#a twisted branch of knowledge

[inexorablyinsecure]

Sinclair, Do you need help? I'm hearing.... Noises from the changing room.

- @dreamsoftheredchamber

Sinclair swallowed uncomfortably. She felt the foreign, mechanical musculature move, swallowing her spit, and yet it still felt foreign. Like there was a piece of phlegm, or mucus stuck that she couldn't remove as she tried to open her mouth. Her chest ached and her eyes were... Sore, in a way. They ached, from tearing up, and yet she knew that it wasn't right. It felt different. It felt foreign. It was a mimicry.

It was false.

Still, as the knock rang out, she set her PDA down, and shifted her hand, towards her wrist. She opened her mouth, and pushed past the oddity of the new form, and allowed her voice to echo out.

"A...A... U-Um... I'm, not sure?"

Her voice was worried. Shifting. Unsteady and... A little higher, than she remembered it. It was afraid. Scared. And most of all, there was a slight tinge. A slightly, mechanical tinge, the perhaps only she could hear, and yet it was there, all the same. It was hideously panicked.

"Th... The, um... Anon-- Th... They changed me and I... My head hurts, and these memories, they're...!"

She tried to explain. Explaining would... Make it easier, and yet she knew she sounded insane. Her head hurt. It ached, and everything was wrong. Her hands gripped at her arms, and her 'breathing'... No, the simulacrum of a breath stifled itself in her chest, as she tightened her grip. It hurt. It hurt so much. But it didn't feel right.

It felt... Like it had back / t h e n . When she had f / a / l / l / e / n .

When she had f a i l e d .

When even Glass Slippers had been unable to save her. To save Abe, or... Anyone.

Her head hurt.

[oatmealaddiction]

Okay but the weirdest thing about the whole "Brotherhood is better you should skip 03" discourse that's become commonplace now, it sort of forgets the world Brotherhood came out in and why you should watch the original Fullmetal Alchemist. When Brotherhood came out, the original Fullmetal Alchemist was one of the most beloved and most watched animes of all time. Brotherhood assumes you the audience have already seen it because of course you have, everyone has seen it, so it skips important information and speeds the story up because it doesn't want to bore you with things you already know. Have you ever wondered "hey why does the first episode of Brotherhood kind of suck, and why am I being introduced to like 50 new characters, and why are they acting like I know what the hell an alchemist is?" It's because Brotherhood thinks you've seen 03.

The first 7 or so episodes of Brotherhood constitute dozens of chapters in the manga, and the first 25 or so episodes of the original Fullmetal Alchemist. The Nina Tucker episode in Brotherhood, in FMA 03 takes up nearly three episodes. Yoki gets a backstory in 03 and it's genuinely one of the best episodes and taken directly from the manga and Brotherhood glosses over it because: duh, you've already seen it. And so if you skip the original you miss out on dozens of really great character building episodes like Ed and Al meeting Hughes for the first time and getting to spend a whole episode helping him free a train from terrorists, or Ed and Roy having a duel that expands on the relationship they have, or episodes where the brothers just help out random people in towns before the major story gets going.

The original also paces itself quite a bit better than Brotherhood and is more in line with the mangas storytelling. In the manga we don't find out about The Gate until nearly two dozen chapters in, and the same goes for the original anime. Like, that's a twist reveal in those stories, and it's weird that the most watched series is the one where they tell you all about The Gate in the first two episodes because they assume you've already seen the original show.

What's more, people don't know that Hiromu Arakawa helped write for the anime while she was still in the middle of writing the manga, and as a result was inspired to write scenes in Brotherhood that the anime did first. That scene of Edward getting impaled by a falling beam? Directly inspired by a similar scene in the original anime. There's a lot of little instances of that and they're great when you can recognize parallels and things in Brotherhood that are direct references to the original anime, but people don't notice any of that anymore. Because the original anime is just an automatic skip these days, and it's a bummer because people don't realize what a giant it was back before Brotherhood was released. They treat it as *bad,* not realizing it was one of the most beloved anime of its time and the problems people take issue with have a lot more to do with personal taste than any kind of actual flaw in the writing. Brotherhood was never meant to dethrone it, and the original anime was always supposed to be part of the viewing experience which is why those first few episodes of Brotherhood are so fast paced. So like, please stop telling people Fullmetal Alchemist 2003 is a skip, or it's bad, or you don't need it because Brotherhood is better. Regardless if you think Brotherhood is better or not, the original wrote Brotherhood's check. It was huge, it was beloved, and Brotherhood is *banking* on the knowledge you've seen all of it and loved it. And trust me when I say there is so much to love about the original series. It's still my favorite branch of the FMA franchise, and it's worth your time, I promise you.

[sunderwight]

Okay, so the canonically confirmed Cang Qiong peaks are:

Qiong Ding (leader peak, CEO peak, politician/diplomacy peak, admin peak, etc)

Qing Jing (scholar & artists peak, knowledge peak, strategic advisor peak, etc)

Wan Jian (sword guy peak, blacksmith peak, armory peak, etc)

An Ding (logistics peak, servants peak, peak of the cang qiong labor party, delivery guys & messengers peak, supplies & catering peak, etc)

Xian Shu (gender segregation peak: girl flavor)

UNKNOWN

Bai Zhan (shounen anime peak)

Qian Cao (healer peak, pharmacy peak, first responders peak, etc)

Ku Xing (gender segregation peak: boy flavor, ascetic peak)

Zui Xian (alcohol peak)

UNKNOWN

UNKNOWN

So we only have three peaks that are entirely unnamed and unaccounted for. This has pretty good utility if you want to do a transmigration fic where Airplane and Shen Yuan are there as peak lords, but so are OG Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu. You can just give them two of the three mystery peaks, and then there's only one peak remaining for an OC and kapow, you've got all twelve peak lords sorted.

But the question of course, is what should these peaks actually be? What should they specialize in?

Fandom has argued in favor of a Beast Peak, and I actually endorse this idea, although I think specializing in demonic beasts is more of a Bai Zhan and Qing Jing thing. But while we can suppose that between An Ding, Qian Cao, and (probably) Zui Xian the agricultural needs of the sect are being met (or met sufficiently for what they can also supplement through trade), there's no clear existing peak to outsource things like training spirit animals or keeping any livestock that the peak might require. And hey, if there is a Beast Peak, then them also having some expertise in demonic beasts would be interesting.

I think the Beast Peak would slot in most logically between Xian Shu and Bai Zhan.

For the lowest peaks, things get more interesting. While there are obvious roles such as talisman making, barriers, musical cultivation, etc, most of those things seem like they'd either be covered by one of the other peaks (i.e. Qing Jing and musical cultivation) or else would be strange things for the sect to acquire so late, literally after the peak that specializes entirely in brewing.

But, that actually can work out, if we assume that these peaks have taken as specialties things that were previously secondary or tertiary interests to other peaks. Perhaps even owing their origins to particularly capable disciples from the other, more highly ranked peaks who showed such prodigal skill or innovation in that area that they were allowed to establish new peaks focusing on it.

For my money, I'd go with a Barrier Peak, specializing in protective barriers, talismans, and spiritual cultivation that shot off from Qing Jing during some long-prior generation. This peak could also be responsible for guard duties in the sect, basically sending disciples to close off unsafe or prohibited areas, to manage things like access to the various branches of the Lingxi caves, sealing off dangerous items, and (probably) helping to maintain existing barriers, arrays, and other such systems throughout the sect.

I think this peak would be a decent fit for Airplane, as it would once again situate him pretty close to matters of daily sect operations, and put him in position to know a lot of the secrets and goings on beneath the surface of things. So a plausible explanation for his authorial knowledge and insights would simply be, Barrier Peak are the flies on the wall of a lot of high-level matters. If someone breaks into a restricted area, they know about it. If someone wants something hidden, sealed, or disguised, they know about it.

Bonus angst: this would probably mean that the Barrier Peak's head disciple assisted in sealing a young Yue Qi inside the Lingxi Caves with Xuan Su. If that's Airplane, well, that's twisting a knife a bit now isn't it?

Which just leaves peak no.12, which frankly could be any damn thing. After Booze Peak and Girl Peak, the field is wide open. Dance Battle Peak. Transit System Peak. Spiritually Infused Textiles Peak.

My personal favorite, though, is Sex Worker Peak. Not only because that is the most fanfic-y option, but also because it actually kind of makes sense.

The PIDWorld is just chock full of fuck-or-die tropes, which makes there are countless substances, ailments, curses, etc that can only be cured via sex. Not just for cultivators, but also for everyone else in the world. Like imagine you're an NPC magistrate or something just out there managing your district, having only the most tangential connection to the plot, and one day you're going for a walk and you trip and fall and manage to land right in a field full of sex pollen that cropped up like weeds overnight. Because that's just how this shit works, it doesn't wait for the protagonist to exist in order to activate, it's all got to be out there all the time in order to be there when the wife plot happens, and also for various experts to have accumulated all the mandatory exposition points about how it works.

But you're just some normal guy! You don't want to die of Horny, but the best way to clear this up is not just to have sex, but to have sex with a cultivator who is at least moderately good at using the exchange of spiritual energy to purge your body of the sex pollen poison.

Unless you're lucky enough to know someone, you're probably going to be in the market for professional help here, like even apart from all the other reasons people like to hire sex workers. This is a situation that probably happens fairly often and for which "hire someone to fix it and then move on with your life" is probably the ideal solution. As a bonus, a professional sex cultivation expert is probably also going to minimize your risks for unwanted side effect like STDs and pregnancy, too.

So, imagine we have Qian Cao peak struggling under the workload of all these requests for help with dual cultivation. The problem isn't prudery, but that this stuff is so commonplace it eats up time that could also be allocated to things like research and other medical emergencies. Plus, you have political leaders (kings, princes, emperors, etc) always demanding to be sent your "best" disciples to attend to them, when quite frankly their condition is something even an outer disciple could handle in less time than it would take them to travel out to their location, and these fuckers are not-infrequently liable to try and steal your people away into concubinage too.

One day then, much like with Qing Jing and the Barrier Peak, the Qian Cao peak lord of yore gets fucking fed up and is just like, this requires it's own department. Zhangmen-shijie we're starting a new peak. I'm not asking you I'm telling you. It's a medical peak entirely devoted to sex work. My best disciple at sex, who is in the running for Head Disciple status almost entirely because of this shit, is going to be the new Peak Lord. Any time some princess gets her vagina cursed and needs dick badly, the new peak are going to handle it, while I get to finally fucking finish my research into organ transplants.

And the sect leader of that era, knowing what was good for her, was like yes okay rubber stamp that we have twelve peaks now. Twelve's a good number we probably should have done this sooner anyway. What do you mean we don't have that much mountain? Eh, we'll haul some dirt in and make it happen.

