#I have accepted the truth from which you cower

[noahsfault]

This is how it feels when a friend is 1cm taller than you but won’t shut up about it:

[goosewriting]

Wherever you go, I go

summary: after reader and Cal are rescued from Bracca, reader questions whether they know him at all.

relationship: Cal Kestisx GN reader

warnings: none!, a tiny bit of angst sprinkled in there but mainly fluff

word count: 4.4k

A/N: i have the Cal Kestis Brain WormsTM and they will not leave me alone sdfsdfd this follows the first part of the game on Bogano pretty closely but not to 100% 

Navigation: Part 1 (you're here) | Part 2 | Part 3

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — —

You breathe in Bogano’s humid air deeply into your lungs as you stretch your back, stepping out of the ship onto the soft grass. The last 24 hours have been wild.

Around two years ago, you had ended up on Bracca, where you met Cal. You were both around the same age and Prauf had taken a liking to you both, so he had ended up introducing you to the redhead when you were new. They showed you the ropes of the place, how to properly use the machinery and tools, and pretty much everything you needed to know to be a scrapper. 

You had been dealt a bad hand early in life; it wasn’t without reason that you ended up on a planet like Bracca after all. You were on your own, needed a job, and the bounty on your head didn’t make it easy to hide, so you had to disappear. 

And yet, after everything that happened, you can’t help but think that it wasn’t all so bad, in hindsight at least. Because after leaving behind everything you knew, adopting a new name and taking the first ship to “as far as way as possible” from your homeplanet, it was like the universe dropped you right into Cal’s arms. Or at least that’s how you liked to think about it.

Ever since then, Cal and you became pretty much inseparable. In each other you found the friend and peer you needed right then. You were both pretty secretive about your lives thus far, but you knew that if there was anyone you’d trust on that heap of scraps, it was Cal for sure.

As time went on, you grew ever closer. You ended up telling him about how you had been on the run and needed to lay low for some time. Even if he didn’t tell you much about where he was from, you knew that if he wanted to tell you, he would, on his own time. And you were okay with that. You tried not to make up your own stories about him in your head, yet sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder. Whatever backstory your mind came up with though, never in a thousand years would you have believed the truth if he had told you, which you learned later and saw with your own eyes.

You think back to how that day had started and gone by normally, everyone working on their own thing. It was only on the train ride home that you noticed how weird Prauf was acting, and he and Cal were having a talk in hushed whispers, looking around nervously. You had made a mental note then to ask the readhead what happened later on, but you’d never get to that. 

From the moment the train stopped and Stormtroopers escorted you all out to line up, everything happened so fast; the Inquisitors talking about a Jedi traitor in your rows, Cal suddenly taking out a lightsaber, Prauf being killed, the whole train chase… Your memories are foggy, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re having a hard time wrapping your mind around everything that’s happened, or if it’s because you understand exactly what trespassed, but are unwilling to accept it. For now, at least.

Cal had somehow managed to get you out of there, falling onto moving wagons, and ushering you to go on. He fought off the scary Inquisitor lady while you cowered away. Then a mysterious ship came to your aid, bringing Cal and you to safety. 

And now it turns out this Cere person needs Cal to go to a… vault of sorts? Because he is actually a Jedi, and needs to pass a test to help her on a mission.

Truly, what a wild 24 hours it has been.

Now on the swampy planet, you somehow convinced Cal to let you tag along. You really don’t want to leave him on his own right now, and to be honest, you also don’t want to be left alone with Cere and the Latero. You aren’t even sure yet if you can trust them. This whole situation is just… too much right now.

So off you go with Cal, making your way towards the first cliff in silence, breathing in the clean air and taking in the sight. Little creatures with big eyes hop around and out of your way, looking at you curiously. As you reach a drop, Cal jumps first, helping you down. 

When your feet meet the ground, you don’t let go of his gloved hand just yet. He gives you a questioning look.

“It’s the first time in a while that I’ve been off-planet,” you remark with a smile. “It’s so silent out here. I had almost forgotten what that’s like.”

“Yeah, it’s been a while for me too,” Cal says. “It’s nice out here.”

You two just look at each other for a moment, suddenly aware that it’s the first time in a long time that you’re alone, hidden from prying eyes. And there’s also the bantha in the room of Cal being a Jedi. 

“Thank you, by the way,” you speak genuinely. “For… taking me with you, and not leaving me behind.”

“I already lost a friend,” Cal says, and you see the hurt cross his face for a moment. “I wasn’t gonna let them take you too.”

‘Friend,’ you think, and bitterly smile to yourself as Cal turns and keeps walking, without letting go of your hand though. You look at where he holds you, heat starting to spread on your cheeks. You’re painfully aware that your feelings for him have developed into more. You’re not quite sure when it started, but they were solid. And as strange as it was, Cal being a Jedi suddenly seems like the last piece to a puzzle. Everything falls into place, finally making sense. It actually suits him, somehow. And you understand why he didn’t tell you. The memory comes back of how he fought with his lightsaber, and how good he looked while doing that. You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of those thoughts. You were actually planning on confessing at some point, but that just got pushed way further into the future. There’s more pressing matters right now.

You don’t want to force Cal to talk about his past or his abilities, but you do have to talk about what your plan is. Not entirely sure how to approach the subject, you start formulating some questions in your mind, trying to find the best way to word them. You don’t get to ask him though because Cal stops at the base of another cliff, removing his hand from yours, which you miss immediately. 

“This seems like a good place to meditate,” he remarks, more to himself than to him.

“Meditate?” you ask.

“Ah, yeah,” Cal says and kneels down onto the ground. “To, you know, connect with the Force. It’ll take just a minute.” 

And with that, he closes his eyes and starts evening out his breathing. You look at him for a moment, then decide to sit on a rock a couple steps to the side. It doesn't take long and Cal’s face starts twitching lightly, his brows furrowing. Wherever he is, you hope he’s alright. 

You watch him a little longer, then avert your gaze as you realise you’re just shamelessly staring at this point. Taking in your surroundings a little better, you take note of the rocks and their curious colouration, with several shades of reds and browns between the white layers.

Suddenly you hear little, mechanical steps approaching, so you stand up and turn around, your body getting tense in a fight or flight moment. But you immediately relax as you see a curious little droid approaching the two of you. It looks at you, then at Cal, and stands in front of him, seemingly waiting for the redhead to come out of his meditation.

Cal’s breathing starts growing shallow, with the slightest of whimpers, and you want to reach out to him, asking if he’s okay, but you’re not sure if it’s safe to interrupt his meditation. So you just sit next to the droid, who gives you a look and a beep you can’t quite understand; you’ve never been fluent in binary. 

With one last pant Cal finally opens his eyes and is met with your worried gaze and the droid. 

“You good?” you ask him.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he answers, and gestures to the droid with his chin. “Who’s that?”

“Oh, he joined in earlier. Looks like he was waiting for you to react,” you explain and the beeps sound like agreement to you.

“He says his name is BD-1,” Cal translates, then introduces you both to the little droid. BD gives another series of beep-boops.

“We’re looking for someone,” Cal answers, and BD beeps excitedly. “No, not you,” Cal says with a chuckle. “We’re searching for a Jedi. I think.”

BD jumps with a series of quick beeps, and hurries off.

“Hold on, you know the Jedi?” Cal asks and stands up. “Hold on!” he calls after the droid who is running ahead, and tells you to follow him.

You two navigate through the landscape of floating rocks and cliffs, following BD. He brings you to what seems to be a long abandoned hiding place. As you have to walk over a big pipe to get there, BD arrives first, and gets attacked by a rather ugly, maggot looking creature that was burrowing underground, and you see some sparks fly. Cal rushes to his help, getting rid of the creature and its friends with his lightsaber.

“BD! Are you okay?” you ask the droid, picking him up to inspect his leg, which is pretty busted. He beeps sadly. 

Cal joins you, taking a look at the droid to check out the damage, and you can’t help your heart skipping a beat at how he’s standing behind you, looking over your shoulder, and you feel the warmth radiating off of him. BD tilts his head at you for a second but you choose to ignore it, trying to convince yourself that droids can’t pick up on that kinda thing. 

“That was pretty brave,” Cal says to BD as he takes the droid from your arms. “And hey, I can help you with that…”

He brings BD over to a workbench, quickly fixing up the mechanical leg. BD seems to run some damage analysis as he stares straight ahead, then beeps at Cal.

“The vault?” he asks. “Yeah, that’s where we’re headed, too. Let’s go.”

“Uhm, what’s happening?” you ask, following behind the other two.

“BD says we have to go to the vault. He said he knows a Jedi, so, I’m guessing that’s where we’ll find them.”

“So… BD is a friend, yes?” you question further, lowering your voice so the droid doesn’t hear you.

“Yeah,” Cal answers, looking after BD that is rushing ahead to show the way. “I hope so…”

Trying to find a way out of the place, you two squeeze through a barely open door. There’s a hallway that could be your exit, but it’s blocked by some thick cables. You’re too late to notice Cal swinging his lightsaber at them; they’re clearly sparking. Before you’re able to stop him, he gets zapped and thrown back. You rush to his side.

“By the Maker, Cal, are you okay?” you ask, checking him for injuries. 

“I- I’m okay,” he groans, as he sits up. 

You’re about to give him an earful about being reckless when BD rushes to Cal’s side, offering a healing stim canister from a little slot on his cubic head. 

“A stim?” Cal asks as he inspects the vial. Looking up at you, he offers you the object with a lopsided smile; you’ve always been the one to patch him up. 

You playfully roll your eyes at him, taking the stim and stabbing it into his upper arm. 

“That’s better,” Cal sighs, and you help him get back to his feet.

“Thanks, little droid,” you say to BD, and he beeps happily.

“Let’s try that again,” Cal mutters, and you give his shoulder a squeeze.

“Without getting hurt this time, please,” you instruct, to which he chuckles, and you let him go. But BD is now holding onto his leg, beeping. Cal lifts him up and swings him over his shoulder, where the droid settles, and you see the happy little shimmy, which internally makes you go “aaw”. It really is an adorable sight. 

The three of you continue your journey to the vault mainly in silence. Cal makes a little conversation with the droid from time to time. You can’t understand everything but it seems that BD doesn’t remember how he got here.

At one point you get to what seems to be the last stretch towards the vault. You wonder how you will get across that narrow space, which essentially is just vertical, rough walls, in mid-air. You turn to Cal, about to voice your concerns, when you see that he touches the wall, and his eyes glaze over, staring beyond the walls into nothingness.

Is he… meditating again? 

You wait a couple of seconds, but he remains unmoving. Reaching up, you give his arm a gentle squeeze. 

“With persistence…” he mumbles, shaking his head slightly, seemingly coming back from wherever he was.

“Hey, you okay?” you ask him, stepping in front of him to have him meet your eyes.

“Yeah, all good. Just remembering old tricks…” he replies.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I just saw my… my old Master,” Cal explains with a slight shudder. “I was remembering my training, as a Padawan.”

Padawans. Jedi Masters. The Force. Those are all names you’ve heard growing up, but you never got to see one for yourself. You were too young to understand what was going on when the Clone Wars ended, but you did hear the stories. Some fantastical, others straight out of a horror holomovie.  

“Listen,” Cal speaks softly, taking both your hands in his, and your heart flutters as you look up at him. “I know this must be all so weird to you, and I promise I will explain everything. Just… I have to do this.”

“Do you though?” you counter. “What happened was awful but it was our ticket off of Bracca.” ‘We can start over again. Together’ is what you want to say, but it doesn’t seem like the appropriate time. “Why are you listening to a stranger?”

Cal hesitates for a second.

“It’s hard to explain,” he starts. “There’s just something coming from that vault, it’s like it’s calling out to me. I know you probably don’t understand, but please, trust me on this,” he almost pleads. “If anything is off, we’re leaving, I promise. But if there’s another Jedi… I need to know.”

You don’t trust Cere, or Greez. Maybe even BD, not yet at least. But you trust Cal. So you nod. 

“Just promise me one thing,” you insist. “Warn me when you’re about to meditate or think about your old Master. It’s a bit scary when you’re just… gone like that.”

“I will,” he promises with a smile, giving your hands one last squeeze before letting go.

“So,” you say after a while, looking at the vault which is so close, yet so far. “How are we getting there?”

Cal gives BD a sly glance, then looks back at you with that stupid grin you’ve grown to love so much. 

“Heads-up: you won’t like this,” he says and suddenly leans in, and you freeze. His arms snake around your back and under your legs, lifting you off the ground like you weigh nothing. “Hold on!” he quips. 

And with that he runs towards the cliff end, and you do hold on, for dear life. Cal skillfully runs along the walls, jumping from one side to the other, until he reaches the far end and hops onto safe ground once more.

He chuckles as he sets you back onto the grass, but you have to hold onto his shoulders a little longer until you feel safe on your legs again.

“Please never do that again,” you mutter under your breath, and Cal laughs. 

“C’mon, we’re almost there,” he remarks, gesturing towards the large structure with his chin. BD beeps happily. 

You walk next to Cal as you climb the rather steep mud path towards the vault. Up close, it is much taller than what it looked like from a distance. Still, you’re not sure what you expected it to be, but there really isn’t much… It’s just a giant tower surrounding a smaller column. That’s it.

“Huh, such a fuss over this?” you ask no one in particular.

“Hold on, I think I can get it open,” Cal says, and reaches up to touch the front panel. Closing his eyes, he focuses, and you can feel a shift around you as well as under you, as the ground shakes slightly, and the panel opens, revealing a dark and narrow passage. 

You inspect the passage, but you can’t see anything through it; it’s just a black void, and it’s rather unsettling. 

“I think you should wait here,” Cal states, giving you a reassuring smile. “I’ll be right back.”

“But–” 

Cal walks into the void, BD still on his shoulders, and you circle around the column to catch him coming back on the other side to make fun of him thinking that would lead anywhere, but he doesn’t come out.

“Cal?” you call, but there isn’t even an echo of your own voice to answer you. 

With a sigh, you walk back to the side where the redhead left in, and you lean onto the opposite wall, waiting for him to come back. The wait grows longer and your patience thinner, and for a second, you think that you just got ditched on this swamp planet, and you hug yourself. No, you tell yourself, Cal wouldn't do that.

…Right?

After what feels like an eternity, but probably was just a couple of minutes, Cal and BD finally emerge from the void again. You all but throw yourself onto him, hugging his torso. 

“What took you so long!” you say into his chest. 

“Sorry, I…” he hesitantly hugs you back, and you can feel he wants to say something but is holding back. So you look up at him.

“What is it?” you ask. “Did you meet the Jedi?” 

Cal just looks down at you, studying your face with an unreadable expression, and if you weren’t so worried by his silence, you would probably be very flustered by his gaze and how close his face is to yours. 

“Things just got a lot more complicated,” is all Cal offers as an explanation as he takes your hand, pulling you with him, out of the vault. “C’mon.”

“Wait, what?” you ask confused, trying to keep up with his hurried pace. “What happened in there?” 

“This is bigger than we could have imagined, I need to tell Cere immediately.”

That’s all you got out of him all the way back to the ship. BD kept looking back at you with questioning beeps, but Cal either didn’t hear or ignored him.

When you finally make it back to the Mantis, you’re out of breath. Cal’s pace was relentless when he was in a hurry, and he did carry you across some of the walls like before without warning, so you were looking forward to getting in there and sitting down for a moment.

“You passed the test,” Cere calls from the entrance of the ship as you approach it. 

You beeline for the corner bench behind the round table, where BD hops on as well, and is immediately scolded by Greez. Cal introduces everyone to BD, telling the other two that he’s “with us” now. 

Sitting down, Cal starts explaining what he learned in the vault. Some guy called Cordova hid a Holocron with a list of force sensitive children in the vault. The only way to get it though is by following his path, and the next leads are on the planets Zeffo and Dathomir. 

You’re still trying to wrap your head around this whole ordeal, when Cal asks Cere why she’s no longer a Jedi. She explains that an experience changed her perspective (vague much?) and she cut herself off from the Force. But she believes that with the holocron they can rebuild the Jedi Order, and in that way fight against the Empire.

When Cere asks Cal if he’s on board with the plan, he’s about to answer, but then looks at you, and you can see in his eyes that he wants to do this. So you give a short nod.

They come up with a plan, deciding what’s the next step, and Cere and Greeze disappear in the cockpit. You find an empty cot at the back of the ship and take a seat.

Your chest tightens at the realisation that Cal isn’t who you thought he was at all. That maybe you don’t know him at all, actually. But Jedi or not, he’s the guy you fell for. Behind whatever it was he’s been trying to hide all these years, there was a personality that was just unmistakably and often unapologetically Cal. And he’s become too important for you to lose. 

And now there’s this mission. A mission where, if you got things right, the weight of the universe will be placed on his shoulders. And it makes you angry, because that’s just not fair. There must be other Jedis out there that could do it, right? To make it worse, and you’re aware this might be a selfish thought, it makes you feel inadequate. Was Cal gonna drop you off on the next pit stop? You aren’t exactly an experienced fighter. You doubt they’d have a need for a thief on the run from the Empire. Would you be just a burden to him? 

Cal, who survived the Purge of the Jedis, and will now attempt to restore the Order. And you, helplessly in love with him, probably holding him back, because you’re too scared to lose him.

Just as there’s a voice echoing in your mind, telling you that you’re not enough, you feel a dip in the cot beside you. Looking up, you’re met with Cal’s worried gaze.

“You okay?” he asks softly. 

You slowly nod, but it quickly turns into a shake of your head instead. 

“I just…” You hope your voice doesn’t betray you, giving away the tears threatening to spill. “Everything happened so fast, so much all at once. And now I’m left feeling like I don’t know who you are.”

Cal is about to retort but you quickly add, “Wait, I didn’t word that right.”

So he waits for you to collect your thoughts.

“What I mean is, we’ve known each other for some time now. And I understand why you hid who you are. I just can’t help but wonder if the Cal I know is the real Cal or not?”

You dare bring your gaze up to meet his, and your chest tightens at the hurt look in his face.

“Because I like the Cal I know,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. “A lot.”

He gives you a smile, and you swear you can see the slightest shade of pink spreading on his ears and cheeks. 

