend can’t make out. He can’t even read their lips.

The light sources are magical, giving off a pale and smokeless light. There’s no reason for the room to be this hazy. Legend narrows his eyes.

When Warriors has to step around a supporting pillar, it puts him one step closer to – to the altar, and something moves and –

This time he sees it.

It’s not solid. It moves too fluidly for that, folding in on itself and spreading outwards without a care for such mundane things as bones and structure. One part of it can be so thin as to be see-through, fine fabric draped over an ever-changing shape, while another is thick and black and smoky as it lurches forward. Warriors staggers under the force of it.

Without thinking Legend steps forward, a shout on his lips that turns to a curse as the shadows whirl on him. Smoke and cloth and the heavy weight of dark magic, a hundred thousand tiny black birds wheeling through the sunset sky. They scatter to either side of the blade of his sword, untouched, to stream at his unprotected face –

Legend flinches back. His boot slips.

Warriors yells as Legend goes down again. His knees burn with the impact; his shoulder throbs, pain radiating up his arm where he’d caught himself one-handed, needing the other free to fend it off –

But it’s doubled back. Folded back in on itself to lurk in a shapeless mound between Warriors and the altar. As Legend watches, it rears up, flares gauzy wings in a threat display and screeches.

They’re too late, they’re too late, these bastards summoned something using Four’s life as the spark –

The Tempered Sword slips in his hand; Legend doesn’t drop it, but it’s a near thing, and he steps back to clean off.

There’s blood on his hands, cooling and sticky and thick. He’d known it was there. Known he’d fallen in a pool of Four’s blood. But it’s worse, somehow, seeing it; there’s a yank in his gut and a squeezing around his heart and his eyes have gone hot and blurry again –

He scrubs the blood away with his other hand, coming free in a slimy red film that makes his stomach turn. There’s still blood in the creases of his palm and between his fingers – but with the bulk of it gone –

Legend grabs the hilt of his sword and ignores the fact that the leather is wet and cold.

Sky and Wars are taking turns to dart in and cut away a few strands of smoke – though they’re making no headway. Anything that separates from the main body either falls to the floor and crawls over the stone back to the centre, or scatters to rejoin the soot cloud hanging fine and choking in the air.

Legend’s not the only one to see the problem. Sky sets his feet, and with the next swing of the Master Sword, light blazes along its edge and rushes free, cutting a path through the black haze.

It shrieks.

On the altar Four lies pale and bruised and lifeless.

Legend jolts forward, too late; the darkness is already closing in again, getting darker and more ominously solid by the second where it’s pooling over the stone. But it didn’t like the light – if they can drive it further – he shifts his grip on the Tempered Sword, calculating –

“Wait,” Hyrule calls, and Legend hesitates.

Stone splinters under Sky’s downwards strike.

It spatters away from the impact like dark blood. Splashes on the floor and pools there at the base of the altar between them and Four. Dark smoke comes streaming in from shadowed corners despite Sky’s best efforts, until it’s larger, thicker, just as powerful as it was at the start.

How do they fight it?

Hyrule steps in front of him.

The darkness screeches again.

“Four,” Hyrule calls, “it’s me, it’s Hyrule. You know me. Please, let me help you.”

The darkness hisses. Legend feels like he’s falling.

“I know,” says Hyrule, voice shaking. “I know. I’m sorry. Please, Four. You know me. You know I can help.”

There’s a moment where the world holds its breath. The screaming’s gone silent; the only sound is that of five heroes breathing hard, a shift of leather on stone as Warriors pushes himself back to his feet from the last time he’d been thrown. The cloud of dark particles sways back and forth.

Then, wavering, draws itself inwards.

The inky black takes a shape that’s almost familiar: the right height, the right silhouette, but featureless, all the detail lost in the void. It hurts, to see Four like this, and Legend lets out a sob that’s too loud in the suddenly-quiet basement. They were too late, and now Four is –

The blackness wavers; silver flashing across its surface in tiny streaks.

Then, warped and warbling and inhuman:

“I won’t let you hurt him.”

Hyrule swallows. “I’m not going to hurt him. I just want to help.”

“Don’t know you. They hurt him.”

“I know,” says Hyrule, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix it!” the shadow screeches, fizzing at the edges. It steadies, reforms into something near-solid. “Won’t let you hurt him. Won’t let anyone hurt him. Not anymore.”

“But that won’t fix it either.” Hyrule edges closer.

“No! Stay back!” It lashes out, dark magic bursting into existence and cutting a slash in the stone inches from Hyrule’s feet.