Other Sex Worker Peak Thoughts:

Obviously, raising disciples from the age of ten upwards into this kind of work is controversial at best. Depending on tone, a fic author could either accept that grooming children for sex work was a historical practice and examine the fucked-up-ness of it all, or, we could go another direction and make a case that this is generally the peak which takes on older prospective disciples.

After all, dual cultivation is actually good at helping with setbacks and restoring a damaged cultivation base. You could argue for it being the ideal cultivation approach for latecomers. There could even be a precedent for adult disciples from the other peaks transferring to the Twelfth Peak/Sex Worker Peak if they show an aptitude for the work, and for disciples to temporarily join them as part of repairing or preventing damage from qi deviations.

This could also be a contributing factor to Shen Jiu being like, I have to not only be on Qing Jing Peak but also be the absolute boss of Qing Jing Peak with as few people able to gainsay me as possible, because he's terrified of being ordered to pimp himself out.

Not that he would be, though, because I imagine the sexpert cultivators are pretty well aware of how trauma works and who does or doesn't actually have the right temperament for their business, or what jobs within that business. It's their specialty, after all. If someone is going to have a panic attack and qi deviate over doing the job, that someone is not a good candidate for the job, or for these types of treatments overall.

Sometimes Twelfth Peak loses people on account of them falling in love with their clients or deciding to take some king up on his concubinage offers, but it happens less than one might think. After all, it's basically like working for the best brothel in existence. They have rigorous hygiene and healthcare standards, you get access to all the generalized medical care from Qian Cao, travel expenses are covered and you don't have to work out of your home if you don't want to, your food and housing is supplied by the sect, you're trained in cultivation and martial arts, with a shot at achieving immortality, and you don't even have to work every day because the jobs are contingent on what's being requested, not on you making rent money. In addition to physical cultivation, you can also make and sell tons of erotic art or "love tokens" and it will sell for a lot because of the social mystique of sexy cultivators. A pair of twelfth peak lord's panties probably goes for just as much as one of Shen Qingqiu's fancy calligraphy paintings. So unless you really want to live with some dude, switching over to depending on him for your upkeep doesn't seem all that appealing as a prospect.

Additional fun with this idea is that it would also potentially be an interesting peak lord role for either Airplane or Shen Yuan to end up in. Airplane would probably be like, well I guess this is karma for putting so much gratuitous smut in my stories, and then actually manage the hell out of the whole peak and enjoy himself by only taking on the jobs he actually cares to. Not a bad gig, especially compared to his previous grind. On the other hand, Shen Yuan's internal freak out and subsequent attempts to somehow be the Sex Peak Lord while not actually having any sex would be a potential comedy/suspense goldmine.

[strangererotica]

SOAKED 𓇢𓆸

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Summary: After Reader is stranded by a carriage mishap, she finds herself lost in an attempt to make her way home alone. Luckily for her, another carriage happens to cross her path, belonging to none other than the Viscount Bridgerton himself…

In keeping with Bridgerton’s vibe, Reader is a young woman with zero sexual knowledge or experience. I imagine she’s around nineteen or twenty years old and while she has had suitors, none of them have inspired in her the feelings Lord Bridgerton evokes…

While enjoying your evening ride, your carriage had broken down. To the great frustration of your driver, you’d insisted on walking home alone. It wasn’t in good taste, for a young woman to be out walking unattended. But you were in an exploring mood, and wanted to do your exploring alone. The company of your carriage driver was something you were honestly glad to be rid of.

Despite being reasonably close to town, you’d somehow managed to wander in the direction of the forest rather than home. Night was creeping closer, trees casting shadows across your path as you looked up at the sky, trying to find your bearings.

A large, cold drop of rain ‘plopped’ against your forehead, making you flinch. Several subsequent drops followed, till the situation quickly became a downpour. You raced for shelter beneath the trees, cursing under your breath as your ankle twisted on a large root sticking up from the ground. The trees were basically useless at shielding you from the rain, Autumn having stripped their branches almost entirely of leaves.

Your hat was soaked, its brim flattened against the sides of your head. The pretty dress you’d chosen to wear that afternoon was now caked with mud at the trim; you realized you must look incredibly foolish right now, but certainly not as foolish as you felt.

The sound of horses’ hooves approaching caught your attention. You looked down the road to see a carriage drawing closer, rain bouncing from its roof and sides. When the carriage came to a stop just by you, a stab of panic shot through your chest. What if it was someone you knew, discovering you out here looking a complete mess? And even worse, what if the carriage belonged to a man?

The carriage came to a full stop; the door swung open, and the handsome, familiar face of Anthony Bridgerton emerged. Your heart thumped inside your chest as his jet eyes raked over you, a mischievous smirk turning his lips upward. “Unusual night for a walk, Miss (Y/N),” he remarked, his tone playful.

Despite your embarrassment and the wet state of your clothing, you attempted a curtsy. “Indeed it is, Lord Bridgerton,” you replied. “I was out for an evening ride, when my carriage broke down.” You pointed past you, unsure of which direction you’d actually come from at this point.

“And your driver?” Anthony asked, seemingly unbothered by the rain pelting his hat and shoulders. “What of him? Am I to assume he left you unattended? At the-.” He bit his lip, running his eyes over your breasts, your nipples visible through the soaked material. “-Mercy of whomever should find you?” he finished.

You felt your cheeks going red, in spite of the chilly rain running down your skin. “It was my choice, I assure you,” you explained. “I insisted he allow me the chance to take some air, alone, on my journey home. I had not expected…” Your voice wavered, words failing you as Lord Bridgerton’s penetrating gaze made you weak.

“The rain?” he offered, an eyebrow lifted in amusement. “Understandable, Miss (Y/N). It seems I’ve found you absolutely drenched.” His eyes scanned your breasts and back up to your face.

Anthony tilted his head, acknowledging your ankle. You hadn’t noticed, but you’d been keeping your full weight off of it on purpose. “Your ankle,” he said, his tone sympathetic. “Is it sprained? You seem hesitant to apply pressure to it.”

“I twisted it on a raised root,” you explained. “It is not badly sprained. More of a discomfort, really-.”

“Regardless,” Lord Bridgerton interrupted. “Leaving you to manage on your own would be unconscionable. I insist-.” He extended his hand for you. “-That you allow me the honor of delivering you home.”

There was no way around it; you had to accept the offer. Taking a soggy step forward, you reached for Anthony’s hand and allowed him to help you into the carriage.

Immediately, you felt embarrassed by the way your wet clothes were dripping all over the carriage’s interior. The horses’ hooves sounded, followed by the familiar tug as the carriage was pulled forward. You could feel the Viscount’s gaze resting on you, but were too afraid to meet it. You’d harbored feelings for him for years, and had often wondered what it would feel like to have his attention fixed solely on you, to be the object of his interest. Now that you were in exactly such a situation, all of the practiced lines you’d rehearsed in your daydreams had completely vanished.

You pressed your thighs together, a familiar ache blossoming between them…a tightening, throbbing sensation similar to your heartbeat. You weren’t sure what it was, this odd pleasure mixed with pain; but you always felt it when you were in Lord Bridgerton’s presence, and sometimes, it occurred while simply thinking of him. You’d come to associate the feeling with Anthony, loving the sensation even as it frightened you. Not unlike your feelings for the Viscount himself.

“You needn’t worry about making a mess,” he remarked, and you froze. Because for a moment, you worried Anthony knew of what accompanied the feeling…the clear, slippery fluid that inevitably wound up wetting your inner thighs, whenever you thought of him.

He pointed to the seat across from him, which you were sitting on. Panic seized you, till you realized he was obviously speaking of the mess your rain-soaked clothing was making inside the carriage.

Your cheeks went rosy and warm again. Anthony noticed, and smiled slightly, as if holding onto a sweet secret that pleased him. “Upholstery can be mended,” he explained. “And on the subject of things that need mending…”

Anthony reached forward, taking hold of your injured ankle and lifting your foot to rest on his lap. Your eyes widened, lips parting in surprise. What could he possibly be thinking, touching you in such an intimate way?

You watched his fingers as they gently undid the laces of your boot. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, a wicked glimmer reflecting back at you. Anthony removed your boot, and delicately rolled the lace cuff of your sock downward, exposing your ankle. When his fingertips brushed your skin, the contact of his touch went straight to the aching space between your legs, as if a line were somehow connecting those parts of you.

A shiver ran through your body, your hips bucking as Anthony softly stroked your skin, coaxing his finger lower, till he was cradling your foot in his hand. Every subtle movement of his fingertips sent a flash of heat straight to your center, setting you ablaze with something you’d never felt before. The familiar throbbing between your legs was suddenly burning, the pleasure mixed with a pain that kept increasing, as if demanding some kind of release, though you didn’t know how to relieve it.

Anthony watched you with an unbearable intensity-could he not see that you were unwell?-his smile long departed and replaced with something darker, almost hungry, like the focus of a predator locked in on its prey. Your body jolted as if struck. Anthony observed your behavior in stoic silence-was he angry with you?-all the while continuing to delicately stroke your skin, as if he couldn’t see the way your body was completely overcome by his simple, tender ministrations. Tears burned behind your eyes as the ache within you throbbed harder and harder, pulsing in time with your racing heartbeat. You gripped the edge of your seat, your eyes squeezing shut, air leaving your body in gasps.

You realized you must have been dying…surely, there was no other way to explain this frenzy that had overtaken you. But just as you were sure you were dying…you were flying. The world went white in your field of vision, as the tension inside your lower body finally gave way. A brand new feeling, of absolute rapture and inexplicable bliss, pulsed at your core in waves, rippling and shattering its way through you. Relief washed over you, a light sheen of sweat covering your skin, chest heaving as you recovered from whatever beautiful, brutal attack your body had just endured.

Your eyes opened on Anthony, whose expression was even more intense than before. Certain that you’d upset him with your embarrassing fit, a sudden shame humbled you. “Forgive me, Lord Bridgerton,” you panted, tears welling in your eyes. “I am unwell. I do not know what came over me just now, but I must apologize for my intemperate behavior...”

Anthony’s expression softened, unlike his lap, which now felt stiff and uneven beneath your ankle. He cleared his throat, before assuring you that “everything is alright, (Y/N).” Hearing your name leave his lips, your first name and not your family name, was like hearing an angel speak. “You’ve done nothing wrong. And I promise, you are not unwell.” Lord Bridgerton’s eyebrow lifted slightly. “Quite the opposite, in fact,” he said.

“But-.” You watched as he rolled your sock back over your ankle. “-I must be ill, my Lord-.” Anthony slid your boot back over your foot. “-Or perhaps a demon momentarily seized hold of me-??” Anthony chuckled slightly, his eyes on the laces of your boot as he fixed them. “-I must rest,” you decided. “To make sure this doesn’t happen again...”

Anthony bit his lip and grinned. “Well,” he conceded. “Perhaps you’re right. Some time in bed might be just what you need…” Anthony leaned forward and took your hand in his. “…In case that frightful feeling returns.”