“There’s only one Cal,” he says, leaning slightly to the side, softly bumping his shoulder into yours. “And he likes you too. A lot.”

For a second, you simply watch your hands in your lap, replaying his words in your mind. You see how his hand gets into your field of vision, folding over yours, and now your brain short-circuits for real. You look up to him, searching for regret or teasing in his eyes, yet you find nothing but affection and warmth. A warmth that spreads through your whole body, and has you taking a shuddering breath.

“So what’s the plan now?” you ask him after a while, giving his hand a squeeze that he returns. 

“Telling you the truth,” Cal answers. “And then you can decide if you want to actually be a part of this.”

“And if I say no, you’re just gonna ditch me?” you say with a playful scoff, but a slight panic still sneaks itself into your voice. 

“What? No, of course not,” he assures you. “I already talked to Greez. You can stay on the Mantis as long as you need. What I mean is… I want you to stay by my side. But I won’t force you to. We have a pretty ambitious mission, after all.”

“Fighting the Empire?” you ask rhetorically. “Been there, done that.”

“Wait, what?”

“Why do you think I have a bounty on my head, Master Jedi?” you say with a playful tone.

“What did you do?” he asks, genuinely curious. 

“Hmm,” you stroke your chin as if considering his question. “I’ll tell you after you tell me about your training and how you escaped.”

“Deal,” Cal says with a smile. “And I’m not a Master Jedi, actually. I only ever was a Padawan, an apprentice.” 

“Well you have some nice moves for an apprentice,” you chuckle. “And Master or not, you look good with a lightsaber.”

Cal lets out a strangled sound at your comment, face now several shades darker. 

You both turn when you hear steps approaching, seeing that it’s Greez. You instinctively want to remove your hand from Cal’s, feeling like you just got caught, but he doesn’t let you go. 

“Ah, I see you’ve found the bed,” Greez says. “It’s the only extra we have. We were counting with just one Jedi, after all.”

“Technically you’re not wrong,” you say, unable to meet anyone’s eyes and looking down at the floor instead. “We’ll figure it out.” 

“You’ll have to,” Greez answers with a smile as he doesn’t miss your joined hands, and turns to leave. “Come get some dinner, kids.”

Cal wants to stand up but you pull him back. He turns to look at you with a raised brow and you take the chance to plant a kiss on his cheek. You almost laugh at the surprise on his face.

“Wherever you go, I’ll go,” you tell him as you rise to your feet with a smile. “At least it won’t be boring, right?”