“I’m a healer,” Hyrule says. He doesn’t baulk at a second flash of blackness, another furious hiss. “I know you don’t know me, but Four does. Link does. I’m a healer. I don’t know for sure what I can do, but – will you let me try? No matter what, I swear I won’t hurt him.”

The darkness wails, all grief and rage and wordless pain. It’s losing cohesion; going from a clearly-defined mirror of Four to a loosely person-shaped cloud.

“Please let me help.” At some point Hyrule’s abandoned his sword. He’s standing there empty-handed and earnest, one hand outstretched. Entreating. Please let me help you.

“Hyrule,” Legend hisses uneasily. If this – thing isn’t Four, then – what is it? Taking his shape, and fighting them so fiercely, and – it can’t really be protecting him, not when Four is already –

Already dead.

You were too late.

But Hyrule’s not listening. All his attention is on the darkness as it spreads back into that thin, gauzy veil. “Please,” he repeats.

The haze ripples; black silk in the wind, a flock of darting birds.

“Only you,” it cracks out, the words strange and warbling.

And Legend has to watch, as Hyrule walks fearlessly into the haze.

The second he makes it past the veil he breaks into a run. Blood splashes under his feet, drips from the altar; a faint and fading hope. Four’s throat is slit so deeply there’s a flash of bone as Hyrule slams his hands down on his chest and his head lolls. From all around him there’s an eerie keening sound; he blocks it out as best he can and focuses on the golden-green power streaming down his arms.

Please, he thinks. Please.

Four is so cold. Under the bruises on his face his skin’s near-translucent, too blue and too pale. His eyes are glassy. His chest is still.

All he needs is a spark, a single stubborn spark he can fan back to life. It doesn’t take much and Four’s a strong soul. Please. Please, Goddesses, if they’ve never granted him anything, give him this –

Then Four’s chest jolts. That first breath is short and strained; the second deeper, noisier, as air reaches his lungs and he starts to choke on blood.

Hyrule doubles his efforts, his own heartbeat screaming in his ears – or maybe it’s the darkness howling in relief. His arms burn under the strain. Lightning crawling down his fingertips, a spark he doesn’t need but he can’t let up now, not when Four is struggling for air, twisting weakly in his bonds while the massive wound at his throat slowly seals. His mouth gapes; his chest heaves with effort.

“Just a little longer, Four, I’m sorry,” Hyrule mutters. He hauls back on the lightning, feeling the shards of it under his fingernails, but it’s fine, it’ll be fine, Four is gasping underneath him as his windpipe seals closed against the blood that’s flowing free again, from all the vessels cut and crushed by the blow that nearly killed him. There’s a drain he doesn’t often feel. His magic is having to replace all the blood Four had lost – or at least a significant portion of it, because without it Four will die again, but magic’s not the best at creating something from whole cloth.

Some things, there’s just no substitutes.

When he slumps back, Four does too; weak from blood loss. His breathing stutters. But he’s breathing.

Almost as an afterthought, Hyrule cuts his hands free. His arms go slack, but after one brief moment of effort Four just lets them lie where they are, too weak to pull them down from above his head himself. Shit. He’s probably stiff after being bound for so long, too. “Here, let me help,” Hyrule murmurs. Desperation had scraped his soul dry of magic, but his support eases the way as he lowers Four’s arms, one at a time. “Just take it slow.”

Four winces at a particularly sharp cramp.

At some point the darkness had gone quiet. The malevolence that Hyrule had sensed, that had so frightened Wolfie – it’s gone, faded away to nothing. Or – almost nothing. The gap torn in the weft of the universe isn’t so easily healed, not when a Hero had come so close to death on this spot.

Not when there’s still shadows lingering close.

The veil around Hyrule had faded as he worked. Legend can see them now. Instead of hovering tight and defensive, the shadows are sort of – creeping up the sides of the altar, like a child peering fearfully over the edge. When Four whimpers in pain, it – it warbles back, and lurches up and over.

It trickles up Four’s form like a sunbeam in reverse; then as it gets to his chin and Hyrule is reaching with a hand covered in sputtering light, it peels itself off to hover above him. The form it takes is blacks and greys and reds, an inversion of the smithy – but clearly, definitively different to a dark.

His skin is a much darker brown than Four’s, with no sign of a dark’s ashen undertones. His eyes are red, yes – but they’re not the bright pools of malice they’re used to seeing. They’re just eyes, coloured red.

And his hair –

Instead of lifeless black or eerie white, it’s a shade of purple only slightly less vivid than the patch on Four’s tunic.

He’s looking at Four like he hung the moon and stars, and Legend realises – he’s never seen a dark with any expression other than fierce hatred or sneering, malicious glee.