Your lips parted, his nearness an alarming reminder of the feeling he conjured within you, the aching pulse between your slippery thighs reigniting. “I…” You tried to speak but the words wouldn’t come, not with his hand holding yours, his lips so near to your skin-

-A rapping on the carriage lurched you from the trance you’d fallen in. You hadn’t even noticed that the carriage had stopped moving. A driver opened the door for you, offering his hand to help you out. “Thank you, Lord Bridgerton,” you said, exiting the carriage. “I’m so grateful for your assistance today.”

Anthony nodded politely, a warm smile on his face. “It was my pleasure, Miss (Y/N),” he said, and as you turned toward your home, “I’ll call on you later this week, to see how you’re recovering.”

You felt your heart rate kick up a notch. “…from your sprained ankle, Miss (Y/N),” Anthony clarified, though the suggestive glimmer in his eye implied otherwise. You watched as his carriage retreated, starting on unsteady legs into your home. Your dress was still soaked, wet with rain and something else…something only Anthony Bridgerton was able to conjure in you, the product of a secret it now seemed the two of you shared, together… 🩵

PART TWO

[redbowedblogger]

The thought of mer!prowl having to teach Jaz to hunt in @keferon 's post apocalypse ponyo au. Just like he probably had to teach his little brothers. Jazz not knowing what or how to eat. So I did a thing

"Prowl.”

“What-?” Prowl was frustrated. This whole damn mess was going on for far longer than he had ever feared. He needed to get back to his pod. His family. Those fragging humans and their twisted sense of “mercy” had almost trapped him in a life of servitude and solitude. All over a little damage to his melon, nothing a proper mer healer couldn't fix, but clearly beyond their limited medical knowledge. And then everything changed when the wave had hit.

Calling it a wave felt a bit misleading. A miles high flood of oceanic rage that all but wiped the human city off the coastline and allowed for his escape. Their escape. This poor strange mer he had met in that box of stone and steel and glass. The one who had weak fins and an iron grip and no memory of the ocean. Jazz, who had been so excited to meet him.

He had been useful enough at the start. Practically hauling prowl along the dry rough pathways before they could reach the floodways proper and swim away. And it was handy to have one person with functional echolocation as they swam through the worst of the wrecked buildings, But after that he had unfortunately become quite the nuisance. Flighty and distracted by every flashy bit of detritus in the water, startled by fish a quarter of his size, and the talking. Relentless jabbering about everything and anything, occasionally bursting into one of those strange human songs, their tones and rhythm poorly suited for an aquatic environment. Prowl didn't really know why he had continued to let this stranger swim with him. Perhaps it was a debt of gratitude for helping him survive and escape. Perhaps it was his sense of duty, this jazz was ill equipped to survive on his own and had almost perished the first time they had hit a rip.

Perhaps it was because he was the only company in these waters that wasn't a bloodthirsty mutation, a shambling wretched gasping thing that was not mer not human not fish but some horrific combination of the three with their gangly limbs, razor claws and rows and rows of serrated ripping teeth.

And his singing was really good, when he chose the right song.

“Prowler I'm hungry. Is there anything to eat?” jazz asked, his posture meek as he floated neutral in the water.

“Of course there is. Just grab something and let's go. We are losing daylight and i'd like to find somewhere safe to camp before it gets dark.”

Dangerous things swam in the dark waters.

“What do you mean?” Jazz asked, thoroughly confused.

“Jazz we are surrounded by fish right now. Pick one and let's go.” prowl gestured to the schools of shimmering fish surrounding them. They were swimming through what had once been a park, the vegetation on the trees now replaced with algae and budding coral growths, the streetlights crusted with barnacles, and what was left of grassy fields struggling to survive as crabs and rays scuttled among the waving green vegetation grazing.

“Yeah that. How do I know which ones are good to eat? And how exactly am I supposed to just ‘grab one' they are all wicked fast.” Jazz pouted.

Prowl closed his eyes and counted to ten, digging deep for the well of patience typically reserved for only the youngest pod members before facing the mer behind him.

“You're a mer. We are the top predators of our natural environment. Everything is good to eat. Well, most of it. Watch me.” Prowl instructed as he swam off a few clicks. His echolocation was still trashed and would be until he could get back to his pods healer, so he would have to hunt by sight. Spotting a fish he liked he swiftly maneuvered around the school, herding them towards an algae covered statue to separate them. With a powerful flick of his tail he changed direction to head the stragglers off and turn them towards the branches of a tree. With another casual turn he isolated the one he wanted and with an effortless burst of speed; caught it in his claws and ripped its head off with his sharp teeth.

Jazz was in awe. Prowl moved so fast! The speed and grace in his turns as he effortlessly put the fish exactly where he needed it.

“Woah! That was slick, man I mean slick. How’d you do that?” Jazz asked with an excited shout and a backwards roll. Prowl finished the fish with a roll of his eyes.

“Everyone can do that. You can too, I know you have the agility for it. It's no harder than those silly dances the two legs made you do.”

“I don't know…”

Prowl sighed. This mer, This clever, happy, sociable mer, had been deprived of nearly every aspect of life prowl took for granted.

No open waves to surf.

No territory to call his own.

No pod to care for him.

He couldn't even hunt his own food.

They had enough time before they needed to bed down for the night.

“Here let's practice.” Prowl offered as he flicked another fish from the herd. Except this time, instead of decapitation he clipped one pectoral and half of its tail fin. As he let it go the fish wobbled back into the school, its progress hampered. When the others zigged it tended to zag.

“Catch the fish. Use any trick you can think of. Flips, rolls, dives. Whatever. Just remember that sight hunting is all about focus. Don't take your eyes off your prey for a second. Catch the fish and you will eat.” Prowl instructed.

Jazz hesitated for a moment. Then the hollow call of his stomach galvanized him to action.

Jazz bolted after the lamed fish and something began to sing in his veins. That feeling started deep in his bones and radiated up to tingle just under his skin. It electrified every muscle in his body from the tip of his tail to the end of his nose. He had never felt so at ease in water. He could feel the movement of the currents and somehow he knew exactly how to play off it. He dove and twirled and the fish scattered in a fluttering cloud of silver. A flick of his tail and he separated the other half of the herd.

He smiled as zeroed in on his target.

This felt good.

This felt right.

This felt fun.

The taste of silver fish in his mouth had never been so sweet.

[cimoris]

- ⚜︎ My Father’s Eyes ⚜︎ -

A Cookie Run Kingdom Reader Insert Fanfiction

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

Relationship: Child!Reader x Parent!Shadow Milk Cookie | Fount of Knowledge, Child!Reader & Burning Spice Cookie | Herald of Change

Summary: Y/n used to be proud of her eyes. Now it is her death sentence. Series / AU: Chasing Home << Prev -- Next >> [Masterlist]

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

“You have your father’s eyes.” 

Y/n flinched and turned to see the Herald of Change, head held up high on the palm of his head, while his half-lidded eyes stared down on her. The younger cookie blinked and tilted her head upward. Staring at red eyes with indigo eyes.

“Pardon?”

The Herald clicked his tongue. “I said, you have your father’s eyes. A perfect copy. I would have known if there was even a speck of change–I am the Herald of Change after all.” Then, he grinned. “Ah, the Fount’s arrogance truly knows no bounds! Creating a child in his image, just like the Gods of olden times!”

Just as those words left the Herald’s mouth, a book–The Complete Encyclopedia of Magic Volume III, the fourth publication–flew across the room and hit straight on the back of the Herald’s head. Y/n had to stifle a laugh when the Herald yelped in anger.

“Burning Spice! Stop spouting nonsense to my daughter!” Shadow Milk Cookie screamed from across the room, stopping any conversations between the Virtues. The Fount of Knowledge’s steps were hurried as he crossed the room to reach them. “And step 10 feet away from her!”

And as the two fall into their usual banters, Y/n could not help but smile. 

‘I have my father’s eyes.’

.

.

“THAT IS THE EYES OF THE BEAST!” 

Y/n ducked, barely dodging a pitchfork thrown over her head. Another one whizzed on her side, landing barely an inch from her feet. She stumbled, scratched her knees, and forced her tired body to move again.

“KILL THE BEAST! KILL THE BEAST! KILL THE BEAST!”

Move. Move. Move. One step. Then, another. And another. 

If she dared to stop, she will never move again. 

If she failed to move, the scornful fire and angered pitchforks will reach her.

If they reached her, …

She ducked into a small pit by tree. Mud splattered over her clothes, covering it in more dirt and droppings. She twist around and hide in the shadows, muffling her whimpers as the cookie approached her location. 

��KILL THE OFFSPRING OF THE BEAST! THE VILE BLOOD OF BEASTS!”

Y/n closed her eyes and listened at the cookies’ chanting. Screaming curses for her eyes, her jams and her father. She did not dare to move, nor breath, nor squeaked. 

Only when the sound passed by and the presences of the cookies had disappeared did Y/n finally opened her eyes.

Her vision’s blurry from the tears, sweat, and jams pooling at the edge of her eyes. Her body was torn by branches and thorns when she had jumped through the bushes. She could hear the angered cookies tearing through the dark forest in the distance.

She was not safe. 

‘Ah…’ 

Y/n curled on herself, knowing she had to be on the move again before the cookies retraced their step. 

‘I missed my father.’

<< Prev -- Next >>

A/n: And another one! People seemed to like the other fanfic. I'm going to start creating a master list for this fanfic. Once again, I hope you enjoy it!

Oh, and hope you enjoy that small art I made!