— — —

A/N: this may have the potential for a second part? if you'd like that let me know! ♥ // (screenshot is mine)

~~~~~

🐥 taglist: [more info in my pinned post!] @dybynyght, @galaxtic-writings (sorry for the late tag!)

[nomsfaultau]

The Lambs Wolves Wear part 8

Dark SBI AU where Philza’s human children were replaced by monsters. Start of ficlet is here.

Both Tommys held Philza’s hands as he walked into the home. “Wilbur” and “Technoblade” froze painfully to see both imposter and real child side by side. Whorls of frost spread out from “Technoblade’s” bare toes, and “Wilbur” drained of color in a rather literal way, his illusion pooling on the ground in colorful streaks as the changeling stormed towards them. Tommy, frightened to watch his “brother’s” face melt off, tucked into Philza’s side. 

Mistaking the fear for “Tommy’s” apprehension of a tongue lashing, “Wilbur” seized Tommy roughly, “You idiot,” “Wilbur” hissed. Visions of his nightmares bled into the world, illusions of Philza attacking, killing, disowning them pouring into the house. “You’ve just killed yourself, you know that right? What the hell does he need you for if he has his real son?” 

“You’re yelling at the wrong Tommy,” Philza said weakly, trying not to lose all feeling in his legs as he watched his son threatened only minutes after he was finally back. 

Lip curling, “Wilbur” dropped Tommy, rounding upon “Tommy” who claimed, “No Dad’s mixed up! That’s the real demon, not me!” 

Tommy began to question what was happening, and Philza squeezed his hand harshly to silence him. Plastering on a thick smile, he knelt before his son. “These are your new brothers, okay? They’re m- not human.”

Tommy was relieved. “Oh, I thought Wilbur had figured out a next level prank and I had no idea how I was going to one-up melting my face off! Did Techno and Wil get turned into cows too?”

“No. But they’re safe.” Maybe. Philza needed them to be safe. “I’m trying to get Technoblade and Wilbur back, but it’ll take some time.”

“No it won’t,” “Wilbur” snapped from where he was trying to strangle a raccoon. “Wilbur is gone. Accept it.” 

“Tommy” bit his hand, and “Wilbur” shrieked at the lava melting through his skin. “It’s okay,” “Tommy” assured his fellow imposters as his little imp form perched in the ceiling rafters, unflinching at the illusionary spears hurled at him. “You can give them back now, Dad said he won’t be mad.” 

“Tell me the truth,”  “Wilbur” commanded sharply. 

“I’m not getting rid of any of you,” Philza insisted, just barely able to snap his mouth close before the yet slipped out. Of course he couldn’t, not when he still needed his kids back safe and sound first. 

“Wilbur” trembled, his talons curled into painfully tight fists. Then his hollow gaze dropped from Philza. “...I can’t help you, even if I wanted to. The Fae Queen has Wilbur, not me.” 

Philza couldn’t help his hopeful glance to “Technoblade”. But the mouth of the haunted vessel hardened. “You already have Technoblade. He’s right here. We didn’t steal him, like the others did.” 

Philza hadn’t much hope left to be dashed. He squeezed Tommy’s hand, and didn’t stop him as Tommy raced off to explore the monster’s powers. In the eyes of a child, their monstrous natures could only be viewed through the lens of excitement, unable to grasp the unfathomable danger he was in. He pestered them with a million questions. A risky game given the tension choking the room. 

“You have to be careful with them, Tommy. Your new brothers can play a little rough sometimes.” Philza poured his urgency into his gaze, keeping his voice as chipper as ever. Then, his fury turned upon the monsters. “If anyone hurts Tommy you are all grounded.” The trio of incomprehensibly powerful abominations cowered before him. 

—-------------------------------

“Tommy!!” Phil screamed at the top of his lungs. “Come here right now.” He looked at the mess before him, and it had Tommy written all over it by the bite marks on his flowerbed. Only question was which one. A twin pair of golden heads popped through the doorway. “I know it’s very funny for you both to look like Tommy, but I can’t have you looking the exact same. It’s gonna cause a lot of problems. Think about it, what if one of you gets punished for the other ones mistake? If I can’t tell who it’s supposed to be, both Tommys will get in trouble. I don’t care what you decide on, but you have to choose a way to tell you two part.” 

“I can be Tommy one!” the first Tommy exclaimed.

The second Tommy pouted. “I wanted to be Tommy one,” he said grumpily.

“Fine, you can be Tommy one; I’ll be Best Tommy!”  

“That’s not fair! I want to be Tommy one, too!” said the third Tommy. Wait, the third Tommy? Philza whipped around fast and counted the heads of his sons, realizing that somewhere along the way, he picked up a third Tommy. Philza was about to lose his mind. Where had the new Tommy come from? What had happened? Was this a new monster he was supposed to deal with? How is he supposed to fight against a new monster who he knew nothing about???

“Sorry, I’m not sure we’ve met each other before. Would you care to introduce yourself?”

“Dad, you seriously can’t tell I’m the original Tommy!?”

Philza groaned in frustration. “That’s it! Mandatory group hug!” The Tommys immediately scattered, but Philza was quick enough to scoop them all up. They writhed and groaned about cuties as he focused. Tommy one, too was biting him. Which….didn’t narrow it down. Best Tommy was kicking him and making disgruntled cow sounds, so probably human Tommy??? No, he needed more data. Tommy one was slightly feverish to the touch so he was likely the demon “Tommy”. But the other two? That was a little harder to tell. Best Tommy was normal temperature, but so was Tommy one, too. Wait…no. Tommy one, too, was room temperature, lacking his own body heat. Almost like he wasn’t really there. “”WILBUR!”” Philza shouted. 

“Wilbur” glanced up from the book he was unassumedly reading on the porch swing. “Can I help you?’ he asked, faintly annoyed. 

“If you also begin to make illusory Tommys, I will be likewise punishing you any time one of them gets in trouble.” Philza couldn’t afford to be mistaken ever again. He had to nip this problem in the bud before the consequences grew horrific. How was he supposed to defend Tommy if he couldn’t tell who he was? 

The changeling scowled. “Excuse me? I don’t care what those brats get up to, it has nothing to do with me.”

“This is clearly your illusion.” To prove his point, he dramatically patted the fake Tommy on the head. He blinked as nothing happened, then chuckled a little, catching “Wilbur’s” flash of a triumphant smirk. Philza ruffled the hair of the other Tommy, who dissolved beneath the iron of his wedding band like morning mist. ““Wilbur” if you compound on the doppelgänger confusion with your illusions, you’ll receive the same punishment.” 

“If you catch me~” he laughed with a voice like silver bells. 

“Why you little-” Philza began, stalking over to where he sat, only for a loud crash to whip his head around. One of the Tommys had turned into a cow, and Philza really couldn’t tell which. 

“Really now, I know you boys introduced yourself as doubles, but you are your own people with different personalities. Please be yourselves- ah, with the boundaries we established,” Philza warned before “Tommy” could turn into a hulking demon. “Wouldn’t you like to find a nice form all your own? Stop pretending to be someone you’re not?”

“Not when we can cause so much chaos!” “Tommy” cackled, racing off riding a blond cow. “And if you try to ground me I’ll rip your head off!” Philza sighed heavily and sat on the porch swing next to “Wilbur”. Technically he knew he should be following to make sure his child wasn’t eviscerated by a random flare of the demon’s temper…but god was he exhausted from trying to chase the pair around for days. The fact Tommy had survived so far was certainly justification for a five-minute break at the very least. 

With a startled blink, Philza realized the changeling sitting beside him no longer wore the disguise of Wilbur. The illusion puddled beneath the changeling, who was still wholly occupied with his book, albeit in a way where it was clearly just a prop so he wouldn’t have to meet Philza’s gaze. The fae was tense, waiting for a reaction. “...have you decided to be yourself now?” he asked cautiously, knowing how testy the changeling could be. 

“Wilbur” didn’t look away from his book, knees drawn up to his chest. “Whatever. Not like it’s an improvement.” 

Philza smiled warmly. “Of course it is!” It would make it so much easier to be rid of him if he looked like the monster he was. Or, so Philza prayed. He’d grown too familiar with the deadly, reading past the frightening features of the creature before him. The stiff posture not as a creature ready to lunge, but a teen bracing to be mocked for the true self he despised. “This means you’re more comfortable, right?”

“Don’t read into it too much, old man.” Philza’s smile grew a little wider at the way “Wilbur” eased a little. Above all, it meant “Wilbur’s” guard was lowering, regardless of what Philza did with the fact. 

Next>

[wol-fica]

-𝐖𝐨𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐞?- 𝐏𝐓𝟐

pairings - wenclair x neglected!daughter!reader

summary - you were born into a family of freaks, and that was the norm for you. but slowly, your interest in your family diminished due to lack of attention towards you. how will you cope?

warnings - none

an - part two for those who were waiting!!

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“So wait, you saw Goody? Our grandmother?”

You sighed in annoyance at your brother's tone, your head hanging low as he rambled on about the events that occurred in the café minutes ago. Luka and his friends had watched you bump into a jockey werewolf and then when you apparently fainted; their first reaction was to grab you and bring you to the infirmary, now here you were.

“I already told you.” You said, sipping a cup of water while you flipped through the spell book lazily, “I blacked out, an old house appeared, I saw Goody, and then I woke up here.”

“That sounds familiar…” Luka inquired slowly, gauging your reaction.

Your head turned to him, a murderous glow in your eyes as you glared harshly. You sat up carefully, staring him into a cowered sitting position.

“I am not having visions, I refuse to accept that.” You growled before standing up sharply and walking out of the blaring-white room.

You stormed down the hallway, ignoring Luka’s protests as he jogged behind you. Your mind was racing a mile a minute at the possibilities of you now figuring out that you have visionary powers which were probably inherited from your dear mother; that disgusted you.

“Mamá es va a averiguarla!” Luka said, getting in front of you to stop you from walking away, “Ella no es tonto.”

“Si, ella no es tonto.” You replied, yanking your belongings out of his hands, “Pero tú no decir nada.”

Luka stared at you, almost as a silent game to see if he would actually say something or not. Black eyes challenged bright blue, the quiet contest becoming tedious for both of you as people passed with confused looks on their faces.

Eventually you caved in, looking away with a slump of your shoulders. You couldn’t argue with Luka, he would always wiggle his way to winning any fight, and he would always gloat about it to his friends when you were both younger.

“Luka.” You sighed, slinging your bag over your shoulder and turning your head back up to his gaze, “Please, don’t tell them.”

“Why though?” He pressed, leaning down so he could speak quietly, “You need help.”

“I don’t need anything.” You snarled as you pushed past him, “You need to let me go back to my room.”

“Y/N I know those visions hurt.” Luka tried again, following you up the stairs and towards your dorm room.

You muttered an insult under your breath, swearing to whatever higher power above that you would curse Luka into his early grave for being so persistent with you. His rambling became background noise in your ears as you moved around your room, setting your stuff down and safely tucking the book back under your pillow before stopping to angrily turn back to your brother.

“Listen,” You said, crossing your arms in front of your chest to appear bigger, “These visions, the voices; they are my problem.”

Luka opened his mouth to speak but you shushed him with a hand to say that you weren’t finished.

“You will keep quiet, you won’t tell anybody about the things that are happening to me. Our mothers are busy enough with Louis and Leo AND with planning for parents' weekend in a few days; they don’t need more stress.”

Luka’s eyebrows furrowed, his face scrunching in confusion.

“Y/N, you aren’t a stresser for them.” He said softly, reaching out to put his hands on your shoulders, “They love you.”

“They don’t act like it.” You snapped, shrugging him off and looking away in embarrassment.

To be truthful, you felt very neglected within your family. Between you and your three other siblings, you were seen as the least favorite. Luka, Louis, AND Leo all successfully wolfed out when Luka was 10 and the twins were 7, which prompted a celebration with your large family circle. Everyone came from both sides to congratulate the three of them with gifts and music and dancing. 

Unfortunately for you, barely anyone paid you any attention. The most that anyone said to you was “are you next to wolf out?” or “i’m sorry you didn’t catch up with your brothers” and even “maybe you are defected!”

Emotional demonstration wasn’t your strong point, but when those phrases were said to you, well it hurt. You wanted so badly to fit into the little werewolf circle that was in your home, but you never got the pleasure of getting that trait from your mom. 

Instead you were left with voices in your head and absolutely no special abilities at all. You younger brothers, bless them, would always rub it in that you were quote on quote “defective” and would constantly pick on you for not having the wolfish attributes that they possessed. 

“You don’t know what it’s like.” You started, stepping away from Luka to pace around your room, “I have to wake up everyday to feel like I’m nothing.”

“But you are something!” Luka said, reaching out to grab your hand, “You’re my twin sister-.”

Your eyes went wide and rolled, your head flying backwards at his touch. A loud bell chime again, ringing in your ear as it drowned out all comprehension of the real world. 

Flashes occurred, pictures caught in time as people laughed and talked, then screamed. There was fire, pooling and lapping up at peoples legs as they ran in fear, and at the center of the chaos was…

You. 

What was happening to you?

—————————

taglist: @crystal-lily-101 @tundra1029 @aahdiieb @rainbow-love4ever  @imhungry-andtired @theafterofnevermore @k1mba @simp4thena @thenextdawn @alexkolax @annalestern @efectoangel @fall-08 @littlegaybutterflysblog @sayaisrotten @deep-fried-egg @notheoneforlove @frasersgf

[peachymilkandcream]

Fraud | Part 12 | Yandere All Might x Hero!Reader

(A/N: Rewatching the show and writing this at the same time has just solidified in me that my version of All Might is fucked beyond comprehension. But anyways- Hope you enjoy and comment to be added to the taglist!)

WARNINGS: noncon, dubcon, manipulation, domestic abuse, yandere themes, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, stockholm syndrome, graphic depictions of violence, mind breaking, misogyny, power imbalance, age difference, cheating, forced orgasm, suicide, etc.

================================================

All Might tried his best not to grimace at the bright fluorescent lights. He was used to hiding in the shadows and fighting crime during the day, sitting in a police station for questioning was not something he was particularly enjoying. There were so many more important things that he could be doing at this moment.

"Is there a problem sir?"

"Thank you for coming, please, take a seat."

There wasn't an answer to All Might's question, and he much more preferred to stand in situations like this, his height intimidated those in his way to cower in fear.

"No thank you, I'll just stand."

The man across from him sits anyway. "Now I'm sure you know it's no big secret that you decided to take on another sidekick, you made it rather public."

"That I did." He chose his words carefully, never once acknowledging his feelings towards Shade.

"Are you aware that your newest sidekick is currently missing?"

"I was aware, but I believed that perhaps she may have gotten intoxicated and lost, or her quirk allows her to do more than we thought and chose to disappear."

"We have-" He paused, thinking of how to phrase this. "Speculation, that she could have been taken."

"I see. Any leads as to who?"

"No, none. Which is why I asked you here, do you know if she had any enemies?"

All Might took a pause to think, trying to fabricate this whole story and clear him of suspicion entirely. Officers were tough, that could see through lies and use methods to get the suspect to reveal the truth.

"Now that you mention it, there was one."

The man perks up at once, straightening up and pulling out a notepad. "Please, continue."

"Shortly after Shade came to work for me she mentioned wanting to see a man, another pro, that she had met on our patrols."

"Who was he?"

"I'm not sure, but I could try and find out if you'd like."

"Yes that would be most helpful. But continue."

"Well, she had planned a day or so ago to meet up with him, and had confided in me she was doing so. However I advised against it, there was something about that man that seemed- sinister-"

"Sinister how?"

"As the Symbol of Peace, one gets acquainted with evil-doers. Ones of all sorts, and there was something about this man that made him feel just like one of those criminals in your jail cells."

"Is that so? And did she meet up with him?"

"I'm not sure, but I don't think she had any other plans that night."

He seemed very pleased, a lead presented to him, all tied up in a bow. "And when approximately was the last time you saw Ms. Shade?"

"Well that would have been- five o'clock? I believe five, we were through with working for the day and I promised to see her the next day for her next day of work training."

"And that was the last time you saw or heard from her? No texts, phone calls, emails?"

"Nothing at all."

"I see, well thank you All Might for all of your helpful information. I'll get this off and we'll look at the next steps." He extended a hand to shake.

"Of course." All Might accepted it. "It was the least I could do. I hope you find her, it's hard to get good sidekicks these days." He laughs slightly, making the chief of police join in with him.

"You always know how to bring some positivity into a dark situation All Might."

"It's what I do best. Now feel free to let my other sidekick Sir Nighteye know if you need anything else, but my hero work doesn't stop if one person is missing. I have to get back out there!"

He rushes off, breathing a sigh of relief that hopefully he had past the test and was now above suspicion.

================================================

Precious time had been spent working her way out of those restraints. Shade had made a shadow clone of herself to look around the penthouse for a key before determining All Might had taken the key with him. So she turned to picking the lock with bobby pins.

How much time had passed she didn't know, worry about him returning filling her. But who knew when the next chance would be for her to have time away from him to work at this? She had to take a risk now.

When each of them had finally clicked open she made sure to be as careful as possible when leaving that bed, fearing he had put some kind of alert device in the penthouse to go off should she move.

Shade tried to ignore the dripping in between her legs, she didn't have time to clean up now, but made a personal reminder to thoroughly cleanse herself of this man she used to call a hero. This fraud. The last thing she wanted was to end up pregnant by the man who had kidnapped her and done things to her without her consent.

The main door was locked, as were most of the windows. The front door was an absolute no, who knows who had been told of the situation, who would stop her and bring her back. No, it had to be one of the windows.

Shade marched over to one and tried to open it, but the lock held fast. Her arm was still broken, and she had to be careful how many shadow clones she made before she was at her limit and therefore trapped at the top of a skyscraper. She had to be smart about this.

Her lack of experience and training were showing now, most pros would know how to get out of a situation like this easily and here she was aimlessly hacking at a window lock with a butcher's knife. There was nothing else she could think of to do or use so she went with that she thought best. Eventually the lock had to give out, right?

She was hopeful, believing soon she'd be free of this mess. Get the police to DNA test the semen found in her body and put All Might in Tartarus prison for the rest of his life. Never to be free to fool and then harm another living soul ever again.

Or so she thought until the door opened.

Slowly Shade turned, knife still in hand, terror running through her as she looked up at her captor.

"Now I thought I told you to stay put."

[born-to-riot]

I Know What You Need

Poly+ ACOTAR Week 2024 - Day 7 (Free Day)

Summary: Amren comes up with an unorthodox solution to one of Nesta's problems....and by unorthodox I mean Amren and Varian invite Nesta to share their bed for the night.

[This all was inspired by a message I sent @acourtofladydeath that said: I think there is a sore lack of vamren in the community and shall I fix that by having them invite a third? Shall it be Nesta? Shall Amren show her how to harness her potential by taking it out on a needy overstimulated Varian?]

Found on AO3

What I Want.

Chapter 1 of 2

Looking back, Nesta isn’t quite sure how she found herself in this situation. Well actually that’s a lie, she thinks.  Nesta shifts her weight to her other leg and releases a sigh as she tightens her bun for what feels like the umpteenth time. She has been standing outside the door of Amren’s apartament in Velaris for Cauldron knows how long, afraid to knock. 

In truth, Nesta knows exactly how she ended up accepting her mentor and friend’s shocking proposal. It does not necessarily erase the thin but ever-so-present shroud of guilt and mortification hovering about her. 

“You’re here for a reason.” Nesta quietly reminds herself, keeping her blue-gray eyes locked on the unopened door in front of her. 

In a thin, black  robe, Nesta Archeron stands tall. Made ornate by the roses and thorns sewn into the neck line, the silk clings tightly to her skin. Amren had asked–or actually she more so demanded–that Nesta arrive here tonight dressed minimally, so she had. As she, Amren, and Varian have all gone over several times prior to tonight, the scene will start as soon as the tiny fae opens the door. 

“It might help if I knock on it first.” Nesta murmurs to herself.

It's been six months since the end of the war with Hybern and to be honest, Nesta has not been in the best place with her mind, her friends, or with her power. She’s not even going to start on the whole weird connection she feels with Cassian. The male has been super frustrating as of late and honestly, all Nesta wants to do anytime he comes near her is punch him in the face. More pertinent to the present matter at hand, Nesta feels like she’s been swept into a world she wasn’t ready to understand and placed into a body that she doesn’t fully know. She wishes she could take this transition in stride like Feyre. Recently, even Elain is doing better than she is. But instead Nesta feels like she is shriveling down to a fragment of herself, cowering under the weight of the unknown, from the fear of what has already happened, and the terror of what is coming next. 

But alas, Amren has offered a possible solution, albeit an unorthodox one, to address some of her problems and Nesta would be foolish to deny this opportunity as not only it is much better than bedding random males every night, but also she is hopeful that she will be able to feel whole again after tonight. 