Four draws up a slow smile and folds his fingers around the shadow’s grasping ones. “Hey,” he whispers, and there’s no fear in him at all.

“Hey yourself,” the shadow whispers back, and nudges close enough that their noses bump.

Four doesn’t even flinch. Just smiles a little harder so his eyes crinkle.

“Four?” He seems happy, but Hyrule has to double check. “Do you know him?” Do you trust him?

“Mm-hm. This is Shadow.” His voice is slow and wispy. Almost slurred. “Missed you,” he adds.

“Missed you too,” Shadow says, so close now his forehead is pressed against Four’s. Four’s eyes flutter contentedly shut at the contact. “Hey, no, don’t do that. You still gotta explain how the fuck you got into this situation. You’re supposed to be smarter than this, Rainbow.”

Rainbow? Legend mouths to himself, and thinks of Four’s tunic, all bright colours when it’s not covered in blood. Rainbow. What the fuck, that’s cute.

Four hums. It takes him a long time to get the words out – he’s still talking slow, so slow, and has to keep pausing for air. “It’s not… that complicated. I mean, if someone’s… going to do your dirty work anyway, you might as well… let them do it.”

“Wha – Rainbow, no, that’s so risky! Don’t you ever listen to the braincell??”

“The braincell… thought it was a great idea,” says Four, starting to grin.

“Vi, no.”

“Vi yes.”

The shadow muffles his groan in the crook of Four’s neck. Four giggles, honest-to-goddess giggles, and gets one trembling hand high enough to rest on his back. Tangles his fingers in the dark tunic with another soft hum. “Missed you,” he says again.

“We are going to talk about this later when you’re less loopy,” Shadow informs him. Four just smiles.

From outside their little bubble, Sky puts up a tentative hand. “Is that a conversation we can have somewhere else? That’s not covered in my brother’s blood?”

“Oh fuck yes, let’s get the fuck out of here,” Shadow says, head coming up from where he’d been all-but lying on Four. He swings himself off the altar, seeming not to notice the splash his boots made in the still-cooling pool of blood as he turned back to Four. “Rainbow, here, c’mon, I’ve got you.”

He’s the same height as Four, the same slight build. It should look ridiculous when he takes him into his arms. Hell, he should be struggling – Four’s small form is all muscle, and heavy with it. Instead, it looks all but effortless. Shadow nearly floats over the flagstones.

Four’s eyes flutter closed. With a soft sigh, he lets his head fall against Shadow’s shoulder, and stays there, still smiling. At his throat, a new scar shines silver.

[kayr0ss]

Rosewood

[Dungeon Meshi / Delicious in Dungeon, Farcille, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Proposal Fic, Woodworking / Furniture Making, Fluff and Humor, Touden Siblingisms] AO3 Link

Summary: Falin gets into woodworking, is kind of a (loveable) idiot, and Marcille loves every second of it

I.

“I believe us tall-men call it a quarter-life crisis.”

“How is it a crisis?” Marcille glared at Kabru. “Now that the kingdom’s relatively stable, she’s probably just looking for something new to do with her free time.”

Marcille ran into him at the tradesman’s courtyard—a rectangular wing of the castle with an open garden in the center. This wing housed wide rooms with high ceilings and windows facing the garden to flood them with natural light. Some were used for textiles and tailoring, others for working metal. Another section—Marcille’s intended destination—was for putting together and repairing furniture. She had stopped herself at the room’s threshold at the sight of ash-blonde hair, leaning against the doorway to allow herself a minute to just… look.

And that’s when Kabru found her—such terrible timing. She was trying to enjoy herself!

“That’s what a quarter-life crisis is,” he insisted.

Marcille scoffed. “Why can’t we just call it a hobby?”

“I mean we can.” Kabru hummed thoughtfully. “Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Falin’s interest in woodworking hadn’t come up out of the blue. Marcille remembers her having a small collection of books on it—as early as their school days. She’d read about Izgandan tools and scribble notes on the margins of her book on Eastern joinery. Marcille fondly remembers how she’d complain about neck pains—too much reading did her no favors—how she’d sigh to Falin about wanting a bookstand.

Oh, Falin had said back then. I’ll just make you one.

And she did—even if it took her a few years to get around to it.

It sat at the center of Marcille’s desk—Falin’s first ever project, imperfect and a little funny-looking but Marcille would never have it any other way. In a few short months, Falin had graduated from making cutting boards to specialized barstools for Chilchuck. Her most recent completion was a knife block for Senshi.

Today, she was starting on something new.