[glowettee]

hi there! im a fan of your page 💕

can you give me the best studying techniques?

hi angel!! @mythicalmarion tysm for asking about study techniques 🤍 i'm so excited to share my secret methods that helped me maintain perfect grades while still having a dreamy lifestyle + time for self-care!! and thank you for being a fan of my blog, it means everything to me. <3

~ ♡ my non-basic study secrets that actually work ♡ ~

(don't mind the number formatting)

the neural bridging technique this is literally my favorite discovery!! instead of traditional note-taking, i create what i call "neural bridges" between different subjects. for example, when studying both literature + history, i connect historical events with the literature written during that time. i use a special notebook divided into sections where each page has two columns - one for each subject. the connections help you understand both subjects deeper + create stronger memory patterns!!

here's how i do it:

example:

left column: historical event

right column: literary connection

middle: draw connecting lines + add small insights

bottom: write how they influenced each other

the shadow expert method this changed everything for me!! i pretend i'm going to be interviewed as an expert on the topic i'm studying. i create potential interview questions + prepare detailed answers. but here's the twist - i record myself answering these questions in three different ways:

basic explanation (like i'm talking to a friend)

detailed analysis (like i'm teaching a class)

complex discussion (like i'm at a conference)

this forces you to understand the topic from multiple angles + helps you explain concepts in different ways!!

the reverse engineering study system instead of starting with the basics, i begin with the most complex example i can find and work backwards to understand the fundamentals. for example, in calculus, i start with a complicated equation + break it down into smaller parts until i reach the basic concepts.

my process looks like:

find the hardest example in the textbook

list every concept needed to understand it

create a concept map working backwards

study each component separately

rebuild the complex example step by step

the sensory anchoring technique this is seriously game-changing!! i associate different types of information with specific sensory experiences:

theoretical concepts - study while standing

factual information - sitting at my desk

problem-solving - walking slowly

memorization - gentle swaying

review - lying down

your body literally creates muscle memory associated with different types of learning!!

the metacognition mapping strategy i created this method where i track my understanding using what i call "clarity scores":

level 1: can recognize it

level 2: can explain it simply

level 3: can teach it

level 4: can apply it to new situations

level 5: can connect it to other topics

i keep a spreadsheet tracking my clarity levels for each topic + focus my study time on moving everything to level 5!!

the information architecture method instead of linear notes, i create what i call "knowledge buildings":

foundation: basic principles

first floor: key concepts

second floor: applications

top floor: advanced ideas

roof: real-world connections

each "floor" must be solid before moving up + i review from top to bottom weekly!!

the cognitive stamina training this is my absolute secret weapon!! i use a special interval system based on brain wave patterns:

32 minutes of focused study

8 minutes of active recall

16 minutes of teaching the material to my plushies

4 minutes of complete rest

the specific timing helps maintain peak mental performance + prevents study fatigue!!

the synthesis spiral evolution this method literally transformed how i retain information:

create main concept spirals

add branch spirals for subtopics

connect related concepts with colored lines

review by tracing the spiral paths

add new connections each study session

your notes evolve into a beautiful web of knowledge that grows with your understanding!!

these methods might seem different from typical study advice, but they're based on how our brains actually process + store information!! i developed these through lots of research + personal experimentation, and they've helped me maintain perfect grades while still having time for self-care, hobbies + fun!!

sending you the biggest hug + all my good study vibes!! remember that effective studying is about working with your brain, not against it <3

p.s. if you try any of these methods, please let me know how they work for you!! i love hearing about your study journeys!!

xoxo, mindy 🤍

glowettee hotline is still open, drop your dilemmas before the next advice post 💌: https://bit.ly/glowetteehotline

[st4rfckerz]

Run | Negan x reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: mdni 18+, noncon, unprotected sex, implied age gap, negan’s gross ofc, dddne

summary: after surviving another lineup, negan decides to have a little fun with you

Negan smirked as he observed all the frightened faces before him as he moved up and down the line. He'd been having problems with Rick's group for some time, and it was time to deal with it.

After attempting to fight earlier in the night, you were now exhausted, bloodied and broken. Your knees ached from staying in the same position for what felt like hours.

Negan watched as Rick completed the shocking task he had ordered, a grim smile spreading across his face. He couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction seeing the once proud leader of this community brought so low. Turning away from the pitiful sight, Negan's eyes found you, kneeling amidst the crowd of terrified survivors.

Negan's grin widens, revealing a glint of cruel amusement in his eyes as he sees the fear etched into your features. He takes a step closer, the tip of his bat tapping gently under your chin to tilt your head back further.

“You know, I've got to hand it to you sweetheart, you've got somethin’. Most girls would be blubbering like babies by now, pissing themselves begging for their mama.” He leans in, hot breath washing over your face as he speaks in a low, almost tender tone that sends shivers down your spine. “But not you. No, you've got...spunk. I like that.”

Negan's free hand reaches out, calloused fingers brushing a stray curl behind your ear in an almost gentle gesture. The contrast between his rough touch and the tender action makes your heart race.

“Tell you what, sweetheart...you be a good girl and do exactly as I say. No funny business. And maybe, just maybe, you won't end up like that little shithead over there.” He jerks his head towards Rick, still trying to recover from being beat down.

Negan's eyes narrow as he points Lucille towards the dark woods behind you, a sinister glint in his gaze. “Now, I want you to get that cute little ass of yours movin'.” He takes a step back, giving you room to stand, but keeping the bat trained on you.

As you rise on shaky legs, Negan's eyes rake over your form, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “You've got a real pretty walk too. Nice and slow, sweetheart. Don't make me tell you twice.”

He points towards the tree line, indicating for you to start walking away from the group. The night is pitch black beyond the flickering light of the campfire, the sounds of the forest, the rustling of leaves, the distant hoots of owls— taking on an almost ominous quality.

After a short distance, he suddenly stops, grabbing your arm in a vice-like grip. “Here we are.” He turns to face you, his features obscured by the shadows.

“Listen up, because I'm only gonna say this once. You've got exactly five minutes to run, sweetheart. Five minutes to hide. And if I find you…”

He lets the threat hang in the air, his grip on your arm tightening for a moment before he releases you with a rough shove. “Better start runnin' now, darlin'. Your time's a tickin'.”

With that, he steps back, melting into the shadows. The darkness engulfs him, but you can still feel his presence, the weight of his gaze on your back as he watches you.

Negan's voice cuts through the darkness, sharp and commanding. “Go!” At the sound of his bark, you spring into action, your legs pumping as you race through the underbrush. The trees loom over you, their gnarled branches reaching out like claws in the shadows. The air is thick with the scent of earth and decay, the dampness clinging to your skin. Behind you, the sound of Negan's footsteps fades for a moment, only to be replaced by an unsettling silence. The absence of his pursuit is almost more terrifying than the knowledge of his chase. It leaves you wondering if he's closing in on you from a different direction, lying in wait to ambush you in the darkness.

You stumble over a fallen log, your hands scraping against the rough bark as you catch yourself. The pain shoots through your palms, but you barely register it, too consumed by the fear coursing through your veins.

After allowing you a brief head start, Negan begins to leisurely walk in the direction you fled, a wicked grin spreading across his face, revealing the deep dimples that would be charming on any other man.

It's not long before you start to hear his mocking calls echoing through the dark forest, your heart clenching with dread at the sound of his voice drawing closer.

Negan's voice rings out, dripping with false cheer. “You can't hide from me, sweetheart. I'm gonna find you, no matter how far you run.” He pauses, listening for a moment. A branch snaps somewhere in the distance, and his lips curl into a smirk.

In a panic, you spot an old, abandoned truck nestled between two large oak trees, its rusted metal frame blending in with the dark foliage. Seeing an opportunity for a hiding spot, you quickly and quietly make your way towards it, your heart pounding in your ears. As you approach the truck, you notice that the driver's side door is slightly ajar. Holding your breath, you ease the door open just enough for you to slip inside, the hinges creaking softly in protest. You tumble into the cab, landing hard on the dusty, cracked leather seat.

You curl up in the tight space, trying to make yourself as small as possible. The musty smell of old upholstery and motor oil fills your nostrils as you hold your breath, listening intently for any sign of Negan's approach. Then, you hear it. The crunch of dead leaves and twigs beneath heavy boots, growing louder and closer with each passing second. He's getting closer, circling around the abandoned truck like a shark scenting blood in the water.

“You know, I thought you’d be a lot smarter,” You hold your breath as you hear his voice, squeezing your eyes shut as if that could somehow make you invisible. “But this— this is just pitiful.” Negan's footsteps stop abruptly just outside the old truck, and you hear him speak again.

“You gonna come out?” The silence stretches on for what feels like an eternity, your heart hammering against your ribs. He waits another beat, as if expecting an answer. When none comes, he lets out a low, dark chuckle. “No? Alright.”

With a sudden, violent motion, he swings the truck door open, the rusted metal screeching in protest. The door slams against the inside of the cab, and you flinch, pressing yourself back against the far side of the seat.

“There she is.” Negan's tall frame fills the doorway, his silhouette stark against the faint moonlight behind him. He leans in, his head cocked to the side as he peers into the dark interior of the truck cab. “Come on, don't make this difficult.” Negan's hand suddenly closes around your wrist in an iron grip, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise. Before you can react, he's wrenching you out of the cab, your body tumbling onto the hard-packed dirt and dead leaves below. You land hard on your back, the breath knocked out of your lungs, your head spinning from the sudden movement.

He stands over you, his head tilted to the side, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Didn't I tell you not to make this difficult, sweetheart?” He takes a step closer, his boot hovering over your chest. For a terrifying moment, you think he might stomp down, crushing the air from your lungs. But instead, he presses the sole of his boot against your collarbone, pinning you to the ground.

You can't help but let out a soft, frightened whimper as Negan's boot presses down harder on your collarbone. The pressure makes it difficult to breathe, your lungs screaming for air. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you stare up at him, your heart hammering wildly in your chest.

“Poor, stupid little girl.” His tone is mocking, dripping with false sympathy. He grinds his heel down a little harder, and you gasp, your back arching off the ground as you try to ease the pressure.

Without warning, he removes his boot from your collarbone, only to roughly grab your shoulders, flipping your body over and slamming you down onto your stomach. You let out a yelp of pain and surprise, your hands scrabbling at the dirt as you try to push yourself up. But Negan is quicker, his knee pressing down hard on your lower back, pinning you in place.

You lie there, dazed and struggling to catch your breath, you feel Negan's rough hand groping and squeezing your ass through the fabric of your pants. You try to squirm away from his touch, but his knee pressing into your back keeps you firmly in place. Without warning, his fingers hook into the waistband of your pants and underwear. With a sharp tug, he yanks them down to your knees, exposing your bare skin to the chilly night air.

“I bet this pretty little pussy is just aching for a real man's touch, ain't it?” You whimper and try to clench your thighs together, but Negan just grinds his knee harder into your back, pinning you open and vulnerable. He pulls your arms behind your back, forcing your elbows to bend at an unnatural angle as he pins your hands to the small of your back. You cry out at the sudden pain, but the sound is muffled by the dirt beneath your cheek. Tears spring to your eyes as Negan leans down, his weight now fully pressing you into the cold, unforgiving ground.

You lie there helpless, your pants and underwear around your knees, Negan keeps your wrists pinned tightly behind your back with one large hand. With his other hand, he makes quick work of his belt buckle, the metal clinking loudly in the silent forest. Your eyes widen in fear and revulsion as he unbuckles his pants and shoves them down, along with his underwear, freeing his hardening cock.

“Been waitin’ to get my hands on you girly.” Negan growls. He grinds his hips forward, the head of his cock pushing against your entrance. You let out an anguished cry as Negan thrusts his hips forward, pushing your head against the cold, damp ground.

But even as you sob and beg him to stop, Negan feels your body beginning to betray you. Your once-tight, dry walls start to flutter and clench around his pistoning cock, growing slick with a reluctant, shameful arousal.

“You’re clenchin’ around me like you never want to let it go,” Negan taunts, his voice a low, dark rumble. “You're fucking loving this, aren’t you?”