“Come on, Nesta,” she tells herself, “Still, she refuses to acknowledge that her hand is most definitely shaking as she slowly raises it in preparation to knock on the red-painted door that stands between her and something that she knows she will never be able to come back from. 

Nesta has to remind herself to keep breathing when the door swings open in front of her, her hand still raised in front of the now empty space. Not even a millisecond later, Amren appears in the doorframe, clad in sheer white oversized button down shirt, which–if Nesta wasn’t too busy attempting to stop her jaw from literally dropping at the mesmerizing sight of Amren’s elaborate lingerie set peaking through the frame provided by the unbuttoned shirt–she’d put her money on it being Varians. She doesn’t spend too much time pondering that thought, however, as Nesta is also currently trying to remedy the usual image of the harem-pants-wearing and fear-inducing tiny gremlin of a fae with the ethereal vision in front of her currently. 

Amren is intimidating enough on her own; however, the additional height of her thigh-high seven-inch platforms brings her just a couple inches shy of Nesta’s own height and the closeness of her ancient silver hues makes Nesta’s heart start racing even faster. As Amren clearly is taking her time in assessing Nesta, she takes her own time to try to decide if she wants to top or be topped by the little fae in front of her. 

Nesta isn’t reluctant to admit that she has not ever spent much time thinking about Amren’s breasts other than the fact that they were small. Now though, as she sees them held in an overbust mesh black steel boned corset, she can’t help but wonder what they’d feel like in her palms. Nesta also hasn’t given too much thought to women before in regards to the matter of sexual preference. In her defense, when she was still human she was mostly surrounded with women that were either related to her or were members of the blasted ‘children of the blessed’. She supposes she will have to be thankful that the whole ‘being dunked in a magical cauldron against her will by an egomaniac’ ordeal has allowed her to explore a wider avenue of carnal opportunities than she ever could have imagined. At that line of thought her traitorous brain and heart work together to form an image of a certain large red-siphoned Illyrian male and Nesta quickly shuts that down. Tonight is not about him, she reassures herself, it's about her. 

Fortunately, there is something about Amren’s ancient aura combined with her ‘wiser than thou’ attitude that Nesta finds infuriating but at the same time inexplicably attractive. Amren lets out a purposefully audible sigh, shifting her weight onto her other leg and placing her black fingerless glove covered arms on her hip–barely visible past the rolled-up sleeves of Varian’s shirt. Still, the movement draws Nesta’s attention to the many rings on her finger–unsurprising–and the tiny fae’s manicure, her nails filed to such sharp tips they appeared to be claws. Not only that, but the movement adjusts the oversized shirt she was wearing over her lingerie set and now Nesta can’t stop the thrum of interest that rises inside of her as her eyes lock onto the bare skin of Amren’s pussy, which is on display through her crotchless mesh and lace panty. 

“You’re late,” Amren’s voice shocks Nesta out of her self-induced stupor. She immediately lifts her gaze to meet the unimpressed one evident in the other’s charcoal-lined eyes. 

She opens her mouth to speak–to try and come up with some sort of explanation for herself–yet she finds she is unable to do anything other than audibly choke on an inhale. Nesta closes her mouth, frustrated with herself. She is smart, she is beautiful, she is the eldest of her sisters and she will be Cauldron-damned if she lets herself get flustered by Amren of all people. Nesta straightens her posture and goes to speak again, intending to say something stupid about how ‘You’re lucky I came at all’ just so she could feel more in control of the situation. However, she gets interrupted again, this time though not by her own volition, but instead at the silent raising of Amren’s hand in a ‘stop’ motion. She feels a rise of anger filling her, absolutely furious at the audacity of Amren to just hold her hand up and expect Nesta to stop speaking. How dare she? A voice hisses inside of her, one that Nesta is not too sure is entirely her own, yet she is too caught up in her inexplicable rage to care. 

“I don’t care for excuses, girl,” Amren interrupts her before Nesta even has a chance to voice her ire, rolling her eyes and stepping aside so that she can hold the door open– the action a clear invitation for Nesta to enter the premises. Nesta takes a deep breath, truly trying not to lose her cool at the elder for such a minor transgression and one that is just so quintessentially Amren. However, she nearly loses her composure again when her inner consciousness decides to remind her that ‘she does have a type.’ Nesta is fully aware that she apparently has a metaphorical hard-on for infuriatingly obnoxious assholes–the main culprit of this affliction being Cassian. However, usually, Amren is more of a smartass which keeps her away from the same category as the Ilyrian. Tonight, however, the ancient being seems to be cauldron-bent on trying to antagonize Nesta and for some forsaken reason the slight is turning her on.

Instead of falling victim to Amren’s goading, Nesta inhales the Velaris air one more time before taking a step past the threshold into Amren’s apartment. Upon her exhale, she finds herself in the same lackluster entryway she’s found herself in many times before. Amren, at least given what Nesta has observed so far in the time she’s known her, seems to prefer to save her decor for the deeper areas of the apartment–if she were to wager a guess, Nesta presumes the ancient creature would rather keep her jewels and valuables protected and hidden in contrast to Rhys and Feyre who display their wealth like a peacock does its feathers. Though, she supposes that is their right as the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. Nevertheless, Nesta still takes the time to let her eyes trail across her immediate surroundings. She recognizes the same little alcove to her left that has two emerald green club chairs on either side of a small end table as well as the rest of the entryway, the area being sparse apart from another closed door and a painting of some books. Despite the fact that she’s seen this all before, Nesta feels the hairs on her arms start to raise as her gaze finally lands on the empty hallway in front of her; she wonders if the chill in the air is a foretaste of what is to come of tonight. 

Before she has a chance to determine what side of the scale the omen leans toward, the sound of the door slamming behind her shocks Nesta back into the moment. She whips around to face Amren, who is leaning with her back against the now-shut front door, smirking up at her. While she internally reprimands her subconscious for allowing her to show her back to such a dangerous creature, Nesta would also be lying if she says she did not feel a sense of satisfaction curl within her once she realizes that even with Amren’s heels, Nesta is still taller than her. Of course, this satisfaction doesn’t last, the second Amren lets her grin fall off her face and takes a step forward, Nesta feels as if a veil has lifted from her view, revealing the ethereal being in front of her. Everyone in Prythian knows that Amren is an otherworldly creature, full of knowledge and power. Nesta regrets to think that she thought Amren would somehow become less than she once was after she lost her power in the Cauldron all those months ago. 

“This is your last chance to back out girl,” Amren says seriously, pure silver locked on gray blue, gazing into her eyes so directly Nesta almost feels as if Amren is able to see through her. Nesta is still trying to take in the sight of Amren’s silky black hair framing her sharp jaw-line, her small but supple tits barely visible but clearly evident, her tiny waist and lean muscle both obvious through the mesh and fit of her corset, the color a great contrast against her tanned skin. However, as Nesta eyes Amren’s freshly shaven cunt–the pattern of the lace on her crotchless panties perfectly framing her vulva–she feels her temperature rise with a combination of both desire and ire. Nesta doesn’t give a shit if Amren currently looks like some sort of goddess, how dare she question her surety.

“I know what I want,” Nesta narrows her eyes into a glare and straightens her posture, refusing to look away from Amren’s unusually sober stare. She understands that Amren is just concerned, but she wishes everyone would stop being so careful around her. She used to be able to rely on Amren to be the only one in her sister’s stupid fucking Inner Circle who was willing to be up-front with her.   

“It's not a question of what you want, this is a matter of what you need, girl,” Amren stalks closer to her, her eyes somehow still bright and predatory despite the dimness of the room. 

“There is nothing weak about having second thoughts,” she purrs, starting to circle around Nesta as she comes even closer, like a predator and its prey. 

“Amren,” she snaps, frustratedly, tired of her friend’s game. She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t want to be, Nesta bemoans the fact that it seems like the tiny fae truly derives some sick sense of pleasure from making everything ten times more difficult than it needs to be. 

“Patience child,” she shivers at the sound of Amren’s tongue clicking right behind her, the ancient one’s voice sounding displeased. Before Nesta can even process why the disappointment in Amren’s tone causes her heart to jolt, the press of two dangerously sharp nail tips against the back of her neck pause all of her racing thoughts. She fights the urge to flinch as the nails start to slowly drag down the remainder of her exposed spine, pressing into each vertebrae it passes.

“Don’t make a mistake. Just because I allow you to play a dominant role tonight,” the female hisses, her breath warm against Nesta’s ear, the two dangerously sharp tips of Amren’s nails focusing on the vertebrae that sits right above the collar of Nesta’s robe, she continues, “doesn’t mean I’m not still willing to put you in your place.”

The words send a shiver of delight through Nesta, the tickle of Amren’s breath against her ear sends tendrils of electricity that spread throughout her whole body. She can feel the tingles reverberate in her chest and down her arms, until they land, pooling in her breasts. Nesta’s breath hitches and she  as the indent of Amren’s nails start to shift, her nipples hardening at the drag of the claw-like sensation against the side of her throat. She doesn’t even realize that her eyes are closed until Amren releases the grip on her neck, Nesta opening her eyes to find the other in front of her with a distinctly pleased grin painting her sharp faerie features. 

“Understand?” Amren asks expectantly, slowly moving her jewel covered hand to the flimsy piece of string that is holding Nesta’s robe together, causing the more modest of the two to blush. Nesta feels a piece of her strange newly awakened inner soul start to fight at the idea of conceding to anyone. However, she notes the tantalizingly slow speed of Amren’s outstretched hand and appreciates the fact that she is purposefully giving her plenty of opportunity to reject the advance if Nesta was to wish it so. 

“Hmm?” Amren urges Nesta gently to respond, pausing her hand once it reaches its destination, tangling itself loosely in the string. As Nesta eyes Amren, she can’t help but think that this is probably the most considerate Amren will ever be of her wishes. Still, she looks at the hunger evident in Amren’s eyes, thinks about the heat filling her own body, and she knows she can’t put this off any longer. She thinks over the last couple months of angst and seclusion, about how she can barely stand to look at herself in the mirror, the flames in her eyes not feeling like her own.  It’s time she takes the next step for herself. Nesta knows what she wants–no, she knows what she needs to do now. 

“Yes Mistress, I understand,” Nesta replies, inclining her head as a sign of acceptance of Amren’s authority.

“Good girl” Nesta doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that the older’s praise gives her such a clear sense of security. However, it seems she doesn’t have much time to ponder on it further. With one swift movement Amren has rid Nesta��s robe of the tie keeping it together, the fabric falling open to reveal her bare skin underneath. 

“What a treat,” a devilish smirk plasters itself onto Amren’s face as the female eyes her up and down. She has to admit that this, revealing her naked body to her friend, is one of the parts of tonight that she has been most nervous for. Now though, Nesta can only find it in herself to feel pleased as she watches Amren hungrily take in her bare body, her unyielding silver stare seeming to pause on her ample breasts and what’s visible of her cunt. 

“You look absolutely delightful, he won’t be able to control himself,” Amren notes before turning on her heel and heading down the long hallway. Nesta is flattered and somewhat surprised that Amren said so– assuming the ‘he’ in question is Varian– Nesta’s body being a much different build than Amren’s. Nesta has been so caught up in Amren she almost is sorry to say that she might have forgotten about Varian, which is insane because Amren is quite literally letting Nesta fuck her boyfriend to help her feel normal in this new body of hers and to help her gain control of the great power that has been set loose inside her. 

“Come on, girl,” Nesta will admit she barely registers the words that are coming out of Amren’s mouth, her eyes a little busy admiring the other’s well-defined ass. She supposes it makes sense, Amren is strong not only due to her position as Rhysand’s Second in Command, but also just through reputation alone. It would make sense that Amren’s glutes would reflect such strength, which Nesta once again feels bad for presuming that someone so small wouldn’t be able to have a wonderful ass. 

“I won’t be happy if I have to repeat myself,” Amren notes, turning back to look at Nesta over her shoulder, raising a brow. Nesta quickly launches herself into motion, following the other female. As Amren comes to stop in front of one of the doors further down the way, Nesta wonders what lies behind it.

“Let the festivities begin,” Amren quips, opening the door in front of her and stepping inside. Nesta gulps as she follows behind her, not having a chance to see anything other than a dark room and the white of the shirt on Amren’s back before the other motions to her in a request to close the door behind her. Nesta turns quickly then, somehow hoping that the faster she moves the more it will lessen her nerves. As soon as she closes the door she notes that the lighting in the room dims significantly. She takes a second to inhale and exhale, clearing her mind of all of her worries, before finally deciding that she is truly ready to begin..

“What now?” Nesta asks, turning around in search of Amren. 

“Strip” Amren orders, taking the moment to also shed herself of the oversized shirt she had been wearing over her lingerie. 

Nesta takes a moment to assess her surroundings, noting that they seem to be in a walk-in closet. The only light in the room is provided by the flames of various candles throughout the many presumably empty shelves in the room, Nesta admits she hasn’t given the shelves too much attention as she is much more interested in the main focus of the room: a large ostentatious full length mirror. The mirror is absolutely gorgeous and is framed by two hanging lanterns so that whoever stands in front of it will be able to see themselves in lovely detail. So much detail that Nesta finds her nerves creeping up on her again, but she looks at Amren–waiting patiently next to the mirror for her– and slips the sleeves of her robe off her shoulders. The already-opened garment easily slides down the rest of her body and gathers in a puddle at her feet.

“Good girl,” Amren purrs, “now come over here and stand in front of this mirror for me, yeah?”

Nesta nods, trying to keep her eyes on Amren female instead of looking back at her own reflection. The air in the room chills against her now bare skin, Nesta feels the hair on her arms stand as she lessens the distance between herself and her destination. Although, as Nesta takes another step, she realizes that she is not exactly sure if the goosebumps are solely due to the cold. 

“Tell me what you see, girl,” Amren orders her, Nesta finally arriving at a standstill. She hesitates to adhere to the ancient one’s wishes, biting her lip and taking note of the fact that she finds some form of comfort in the familiar face of her friend. It is not like she is a virgin. Nesta is guilty of having taken many random fae males back to her apartment over the course of the past six months. Despite the frequency of the occurrences, Nesta finds it hard to remember anything apart from going through the expected motions. She brings the male of choice to her bed, they fuck, the male goes home, and once again she is left feeling trapped in some suspension of reality–stuck in a time that is between the past and the present, no hope for a future. 

But tonight, in this moment, in this closet, there is no denying the vulnerability that seeps through her every pore. In the candlelight Amren’s silver eyes look radiant, luminous like they were before she sacrificed herself, her power, for them all. Nesta is as guilty as the rest of the inner circle in that they all are waiting for the moment Amren breaks, that she lashes out at one of the others in jealousy, that she can’t take it anymore. But now, Amren stands in front of her more alluring than Nesta has ever found her before. The tiny fae is still leaning against the mirror frame, waiting patiently for Nesta to follow her orders. Nesta looks her up and down, once again admiring Amrens' lingerie–the combination of her heels, corset, fingerless gloves, and crotchless lace mesh panties all working well together to bring attention to her toned legs. Nesta finds herself overcome with jealousy too, that Amren could walk around her own house showing off her cunt so freely. However, she does appreciate Amren’s uncharacteristic show of patience and so Nesta nods at the elder before adhering to her wishes. She turns slightly to face herself in the mirror.

“I see myself,” Nesta answers the question without a thought. She spies Amren frowning at her response from the corner of her eye and Nesta struggles not to do the same. Respecting the process is hard when the process is asking her what she sees in a mirror, what the fuck else is she supposed to see other than her reflection? 

“Try again,” Amren says, clearly displeased. This time, Nesta doesn’t bother to hide her frown. She doesn’t know why she's trying to be polite when she’s here naked in front of Amren. Still, she swallows as she takes note of Amren’s figure entering the mirror’s field of vision, the ancient creature clearly assessing her.

“I don’t know its a fucking mirror, Amren, what else am I supposed to see?” Nesta snaps. She has never been one to hold herself back before, she doesn’t know why she should stop now. Maybe if Nesta demands some answers from Amren, then their night can get started faster.

“I will give you one warning to keep your temper in check, girl,” Amren hisses, the flickering candlelight bouncing off her naturally tanned skin as she approaches Nesta, her figure becoming larger as she gets closer to Nesta. 

“You know what you signed up for, I don’t like brats,” Amren comes to a stop just slightly behind her, Nesta is able to see her claw-like nails rhythmically tapping impatiently upon her cocked hip.

Nesta closes her eyes with a sigh. She does know what she signed up for, and if anyone knows how to deal with being shoved inside a different form it's Amren. She inhales and tries to clear her mind of all her inhibitions, she knows that in order for this to work she needs to step into it fully rather than keeping one metaphorical foot out the door. Nesta opens her eyes, looking straight into their gray-blue reflection as she decides she’s ready to try again. 

“I see…” Nesta trails off, her throat suddenly dry as the mirror confronts her with a bare body, the body that she knows is supposed to belong to her, the body that looks almost the same as it always has, the body that no longer feels like her own. A stranger.

“You see…?” Amren urges her to continue. The heat radiating from her breath tickles against Nesta’s ear, causing her nipples to tingle slightly. She pushes that thought aside though because she remembers Amren has asked her a question..

“I see….myself?” she replies less sure than before, watching her own shoulders hike up in the mirror, noting that her breasts bounce slightly with the motion. Despite the fact that she utters the same response as before, anyone who has two eyes and two working ears would be able to tell that Nesta’s tone is completely different than it was before. She stares at her reflection in the mirror. 

Nesta knows this body, she recognizes her fair skin, she recognizes her golden-brown hair–still tied up in a bun, and she recognizes her sharp jawline. Her ears are definitely different but oddly enough it doesn’t bother her, she supposes it suits her face and she still has her same long neck. As she lets her eyes trail down her reflection further she can see her arms are more toned than before. Her breasts are a tad bit bigger than when she was human too–which she chalks up to the amazing food in Prythian. In her opinion, there is nothing particularly remarkable about her stomach or legs, they are the same size and length as before. Nesta is familiar with this body, so she doesn’t know why she feels so out of place in front of this mirror.

Nesta can’t help but let her eyes focus on her least favorite part of herself: her cunt. It's not like she’s had a lot of others to compare hers to before, but she has always felt like hers was rather ugly. Nesta lets her eyes glance slightly to the right to take a peek at Amren’s cunt where it's peeking through her crotchless panties in the mirror. The ancient fae’s pussy was free of all pubic hair, her vulva looking smooth. Based on the fact that Nesta doesn’t see any signs of Amren's inner labia, she assumes that Amren is one of those lucky bitches with shorter ones. Nesta glances back to her own, her own pubic region is covered in hair in addition to her inner labia hanging down to where they are visible in her reflection. 

“Good enough,” Amren, thankfully, interrupts her negative spiral of thoughts. Nesta is also grateful that Amren accepts her answer, probably able to sense the change in Nesta’s energy. 

“On your knees!” Nesta didn’t even notice Amren move before she felt a distinct boot-like pressure on the backs of her knees, causing them to buckle. Before she even has a chance to be upset about this turn of events, she feels Amren’s hand grip the back of her neck, focusing Nesta’s attention back on both of their reflections in the mirror.

“First, we’re taking care of this pesky bun,” Nesta gasps as Amren roughly snaps the hairband she was using, yanking it out of her hair. Nesta can’t even appreciate the tickle of her golden-brown hair falling upon her shoulders, she gasps out a moan as Amren adjusts her grip to include the back of her hair, yanking it back roughly.

“Then,” she uses one of her nails to bring Nesta’s head up to face her. From this position, Nesta has a really good perspective of Amren's vulva, her dark inner labia symmetrically framed by the beautiful lace of her panties. She guesses she understands now why Amren and Varian spend so much of their time in the bedroom, if Nesta had a partner who looked like that she wouldn’t be able to stay off of them. 

“Listen to me,” Amren continues to speak, adding pressure to her grip on the back of Nesta’s neck, moving the other hand–finger still on her jaw–down to rest upon the column of her now exposed throat, “you are never going to get over this malaise of yours if you don’t acknowledge that you are more now.”