The most beautiful slab of rosewood was laid out on Falin’s work bench, and it seemed like she was working on flattening it. Falin worked with a large hand-planer, running it across the wood at an angle from its grain. Back and forth she went, spilling sawdust and shavings across the floor. Marcille couldn’t help but watch—she watched the way Falin’s arms moved with each pass, her brows knit together in a look of concentration. She watched the way Falin paused to fold up the sleeves of her loose, cotton shirt—further up to her elbows until Marcille could see tufts of soft, beautiful feathers. Marcille kept watching. Even as Falin wiped the sweat off her brow, running a towel across the side of her neck while she steadied her breathing. Still, Marcille kept watching—until finally, Falin gripped the handles of the planer again—her hands strong and steady, placing the tool back into position on the rosewood—

Kabru cleared his throat and Marcille quickly wondered if she could get away with murder.

“Wha—!” Marcille felt her blood pressure pitch into the high heavens. She burned, red, sputtering. “What are you even still doing here! I thought you were working?!”

“I am. It’s my job to remind the Royal Court Mage,” Kabru smiled diplomatically. “To stop ogling Lady Falin so openly in public.”

Kabru ducked—expertly dodging Ambrosia’s arc towards the back of his head.

--

II.

“What kind of wood is it?”

Marcille ran her hand along the scabbard Falin had crafted for Laios. She didn’t cover it with leather or paint, instead opting to stain it with a mild oil. Marcille had never seen wood with such odd grain patterns and color before. They curved almost anatomically, swirling into knots and unraveling like blood vessels.

“Uhm—It’s—” Falin looked to the corner of the room, nervously scratching at her check.

Marcille raised an eyebrow—then Laios excitedly barreled into the room.

“Falin!” He ran towards them, towering over his sister’s back and ruffling her hair.

“Get off!” Falin pouted, swatting him away. “Don’t ruffle my hair!”

“Did you finish it?” Laios blinked. Then he gasped, grabbing the scabbard excitedly from Marcille’s hands. “You did! My barometz scabbard!”

Marcille shrieked. “Barometz?!”

“Look, Marcille!” Laios held the scabbard right at her face—Marcille recoiled, pressing backwards against Falin who held wrapped her arms around her waist. “Do you see how the pattern branches out? It looks like wood grain but it’s actually a network of capillaries designed to provide nourishment to the creatures a baromtez grows—”

“Like a placenta!” Falin added softly.

“Exactly!” Laios laughed. “I have a sheath made out of—"

Marcille, exasperated, shoved her hands onto the two siblings’ faces to push them apart. “Barometz!?”

Falin flashed her sheepish grin.

“I just—you two!”

--

III.

Marcille was surprised to find Falin at Laios’ office—she had made a mess of the guest table at the center of the room, littering it with ribbons and decorative parchment. There were leathers laid out by the couch nearby, and Falin scrambled about, inspecting each one before coming back to a small box placed at the center of the table.

It was a beautiful jewelry box—another one of Falin’s projects. It had a body made from walnut and a checkered line that ran along its lid, made of cherry and pine. The colors reminded Marcille of the trees around her home. The lock was capped with a crest—one that surprised Marcille. Falin never cared for the posturing and ceremony that she and her brother now had to suffer, so why was her royal crest set in gold on this box?

“Oh—hi, Marcille.”

“Hey,” Marcille smiled, tugging on the front of Falin’s shirt to pull her closer. She got up on her tip toes, wrapping her arms around Falin’s shoulders to steal a small kiss.

“You found me,” Falin mumbled into their kiss, holding her by the waist.

“Mhm,” Marcille finally pulled back. “What are you doing here?”

“Sending a package. It’s going all the way up North so I needed good wrapping.”

“Is it this a jewelry box you made?”

“Mhmm.”

“It looks beautiful,” Marcille walked towards the table to inspect it. “Though I’m surprised that you used such an official symbol. That’s unlike you.”

“W—Well I heard jewelry boxes were a good gift for mothers.” Falin scratched at the back of her head. “And I wanted this one to be kinda… official looking?”

“Oh!” Marcille blinked. “Well, I’m sure your mother would love it!”

“Ah, no.” Falin’s natural flush deepened. “Not for my mom—”

“Hm?”

“It’s… for yours.”

Oh.

Marcille—stunned at first—smiled. Then she laughed, pulling Falin into a hug—her wonderful, loving, thoughtful Falin.

--

IV.

“Don’t you want to go tell her yourself?” Laios asked over dinner.

“I can’t.” Falin squirmed. “I’m too nervous.”

“She can’t be that strict!”

“Do you remember how Marcille was when we first met her in the tavern?”