“Fuck you.” you grit through your teeth. Negan just laughs, a dark, cruel sound that sends shivers down your spine. Your pleas only seem to spur him on, making him thrust into you with even more brutal force. The wet, obscene sound of your arousal fills the air as you take him, your cunt growing slicker with each passing second.

“Come onnn, don’t act like I haven’t seen the way you look at me when you think no one's watchin'," Negan sneers, his voice a low, cruel murmur in your ear as he continues his relentless assault. “You could’ve just asked.”

You cry out, your back arching as a intense, unwanted orgasm crashes over you. Your inner walls clench and spasm around Negan's pistoning shaft. He follows soon after you, hilting himself deep inside you, thick ropes of his cum paint your insides, flooding your already dripping cunt with his seed.

“Fuck, thaaat’s it.” Negan snarls, grinding his pelvis hard against your ass as he empties his heavy balls inside you. His pubic hair, matted with sweat and the combined fluids of your shared climax, presses against your sensitive skin.

After a long, humiliating moment, Negan finally pulls out, his spent cock slipping from your abused, dripping cunt with a quiet, wet plop. He takes a step back, tucking himself away and refastening his pants with casual, almost bored movements. You remain lying there on the cold ground, your legs splayed open, your pants still around your ankles. The night air feels icy on your exposed, sticky skin as the reality of what just happened sinks in. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes, cutting trails through the dirt on your cheeks.

Negan looks down at your broken, used body sprawled in the dirt, a look of cruel satisfaction on his face. “I expect to see that pretty little face of yours in the morning,” he says, his tone almost conversational. With that, he turns and walks away, leaving you lying there in the dirt, half-naked, used, and utterly desecrated. The night closes in around you, the forest falling dreadfully silent once more.

[winged-void]

To Wake From a Dream That Isn't Sleep

It is jarring.

It is jarred.

It takes in its surroundings slowly, its simulacrum of a mind drawing connections between the familiar shapes and functions and the newly imparted knowledge forced upon it. It feels the vibrations as the suit of armor that is now its “body” struggles to turn to see more, a gesture that is as automatic as it is foreign.

It is used to being inside objects, it has spent most of its life in chests and suits of armor and other relics which facilitate its ambush lifestyle. Inside is a familiar feeling.

What is foreign, though, is everything else there: the word “chest”, the idea of an “ambush predator”, the taxonomies and intricacies that (it supposes) were always there but which it had no prior knowledge of. Newer still is the idea of deciding to consider these things. The knowledge and mind bloom and turn in on themselves and writhe and twist in their complexity.

It feels something new: distaste for all of this.

It is considering this idea when into the room walks some sort of being. It looks down at the creature which is made of lumps of black, smooth fur, and long appendages that jut out from its central mass. At the top there is a mess and tangle of white colored straw, which surrounds a pale slate of strange and disconcerting features. Perhaps connected to one of the appendages is a large and gnarled branch.

Slowly at first, its mind connects its knowledge to its instincts. As this happens, for the first time, its instincts and its knowledge are in harmony. They are screaming two things: first, a burning understanding that this dismal lump of cloth and ears is responsible for this forcibly imparted consciousness, this miserable freedom of mind and prison of body, and second, that it ought to say:

“Hello, My Lady. It is pleased to see you well.”

[inexorablyinsecure]

THY GENDER CREATURE?!!? WHAT SEXUALITY DOST THOU OWN????

There was a pause, as the Eleventh Sinner blinked blearily, and stared at the question floating there on the screen. It was… An interesting question, on paper. It was also one that Sinclair didn’t… Exactly know how to answer, staring at the blinking message symbol. The Sinner’s mouth hung agape for a moment, the gears turning as Sinclair… Tried to put two and two together.

It was only after a moment, that any sound followed. An answer, perhaps.

“...I… Don’t know,” the sinner’s voice was… Quiet. Perhaps it was hollow. Perhaps it was confused. Perhaps it was just tired, or shaken. “I… I don’t know. It… I… I don’t care when I’m called a boy, or a young man, or… Anything like that. But I…” the eleventh sinner, paused, for a moment, tears welling up at the corner of ‘Sinclair’s eyes. “I also feel better when I’m called a girl. When… When I’m called something else, when I’m… Not forced to be a person. I… It feels almost- It feels almost relieving to… Be referred to as an object, to…”

Sinclair’s voice trailed off, unsure of how to reply; how to explain, what any of that even meant. How to explain that it wasn’t meant in any sort of… Depressing way. That it was just… How it felt, how nice it felt to be able to have the weight of the world taken off of the sinner’s shoulder. The words… No matter how hard Sinclair tried to find them, the words just… Wouldn’t manifest. There was no way to make it happen.

And it was frustrating.

Terribly frustrating.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Sinclair murmured, once more, the sinner’s voice wavering for a moment, raising a hand up to rub away the tears that were forming. This was a question that Sinclair had asked the Eleventh sinner many times, and yet… Never had an answer been given. “I don’t… Know... Why... Why would you even want to know?”

[isa-beenme]

Whispers of Secrets and Starlight

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: As the Archeron sisters grow older you take in as your mission to make things right for your cousins, even if the secrets you keep of where you are from and who you are might one day collapse. You never wanted to go back to that life, but something is calling you, and it might be your only way back home.

Warnings: Use of Y/N, ACOTAR rewrite, female main character, too many secrets, not 100% book following, Rhys is not here yet 😔

Whispers of Secrets and Starlight - Masterlist

Chapter 1: Everything I Wanted

The forest had become a place of ghosts and silence, a land where winter crept in long before the first frost. Snow had yet to fall, but the air carried its promise—cold, biting, and unforgiving. Feyre adjusted her grip on the bow, scanning the trees for any sign of movement. The cold gnawed at her fingers, even through the worn leather of her gloves, but she kept her grip steady on the bow. She had been hunting for hours, and her stomach twisted with the knowledge that she had nothing to show for it.

Somewhere, you had already returned home, your satchel surely filled with more food that everyone could eat in a day, likely three times the amount Feyre could ever hope to bring back. It had always been that way. You, her cousin, swift and ruthless in the woods, moving like a phantom, never missing a shot. You had taught Feyre how to hunt, how to read the silence of the forest, how to track when even the footprints had faded. But unlike Feyre, you preferred to hunt alone, deserving of the dark silence that stretched during hunts.

Feyre crouched behind a thick tree, her eyes locking on a deer grazing in the clearing ahead. It was thin, its ribs stark beneath its winter coat. Not ideal, but enough to give your family a proper meal or two. She pulled the bowstring taut, inhaling slowly—

A branch snapped behind her. Too loud. Too intentional.

Feyre stiffened, her heart pounding as she turned. And there, stepping between the trees as if the forest itself had parted for you, your presence filling in the space left for what was only for the cold.

Tall, poised, your shining eyes unreadable, you were considered beautiful in a way that felt unnatural for the ones in the village, almost too perfect, as if the world had crafted you to stand apart from the rest of your family. No one knew where you had come from, not truly. You had arrived when Feyre’s father had lost everything, slipping into their lives like a shadow, seamlessly fitting into their broken household. Nesta and Elain never questioned your presence, never made too many questions while you still fed their stomachs. Even the girls’ father, sunken and defeated, looked at you with something bordering on fear, if he knew... you couldn't tell, and didn’t care.

Your gaze flicked toward the deer, then back to Feyre. “It’s too weak,” you murmured. “We won’t get much from it.”

Feyre gritted her teeth. “I don’t have another hunt today.”

You sighed, reaching to your belt and pulling free a rabbit, already cleaned and ready to be cooked. You held it out. “Take it.”

Feyre glared at you, resentment prickling at her skin. “I can get my own food, you know.”

Your expression didn’t change, sometimes it was hard to explain where you took all the food from, while Feyre could barely get a dying deer sometimes… so you didn't. “Take it, Feyre.” There was a fraction of warmth in your voice, mixed with quiet insistence. A command, whether Feyre wanted to admit it or not.

Jaw tight, Feyre snatched the rabbit from your hand, shoving it into her empty satchel. Without another word, you turned and melted into the trees, your steps so light they barely disturbed the fallen leaves, another thing of you that your cousin never understood, as she listened to every step of hers making some kind of sound that almost disrespected the emptiness of the forest.

Feyre remained there for a moment, watching the empty space where her cousin had disappeared. The same unease settled in her chest—the same feeling she had ignored for years.

Who were you, really? Beside the loving and confident mysterious cousin. Nesta kept telling her to not make questions, instead, be thankful you showed up into their lives before it was too late and they died of hunger. And why did it feel like you were always longing for something?

By the time Feyre pushed open the door to the cottage, the fire inside had already been lit, filling the small home with the scent of burning wood. Elain looked up from her sewing, offering Feyre a relieved smile, while Nesta barely spared her a glance from her place by the fire. You stood at the worn wooden table, pouring water into a pot as if you had always belonged there.

Feyre tossed the rabbit onto the table. “That’s all I got.”

Nesta’s sharp gaze flicked to the rabbit, then to you. “You helped her get that one. You always skin the rabbit differently.”

You didn’t look up from the bread dough tou were making. “And?”

Nesta pressed her lips together, but said nothing. She never argued with you in front of the others.

Feyre sank into the chair near the fire, stretching out her aching legs. She could feel your eyes watching her, though, always shining with something Feyre couldn't exactly explain, your eyes went back to the dough, as if nothing truly bothered you. And, not for the first time, Feyre wondered if maybe you knew something the rest of them didn’t.

☆

The night was sharp and still when Feyre spotted the wolf.

She had been tracking a doe for nearly an hour, her fingers stiff from the cold as she clutched her bow. But before she could line up the shot, the wolf appeared—massive, its fur thick and glistening under the pale light. Too large for an ordinary beast. Too intelligent in the way it moved.

Maybe… a faerie.

Your voice echoed in her mind. “Not all fae are as they seem. And not all deserve to die. Don't believe in your father's stories, he's just an old man trying to find something else to blame for his cowardice.”

Feyre swallowed. The promise she had made to herself—to kill any faerie she encountered, to protect her family from their kind—burned in her chest. If this wolf was indeed fae, it would die just the same.

She knocked the ash arrow, held her breath, and let it fly. The wolf didn’t make a sound as it collapsed, blood staining the snow. Feyre lowered her bow, her pulse thudding in her ears. It was done.

But deep in her bones, she knew—this wasn’t over. Not when you looked at her with pity, not when you turned your face when Feyre put the wolf on the table. Not when you refused to eat that night.

☆

The next day, the cottage door shattered.

The beast filled the doorway, golden fur bristling, power radiating from its hulking form. The air seemed to tremble around it as if the very world feared its presence. Nesta screamed. Elain backed against the wall. Feyre reached for her knife—

But you were already moving, stepping between them and the beast, face unreadable.

"One of you killed one of my sentries," the creature growled, its voice rippling through the room like a storm. "Under the Treaty, you owe a life for a life."