Nesta isn’t exactly sure how she’s supposed to be paying attention to anything other than the feel of Amren’s finger, the sharp edge now tracing down the line of her throat–now that Nesta can actually feel the edges of Amren’s nails, she knows that if Amren wanted she could slice through the skin of her neck with one flick of her finger. Still, Nesta tries to ignore the trail of electricity that seems to be shooting out of wherever her skin makes contact with Amren’s and instead tries to focus on the conversation that she is supposed to be participating in.

“No, I know…,” Nesta starts, the sudden absence of Amren’s grip startles her, “I know-”, she tries to continue, tracking Amren’s reflection in the mirror, the tiny fae keeping her one finger anchored in its position on Nesta’s neck while swerving behind her so that she is now standing behind Nesta’s left side. “I know that I’m… different,” Nesta finishes, trying not to flinch away from the sudden softness of Amren’s knuckle circling the area of skin around the indentation left behind by the sharp edge of her nail. 

“Different isn’t the same as bad, child,” Nesta doesn’t know why the use of the term ‘child’ suddenly bothers her, Amren is so old that it makes perfect sense why she would view all their friends as such. Yet, for some reason, the term strikes an odd cord within her, leaving behind a slight residue of ire. She doesn’t think she is in the place to complain about it now, though. Especially as she both witnesses Amren’s reflection and feels the fae move behind her, now straddling her left calf and hooking her chin over the back of Nesta’s shoulder. Her nipples harden immediately, the combination of Amren’s breath ghosting over her shoulder—breezing past the side of her neck—and of the warmth against her completely nude back transforms Nesta’s body into an oversensitive vessel. 

“I remember when I first saw you, and these,” Amren starts, her arms reaching out from behind Nesta, her tanned hands—peeking out from fingerless gloves—now taking a hold of Nesta’s breasts, “these for sure are different.”

Nesta bites back a moan as she makes eye contact with Amren through the mirror, the other fae having an almost feral grin on her face as she begins massaging Nesta’s breasts. Despite the fact that Amren’s hands are small—not able to encompass the entirety of Nesta’s rather large breasts—she makes up for it with her vigor. Amren starts rolling Nesta’s nipples between her index finger and thumb in combination with the rhythmic pressing of her other fingers, each one making contact with a pressure point Nesta didn’t even know was there.. 

“Mhmm” Nesta moans a response, unable to hold back the effect of the pleasure arising from Amren’s kneading. It feels like there is fire inside her, each roll of Amren’s fingers on her nipples causes a ripple like sensation shooting straight to her cunt, leaving a pathway of sensitivity leading straight to her steadily heating core.

“And this,” Amren says lowly, nibbling at Nesta’s left ear as she releases her grip on her right breast. Both silver and gray-blue eyes track Amren’s hand through the mirror–watching as it disappears behind Nesta’s back briefly. 

Nesta loses track of the room around her as she feels two of the pads of Amren’s fingers press ever-so-lightly against her spine between her shoulder-blades. This teasingly light touch combines with a particularly well timed squeeze of her left breast, triggering another round of the spark-like sensation inside her. Nesta tilts her head back to the right almost subconsciously, her body submitting to Amren and readily exposing her neck. She ignores the inner rage that emerges from that same deep  place as before, especially when she feels Amren’s fingers start to trail their teasingly-light touch down her spine–the fae seemingly enjoying the feel of the dips and ridges between her vertebrae as she makes her way down. 

“This is your greatest error,” Amren ghosts the words over the exposed skin of her neck, Nesta shivers at the sensation. 

“What is?” Nesta asks, she internally curses her ancient friend’s inability to refrain from sounding cryptic whenever she speaks.

“This,” Amren repeats, immediately releasing her other breast. Nesta is too confused to register the jiggle of her tit as it settles back into its place on her chest. ‘This’ still isn’t an answer, Nesta thinks. Thankfully though, she isn’t too far caught up into the ‘enigma that is Amren’ to miss the fact that Amren’s right hand is currently resting on her ass, the palm of her left hand–the one that has just released her breast–now pressing on the region of skin just above her pelvic bone. 

“How dare you deny this cunt as your own,” Amren demands. Nesta gasps as Amren moves her hand that is resting on Nesta’s ass down to cup her vulva from behind, igniting a whole new round of heat inside of her. Nesta can feel Amren’s fingers tangling themselves in her pubic hair, she can see the tips of Amren’s nails in the reflection from the mirror. 

“I-I didn’t tell you that,” Nesta stutters, the heat of Amren’s hand below making it difficult for Nesta to retrieve her thoughts, her clit throbs in anticipation and she can feel the distinct sensation of wetness starting to build up inside of her.  

“I know,” Amren smirks, Nesta making eye contact with her reflection, “But you poured your soul out into this mirror, girl. I can tell, that’s why I know exactly what I need to do to fix you.”

Nesta can’t even begin to try to wrap her head around that sentence; as soon as Nesta opens her mouth Amren presses her palm harder into Nesta’s front, causing a loud moan to escape her lips instead of whatever it was she intended to say as the added pressure discharges quivers of pleasure straight to her clit. Nesta is beginning to get the feeling that Amren enjoys making her speechless. 

“And w-what’s that?” she manages to ask, truly desperate to know how Amren is going to fix Nesta’s fractured soul.

“How about you stop asking questions so that I can show you,” Amren replies instead of answering, Nesta pauses, noting that this is the first time tonight that Amren has sounded anything close to borderline impatient. Amren relaxes the pressure on Nesta’s front, seemingly waiting for the younger to respond before she continues. 

Nesta quickly pushes aside the massive amounts of lust that are coursing through her body at the moment and instead makes eye contact with Amren again through their reflections. 

“Yes Mistress, I apologize,” Nesta says dutifully, only feeling slightly bad that she irritated Amren. Still, she knows she made the right move as Nesta spies Amren’s shoulders relaxing as she rehooks her chin over Nesta’s left shoulder.

“Good girl,” she praises. Nesta watches Amren’s eyes flash before she starts moving her left hand up and down Nesta’s stomach. Nesta can do nothing but swallow as Amren starts to move her right hand. 

“Now, are you seriously trying to tell me that these don’t belong to you?” Amren hisses. Nesta jolts as she feels Amren grip the lips of her inner labia, slowly rolling them between her fingers.

“These are nice, full, begging for attention, why do you hate them?”

“I don’t-” Nesta tries to start.

“Don’t lie to me,” Amren cuts her off, igniting another distant unfamiliar rage inside Nesta, one that she does not completely understand. As it seems to keep happening tonight, Amren doesn’t give her a chance to respond as Amren places a particularly strong tug on her inner labia, pulling the lips down before releasing them, the sound of Nesta’s wetness subsequently echoing in the quiet tiny room.

Amren forms two of her fingers into a V, pressing them just outside the area surrounding her clit before she starts massaging the area in a circular motion.

“Fuck.” Nesta whimpers, Amren’s teasing is absolutely agonizing. Nesta’s clit throbs, with the other’s fingers so close, it can’t help but send pulses of need throughout Nesta’s body in time with each move of Amren’s fingers around it. 

“I need you to understand that this power of yours is not something you should be afraid of,” Amren stops the circular motions and instead presses two fingers directly onto her clit through its hood. Nesta swears the pleasure is so intense, it feels as if a fire is rising inside of her. The base of it originates from her core, the smoke rising up to keep the rest of her upper body warm too.  

“It wants to work with you,” Amren lets out a gasp as she starts to grind her own pussy down on Nesta’s leg which she has been stradling this whole time. Nesta bites her lip as she feels the moist beginnings of Amren’s own juices impressing upon her calf. The fingers of Amren’s right hand aren't moving, instead they keep a constant thread of pressure on her clit. Nesta’s poor clit, she can tell it’s desperate for attention, it sends constant pulses as if it is asking her to move to give it some sort of relief from all the stimulation Amren is providing.

Nesta watches Amren through the mirror. She can both see and feel Amren’s right hand splaying out across her stomach, using it for balance as she grinds against her calf and uses her other hand to attend to Nesta’s cunt. Despite the impressive multitasking that Amren already has going on, Nesta notices Amren’s assessing silver gaze is locked on her own, as if Amren is waiting for her to realize something. 

What though? Nesta wants to ask, but she refrains because she knows Amren won’t take it well. But how the fuck is she supposed to know what Amren wants? Amren is older than Prythian itself and Nesta has been High Fae for less than a year. All Nesta knows is that she is more turned on than she has ever been in her entire life, sitting completely in the nude between a mirror and the scantily dressed body of one of the people she feels the most comfortable around lately–which in itself is saying something as it is Amren she is talking about. 

“Look inside yourself,” Amren says as she slows the pace of her gyrations, “can’t you feel that you’re not alone?”

Nesta lets out another moan, closing her eyes as Amren starts driving the fingers that have been fixed on Nesta’s clit around, dragging her clit into a circular path. This, of course, causes Nesta’s hips to jerk into the motion, chasing after the pleasure. She also tries to decipher what exactly Amren means with her statement that ‘she’s not alone.’

It is quite hard to do so though when she feels like there’s a sweltering heat inside her body, begging for escape. Nesta has been horny before, she knows what it feels like. Cauldron knows that she has been a victim of it tonight. Fortunately, thanks to the overstimulation that Amren is so happily providing, Nesta is able to take a deeper look at what’s going on inside of her. 

Nesta closes her eyes, trying to center herself past the pleasure that’s overwhelming her senses. As she inhales, she ignores the rocking of Amren’s pussy back and forth on her calf, she ignores the sting of her painfully hard nipples, she ignores the rhythmic squelching coming from her own pussy as Amren’s hand keeps her lips in motion and pressure on her clit, Nesta ignores it all. As she channels into her soul, deep inside her, Nesta realizes that Amren is right, once again, she is clearly not alone. 

It’s a hard thing to describe, a soul. Nesta certainly isn’t expecting to find hers feeling like it's coated in some sort of substance similar to live-wire. It definitely seems to be working in overload–constricted behind some sort of mental block–the area around it seems electrically charged. She tries to paint a mental picture of it, of this charged substance locked deep inside her persona. Nesta thinks it could best be described as a worn steel cage that just barely contains a ball of pure energy. For some reason, Nesta’s gets a sudden feeling if something other than her tries to reach out for it, this hidden piece of her soul, fire would lash out through the holes in the cage, almost like an intentional solar flare. She mentally reaches towards it, trying to catch a read of it–and inwardly gasps as she realizes she recognizes it. 

“By the Cauldron,” Nesta gasps, coming back to the present with a jolt, the shock of her realization causing her to sit back on her calves–a space in which she notices Amren is no longer occupying–not being able to kneel properly any longer. She’s definitely sweating, she can feel its sheen gathering upon every inch of her body.

As she struggles to catch her breath, Nesta remembers something that Amren had said when she first was explaining the benefits of this whole ordeal to Nesta.

“Every being in this world has the potential for magic, child. Even some humans if they so chose to tap into that part of themselves. Its residue lies along the lines of the needs that unite all living creatures in all the worlds–eat, sleep, fuck. Your walls have been built too high, girl. It’s time we break them down.”

“Don’t you see now?” Nesta snaps her attention towards Amren, the female now standing, pressing her weight against the side of the mirror–one heeled boot crossed over the other–and inspecting the nails of her right hand, the one which had just been intimately involved with Nesta’s folds. 

Nesta decides to ignore the fact that she has no idea when Amren even left her prior position behind her. She’s so close to understanding what’s going on with her, she can taste it. She doesn’t even care that Amren stopped touching her right before she would have most definitely orgasmed–well, she does a little… a lot, but gaining control of herself and her power is much more important, she reminds herself.

“It’s my magic…” Nesta breathes, moving her hands to the floor behind her to support her weight. 

“It’s my…” Nesta trails off, noticing her own flushed appearance in the mirror.

“Yes,” Amren answers, redirecting Nesta’s attention back towards her, “it’s You, girl.”

This time, Nesta’s ire in response to Amren’s addressment of her is much more palpable, she can feel it crawling under her skin. How dare she, her inner voice speaks, louder than ever before.

“And Nesta,” Amren calls and Nesta turns her attention back towards her immediately, shock coloring her cheeks further. She can count the times that Amren has used her actual name on one hand. 

“Yes?” she asks before she has a chance to take the vision of her in, heart freezing as she registers what Amren is actually doing. 

Amren, still radiant in her lingerie, isn’t even looking at Nesta. Instead, she has her eyes closed, head tilted back against the edge of the mirror frame, and is actively humming. Nesta can do nothing but watch as Amren lifts her index and middle fingers–the ones belonging to the hand that the female had been inspecting previously–and brings it to her plump red lips.

Amren opens her eyes then, and Nesta once again finds herself trapped in the other’s primordial gaze. Amren moans again as she pushes them past her lips, hollowing her cheeks as she sucks on the digits before pulling them out–the action releasing a wet popping sound that seems very loud in the tiny room, the only other sound being Nesta’s increasingly rapid breathing.

“It tastes good,” Amren replies simply, as if she didn’t just do one of the sexiest things Nesta has ever witnessed, “you, taste good.”

“I’ll be right back,” Amren says, disappearing behind the mirror–the one that is so large that Nesta didn’t even know the closet extended further behind it until just now. She doesn’t really care about her abrupt departure though, not when Amren’s words have just launched her into what feels like a state of estrus. 

There is a new wave of boiling heat inside of her. Nesta knows that this heat is different, it almost stings yet it is somehow still satisfying, it’s comforting, and it vibrates against seemingly every possible organ inside her body. She can do nothing but gasp as she feels her magic finally free itself from its steel trap. This power, her power feels just right inside her veins, like her heart needs it just as much as it needs oxygen. 

It’s about time, the magic chides her, and Nesta is overcome by feelings of regret. How could she have denied this part of herself for so long. She understands why Amren was so insistent upon helping her now, why she had been so disappointed in her. Nesta clutches her breast to try to ground herself as she feels her soul reuniting with her heart underneath the skin. 

Of course though, the serene moment is broken by Amren who throws a pile of clothes at her face, breaking Nesta from her trance. This time, Nesta is ready to snap at Amren, in sync with her newly awakened power. 

“Now stand up!” Amren orders. Nesta tries not to let her temper get the best of her as she slowly rises, still able to feel the other’s wetness from where it leaked against her calf. Amren speaks again before Nesta actually has a chance to rip her head off, though.

“Put this on, this is taking a little longer than I was initially anticipating,” Amren says before she promptly disappears behind the mirror yet again. Nesta’s inner irritation quickly dims as she notes a slight tinge of concern dimming Amren’s usually confident eyes. Nesta remembers then, she and Amren are not the only two participants of tonight’s activities. Where exactly is Varian? Nesta wants to find out.

She quickly puts on the clothes that Amren picks out for her and slips her feet into an expensive looking pair of black stilettos. As she starts to turn around so that she can get a good look at herself in the mirror, Nesta can’t help but ponder about how the hell Amren knows her shoe size. She assumes the tiny fae must have bullied Azriel or someone into finding out the correct size instead of just asking Nesta outright, which actually sounds like a very ‘Amren-type-thing’ to do now that she thinks about it.

Nesta’s jaw drops as she comes face-to-face with her reflection. Amren has dressed her in a black wet-look teddy which features a low cut open bust, a criss cross neck, gold zip up front, cut out sides, criss cross back straps with O-ring details, a tie back, and a cheeky cut bottom. The way the teddy sits on her emphasizes all her curves in the best way possible, Nesta thinks as she raises her arms to adjust her hair. There is no hiding the monstrous size of her breasts with this low cut open bust. There is a perfect path of bare skin that travels from between her tits down to the visible zipper of the front. Fuck, Nesta thinks as she shifts slightly to see the back of the teddy, she looks delicious. The realization causes the already blistering temperature inside of her to somehow elevate even more. 

“If you’re finished getting dressed, come back here!” she hears Amren call from behind the mirror. With the added height provided by Nesta’s heels, she is sure that the size difference between the two females will return to the usual. Still, Amren’s presence is so strong and foreboding–especially tonight–that Nesta would rather die than point this out to her friend. Still, Nesta follows Amren’s order without question and feels a gasp escape her lips as she steps past the edge of the frame which Amren has been hanging around all night. 

“Oh my,” Nesta can’t help but say as she takes another step into the hidden part of the closet that she and Amren have been spending so much time in this evening. Lining each and every single shelf in front of her is the widest variety of sex toys that Nesta has ever seen. She always suspected that Amren was a hoarder, however, when she first formed that suspicion Nesta was thinking more along the lines of jewelry. She is not entirely sure what she should make of the display of dildos, paddles, chains, straps, vibrators, and plenty more in front of her. 

“Wha-How long have you been collecting all of this?” Nesta asks, unable to stop herself. She turns towards Armen who has been waiting for her, leaning against the only wall in this little hidden area without any shelfs occupying it.

“I’ve been alive a long time,” Amren replies, mirth filling her gaze. Nesta considers that to be a fair response.

“Anyway,” Amren starts, pushing herself off of the wall and strutting forward until she stops right in front of Nesta, “pick what calls to you, girl.”

“Excuse me?” Nesta asks for clarity while trying to keep her inner beast in-check. Nesta doesn’t even know where to begin. However, she remembers that this isn’t her first time racking her mind to try to find something that Amren has told her to, Nesta thinks back to when she was trying to feel out the location of the Ouroboros. She also ignores the utter ridiculousness of Amren’s request, does she really want Nesta to tap into this great power of hers just to find the perfect sex toy? One thing she has learned throughout her relatively short time being friends with Amren is that the other female always has her reasons. Nesta supposes she will try to do as she’s asked.

“It’s quite simple. Your magic is awake now, let it guide you,” Amren coos before brushing past Nesta, purposely bumping into her shoulder as she passes by. 

“You look great in that by the way.” Nesta jolts as a quick slap meets the flesh of her ass, turning around to find Amren laughing. She will not deny she enjoys the warmth that emerges from the affected area of her skin after the impromptu spanking. However, Nesta eyes the other female with a glare, she swears she’s never been more willing to attempt to tear Amren's throat out then she is right now. Nesta isn’t even entirely sure why, usually her subconscious would make itself known at this point to try to guide her away from such a rash decision. However, now that her soul is complete, Nesta cannot feel anything within her aside from a pleased rumble of agreement. 

“How will I know?” Nesta asks, turning back towards the treasure trove of sex toys displayed before her. 

“There is only so much I can tell you, try trusting your instincts,” Amren answers softly, the sound of her footsteps echoing as she takes a couple steps back, clearly giving Nesta space to work with.

Nesta inhales a deep breath before exhaling softly, closing her eyes so that she can try and concentrate. Nesta lifts her hands–palms up–and holds them there, her elbows remaining in a position at about the same height as her waist. She tunes out the room around her and focuses in on the flames that have been joyfully traveling around her body ever since she finally accepted their presence, she focuses in on her power, tapping into the electric bundle at her core and then refocusing her energy on the area in front of her. 

As she mentally scans the toys with her power–eyes still closed–she hopes that she is able to tap into whatever instincts Amren is referring to. As she keeps scanning though, she feels the electricity inside her getting more painful as she gets closer to a certain area. Here, Nesta knows where to go. She keeps her eyes closed as she moves in that direction, each step causing the stinging to travel to a new area of her body. Finally, Nesta opens her eyes as her stiletto covered toe meets the edge of the shelf of toys.

The sight of a black riding crop makes her mouth water, yes this, we need to use this, we need to keep others in line. To make things even better, the crop had a beautiful diamond encrusted handle. Before she has a chance to pick it up, Nesta realizes her power isn’t done screaming at her, something more, we need something else. 

“I need to pick another,” Nesta turns her head over her shoulder slightly to make eye-contact with Amren, noting that her silver eyes blink slightly in surprise before she shrugs her bare shoulders.

“As I’ve been saying the whole time, listen to your instincts,” Amren steps back up to the shelf next to Nesta, gesturing for her to carry on with her business as Amren picks up the riding crop to hold for her. 

Nesta turns back around to follow the second trail of sparks that had been nagging at her. Only after she picked up the riding crop did Nesta actually realize that she was meant to be following two different paths. Not that it matters anymore, now she knows what to do. Nesta doesn’t even bother to close her eyes, instead she makes her way straight for the shelf of strap-ons, her sights locked on this massive red dildo. 

Nesta is a bit confused though once she gets closer, although it satisfies her instincts–the fact that this is the thickest dildo she has ever seen in her life makes her clit throb–she can’t help but notice the inside of it is hollow. Nesta picks up the toy and turns back around again to ask Amren what it is.

“Oh!” Amren’s eyes light up in delight as she eyes what Nesta is holding, “I haven’t had a chance to use that with him yet, this is wonderful!”