Laios paled. “Yes. Is she even stricter?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Understandable.

--

V.

“It’s so pretty!” Marcille swooned, hands clasped as she admired Falin’s hard work.

The rosewood desk that Falin had been working on was finally finished after weeks of work. It was polished impeccably, sealed with the finest wax to finish. It had all the drawers Marcille needed – shallow ones for her inks and pens, deeper ones for parchment and scrolls, and even a little platform towards the back where she could set her feet—Falin knew that sometimes the chair was too high for Marcille to be able to reach the ground.

“Oh, it’s perfect!” Marcille hugged Falin, who looked delightfully smug.

“No fair!” Laios pointed at his sister. “Falin—I want one too!”

“I already gave you a scabbard,” she shook her head.

“My desk is so big and boring though,” he slumped.

“It’s also a thousand-year hold antique,” Kabru supplied dryly. “It would do well for appearances to keep it.”

The new desk was heavy. Really, really heavy. It had taken nearly all of them to carry it up to Marcille’s office with how heavy and set it was. This was apparently by design, according to Falin, who can be so much like her brother and not know when to not say things, because—

“I made sure to use joinery instead of nails and angle irons,” Falin gave herself a self-satisfied nod. “I know that it bothers you how it creaks when w—”

Marcille turned so red they thought she might faint, hooking Ambrosia around Falin’s head and yanking her backwards hard enough to knock the air out of her lungs.

--

VI.

By the time winter started that year, all the furniture in Marcille’s room and office had been replaced by Falin’s handiwork: new shelves for her books and trinkets, an extension for her windowsill where she could keep plants and little felt toys.

Today, Marcille came into her office to a brand-new chair. It perfectly matched her desk, coming up a little higher than her old one to make writing and reading more comfortable.

“I asked the tailors for help with the upholstery,” Falin said, still in her apron and smelling of sawdust. “I’ve never been very good with sewing and leatherwork.”

“It’s amazing,” Marcille whispered as she traced along Falin’s simple engravings—she had started experimenting more artistically with her work. Beautiful, Marcille thought to herself. How wonderful it was to see Falin’s efforts engraved into something tangible—something permanent. “Thank you.”

Falin simply smiled back.

“You’ve gotten so good at this!”

“You think?”

“Yeah!” Marcille stood up to clasp their hands. “The gift you sent mom left such an impression on her that she’s planning to visit.”

Falin gasped. And then grinned, “I’m so glad!”

“Me too,” Marcille leaned forward, smiling against Falin’s shoulder and the feathers of her neck. “I’m happy you found a hobby you like so much. Between dungeons and politics, it seems like such a good break for you.”

“Mm, yeah.” Falin gently ran her fingers along Marcille’s hair. “I’ve always wanted to be able to build furniture for my wife one day.”

Marcille froze.

What?

She pushed herself backwards, looking up in surprise at Falin while still staying in their embrace. “Wife—? Wh—”

Falin was blinking, almost in a panic. Then she grew redder, and redder, and redder—like a kettle about to whistle. “I, uh—!” She stammered. She had that look on her face, the adorable expression of confusion as if she had just forgotten something very important. It reminded Marcille of their younger days. “You see—”

Marcille’s thoughts were running a hundred paces at a time—her mother visiting? Falin—wife?

“Marcille,” Falin looked at her resolutely. Lovingly. “Will you marry me?”

--

VII.

“You forgot to propose?” Chilchuck had his face in his hands.

“Well, technically I was still able to…” Falin said meekly.

“After all the time I put into helping you plan it!”

--

VIII.

By the next summer, Marcille found herself at the tradesman’s courtyard again. She had a tray of refreshments in her hands—one for herself and another for Falin. The condensation on the glass formed droplets of dew that ran along its side, mirroring the droplets on Falin’s brow. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail—messy with stray locks escaping this way and that. Her shirt was loose and bunched around her forearms and she was wearing a brand-new work apron that Senshi had made for her—with hooks and pockets and all.

Marcille, like so many times before, leaned against the woodshop’s doorframe to watch and wonder.

“Marcille,” Kabru cleared his throat, standing next to her with an arm full of scrolls.

“Kabru.”  

He nudged her shoulder. “May I remind the Royal Court Mage—”

“I can ogle my wife whenever I want!”

“I don’t wanna hear it!” Marcille scoffed, petulant yet still smiling.

She watched as Falin gripped the handles of her planer, firm and strong, her left hand glittering with new jewelry.

-

fin

-

A/N:

extremely self indulgent thanks i love these two, this was not beta read so sorry *throws it to AO3 and posts it* hope that you enjoyed!