Feyre’s heart pounded. She had known the risks. She had done it anyway.

"I’ll go," she said before fear could take hold. "Just don’t hurt them."

But you turned to the beast, your eyes narrowing with suspicion. "You're lying."

The creature stiffened. Even Nesta and Elain stared at you in shock.

"What?" Feyre hissed.

But you didn’t take your eyes off him. "The Treaty doesn’t say anything like this. You're using it as an excuse to take her. What do you really want?"

The beast hesitated—a flicker of something passing through its massive form before it growled, "It’s not of your concern. The Treaty changed."

You exhaled sharply, then looked at Feyre. "You don’t have to go. This is a trap."

Feyre’s hands shook. She wanted to believe you. But you had always acted differently, always too secretive, always knowing things you shouldn’t and not sharing the whole picture. And the beast—whoever he was—was waiting.

Finally, Feyre lifted her chin. "If I don’t go, he’ll kill us all."

Your mouth tightened, the argument far too correct for your liking. You could kill the beast, attack him first. But the consequences would be too risky to deal with. So you just let a breath out and agreed. And then, to Feyre’s horror, you turned back to the beast and said, "Then I go too."

The beast hesitated. "Take it or leave it," you said, voice sharp as a blade.

And though he said nothing, though he gave no outward agreement, he turned his back and left the cottage, waiting outside while both of you gave your final goodbyes.

☆

The three of you rode in silence.

Feyre barely understood what had happened, her mind spinning as the beast led them through the woods on a horse, his golden fur catching the moonlight. You rode beside her, your expression as unreadable as ever.

"You shouldn’t have come," Feyre muttered.

You only glanced at your younger cousin. "Neither should you. You should've let me solve this by myself."

Before Feyre could argue, a sudden need for sleep washed over her, a feeling of tiredness that wasn't there before, and made her close her eyes and incline on the horse. The beast slowed, checking on both of you, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw you perfectly awake and in control of your senses. You barely spared him a side eye as you felt the magic trying to penetrate your skin.

“You better keep walking, High Lord. We won't get to your court if you try to make questions I won't answer.” The beast hesitated a second before walking ahead, the horses following his lead easily.

You didn't say another word to him again and pretended you weren't seeing the looks he kept giving you during the path. You only kept checking on Feyre from time to time to make sure she was fine on her horse. It didn't took much longer for your cousin to wake up when you were all getting close to getting out of the forest, and before you, bathed in golden light, stood a sprawling estate - far grander than anything Feyre had ever seen, a usual vision of exatamente your own life looked like before everything went wrong.

In front of you rested the Spring Court. And waiting at the steps, watching you with sharp, amused eyes, was a red-haired fae. Curiously, a vision of your past. Lucien.

☆

From the moment you entered the estate, you did not trust Tamlin. Maybe that unsettling feeling came from a past you didn't want to revisit and the High Lord didn't seem to remember. Feyre could feel it in the way you stood, the way your sharp eyes never left him, the way you responded to his carefully measured words with nothing but silence. You hated it here, so Feyre would do her best to match your feelings.

Tamlin seemed equally wary of you, though, as if you were a constant thought he couldn't seem to shake off. He didn’t meet your gaze often during the few meals you shared together, but when he did, there was something almost… uneasy in the way he regarded you.

Lucien, on the other hand, was an entirely different matter.

"I have to say," he drawled one evening at dinner, swirling his wine, "I expected one human to be foolish enough to take Tamlin's deal, but two?" His russet eye gleamed with amusement, raising an eyebrow when the word human left his mouth "Either you’re very brave or very stupid."

"Or," You countered, mirroring his lazy smirk, "your High Lord is just not as clever as he thinks."

Feyre nearly choked on her drink. Lucien blinked, then let out a sharp laugh. "Oh, I get it."

Tamlin, however, did not look amused. "Y/N" he said, voice heavy with warning.

You merely tilted your head. "Yes, High Lord?"

And there it was. The way your voice dropped lower, the weird accent that rolled off your tongue every time you got mad. The accent that didn't belong to any of the human lands, when you made your “r” thicker and changed the rhythm of your phrases, almost as if you were singing a song instead of talking. Tamlin seemed to notice the subtle change too, as his eyes, behind the mask, widened a bit.

“You would do me a great favor if you respect me in my own court. I am the one keeping you and your cousin safe, it would do you great to remember this” your breathing stilled at his words, anger easily burning and slowing inside of you.

“And you would be a great guy if remember you were the one who bring us here”

“You killed my guard”

“You sent him over The Wall even though you are not supposed to” Your voice cut sharply, getting more irritated by the second, the “t” in the phrase al“What made you send him there, hm? What are you running away from?”

“Dinner is over. You should all go to your rooms” Tamlin commands, Feyre’s body obeying her before she could think much of it. But her eyes were still in your lazy movements, as if you were unaffected by his words.

Feyre didn’t know why, but she had the distinct feeling that you already knew the answer to your own question. That you had known since before you set foot in this place. Maybe even before you met her and her family in that cabin.

You were playing a game only you understood.

☆

The Spring Court was beautiful. Feyre could admit that much. Rolling green fields stretched beyond the manor, endless and sun-drenched. The scent of wildflowers clung to the warm breeze, and the days passed in golden hues, filled with feasts and quiet moments beneath the willows. Tamlin was kind to her. Gentle. He showed her the beauty of his lands, the wonders of his power, the parts of himself that seemed carefully carved for her to see.

And yet—

“Why can't you look at what’s in front of you?” Your voice was sharp as you paced the balcony of Feyre’s painting room, your eyes blazing in the sunlight.

Feyre glared at you. “I am looking. And I don't think that what I see is as bad as you seem to think.”

“No,” You snapped. “You’re seeing what he wants you to see. Fae cannot lie but they for sure can get around the truth. I told you this years ago, why can't you listen now?”

Feyre clenched her fists. “And what is it that I’m missing, exactly?”

You exhaled hard, gripping the railing. “The way everyone here acts, the way they watch us, the way they fear Tamlin.” You turned, leveling Feyre with a look. “Doesn’t it seem odd that a High Lord would need to drag you here himself? That in this ridiculously big manor Tamlin has… what… ten faes in his staff? It doesn't make any sense” Your eyes wander to the side of the door, where a female was hidden behind the magic spell Tamlin casted, she quickly averted her eyes from you, scared you had seen her.

Feyre shifted uncomfortably, looking to where you were watching and seeing anything. “He’s protecting us.”

You scoffed. “Right. Protecting.”

The words settled between you, thick and heavy. Feyre crossed her arms, her jaw tight. “You don’t even know him.”

Your lips curled in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Neither do you.”

Feyre’s eyes darkened with something close to disappointment. “And stop talking like that”.

You raised your eyebrows, confusion taking the place of anger. “Like what?”

“Like that.” She forced the “T” in the word, your accent sounding foreign in her tongue. “It’s weird. No one speaks like this.” Feyre shifted her attention back to the painting, while you just scoffed.

“You honestly don't know a thing, do you?”

“So tell me! What is it that I'm missing? Why do you always keep everything a secret?” Your eyes darted to her hands, dirty with paint, to her pants, little flowers painted in the material.

“I can't.” Defeat was obvious in your tone, tiredness already consuming your being. “If I tell you all of this would be for nothing.” You didn’t let her say anything else, running out of the room.

☆

The afternoon light filtered through the trees as Feyre followed Tamlin along a winding garden path. She wasn’t sure where he was leading her, but she found that, for once, she didn’t mind. Tamlin had been… attentive. Thoughtful. In the last few days he showed her beauty she had never known, took her on rides through the hills, played music for her in the evenings when the court was quiet. He made her feel seen in a way no one had before. So why did her cousin's voice still linger in her mind?

Tamlin stopped at the edge of a clearing, turning to her. “I wanted to show you something.” Feyre stepped closer—and gasped.

A small pond stretched before them, glowing as though lit from within. The water shimmered with silver and gold, tiny glowing fish flickering beneath the surface. It was breathtaking, like something out of a dream.

Tamlin studied her, a small smile on his lips. “I used to come here when I was younger,” he admitted. “It was one of the only places where I could be alone.”

Feyre looked at him then, truly looked. Beneath the power, the strength, the carefully measured control… there was something else. Loneliness.

“I’m glad you brought me here,” she murmured. Tamlin hesitated, his golden eyes searching hers. Slowly, he lifted a hand, brushing his fingers along her jaw. Feyre’s breath caught.

“Feyre…” His voice was quiet, raw.

Her pulse raced. But before she could say anything, a sharp voice sliced through the stillness.

“Feyre.” She turned. But there was no one around. Your voice has been so clear in her head, as if you were glued to her side.

Tamlin stiffened beside her. “What happened?”

Feyre swallowed hard, looking between the trees to see where your voice came from. Tamlin’s gaze had darkened, his jaw tight.

Tamlin met Feyre’s stare as she said, quietly, “Something is wrong, I think. I heard Y/N's voice.”

Tamlin's mouth pressed into a thin line. Without another word, he turned and got out of the lake. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what your cousin is looking for, or what she is trying to tell you, but she won’t get it.”

Feyre wanted to believe him. But your voice settled in her chest, heavy and cold.

☆

The library was one of the few places in the Spring Court where silence reigned in your mind. Dusty books lined the shelves, the scent of old parchment heavy in the air. You sat curled in one of the worn velvet armchairs by the window, the faint light of the afternoon sun casting warm streaks across the wooden floor. A book lay open in your lap, while you tried to make sense of the last years of changes in Prythian.

You sensed him before he spoke, the steady footsteps, the familiar pull of his presence. Lucien slid into the chair beside you, not asking for permission — as if he had always belonged there, as if no time had passed.

His voice was soft, but there was a tension beneath it. “Where were you?”

You didn't look at him, eyes fixed on the delicate handwriting in the book. “In my home, Lucien. What are you talking about?”

A bitter laugh escaped him, the sound too sharp for this quiet place. “Don't lie to me now, Y/N. Stop pretending you don't know me."

That made your heart clench — the familiarity in his voice, the plea hidden beneath the sarcasm. You finally glanced at him, meeting those russet eyes that always saw too much. “You should stop talking about things you don't know.”

His jaw tightened. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, watching you like he was trying to piece together a puzzle. “What happened to you? You disappeared after—"

“I know what happened,” you cut him off, voice colder than you intended. “And I know what made me leave. Later I found my cousins, and now they're my family. It's enough.”

Lucien's golden eye flickered, scanning your face as if searching for the truth beneath the lie. “That's how you're playing this now?”

You clenched your fingers around the edges of the book, the paper threatening to tear beneath your grip. “I'm not playing anything. This is my life. This is me. Stop talking about the past since you know so much about it.”

The hurt that flashed across his face was gone as quickly as it came. “The problem is that I don't know anything.” His voice dropped lower, the sharp edge softening. “You disappeared one day and left everyone that cared about you with no news. And all of this for what? For you to play pretend with a long-lost family? For you to fake an accent that is not yours? Wear clothes that are not your style?”