“Why is it hollow though?” Nesta asks, a bit nervous about the fact that she thinks Amren actually skips as she makes her way over to grab the toy from Nesta. She also tries not to focus on the fact that she thinks this is the most excited she has ever seen Amren outside of her talks with Lucien about whatever sport it is that they both like. 

“Oh child,” Amren starts, the term once again annoying Nesta and causes her to roll her eyes, “this isn’t a strap on for you.”

Nesta shoots her head back up at the ancient one’s words. Oh?

She eyes Amren, who is stalling at the edge of the mirror frame.

“It’s for him,” Amren grins at her, a mischievous spark in her eye. Nesta feels another wave of heat wash over her entire body as she imagines the implications of this knowledge. However, Nesta also gets hit with a sudden sense of insecurity as Amren leaves the hidden section of the closet.

“Amren, I have a question,” Nesta calls out as she follows her. As she crosses into the other section, she spies Amren placing the toys that Nesta has selected in one of the empty spaces on the shelves between candle displays, the tiny fae’s back turned away from her. Amren sighs and lets her head hang forward before turning around to meet Nesta’s gaze. 

“What is it now, girl?” Amren is no longer hiding her impatience, not even bothering to reprimand Nesta for failing to call her Mistress. Nesta doesn’t feel bad though, how could she when she finally feels like she belongs in her own body. There is one question she still needs to ask.

“How do I know that this magic is truly my own? How do I know this was meant to belong to me?” Nesta has never felt better or more like she belongs in her body than this moment in time, she is just worried that this is a trick, that it won’t stay that way, that she’s not strong enough.

Amren glares at her as soon as Nesta finishes spitting out the question, visibly incredulous that she had the gall to even ask the question.

"I have watched many a reign come and go girl, you dare question me?" Nesta gulps as Amren storms up to her, no longer teasing in her grip as she grabs Nesta’s arm and swings her around so that she faces the mirror again. 

“I thought we went over this already but let me try to explain it one more time,” Nesta sees Amren frown through the reflection, the tiny fae standing on Nesta’s left side this time rather than behind her because of the added height of Nesta’s stilettos. 

“Close your eyes!” Amren orders. Nesta does. 

“What do you feel?” she asks, holding Nesta at the waist as she massages little circles into the skin of Nesta’s hips, visible through the cutouts of her teddy.

Nesta sighs before emptying her mind, trying to focus purely on her inner core.

“I feel fire, it's everywhere. My nipples are hard, my pussy is wet, and it feels like my flesh is being scorched from within, I want-” Nesta cuts herself off. She wants so much. She wants to dominate, she wants to take, she wants to own, Nesta can’t even keep up with all the urges running past her mind, she knows for sure though that she’s never felt more hungry than she is in this moment. 

“Open your eyes, girl," Amren orders just as Nests feels like the fire in her chest is about to break past her ribcage. Again, if it was any other time Nesta would rip her a new one for continuing to call her ‘girl’. Now though, what other option does she have other than to listen?

Nesta opens her eyes and is met with their reflection, flames clearly dancing within her gray-blue hues. 

"Your power wants to work with you,” Amren hisses, splaying one of her hands on the bare skin below Nesta’s breasts, “it's meant for you to wield."

 "Feel this?" Amren presses her palm into the region above Nesta’s pelvic bone, the added pressure sending waves of pleasure towards her cunt, her nipples raging with electricity as they beg for similar attention. 

“Feel how good it aches," Amren whispers, moving her other hand to play with the zipper on Nesta’s front. She cries out a moan as Amren adds even more pressure to the area above her pelvic region, I do feel. 

"Feel how it makes your body cry for more?" she asks, and Nesta is starving. 

"This is what true power feels like girl, this is the feeling that men climb, cry and fight for, but they always fail," Amren brings her lips to Nesta’s ear and Nesta would be lying if she says she’s anything other than horny as fuck. 

"But us," Amren whispers, her soft breath causing Nesta to become somehow even more sensitive than before. Amren removes her hands from Nesta’s lower body and instead brings them up to slide beneath the fabric of her teddy, the cut providing easy access to her breasts. 

"Creatures like you and I…," Amren continues to whisper, squeezing Nesta’s breasts a couple times as Nesta feels even more wetness pool between her folds.

"We will prevail," Amren whispers, leaving a kiss under Nesta’s ear before letting go of her and backing away, out of the mirror’s line of vision. 

“I see” Nesta closes her eyes once more and reflects. She finally thinks she gets it now, at least for the most part. Because how can she deny who she is any longer? Who is she to decide that she isn’t meant to be here? The magic is in her now, it breathes with her and it craves her every waking desire. Her journey in this new world has been like a battle between Nesta’s old beliefs, her family, and the grim reality seemingly standing before her. Now though, Nesta Archeon is done being afraid. 

She opens her eyes only to immediately realize the lighting in the room has changed. The flickering yellow-orange flames from Amren’s candles are no more, in their stead, to Nesta’s utter astonishment, are silver flames, casting the room in a flickering white glow instead. In a similar tune, almost as if her magic is rejoicing at her inner revelation, Nesta feels another round of flames lick up her inner viscera, making her insides feel warm and comforting like a hearth. This body is no vessel, it is her own flesh and blood.

“I believe it's time,” Amren says quietly, softly, like she doesn’t want to accidentally startle Nesta into closing herself off from her magic again.

“I’m ready,” Nesta replies in the same tone, nodding at Amren through the mirror to show her that she is genuinely grateful for her assistance. It is actually quite insane to think that all it took to set her head straight was to be brought to the edge of an orgasm.

“I’ll give you a minute, I’ll be waiting in the hall.”

Nesta inhales as she nods in acknowledgement, once again admiring Amren’s petite figure as the female makes her way to exit the small room. Nesta feels yet another bout of heat spurn within her as she spies Amren grabbing the toys that Nesta has selected to use for tonight before she leaves.

“Remember what you can be, girl,” Amren tosses over her shoulder just before the door slams behind her, setting silence upon the tiny room where Nesta still stands. She waits a moment, listening. Judging by the increasingly quiet clack of the tiny Fae’s heels on the wooden floor, Nesta presumes that Amren is going to place them wherever she has stashed Varian thus far. 

Nesta closes her eyes, reveling in the swirling thrum of sparks inside her, she would like to think that it is her inner beast coming to say hello, she really would. But Nesta is an intelligent woman…an intelligent woman who knows that the jump in her arousal is most definitely because she notices that the strap-on–the massive hollow toy that she intends to use tonight–is close to over half the length of Amren’s forearm. And the thickness… cauldron. She knows that a male-strap-on has to have a certain level of thickness in regards to the girth because it has to allow for a cock to fill its hollow opening. However–Nesta thinks as she opens her eyes, seeing the flames inside them staring back at her through the mirror in front of her–she wonders exactly what type of toy is hanging between Varian’s legs that requires a dildo as thick as her wrist. She is witness to her own reflection as a devilish grin forms on her own mouth–Nesta is more than ready to leave all that was before in this room. 

“It’s time,” Nesta speaks aloud to the empty room. She refuses to let herself cower in the face of power ever again, especially when it's her own. Nesta straightens her posture, taking one last look at her reflection.  

It’s time to take what she needs.

___Preview of Next Chapter____

“Oh sweetie, I’m sorry, did we leave you alone too long,” Amren coos to her lover. Varian sits exposed on a simple wooden chair in the middle of the couple’s bedroom. The Summer Court male’s head is hanging low, his white tendrils of hair acting like a shield in front of his face. Nesta did not pick up on any sort of response from the male that indicates that he acknowledges their presence. She takes a quick peek over at Amren and decides not to worry after finding the other female to seem emphatically unconcerned. Nesta watches on silently as the tiny fae takes a couple soft predatory steps towards the subdued male. Nonetheless, she stills to take in the view of the delicious specimen of man in front of her. Nesta can admit fully that she has never really given much thought to Varian before, not really having much time to assess him in the short three months after the war with Hybern. However, now, she can’t seem to look away from the large male’s thick muscular thighs, his heavy cock, his beautiful dark skin–fuck, Nesta feels her cunt throb in anticipation. 

“Baby boy,” Amren releases another coo, causing Varian to finally raise his gaze to meet his Mistresses and causing Nesta to shiver for a different reason entirely. Now, not only does she have a better view of the male himself, a white blindfold and ball gag rendering his sight and ability to speak obsolete; but also she can see his nostrils flaring and his muscles twitching. Nesta is absolutely enraptured in the scene in front of her as she watches Varian suddenly seem to try to lunge in Amren’s direction, the man trying and failing to get closer to her, his muscles bulging in their effort to win a one-sided battle against his restraints.

But it isn’t until Nesta spots Varian’s collar, large and heavy on his neck, that she feels her nipples harden and another bout of wetness starting to form between her folds. Here, on Varian’s neck, in Amren’s apartment in Velaris, is one of the Summer Court’s infamous blood rubies. The massive jewel's weight was supported by a two-inch thick diamond encrusted platinum band. She knows it must sit heavy on his neck, it seems almost impossible that a jewel that large could be fixed upon a collar without falling, yet there it stands.

Last Nesta had checked, the source material of Prythian’s most common nightmares had decided to use this ‘threat’ as a paperweight. Although, she can’t deny how much the pathway to her center steams at the thought of the Summer Court male being made to wear a sign of ownership stamped with the ultimate symbol of betrayal of his own court, an invocation of  a feud on a personal level.  

Nesta can’t help but muse over what the thrill of incurring such a depth of loyalty from another must taste like, she wonders too, greedily and needily what it feels like to be such a fearsome predator to surpass the laws of societal expectation. Is this Amren’s subtle yet personal way of invoking her own feud, a remnant of the possessive creature that once roamed inside of her that is furious at the land for claiming ownership of something that she marked as hers. She also wonders heatedly, enviously, what it would be like to be wanted that furiously. Need starts to play at the strings of her core, she can feel it heating and readying itself for something more.

“Don’t be shy now, boy,” Amren instructs Varian, the man immediately turning his head in the direction of her voice, clearly desperate for her touch. Nesta would be lying if she said the palpable smell and taste of his desperation didn’t cause her clit to start to throb.

The sweetness of the pair in front of her simultaneously puts Nesta on edge as well as incurs yet another thrum of heat inside of her. Amren is never sweet. Nesta watches on as her mentor finally reaches her lover–no, her pet. Amren looks Varian up and down with a hungry gleam in her eye before grabbing his chin roughly, causing what sounds like a gruff moan to escape the large man’s lips. That’s all it took? Nesta thinks to herself. 

“You haven’t even been touched boy and you’re already sweating?” Amren tuts, roughly maneuvering his chin as she gives him a thorough inspection, the male seemingly keening into the contact despite its roughness. Nesta tries not to get whiplash as Amren softly pats the male’s cheek twice with her free hand before letting it drop to rest on her waist.

“Pathetic,” the ancient one scoffs, finally releasing her other hand’s grip on his chin. 

Nesta realizes that the male in front of her is not the same one that has been a frequent guest at their dinner table over the last couple of months. No, tonight she is not looking at the same captain of Tarquin’s guard nor the commendable battle tactician that she has come to know. Instead, Nesta finds herself looking at Amren’s pet. As soon as the thought crosses her mind though, Nesta is hit by a shudder that rolls through her entire body, a shock of a reprimand from something deep in her core, something primal.No, Nesta reprimands herself, straightening her posture as she starts to make her own way towards Varian. Tonight, he is her prey.

_______________________

Tag List: (tell me if you don’t wanna be here) @acourtofladydeath @ofduskanddreams @secret-third-thing @areyoudreaminof @iftheshoef1tz @chunkypossum @queercontrarian @yourlazykitkat @krem-has-a-mess @witch-and-her-witcher @yanny-77 @pippsmcgee @fieldofdaisiies

[maboroshi-no]

Hamefura Movie Novel Animate Special Story

I have translated below the Hamefura Movie Novel's Animate SS.

Aaqil's POV

I hated my long name, Chihab Waaqid Aaqil Mutlaq, and because of this, I usually introduced myself as only "Aaqil". I especially hated the most my family name, which contained my country's name at the end. It was because it revealed that I was a royal. While it did make me a royal, I felt like it rather made me the King's property since, in truth, I represented nothing more than a tool to my father the King, and this caused unpleasant feelings in me.

While I still wasn't old enough to understand, it became known around me that I could understand the heart of animals, and after this, I did as the King told me and controlled animals and carried out tasks for him. I had various learnings drilled into me so I could complete my tasks but I wasn't given any children toys or time to play at all. I just kept quiet and carried out the tasks asked by the King.

I wasn't given any human touch, warmth, or anything, but I was given jealousy-induced cold treatment. Only that.

Before I knew it, I found people scary. I could only trust animals and thought of humans as enemies.

It was at that time that I saw that show. The members of that caravan seemed to enjoy themselves with sparkling eyes, and they also seemed close. I couldn't take my eyes off their show.

For the first time, acting of my own will, I mustered the most courage I ever had and went to secretly peek at this caravan. And because of this, my life changed.

The caravan leader dragged a cowering and clearly suspicious child inside with a smile, and the caravan members accepted this child.

They taught me human warmth, they taught me how much happiness it was to be cherished.

Because I had been killing my emotions until now, I didn't know about joy or anger. I also didn't know about the common sense that naturally came to others. At that time, Qumiit, who was close to my age, took the initiative to teach me about the world. He taught me children's games, and the adults bought me toys.

My world expanded at once. My frozen heart which feared all humans gradually melted and came to completely trust the caravan people.

After this, I spent all my time at the caravan. As for the work I received from the King, I did whatever I could do there and only set out when I absolutely needed to return to the King. The King didn't see me as anything but a tool in the first place, so he wouldn't ask me where I was or what I was doing as long as I did the work he ordered. Still, I couldn't help fearing that one day, everyone would find out about my social status and keep me at a distance. Rather than letting them find out through others, I mustered my courage and told them myself. The result of this is that they indeed were surprised but their attitude didn't change. I was extremely happy. After that, I continued to live with them in the caravan.

My days with my friends who were like family going around Multlaq, promoting shows, and doing trades, really were happy. But the country took away most of the earnings from trades, so no matter how much they earned, there was no sign of the caravan people's lives improving. This made me anxious. Just because they were the country's property, asking them to offer their earnings to the country was just unreasonable. I was only a royal in name, and I could never do something so unreasonable, so this situation was frustrating to me. 

But a time had come that might end these days.

At that time, when I reported to the King that I had felt a mysterious presence, he said,

King: If you retrieve our stolen treasure from the faraway country, I will free the caravan you're staying with from the country. If you refuse, I'll imprison the caravan members.

This was an order that didn't leave any choice.

But if I fulfilled this mission, everyone in the caravan would be free. They wouldn't need to live a poor life anymore. When I thought about this, it seemed like a good thing to me. Even if I wouldn't be able to be there with them.

Even if I set the caravan free from the country, I didn't think the King would part with me, his handy tool. The caravan people didn't know about this, but my ability to control animals was the most powerful in the country. There was no way he would set me free.

But if I told them such a thing, it would dampen their motivation. I told them that the caravan would become free if we fulfilled this mission, and then we headed to the faraway country Sorcier.

Qumiit: Hey, Aaqil! We'll reach Sorcier in just a little bit. Finally.

Qumiit told me this as he was gazing out of the window.

Qumiit hadn't changed since we had met and he had stayed by my side and helped me in various ways. He was like a best friend to me. In truth, I wanted to stay by his side forever.

Aaqil: Yes. Finally. 

After I hid my complicated feelings and replied this,

Qumiit: The mission this time may prove to be a hard one, but we have overcome a lot of crises with everyone until now. If we're all together, we'll manage somehow.

Qumiit deliberately said this with a cheerful voice and face. He most likely noticed that my face didn't light up. We had always been together after all.

Aaqil: You're right.

I gave Qumiit a gentle smile so as not to cause him any more worry.

If my precious friend and my family could become happy, then it was fine.

Supposing that I had to live locked in a birdcage after this, as long as I had my memories of my days with everyone, as long as everyone could live outside happily, then I could manage.

If it was to that end, whether it was deceiving the foreign country's people, acting like thieves, or anything, I would do it.

After renewing my resolve like this, I tightly clenched my fist.

[lutiaslayton]

Professor Layton and the Eternal Diva

ＰＡＲＴ　１４

〚ＦＩＲＳＴ〛〚ＰＲＥＶ〛〚ＮＥＸＴ〛

Disclaimer: This is a fan-translation for the Japan-exclusive novellisation of the movie Professor Layton and the Eternal Diva. The original novel was written by Aya Matsui under the supervision of Akihiro Hino, and belongs to Level-5.

This translation only aims to be a pleasant read for non-Japanese fans, nothing more: I made a few deliberate changes while translating in order to get the writing style closer to what is usually found in English fanfictions, as the Japanese storytelling can sometimes be different than what we are used to.

＊ The Detragan

We ran through the black castle. The professor and Janice were leading the way without hesitation, and even though the castle was full of rooms and corridors, they seemed to know exactly where to go.

Eventually, a door came into view.

“There!”

The professor immediately opened it and dashed inside. Of course, we all jumped in after him.

There, we found Descole, his henchmen, and for some reason…

…Mr Whistler. What was he doing here?

He was trying to force a strange mechanical device over Amelia’s head.

“W-wait! I wanted to give eternal life to my grandpa! The doctors say he only has one month left to life… Isn’t eternal life a secret potion or something? We have to bring it to my grandpa…!”

“That is not acceptable.”

“Stop!”

Amelia was struggling in desperation.

The professor yelled: “This has to stop!”

By the time Mr Whistler looked at us in surprise, Emmy had already started attacking Descole’s henchmen. When Mr Whistler saw her next victim flying towards him, he screamed and cowered to the side.

Meanwhile, I ran up to Amelia, as she removed the device from her head.

“Mr Whistler, your intention was never to give ‘eternal life’ to the winner. What you are trying to do is tantamount to taking life, rather than giving eternal life!”

“What makes you think that?” Mr Whistler replied calmly.

“I finally reached it… the terrible truth behind this game.”

Yes! So he solved the mystery?

“What do you mean, Professor!?” I couldn’t help but shout.

The professor gazed at Mr Whistler and continued:

“A year ago, you spent a large amount of money in order to build a large-scale music performance device, the Detragan, despite… no, because of the fact that Melina’s death was approaching. And in order to achieve it, you obtained help… from the scientist there named Descole.”

At that last word, he sent a cold glare towards the man in question. To his strict eyes, Descole grinned with… a sullen smile.

“The Detragan is more than just an instrument. It is also a terrifying machine, capable of temporarily recording memories and copying them into other people’s brains.”

“What!?”

I turned my eyes to the Detragan in shock. So did Inspector Grosky, who muttered in shock:

“Copying… memories…?”

The professor continued, undisturbed.

“However, the Detragan’s copying process was imperfect. Even if the copy itself is successful, the original memories will gradually erode the copied ones over time… Nina told me about it.”

Right after this last sentence, the professor crouched down in front of her and smiled.

“Could you tell me again who you were with earlier?”

Nina nodded cheerfully. “It was Miss Melina!”

She… was with Melina!? What could that mean?

The professor started speaking again. He told us what had happened to Nina just a few minutes ago…

After getting Puzzle n°004 wrong on purpose, the professor had investigated the castle and eventually found the room in which Melina used to live.

It was a room with a balcony, giving a great view over the sea. There was a piano there, and a handwritten music sheet sitting on a music stand. The title read: ‘Song of the Sea.’

I gasped.

“The sea taught me.”

I remembered a song that I had heard on the beach.

Then Nina… no, a girl who was called ‘Melina’ at the time, appeared.

“I came here to see you, Melina.”

The girl had gotten angry at the professor for saying that.

“You… Stay out of my way!”

It was the melody of the ‘Song of the Sea,’ which the professor had started playing on the piano, that stopped her from running away. As she regained her composure, he had said:

“How long have you lived here?”

“I was… sick. My dad brought me to this island because he said the weather here was good for me. That’s why I feel so much better now…”

“Better…? I was told that you did not just get ‘better,’ but that you have been reborn with eternal life…?”

“Right… Reborn… I… was sick and died…!”

The girl’s face had contorted in pain as she held her head.

“I’m not dead, I’m fine! I was brought in… no, don’t say it! He’ll notice… Shh.”

The professor said that in this moment, it was as if two people were speaking. A young seven-year-old girl, and an adult woman who was present with her, and called herself Melina…

“Melina?”

“I’m not Melina! Yes, I am! No—I want to go home! Stop!”

“You are…”

The professor said that when he witnessed this girl in distress, the mystery had been solved in the blink of an eye.

The mystery of just what kind of horrific experiments the Detragan carried out.

The professor glared at Mr Whistler.

“After repeated failures, you desperately searched for a brain that could accept Melina’s memories perfectly. This is why you sent invitations to young, talented women like Miss Amelia…”

He then shifted his gaze to Descole.

“This game, and the intent of fooling everyone into believing that they were going to gain eternal life, was likely Descole’s idea. After all, Mr Whistler… You would have wanted instead to copy Melina’s memories as soon as possible.”

Descole smiled wryly.

“As expected of you, Layton. How long have you been aware of my presence?”

“I had a hunch early on, but it wasn’t until I saw this ghastly black castle that I became convinced. I knew right away who was pulling the strings behind the scenes, Descole.”

Descole responded to his accusations with a maniacal laughter that horrified me to the core.

At that moment, Mr Whistler pounced on me—!

“If that’s how it is, I don’t care anymore who it has to be!”

Before I had time to resist, the Detragan’s device was placed over my head. Mr Whistler had madness in his eyes, and was muttering to himself.

“I have to preserve Melina’s memories…”

Seriously!?

“No, s-stop…!”

I shouted as loud as I could, but he would not listen.

“I’m running out of time!”

A lever on the Detragan was pulled down.

I couldn’t take it anymore…! I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t find any words. Mr Whistler’s smile in front of me was too frightening.

…How many seconds had passed by now?

His smile disappeared and was replaced with a whimper.

“W… What!?”

I breathed and looked around. The lights on the Detragan were all switched off.

I had no idea what happened, but I was saved.

Mr Whistler rushed to the Detragan.

“The key…!”

After muttering this single word, he rushed to look for it everywhere, in a half-crazed state.

“Who took it? Who!? Layton, is that you!? Huh!?”

As he could not find any key, he grabbed the professor.

“We have to be quick… There is a time limit to the Detragan’s memory maintenance!”

The professor remained completely still. “Calm down, Mr Whistler. I know who sabotaged this device.”

Mr Whistler stopped moving. The one who ‘sabotaged this device,’ he said? I didn’t know who that was, but I thanked the culprit in my heart. I didn’t have to become the subject of a horrific experiment thanks to them.

“This person is also the key to explaining all the inexplicable events in this case,” the professor continued. “Events that go beyond any of your expectations…”

This was the moment I had been waiting for…! The professor would use this tone when he had solved all the mysteries and was about to denounce the culprit.

“Who? Who is it!?” Mr Whistler asked in confusion.

“Haven’t you figured it out yet? It was someone who concealed their identity, and wanted to stop your mistakes more than anyone else…”

I was shocked. “More than anyone else…?”

What did he mean by that?

“And this person… is you!”

And the culprit that the professor pointed to was…

…Janice!? No, impossible…

The professor’s voice changed to a much gentler tone.

“It is time to reveal everything, don’t you think Janice? Or rather… I should say Melina.”

He said this was Melina!?

Janice… No, Melina—she let out a small exhale. She then looked straight at Mr Whistler.

“That’s right. I am Melina.”

Mr Whistler staggered in shock.

“When I first realised that I was in my best friend’s body, I was shocked… but incredibly, Janice had allowed me to be there.”

So that was it! I was astonished at the mystery, and at how the professor had been able to solve it. So the Detragan experiment had been a success!

The experiment had even involved Janice, and Mr Whistler had tried to copy Melina’s memories into her mind… He apparently was unaware that he had succeeded.

“Janice stepped back into the back of her own consciousness, and let her body be at my disposal. I had been sick for such a long time, so it gave me so much joy to be able to move around freely in this body…”

　⇚　　　　　　　⇛

[whispersinthedawn]

The Last of a Dying Breed (2)

She should have sung paeans, should have recited poems glorifying Apollo. She should have sacrificed a bull and not half a litre of her own blood. She should have spoken ritual words that she didn’t know.   

Instead, all she had was the strength of her own conviction, the power of her desperation.

“Phoebus Apollo, Apollo Alexicacus,Apollo Iatromantis, Apollo Didymeus” she started hoarsely, uncertain as to why these names dropped off her lips, but willing to accept it as divine providence. “Lord of Delphi, Protector of Youth, please accept my plea. All I wish for is to be your Oracle. I promise to devote my life to you, to swear off any attachment but you. To speak your words as the only truth in the world, to lay myself at your feet and see only that which you wish me to see.”

Percy’s heart raced inside her chest, simultaneously terrified and strangely comforted by the almost ritual cadence of her words. These … were the wrong words for the Pythia, she knew that as soon as they left her lips. But these were the words she’d spoken, and so this was the promise she’d keep.

As long as Apollo accepted.

Percy looked down at the face reflected in the blood pooled on the floor. For a second, the strangest sense of disorientation struck her. Was that pale, stressed thing really her face? It looked dead already, like she’d been chewed up and spat out by the Minotaur whose horn lay on her bed.

As she waited, the same quiet refrain ran through her head.

If he couldn’t even do this, then what good was Apollo?

If she couldn’t even do this, then what good was Percy?

Like the quietest of sunrises, the room gradually lightened. The presence that filled the chamber, however, was anything but gentle.

A searing heat blasted Percy’s skin, threatening to roast her alive. Had her eyes been anywhere but at the floor, the sheer brilliance of Apollo’s appearance would have burned out her soul.

As it was, she instinctively slammed her eyes shut, rainbow dots sprinkling the back of her lids like confetti on a cake. Unwilling to present herself as a cowering child, however, Percy transitioned the act into a bow of subservience.

“Lord Apollo,” she murmured.

Only now that he stood in front of her, did Percy register just how badly she’d wished Apollo to ignore all her prayers as her own father had done her pleas.

Only now that he’d deigned to show up did she realise just how much trouble she was in.        

“So, you are the intrepid soul who seeks to become my Pythia?” the god purred.

Percy dared blink open teary eyes, incongruously surprised to find a Greek god dressed in Celestial Bronze. Somewhere deep inside, she’d almost expected the gods who were so busy with the war to be garbed in the camouflage raiment utilised by the soldiers. But no, at least from the knee down, Apollo wore gleaming bronze armour and leather sandals.

His shoes clicked sharply against the wooden flooring as he circled her, but Percy kept her eyes on the ground. Her efforts to avoid giving offense for as long as possible didn’t last long, though.

Quick as the snakes that were his sacred animal, fingers of steel gripped her chin and wrenched her head up.

Percy gasped, shocked out of the terrified complaisance she’d fallen into.

Furious golden eyes caught ever-changing sea-green.

Percy’s heart stuttered.

She'd never before seen a god so radiant he’d moved straight past ethereal into inhuman. But even if she had, she rather thought there would never be another Phoebus Apollo.

“The audacity,” Apollo whispered.

Percy took in burnished gold curls, tanned skin, high cheekbones, sharp nose, and wide eyes, all shaded in an unreal light, and had the disconcerting realisation that rage suited gods.

Her father had never seemed so real in all their affectionate moments together as Apollo did now while on the verge of smiting her.

“Is it audacity to wish to devote my life to the spirit of Delphi?” she breathed out.

“It is when you don’t even know the correct words,” he snarled.

“Is ritual more important than true sentiment?” she demanded. “Would you rather I recite a few unfeeling, memorised verses … or that conviction forms the core of my words?”

He dropped her chin, rearing back like she was the cobra about to strike.

“Such bold words,” he said after a moment. “But is your conviction not directed solely towards your fellow demigods? What devotion will you afford me when all that runs through your head is how you may be of use to them?”

“All that is left in me,” Percy answered desperately.

Apollo laughed, a scathing denigration of her statement and existence in one. “And you believe one girl’s devotion is enough for me to accept just anyone who throws themselves at me?”

Percy shook her head, mind whirring through the possibilities, discarding one answer after the other at the speed of light. “It is not me you’re accepting,” she finally informed him far more calmly than she felt.

At Apollo’s quirked eyebrow, she continued delicately, “Your Oracle died today.”

At the growing thunderstorm on his brow, Percy hurried to ask, “Apollo Iatromantis, how many more of the people you have claimed as yours will die if you don’t accept me today?”

Previous | Next

[tunemyart]

wenclair and 2 or 12! :)

#12 - Ugly holiday sweaters

Of course there’s a party planned before the beginning of the next term at Nevermore. It’s inevitable that Enid knows about it, and even more so that she insists on Wednesday’s attendance almost before Wednesday has had a chance to put down her suitcase on her side of the room.

“Please please please please?” Enid says, hands clasped as she bends at the knees with the apparently overwhelming force of her desire for Wednesday to go to this social gathering. “You have to come! Oh! We can wear our holiday sweaters!”

“Our holiday sweaters?” Wednesday repeats.

“I made one for myself too!” Enid says cheerfully, bouncing over to her side of the room to retrieve it. It is, of course, a garish monstrosity, with red and green predominating. Wednesday doesn’t know why she’s even bothering to be surprised.

“Oh, Enid, I – “ she begins, but Enid cuts her off.

“No, you didn’t leave it at home, actually,” she says. “Thing was kind enough to make sure it was packed with the rest of your things.”

Wednesday levels a glare at Thing. The traitor. Enid has been a terrible influence on him. He’s not even pretending to cower, instead skittering forward on four fingers and then pointing with his thumb in the direction on Wednesday’s still-unpacked trunk.

It’s not like you haven’t already worn it, he signs at her. Enid, who’s watching, lights up in surprise and then preens. Wednesday intensifies her glare and draws a menacing line over her throat, which Thing does not seem to take as the threat he should if the way he hammers out a jaunty laugh with his fingers and running back away under her bed is any indication.

Wednesday rolls her eyes. At least he hadn’t been in the room when her mother had surprised her in her room and zeroed in on the sweater that Wednesday had in fact put on for reasons unbeknownst to her.

“Is this the gift you received from your friend the other day?” Morticia had asked smoothly, and since there was no point in lying about such simple truths – that the sweater had been a gift, that she received it earlier this week, or that Enid was in fact her friend – Wednesday had acknowledged that it was. Her mother had smiled, and Wednesday’s eyes had narrowed.

“Kindly desist, Mother,” she’d said flatly, and while Morticia hadn’t, she had removed herself from Wednesday’s room, which Wednesday supposed she’d have to accept as a win.

It was bad enough that Wednesday had found herself on edge in her own home when she’d finally been allowed to return; it had been worse still that she’d come to realize that the persistent feeling that something was wrong stemmed from the fact that, as usual, there was no color in the Addams family manor. Wednesday hadn’t stooped to putting color anywhere it shouldn’t have been. It was enough that the explosions of color she associated with Enid had taken root in her mind and blossomed there like some poisonous disease.

That there’s an easy, perverse pleasure to Wednesday’s recognition and study of its spread is something Wednesday will not be sharing with Enid now that she’s arrived back in their shared room at Nevermore. There are, after all, things that Enid simply does not need to know.

“Come on, Wednesday, it’s gonna be so much fun!” Enid is saying now. Seeing that Wednesday isn’t swayed, she changes her approach. “Hey, didn’t you say you had a stalker?”

“I did.” Not that Wednesday has shared any of the details yet. Enid immediately capitalizes on it.

“Well, they’re stalking you,” she says redundantly. “What better opportunity would they have to do that than at a party where there’s cover for you to do your investigating?”

Wednesday is familiar with Enid’s attempts at subterfuge at this point. This one isn’t even particularly well-executed. Part of Wednesday wonders if that’s the point, even as another part of her begins to be reluctantly swayed by the logic of the argument.

“Reconnaissance gathering.”

Enid nods, clasping her hands behind her back.

“I do enjoy a challenge,” Wednesday admits. “And you’re right about the advantage of the opportunity.”

Enid’s face breaks into a hopeful smile, just this side of triumphant. “So…” she says, twisting her torso back and forth with her hands innocently behind her back. “That means you’ll wear your sweater?”

[thewidowsghost]

The Sky's The Limit - Chapter 16

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Previously:

"Thanks," Skye smiles, happy at the praise. "Except it doesn't work that way because I didn't have enough time to build it, so we need to plug his into one of their computers." Skye pulls out a flash drive and shows it to the others. "Spoiler alert - we can't seem to find one."

. . .

Turns out, the task was harder than it sounded.

"Get ready for a huge file transfer," (Y/n) says into the COMMs, shoving the file of the first Deathlok - John Garrett - back into the filing cabinet.

"How huge?" Skye asks.

Glass shatters as (Y/n), Coulson, and May heave a filing cabinet through a window of the eight story building.

There is a rush, FitzSimmons lifting the cabinet into the back of the truck.

Trip lifts a speargun and shoots a rope into the ceiling of the building before securing it to the bumper of the truck.

. . .

"(Y/n), Fitz, Simmons, you have the maps," Coulson says, and (Y/n) nods. "Do not engage under any circumstances. If you find the BUS, call us and stand down."

3rd Person POV

Ward slams his fist against the glass of the box, FitzSimmons cowering behind (Y/n), her broad shouldered figure blocking Ward from their view.

"Open the door, May," Ward growls.

"Do you think I'm a fucking idiot," (Y/n) replies.

All of a sudden, Fitz appears at (Y/n)'s shoulder. "Ward, please . . . " he says, pressing a hand to the glass. "I need to understand."

"You need to accept the truth, Fitz," Simmons says, placing a hand on Fitz's arm. "He doesn't care about us, about anything."

"No, I don't believe that," Fitz says desperately, pressing a hand to the glass again. "We're friends, aren't we? We've been friends. We've had laughs together. I know that you're a good person, Ward. And you can choose right now to be good. It's a choice."

Tears well in Simmons's eyes at Fitz's attempts.

"I've got my orders," Ward replies. "Open up the door.

"No," Simmons replies, pulling on Fitz's arm.

"Not a chance," Fitz replies, stepping behind (Y/n) again.

"Okay, have it your way," Ward replies, stepping away from the glass door.

"Wait, what're you doing?" (Y/n) asks as Ward steps towards a control panel. Ward pulls a lever and the box begins to slide back with a hiss of air.

As the box drops, (Y/n) wraps her arm around the two young agents. Her back hits the ground first, and before she blacks out, she hopes that the two scientists would be okay.

. . .

"You looked very peaceful sleeping," Fitz murmurs once Simmons wakes up. "Didn't want to wake you, but I'm glad that you're up."

"What's happening?" Simmons asks, sitting up slowly.

"I've spent the last hour trying to figure out why we sank," Fitz replies. "We're at the bottom of the ocean, in case you missed that bit. These pods are meant to be compatible with all SHIELD aircraft, submarines, spacecraft. On impact, the atmospheric adaptation must have tried to compensate. We slowly sank as it increased the density of the outer walls. I measured the rate the water rose on the glass. Did the math - we're at least ninety feet down. You can't see the surface."

"How did we survive the fall?" Simmons asks and Fitz nods to where (Y/n) is lying, her eyes glazed over, both legs bent at horrifyingly uncomfortable angles. (Y/n) was trying to control her breathing, but she knew she wasn't going to make it out of here. 

. . .

"Are you scared?" Simmons asks the other two.

"Yeah," Fitz admits. "And I'm hungry too."

(Y/n) remains silent with thought, her head resting against one of the walls of the pod.

"What do you think it's like?" Simmons asks.

"Death?" (Y/n) replies, her hand resting gently on her broken leg, trying to make herself more comfortable."I suppose it depends on the method. Drowning's supposed to be quite pleasant in the end, apparently."

"The end," Simmons supplies.

"Ah, yeah," Fitz shrugs. "Well, my mum always said that you shouldn't be afraid because it's just like the way life was before you were born . . . which wasn't that bad, was it?"

"That's sweet," Simmons replies with a slight smile. "Though, apparently, I was miserable before I was born - upside down, umbilical cord wrapped all around my head."

"Yeah, well, she meant pre-conception, of cours -"

"I know. I'm joking," Simmons replies.

"Yeah, I knew that," Fitz says quickly.

. . .

The water rushes in as (Y/n) forces the air tank into Simmons's hands. 

"I'm sorry," (Y/n) murmurs, pushing Fitz and Simmons up and out the shattered window. 

. . . 

Simmons reaches the surface, hauling Fitz up by the collar. 

A sob wracks through Simmons. What would she tell Skye. Or Coulson. Or May. Or Natasha Romanoff - (Y/n)'s big sister.

Because (Y/n) Melinda May was dead. Dead at the bottom of the ocean. 

. . . 

Melinda May's eyes are full of pain as she stares at the empty coffin. Coulson's hand rests on her knee, his eyes full of pain as well. 

Skye blinks her tears away, wrapping (Y/n)'s oversized hoodie around herself. 

A little cat perches on top of the coffin, seemingly noticing why she was there. The little cat meows, before resting her head on the coffin, falling silent. 

Natasha Romanoff - already having one sister ripped away from her - feels numb. Because her little sister was gone. 

Word Count: 948 words

So yeah, this is it. 

Don't riot against me . . . 

[skippyv20]

Intermission from the War of Words

Hi Skippy & Friends-Pilgrim here mulling over comments and news during this pleasant “pause” from the Harkle’s constant war of words. It seems to me Diva and pals put out 6 “yeah but” movie segments attempting to give her the last word. If she thinks that is a victory she is mistaken. It is proof to this viewer that she has lied for years, is lying now, producing even more lies. Harold has also showed his natural talent to mix-up or conveniently forget important details, timelines, facts and history. His interest in finding out THE truth is so lacking it becomes a form of lying, completely undermining his goal of telling his life’s story. As for protecting his elusive family…he is doing such a good job, it tempts one to ask if they really do exist?

Regarding their attending the coronation of KCIII, my thoughts are they must not be invited to the events for working royals, current world leaders and religious participants. Since it is a free country, I suppose they could plan to go on their own, joining the public, cheering as the procession rides by, or perhaps viewing from a friend’s balcony while munching on snacks, telling the “kids” what’s happening. This plan will not satisfy Ms. Diva who will do anything to be in front of the cameras fighting for center stage on the world wide screen, even if it means she has to cower like a Cameleon to get there.

On the other hand, they have expressed their loathing of the UK, royal relatives and their way of life, so profoundly now. They have stated for the record, they are fearful for their lives from the out-of-control press. That alone MUST keep them FAR away from these massive public events where anything can happen even with all the protection provided. Well then…it’s all settled! How nice we have worked out the most viable solution for all. Since it is too scary and depressing to participate in person, the Harkle’s best option is to watch the historic proceeding from the safety of their own home theater-wherever that is.

Oh Oh…how will the backer’s work their way out of this debacle now? I read elsewhere this is not the time or place to have a family intervention. Brilliant! Absolutely spot on! Hopefully KCIII and his team will read the room correctly. I presume they are sampling public sentiment to see which way to swing but one would think they already know that answer by now. Do what is best for the coronation-that is the mission should you choose to accept it-cue Mission Impossible theme song. Over and out for now.

Great post!  Thank you Pilgrim!🙂❤️

[clarawaking]

My Trans SuperPowers -- #2

A poem, dedicated to the celebration of being trans, and to the education of those who 'don't get it'

(lay this down to a sweet groove...)

* * * * *

I’d like to share a bit with you —  about my transition

To counter the spite for people who are in this position

Transphobes accuse this of being an arbitrary decision 

That we make to ally ourselves with leftist activism…

They have zero respect for the emotional precision

Of discovering your authenticity, and escaping your body-prison,

...

To be a trans person, is to belong to a tribe

Who find themselves always, on the outside

You hear the people joke, mock and deride

But you really fear the violence that follows from the jibes

Can you imagine your life if you always had to hide?

And hate?  Like….hate?  

Why do we get this hate?

Like we’re fucking-perverts-always-looking-for-new-ways-to-masturbate?

...

The anti-trans paranoiacs call us groomers & pedophiles 

But you ever wonder what on earth they’re teaching to their child?

“God is love” they preach, behind judgemental smiles

But He doesn’t make mistakes, the phobes say with confidence

Well then me being trans was EXACTLY God’s intent

My path in this life was to be born a girl

But to be thought of as a boy by the entire world

So my soul’s journey has been to uncover my Real Self

And if my body wasn’t designed to be accurate off the shelf

Then who the hell is anyone to question God’s decision?

To react to His creation with disgust and derision?

“But surgery is butchery!” they vociferate with gumption

But they’ll get eye glasses, or nose jobs, or take Viagara for their dick dysfunction

Anyway, I’ll defer to what Roger Waters said

“As I’ve always said, I prefer your lips red, 

Not what the Good Lord made

But what He intended!”

…

So let me tell you a bit about my own experience

Before you tell me your fear-based doubtful sentiments

Unless you think there’s something wrong with people who are different?

You don’t need to treat me like I’m sick, or weird or strange,

Just because my body’s undergoing a specific change

That hasn’t happened to you (…..yet!!!)

...

And by God don’t tell me therapy’s what I need

When it’s been years of exactly that, that finally helped me see

What I had been repressing for my entire life

What has lurked in my unconscious, & created all that strife, 

From the carved-up scars that were once left by my knife

To no doubt the fact things didn’t work out with people, like my wife

...

You know…just cuz you might not see the meaning in someone’s blahaj shark

Doesn’t make it any less meaningful than some belief in Noah’s ark

And what, should trans people spend their lives hiding in the dark?

Living lives of shame and loneliness and never feel the spark

of being loved for who they are, and opening their heart?