Your heart stammered in your chest — he had noticed. Of course he had. Lucien was too clever, too perceptive. You swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “Again, you don't know what I went through.”

A long silence stretched between you — the kind only shared by two people who once knew each other too well. He leaned back in his chair, one hand running through his copper hair.

“Right.” His voice was quieter now, more tired. “I can see I don't... Last time I saw you, your ears weren't slightly round.”

Your breath caught. Your hand instinctively brushed the strand of hair falling over your ear, trying to hide what you had been so careful to get used to. He had seen that too.

“Last time I saw you,” you murmured, gaze fixed on the book in your lap, “you were still in the Autumn Court praying your father would grow a heart.” The corner of his mouth twitched, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. “Nothing went how any of us planned, I see.”

You looked at him then — really looked at him — and saw how much had changed. The scar across his eye. The weight of thr mask in his features. The shadows beneath the sharp smirk.

“Your High Lord will find you.” A chill ran down your spine at his words.

“He doesn't know he's my High Lord.” Your voice barely above a whisper. “I don't even know if that court is still my home.”

Lucien's gaze softened, the sharp edges of him melting for a brief moment. “You were one of the only people in the world who made me want to see that place, based on how well you spoke about it.” His fingers tapped on the arm of the chair. “You love your home, Y/N. And even if you want to lie and say we don't know each other... I'll be your friend, okay? You're not alone.”

The words hit harder than you expected — like a knife slipped between ribs. You clenched your teeth, blinking quickly to stop the sting behind your eyes. “I've never been lonelier in my life, Lucien.” The confession slipped out before you could stop it.

For a second, neither of you moved — the silence stretching heavy and fragile between you. His hand shifted slightly on the armrest, as if he wanted to reach for you but didn't know if he should. But then Tamlin's voice echoed down the hall, sharp and impatient. Lucien sighed, pushing to his feet.

“If you ever want to talk... really talk...” He hesitated, then added, “You know where to find me.”

He left without another word, leaving you alone in the library — the ghosts of the past pressing heavy against your chest. You sat there long after he was gone, the book forgotten in your lap. Trying to remember how to breathe.

[inuhalfdemon]

The Chain Game (2/3)

[If anyone knows who I can credit for the above Fanart; PLEASE let me know! This was something sent to me and I haven't been able to track down the artist myself yet...]

Part 2

RadioApple SMUT

Part 1: Here

Part 3: Here

Brainrot into one-shot fanfiction

Rating = 18+

Word Count = 1,726 Words

Ya'll can thank @lily-lilzy-lil for it. She fed me with her kind enthusiasm. Enough so, even that I might already have a part 3 in mind...

“Are we ready for another round?” Lucifer’s voice came from the surrounding darkness.

Alastor hung…kneeling. He was bound tightly by the chains winding across his chest; wrists secured within the links wrapping above his head. The large brimstone shackle was heavy on his neck; the chain to its ring hanging loose and dragging beside him.

“Heh…is that one of the questions?” Alastor smirked, his voice a crackling radio.

A chain slithered from the blackest of shadows; twisting and hissing as it found its way home; curling itself up Alastor’s naked torso and tightening painfully. He hissed as the links burned more brands across his bare, scarred skin. 

“Yes.” Lucifer told him, stepping out from concealing shadows. “It was.” He was shirtless – bare-chested – just as Alastor was; his dress pants and shoes the only remnants to the clothing he had been wearing.

Alastor starred at the King’s exposed upper body. The radio demon’s green eyes flared wide – hungry and gleaming – drool seeping from sharpened teeth. The base to each of his antlers thickened; the smooth bone becoming heavy and long as points branched higher and higher above his head.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Lucifer asked him. “Still rutting I see…”

The demon growled; a low sound intermingling with the sharp sounds of a radio static.

“And, still losing.” Lucifer sighed, another chain slithering past him to lift and strike out just like a snake; catching and winding itself through the ring to the shackle just at the base of Alastor’s throat. The chain jerked and Alastor’s neck was pulled sharply forward.

“You look like you have sobered up, though.” Lucifer told him; approaching carefully. “Tell me, Alastor…now that my ichor has left your system; are you thirsty for more?”

Lucifer flicked clawed fingers; bringing sharp points against his own bare skin, just at the soft bunch of flesh that stretched across one shoulder. Slicing there, gold blood seeped and spilled from the cut; threading down his chest and abdomen.

Alastor snarled in answer; his eyes flaring brighter, antlers growing longer, his hair standing up – sharp and bristled; overwhelmed by his overpowering need.

“Yes…” The radio to his voice nearly screeching. “…your majesty…”

“Well, now.” Lucifer stepped closer. “Honesty and manners this time. A reward for you…I think.”

A chain dropped from Alastor, winding its way back into the dark as the other chains still supporting him shifted and moved. Alastor’s hands were released but the chains encircling his chest and neck were dragging him backward so that when they found their placements; the radio demon was stretched fully on his back; pinned to the ground. He tried to move; trying even to just to be able to prop himself up in order to see what the King was doing; but the chain tightly secured to his shackle held fast.

Alastor’s ears worked nervously. He was starring up into complete darkness; his body tense with the knowledge that Lucifer meant for him to not know what was coming.

When he felt Lucifer’s hands on his legs - moving them so that they were spread easily wide apart - and the King moved between them, Alastor growled. The sound was low and warning; promising a deadly reciprocation to whatever the fallen angel intended; given the chance…  

He felt the King moving, climbing over him so that he leaned across and over Alastor’s chest; his hands supporting his weight from either side of Alastor’s head. Lucifer’s wide golden eyes matched Alastor’s flaring bright green ones; a wicked smile spread across the King’s face as he leaned himself closer to Alastor’s face. Baring his sharp teeth and flattening his ears, Alastor fought to lift his head; meaning to bite. The chain restraining his neck tightened and any give that Alastor had found in it before was now lost.

 Laughing, Lucifer smiled down at the sinner demon lying just beneath him.

“I promised you your reward. I keep my promises, Alastor.” Lucifer told him, leaning closer so that they were face-to-face; Lucifer only just out of reach from Alastor’s sharp and pointed teeth. Lucifer tilted his head; fully exposing his still-bleeding wound he had opened across his shoulder.

Alastor’s growling choked in his throat; seeing the golden strands tracing down the King’s chest; sparce warm drops falling onto Alastor’s bare skin. The growling had turned into a brief but desperate whine for relief; Alastor’s clawed hands digging into the ground beside him; finding no purchase – claws cutting grooves into the dark floor.  

“I’m afraid you’ll have to use that rather useful tongue of yours.” Lucifer was telling him; leaning back just enough to give Alastor the best angle for full access.

Without a moment for hesitation, Alastor’s tongue lashed from between his bared teeth – long and dripping - it lapped at the streams of golden blood. A groan emitted from Alastor; barbs from his tongue pressing roughly against the fallen angel’s skin as he hungrily scraped for every…last…drop.  

Alastor’s eyes started glazing over and Lucifer chuckled.

“You’re not a very fast learner…are you.” Lucifer said darkly. It wasn’t a question. Alastor’s tension was gone. Drunk with the angel’s blood; he retreated his tongue – eyes closing as he let his head fall back.

Leaving him to his buzz; Lucifer crawled back down to kneel between Alastor’s long legs. He began working at the radio demon’s dress pants; reaching just behind the seam at the crotch, finding the bulge within and sliding Alastor’s seeping and engorged cock out.

Alastor shuddered; pleasurably. Gasping at the contact.

“You know,” Lucifer said, holding the large penis in his hand. “I, too, can do some pretty…interesting things with my tongue.” His eyes flared; sharply golden. “Shall I…demonstrate?” He asked in a purr.

“Yes.” Alastor was groaning again. “Your Majesty.”  

“That’s my deer…” Lucifer told him.

Using his own tongue now, he let it slither from between his teeth. Just as a snake’s, it stretched and flicked itself so that it tortuously skimmed the underside of Alastor’s cock – touching all along the base and shaft underneath then going to flick at the soft skin along his balls.    

Alastor was panting. A redness was spreading across his chest and face; a slick sheen of sweat coating his skin.

Lucifer continued to teasingly flick his tongue all along Alastor’s root; occasionally bringing it around to circle the shaft. The muscle there was tightening quickly.

Pausing briefly, Lucifer adjusted his hold on Alastor’s throbbing penis. “Careful, you don’t want to miss out on the best part.” Snaking his tongue out; Lucifer carefully elongated the shape so that the forks lengthened and thinned. Expertly, he directed the tips to the slit at the head of the slick cock; sliding them inside.

Alastor bucked and Lucifer pressed clawed hands into each hip; holding him steady and he worked his tongue so that it slid in further.

“Ah….” Alastor was lost. The stimulation was too incredible. Timing it perfectly, Lucifer snaked his forked-tongue deeper before slowly retreating it back out. Alastor’s body shook. Removing his tongue entirely; Lucifer took Alastor’s cock fully and quickly into his mouth; biting down sharply just as the organ tightened and sprayed cum.

Softly coiling his tongue all along the twitching cock; Lucifer sucked and swallowed before dropping it limp from his mouth.

Lucifer stood up from where he had been kneeling; there, between the radio demon’s legs.

Alastor laid, still panting and gasping. The deep red color his skin had turned was contrasting the brands of chain links in an interesting way. His clawed hands were shaking and he was drenched in sweat now. His body twitched; still feeling the waves of ecstasy crashing over it.

Lucifer laughed; stepping away to loosen his own dress pants now. He paused; then as if deciding something he slipped out of the remaining clothes entirely.

“You certainly know how to take your…licks.” Lucifer said. “If you actually are in the middle of a rut though…it’s you that could do with some mounting. I suppose you’re in enough of a manageable state that I could allow it.”

Lucifer stepped back to where he had left Alastor; still tightly restrained to the floor.

“What say you?” Lucifer asked him; the chains around Alastor coming loose now but never fully leaving him.

Alastor moved slowly. He was dazed; both from the remnants of ichor and the orgasm. Turning, he went to stand up; then thinking better of it he knelt back to the floor; eyes on the King.

“Your majesty…”  Alastor knelt; looking up – compliant.

“Good boy.”  Turning away from him – fully naked - Lucifer waved a hand and every chain holding Alastor dropped and went away into the dark; every chain save for the one holding to Alastor’s heavy brimstone collar.

Alastor smiled; standing and going to the King; dragging his chain with him.

Stopping to stand just behind Lucifer, Alastor paused; eyes flaring green, his antlers curling and twisting ever upwards.

“You may…regret this.” He said before he sunk the claws of his left hand into the flesh of Lucifer’s left hip; pulling the angel into him and spilling more blood. His right arm wrapped around the King, his clawed fingers finding his face and mouth; shoving them inside.  Snarling; he bit deep into the wound at Lucifer’s shoulder; swallowing hard as golden liquid poured out.