proudly moving in society, contributing their part?

...

And are we really so scary that you need to be protected?

Like if we piss in your washroom, you’re gonna get infected?

Or we’re sneaking a peak at your junk so that we can inspect it?

It’s trans people’s privacy that tends not to be respected….

Which is why we band together, cuz we know we’re not defective.

And we just want to be able to take a  pee….without vigilante bathroom detectives!

…..

In truth, being trans has already cost tons of sacrifice

But I am so goddamn thankful this was MY roll of the dice

Because it has softened me and deepened me in the most delightful ways

And I’ve found acceptance by friends, family, the allies and the gays

I’ve met courageous people whose eyes shine like sun rays

And a feeling of simple joy is what accompanies my days

Cuz being trans is like discovering that you have superpowers

I’m a fucking x-man (pun intended!), and I do not plan to cower

I know that in the future, I ain’t getting many flowers

It’s kinda like playing euchre, never getting any bauers

Future lovers or not I have Clara, and I guess that makes me now hers

And you find you can handle rejection, when your own self-love towers

My emotional struggles, I find Estrogen now cures

And my eyes, hot damn!!!, they have a new allure

And it’s fun to feel confident, but also play demure

...

It’s possible, and it’s fine, if you want to make some changes

Everybody does as their life flows and rearranges

But trans people are discovering just how wide that range is

And the haters & the intolerant are really, the only dangers

...

Heck, I’m learning to biohack this flesh vessel!

Cyproterone & Estradiol are my mortar & my pestle

Crushing masculinity, releasing femininity

If I add progesterone, it’d be the Holy Trinity

And if religion don’t agree with me, I’ve found my own Divinity

With joy, & love, euphoria, there ain’t no way a sin it be

And if I’m destined for damnation? Into infinity??

Then I say bring it, bitch, cuz that’s where all my friends’ll be.  

…

To me, being trans is beautiful, there’s nothing to be mourned

I don’t feel it like a death, I more feel like I’ve been reborn.

And, I cherish it. ❤️

[siremasterlawrence]

Humiliating The Man Of Steel Part 2/2

Superman Aka The Man Of Steel Clark Kent is under my absolute control at this point in my new realm.

Wrapping him up in chains with a substance made from green rocks also known as green Kryptonite.

The chain grow tightening around his neck, arms, chest, waist and legs pulling him even deep under.

Clark struggles with what little strength he has which is none attempting to fight back to the top.

The more he fights the relinquishing of his power and control are forcing upon him Is holding him down.

The pain he feels mentally, emotionally and physically is what makes him succumb to his own weaknesses.

His feet give out out Clark sending his body falling to his knees in sweet surrender.

Clark’s emotions get the past of him as he does his best to stop the swelling of water in his eyes.

He can’t stop it like a damn to a river it is uncontrollable bursting through flowing from his eyes.

“What is the matter Clark feeling weak?”

“This is all your fault you fiendish bastard.”

“Uh uh….no no no…we can’t have that.”

“Blaming me won’t fix what you did.”

“Will it? I see the look of horror an expression no one can forget.”

“Is that the one they had on their face?”

“Clark?”

“Shut up!”

“Mwahahahahaha”

“Can’t take the heat I guess.” I say behind him.

“I said Shut your mouth or I will shut it for you.” He screams the tears come down much faster.

“You can avoid all of this pain and troubling suffering.” I interrupt not caring how I sound,

“What exactly do you think you are doing?” I

reply using my hands to shove him back.

The look of defeat on his face it’s almost too rewarding after all my efforts.

The former man of steel’s shoulders drop in utter contempt at his own circumstances.

Clark’s mind runs in warp speed thinking of all the damage he’s caused and all of the people he harmed.

He will never live it down, he will never accept how easy it was and he shall feel the pain for eternity.

The voices of all is victims play constantly in his mind over again and he and he sees the destruction he wrought.

Clark’s finally lost their glistening sparkle at at the same time his his head lifts to meet mine.

“All because of you.”

“My life’s work it’s gone for all eternity.”

“ You took it away from me.”

“ You possessed everything.”

“I freed you from your own self doubts. I broke you out of your prison cell.”

“Oh Clark!”

“The best has yet to come.”

“ you have no idea what we will soon accomplish my dear.”

Clark’s feelings of dejection reflect back on him when a mirror appears before him.

He fails on multiple occasions to keep his eye sight out of view and avoid his image.

The muscular body, handsome face and in the kind eyes can’t hide the truth.

Clark Kent is no more not in the sense of his own reality or the one he finds himself in.

His whole life has been turned upside down to a new way of being, thinking and living.

He drops his head feeling emasculated on on every level as a human and as alien.

This cannot be his fate with all the victories he fought for, all the lives and the worlds he has saved.

So lost in his own wallowing Clark could not feel the chains loosen and fall off to the side.

I try to feel sorry for him however this win is to good not hold it over his head and be joyous.

“This is hell”

“ I hardly think that.”

“ You are free”

“You no longer have to hold back.”

“ I am in control now forever and ever.”

“ No no more a superhero.”

“Being subjected, ridiculed and constant malicious campaigns against you.”

“No more truth, justice and fighting for everyone.”

“ It is so much better this way.”

Feeling myself way too much I raise my leg swinging it forward kicking him in the face.

A different lifetime ago he could have grab my foot before I even made a move.

This is truth pathetic to see a man of his power set cower in fear oh well not my problem now is it.

I figure being cruel can be kind of fun so I am not stopping yet snapping my fingers I conjure a remote.

Pressing play all of years of being a hero are flipping before his eyes he see what cannot

be real.

What he saw was himself as villain in all his vain and glory conquering, pillaging and killing.

His smirk fades from his face as he continue to torment himself by blocking out who what he saw.

Clark’s mind breaks out in intolerable pain on the end constantly pounding the hood good in him away.

He yells to save both his his biological and real parents.

“Ma, pa, mother and father.”

“Nnnnnnoooooo”

“Mwahahahahaha “

“Took weak to help”

“To stupid to be who you are”

“Who am I?”

“Far from what you think.”

“Nnnnnoooo, it’s not real”

“Why because you say so?” Mwahahahahaha “

The last of his free will vanishes into the void he stood empty and mindless for the taking.

“Don’t worry Clark you are mine now.”

“I am all yours now Master Lawrence “

The end

[mischa-auer]

Hollywood Magazine, April 1940: How To Be An Easter Egg by Kay Proctor

Women’s dresses are influenced by the movies. Mischa Auer thinks it is a crime and a shame that his clothes can’t be influenced, too.

Transcript of article:

“Are we men or are we sheep?” Mischa Auer roared in violent anger. “That’s what I want to know!”

“Bah, bah black sheep, have you any wool? Yessir, yessir, three bags full.” said Master Tony, aged five.

“Sheep, dear,” said Norma, his wife, in the placating tone frequently heard in our best asylums. “I thought we had settled that.”

“Da!” he spat out. Da, I gathered, is Russian for yes, okay, or you’re damned tootin’. “Sheep! Bah!”

“Tony, dear, I think you had better run upstairs and play with your nice new toys,” Norma interrupted the recitation. “Your father is in no mood for poetry today.” Tony took one look at father glaring at the brightly burning logs in the fireplace and beat a retreat.

“Sheep!” Father hissed again after a moody silence. “Da, sheep!”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude on anything personal, of course,” I said pleasantly, “but what’s this all about?”

“Men’s fashions,” Norma said, as if that made everything entirely clear. “In a way, I suppose, you might say the whole thing started yesterday when I brought my new Easter outfit home. It’s a lamb of a creation in teal blue and dusty pink with a lot of Scarlett O’Hara touches. You know, the Gone With the Wind influence which is so good this spring.”

“Perhaps,” he said darkly. “Who knows? A man must do his duty as he sees it.”

I know there are times when I’m slow on the up-take but for the life of me I couldn’t see what that had to do with men’s fashions and Mischa’s bitter denunciation of his fellow men as sheep. However, I rarely hesitate to ask about things I don’t understand, so I asked for a diagram. Norma hummed and hawed for a few moments.

“Why beat around the bush?” Mischa demanded. “The plain truth is, I’m jealous! I, too, want to strut in Easter finery. I, too, want to be influenced by the movies! But alas, like other men, I have sold my soul sartorial slavery. Bond Street speaks, and, like dogs under a whip, we cower and submit to its dictates. But mark you this: a revolution is coming. Some day we shall be free!”

Perhaps, I suggested, he would be the enlightened Moses who would lead men to new tailored glory?

In case he is called to head the crusade, Mischa has his slogan on file in the Copyright Bureau. Three little words, he said, tell the whole story. Nature Knows Best! 

“Modern manhood has been flying in the face of it,” he contended. “Which birds have the more brilliant plumage? The males. Which animals wear the brightest coats? The males. Which fish have the finest scales? The males. Why, then, should the genus homo accept less? The answer is tyranny. From the day he is pinned into his first diaper until finally somebody wraps him up in a shroud, man wears exactly what somebody tells him to wear, no more, no less. Who tells him? First his mother, then his father, and then his tailor. Who tells the tailor? More tailors!”

Take the matter of color, for instance. Day after day a man uncomplainingly permits his very soul to be smothered in dull browns, drab grays, dark blues and depressing black, Mischa said, when every instinct in him cries out for good strong stuff like purple or red. Why? Because he’s a sheep, that’s why. Because the tailor rolls out a few bolts of brown, gray, blue or black and says “What’ll it be?” Because he knows darned well they’d lock him up in a booby hatch if he showed up home in a nifty double-breasted number in lipstick red.

“Comes the revolution and all that will be changed,” Mischa promised. “Man for the first time will be allowed to express the beautiful things within him. Man will be an individual, not a carbon copy of every other dope on the street.”

He has given color considerable thought, Mischa said, even going so far as to work out a color chart as a guide to moods and emotions. Mauve, for example, is an excellent stimulant when you feel a binge coming on. Red is suggested for the jealous mood; green when you feel a touch of the dastard in your heart; yellow when you’re chipper; blue when the world looks sour; purple when a mother-in-law is due; dubonnet when you’re set for a quiet evening at home; ashes of roses when the outlook is pensive; and spotless white when the world’s your oyster.

“Black has its place in my scheme,” he went on. “I advise it for breakfast wear, since the breakfast hour is a horrible one at best. Shell pink, I think, does a lot for you when you are christening your children. And for the ballet, nothing can approach the oomph lift of a silver lame! Personally, I favor it made up in a Prince Albert model; you can use so much more of it!”

Comes the revolution and the ungainly and uncomfortable lines of men’s fashions will be changed, too, Mischa vowed. There will be no more of this carrying two pounds of padding on each shoulder in emulation of football giants. Stiff collars designed to choke and chafe will be outlawed entirely. The 18-pocket-in-a-suit routine, which turns a man into a gibbering beast every time he tries to find a theatre ticket or a parking check, will be a thing of the past. Ditto for tight fitting pants which must be pressed every time they get comfortable, matching vests which can never be found, and coats which look like the devil when they are not buttoned and feel like the devil when they are. Amen, brother!

As a matter of fact, Mischa already has done some advance work on the campaign. All his trousers have but two pockets instead of the conventional five. His tailor has ten fits every time he whips up a new Auer suit, and mutters naughty things behind the Auer back; but, by the great hornspoon, he leaves off the watch and two back pockets!

“It was a great fight!” Mischa chortled, “I wore him down with sheer logic. As I pointed out, why should I have a watch pocket when I wear a wrist watch? Why should I have back pockets when I never carry a wallet and use my breast pocket handkerchief as a blower as well as a show-er?”

With the dawning of the Auer Age in men’s fashions you’ll see some nifty innovations along the fabric line, Mischa promised. And high time! Too long, he said, have men been slaves to the deadly monotony of wool which scratches, is too hot, and stinks when it burns or gets wet; and to linen which gets messy when you take forty winks on a handy couch. Soon, he hopes, you’ll find them strutting in silk, satin, velvet and brocaded glory as befits their tender sensibilities. Soon, too, they’ll shatter the monopoly women have been exercising in use of fur and will boast topcoats, sport jackets, and evening capes in silver fox, beaver, mink, sable and ermine according to the good or bad news of the balance on the hand at the bank.

What men’s fashions today lack most seriously, however, are the gay touches known as the movie influence, Mischa said. That is what he really covets and that is the ultimate goal of the revolutionary 24-Auer-Plan for the modern male and his clothes.

“Imagine the pure joy and lofty inspiration a gent could get each day by trailing to the shower in a bathrobe of Alice blue velvet lined with virgin ermine!” he glowed. “Imagine the infinite delight one could achieve by sending his agent a military cape made up in skunk!”

Da, I had to admit, he had something there.

“Women got their wimples from Robin Hood and their snoods from The Old Maid,” he pointed out. “They got their full-skirted evening dresses from the Ginger Rogers dancing epics and their Letty Lynton frocks from the Joan Crawford picture of the same name. They got their boas from The Blue Angel and their bustles from Alexander Graham Bell. They got their toga capes from Cafe Metropole  and their visor hats from Beau Geste. Garbo was responsible  for the pillbox hat in The Painted Veil and the basque bodice came from Little Women.”

Why, then, shouldn’t men filch a sartorial tip or two from the movies? he asked. Turn-about always has been considered cricket. Even forgetting the fashion slant on the thing, the practical side of it commands respect, he insisted. 

“Take pants, for example.” he suggested cheerily, “there is magnificent opportunity for movie influence in that most essential of male garments. Since Gone With The Wind currently is high fashion in pictures, the first trouser trend might be taken from the Gable pantaloons. A distinct advantage would accrue from an adaption of the narrow band which slipped under the instep and held the trouser legs snugly over the ankles. In the first place, it would eliminate the use of garters, thus cutting down on wardrobe expense. In the second place, one could wear mismatched sox in perfect confidence that the social faux pas would go entirely undetected. Bing Crosby, for one, would find this a tremendous boon. And finally, it discourages the vulgar habit of removing the shoes in public since the pants, perforce, must come off first. Most men, you will admit, would be reluctant to go that far.”

Elizabeth and Essex gave him another idea along the pants line- the substitution of tights for trousers.

“Think of the savings it would mean in cleaning and pressing bills!” he enthused. “All the well-groomed gentlemen would have to do would be to rinse them out lightly every night and hang them to dry alongside of his wife’s silk hose in the bathroom. That’s a cosy, home-y touch in itself.

“Think of the advantages tights would have on the golf course! Supposing your ball lands in a tree? If you were wearing a snappy form-fit number you could shinny up the branches, retrieve the spheroid, and slide back to terra firm quicker than scat and with considerable grace and ease. Supposing you found yourself in the rough? If you were wearing the latest in knits you could blend yourself with the landscape and thus get away nicely with the furtive little lick which would give your ball a much better lie. And think how your opponent could be thrown off his game if you happened to have knobby knees or bow-legs! But magnificently!”

Finally, Mischa said, it really would mean something when someone spoke of you as a “fine figure of a man.”

“Too long have the weak brothers among us been permitted to cloak their inadequate shanks beneath a few miserable yards of worsted,” he complained. “Tights would put an end to that! Tights would establish a man beyond any doubt as Grade A, fair to middlin’ or just plain counterfeit.”

Although he admits a few hidebound males might consider it a bit on the flashy side, Mischa said he had figured out the perfect costume for hot weather wear, particularly in non-airconditioned offices. In a way it is his masterpiece because it combines four separate and distinct movie influences. First comes the pith helmet (The Sun Never Sets); next the loose-sleeved, open-throat silk blouse (Anthony Adverse); after that a cotton loin cloth (Tarzan); and finally, open-toed grass sandals (Gunga Din).

Male headgear especially needs the revitalizing touch of the movie influence, Mischa continued. The way things are now, a man’s hat has about as much individuality as a guinea pig in a research laboratory. In proof, watch a man pick up his hat in a restaurant or any other public place. He has to look in the band for his initials before he’s sure it belongs to him! If he breaks away from the conventional block of felt with a dented crown, he’s courting trouble. Berets brand him a sissy, caps make him look silly, and silk hats always fall off when he’s getting out of a cab, completely ruining whatever poise or dignity he may have.

“I’d like to see something done with turbans,” he said. “Glamour boys could copy the snazzy numbers Ty Power wore in The Rains Came while less exalted gents could get along with the simpler models from Suez. Aside from providing a handy cache for nimble shoplifters, turbans would prove a godsend to those rugged individualists who resent the custom of removing hats in elevators or tipping them to ladies on the street.”

By far the greatest advantage turbans offer, exclusive, of course, of the dazzling fashion opportunities in color, materials, and jewels, is the abolition of the checking menace and a resultant saving of some $1000 per turban. Mathematics, Mischa claims, prove it. To illustrate: the average man checks the average hat three times a day to the tune of $.75. (Checking. $.10; tip, $.15) Multiply 75 by 365 days per year and you have $273.75. Multiply that by 3 years (the average life of a hat) and you get $821.25. Add the normal expectancy in the way of cleaning, blocking and new ribbons and there you are- a neat $1000. Since turbans never are removed except at bedtime and in the bath, all the checking expenses automatically are eliminated.

The postillion influence  from Swiss Family Robinson undoubtedly would prove popular with fashion-conscious gentlemen under 6ft., Mischa continued, since postillion bonnets create the illusion of height. Gay plumes from Flash Gordon would add excitement to the chapeaux for gala occasions and also would prove useful for dusting off the car after a rain. 

He also saw great possibilities for an adaption of the iron topper from The Tower of London, he added. Such a hat never would require cleaning or blocking. Its color could be changed to harmonize with different outfits by the simple expedient of painting it with finger nail polish. And finally, its value upon returning home late on a lodge night is too clear to need further explanation.

“Ah, yes,” he sighed, “some day men will cast off their haberdashery shackles and be free! Some day their fashions, too, will be influenced by the movies! I can hear the radio announcer describing the Easter parade of tomorrow. There’s Clark Gable in a Marie Antoinette creation in champagne flat crepe with sophisticated highlights of gold thread. Here comes Errol Flynn in a crushed raspberry duvetyn piped Capistrano blue; with it he is wearing an Intermezzo tam with a Baby Sandy safety pin in rhine- stones and rubies. There’s Bob Taylor in a chic Algiers cardigan in the new golden green with a daffodil blouse in pin-tucked batiste. And here’s everybody’s favorite, Mischa Auer, with his wife Norma. She’s wearing a Gone With The Wind in teal blue and he is the essence of high fashion in a House of Seven Gables casual in infra-red.”

I said that I, for one, could hardly wait! All this and heaven too when comes the revolution?

“Da!” he said happily.

[christina-stark-skarlet-stileto]

Confessions Day 12

The day of Flash's trial had finally arrived, and both sides were ready for a fight. Palpatine observed the young girl and her friends. They were all strong force sensitives; they were also strong gray Jedi who accepted the darkness as a part of themselves. They didn't fear the darkness and wouldn't turn, even if another tragedy befell them. Very worst of all (in his opinion) was that they trusted and believed God with all their hearts. Palpatine was against God, and it would be his downfall.

Christina looked out across the courtroom with a pensive look on her face. They had been preparing for this trial for three months. Their lawyers were good and she was hoping to get a confession from Flash to shorten the trial. Honestly, if he just decided not to countersue, it would've been so much better. As far as they knew, the chancellor was Flash’s lawyer, and they were not sure what would happen during the trial. His parents were not talking, and their trial was three more months away. They were seated for about fifteen minutes before the bailiff announced .

"All rise, the honorable Judge Morris presiding." Everyone in the courtroom stood, then were seated. The first part of the trial was hearing the defense team. Actually, being in the courtroom made Flash a bit more uneasy, and had him spilling the truth before it was over. Palpatine looked on, not happy with the turn of events. Christina looked on as well, thankful Flash ended up confessing, which shortened the trial considerably. When they were dismissed for lunch, Palpatine found Flash.

"Dear boy, would you like my help if you lose this trial? I can make it so you get your revenge. Then you never have to worry about them again." Flash hung onto every word and agreed. This began the alliance of darkness. When court reconvened, he wasn't able to win the case, and the suit pulled through. Flash was upset, but he knew he would get his revenge. Flash left the courtroom with a smug look on his face. He had confessed because he had a plan, and Christina knew it. She was not happy about it; neither were Damian, Anakin, Peter, Ahsoka, Padmé, and Obi-Wan. They needed a new plan. They went home, and straight into the meeting room. After Damian punched the table the meeting got started. Thankfully their tables were made of beskar disguised as marble. It made things much easier to disguise with foreign branches of Stark Industries. With the Avengers here, they were only missing the rest of the Snow Dragon Division, and they were quickly sent for. All members of the unit were also called the Young Avengers. When the missing four showed up, the meeting began.

"As you know the Star Wars Galaxy isn't just fiction. We are now preparing against a world wide threat." As the meeting began a powerful Sith Lord cowered in fear of a couple teenage superheroes, from his office on Coruscant.