“Ahhhhhh…” Lucifer sunk to his knees and Alastor followed him down. His teeth still buried in the fallen angel’s shoulder; he forced the King down on all fours. Lucifer choked on his fingers; golden blood pooling on the ground from his wounds.

Gasping, Alastor released Lucifer’s shoulder. His vision blurred and darkened; the influence of angelic blood mixing with the influence of his rut. He was already hard again; his erection pressing fully into Lucifer’s bare back.

“Now…my King.” Alastor was purring darkly; sliding his fingers from Lucifer’s mouth. “I will gift to you the most fitting of thrones…”   

Lucifer gagged; blood and spit running down his chin.

“Do your worst…my deer.”

--‐‐--‐‐-‐--‐----‐---‐----------‐--‐----------------------------------------------------

Alastor jerked awake; déjà vu catching him even in his ‘half-asleep’ state.  

“Oh, what the Hell-” Followed by a sleepy yawn. “What fucking time is it?”

The room was pitch black; then a bedside light came on.

“Uh...” Alastor said, shifting awkwardly in the bed.

“AGAIN!?” Lucifer exclaimed loudly.

“Well…” Alastor replied.

“If this keeps happening, you and you’re one-eyed monster are sleeping somewhere else!”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Part 3

Brainrot credit:

@De Bergerac

The Masochism Tango

[smolvenger]

Yggdrasil (Loki x fem! Reader Oneshot)

Summary: Your husband, the god of mischief, has made the ultimate sacrifice for his friends, and the world...he lives, but now he is alone...that is until you choose to join him in his solitude and make a life there.

Warnings: MAJOR spoilers for the ending of the Loki series. Angst, but fluff and hurt/comfort. YN becomes a goddess in her YN-y moment. Brief mentions of sex and pregnancy, but no smut at all. Fix it Fic goodness. Canon and Norse mythology is not a code and more like a guideline. Is it accurate? I don't know. And this is fic world. Accuracy don't mean shit. I just want my boy to be happy after all that and do my part as a Loki fic writer after...THAT.

Word Count: 2K

@fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @muddyorbsblr @asgards-princess-of-mischief @huntress-artemiss @ijuststareatstuffhereok89

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

You walked over to the tree. It was incredibly beautiful. The vines reaching out. The colors are everywhere. The trunk of it twisting, twisting round. The blueness and soft greens that surrounded you. Light purple flowers high up, blossoming. You had heard of it in stories. Maybe dreamed of it once. But here…here in person it was even more beautiful.

“Hello there, Yggdrasil.” you greeted with a smile.

There was a breeze in the wind. It rattled the leaves above. The starry sky. It didn’t feel too cold here- it felt sweet, crisp. An early autumn night. You took several steps closer until you were right before the trunk. Your voice lowering.

“But I know who you really are…who is in there…” you continued.

The search had been long. It had been a month. A month since you saw him. The look on his face, and felt his sacrifice, his steps going forward. Now here it was-in person. Here he was.

It shivered in response. You went up, gently placing a hand on the bark. 

You felt the curves of your lips to a gentle frown. A voice that was not begging…only requesting. Soft, but grounded. As grounded as the tree was though in it’s magic it seemed like it floated where it grew.

“Please…take me to him…it is all I want, all I wish, all I ask for…please allow me to see him…even if it’s only once…”

Was your prayer answered? Even heard? You sucked in a breath, feeling your chest grow tight with anticipation. The delicate lines of both despair and hope on a thin line.The golden band around your finger felt tight- shimmering amidst the dark wood of the tree.

The vines relented. They thinned and opened up- as easily as silk. There was a glowing opening within the tree. You felt it- a stillness. As if you were waited. Expected.

Inside it, you took your steps into the heart of the tree. It felt like the cool mist, the light rain as you walked through-like the light rain that poured the first night you let him into your bed. Your heart raced, your palms clammy. 

Was this a mistake? The wrong one? It had to be…it had to! It couldn't have done that unless… it was really…no- was this it? Would Yggdrasil kill you? Destroy you for knowledge so intimate, so secret?

Branches, vines, leaves- so much wood here. There was a green light that glowed about it, shining everywhere- how perfect for him, you mused. 

Your head turned. Throat going dry and tight with dread, fear. You searched around. Eyes skittering through the thick vines.

You looked around-nothing but the greenery…

Then…there was a voice. Breathy, baritone, low, rich-and it whispered your name in echoes. 

The greenery opened up. You saw first horns. Then…

There, on a throne, surrounded by vines, there he sat. Pale and handsome. He was always handsome to you. Despite the lines of care, his drooping eyes…it was him. You knew that face- caressed it, kissed it so many times.

His eyes then lowered to you. Its blueness seemed darkened, dimmed. Then he looked at you, squinting. He whispered your name again, to you. You felt everything in you freeze. You wanted this. Processed it. It was real- very, very real.

“Is…is that…” he began to whisper.

Tears brimmed up your eyes and you cupped your mouth, as you felt them drop down your hand already.

“Loki it’s you!” you cried out.

Sobbing hard, you ran into him, almost tackling him into a hug. Crying so hard your whole body shook with each tearfall. So much your face felt hot, even as it scratched against his cloak- against the long vines. You felt his hands wrap around you. And you heard him just say your name again- an incantation. A spell to bring you back. A spell that worked. You cried as he held you, the vines around him shivering.

“What…what is it…why…why did you come here?” he asked.

You released the hug. Wiping off your tears with your sleeve like a little child. Your tone returned to the old teasing. 

“You silly man! What kind of wife abandons her husband?”

Loki’s mouth opened, but he said nothing. His face was in awe.

“I came here for you! I figured out how- and I did!” you replied.

He let out a deep sigh. He lifted his white hand, caressing your cheek. You leaned into it, enjoying the intimacy, his touch that you had been deprived of, that he had been deprived of too for so long.  

“You know I cannot leave this. Ever. I…I must do this, my love…I had to…to save all of them…to save you…I…I must make sure…their stories all…all are happy…are managed, well…even yours.” he voiced. His face serene, though a tear fell down across his cheek.

You then took his hand and clutched it. 

“Loki, the many times you comforted me when I cried. Stood by me. Protected me when I was in danger, scared. Saved me, even. And you know how…how lonely I would get in Asgard. Who else would run to my side to comfort me…but you. I shall do that for you!”

His eyes widened.

“But…you cannot give up your home, your life!” he replied.

You shook your head.

“I will make a new one here- we will make a new one here…Thor and Frigga gave me their blessing before I left. They saw how happy we made each others…and that is what they want. I told them what you did. The people you saved…and they’re…they’re proud of you.”

He blinked rapidly, more tears falling down. You lifted two of your hands- cupping his face lovingly. He had no choice but to look in your eyes.

“When we were married, we promised, before the AllFather and AllMother to always stand by each other...I will honor the vows I made on that altar, as you honored your vows to me,” you declared.

The wind rustled above. Inside, there were a few violet buds that dangled, moving slightly. Willing the flower to open.

“My darling….Asgard will lack its princess.”

“A mere consort? No! I am not an heir to anything! A mere accessory to a throne, a part of a painting…and nothing eles? And alone? Loki,  I don't need a palace, gold, riches, and titles…I only ask to be loved and safe…and Loki…you will be alone…now- you won’t be. I will stay by you. We will face this new part of your life together!”

There was a slight grown from the wood. Both of you looked about, your hands dropping. He nestled into the green cloak he wore around him. His helmet perfect for him- never once slipping off his head.

“It’s quiet here…there’s no one…nothing…a life of nothing…but making these stories” he mused.

“Then let me stay…let me help…if only…if only to be with you…I will live here. If not near- then give me access. I will stay here, come by every day. Visit for hours…just to be with you.”

“My darling…sweet, sweet wife…I was alone and I…I don’t have to…”

There were tears in his eyes.

“Thank you…thank you, my dear…”

He pressed his forehead to yours. The cold metal of the forehead touching your own. You only held hands. Felt each other- the love in your systems bursting forth.

A vine went to you, grazing against your arm. You lifted a hand.

“Which one is this?” you asked.

“This one…a man named Steve…or Marc…he’s three at once, it’s very complicated….” Loki explained.

You lifted a finger to touch it. There was a ripple. The vines shook, some of them went to you. You wondered…you lifted a hand. It allowed you to touch it. There was a small, reddish glow, it went up and through.

“You just…just…made something happen…something will occur for Steve…he’s about to learn what gifts he truly has…my dear…has this happened before?”

“No- not until now…”

“You think that…you have a certain…gift?” he asked.

The vines reacted in turn. You realzed as you touched them, you could help move these stories. Turn them- touching made something happen and Loki would tell you.

“My dear…you have a gift. One of fate…”

“Then…I guess I cannot leave now. You will help with stories. I will help with fates. We both have work to do.”

He smiled.

“Asgard now has a new goddess…” he said. You went up, and kissed him. You cried as your lips touched. And there was a shudder that went through the trees and rattled through the forest like a wind. 

It was an adjustment. Making a home just outside of the remains of the earth. Fortunately, you knew enough magic to get by. To transport and conjure food. Even gather some from the nearby village. Enough to make a garden, a home.

And every day, you walked out to Yggdrasil. Vanished for hours. Then returned. 

For the villagers, it was odd that a goddess of fate was just going about the streets getting groceries among them. You merely shrugged and laughed it off. 

You said your husband was busy. Quite busy. He had an important job-crucial one. Yet people wondered at you- the mysterious goddess who lived in a cottage by the woods, whose husband never appeared, and vanished into the forest. The forest at the end of the world, mind you- every day and returned with a smile on her face as if nothing happened. 

It was quiet and simple. No opulent balls and feasts of Asgard. But no fathers with clear favorites and tears and bloody battles with countless corpses and heartbreak either.

 How often you polished the horns on his helmet and washed his cloak by the river. Then he would tell you all about what happened. Fates and stories.  You would mend them, mind them. Determine what worked, what did not. And you would laugh and cry so hard over every story on earth of each person you would feel like a rag rung out…yet in a good way.

And you would wrap your arms around him. Sit on his lap on the throne, as you did back then so many times before. Kiss him and nuzzle into him. Feel his touch- remind him through the brush of your fingers through his dark curls. I am here, I am here, I am here. 

It was like being remarried- A honeymoon fortress of oak, willow leaves, and flower petals. The newness of your husbands role, his abilities. As well as yours. But without everything else…no, you didn’t need anything else. Only each other.

It was a month later, you knew the change. You felt it. The suspicion. The inkling you felt since you began your journey. Counting on your fingers from when it last happened, and your journey to him began, the timing was right. The intuition. The small ringing of a bell in the back of your head getting louder, and louder with each passing week. The one reason on the backburner that was never confirmed. And now it was. You both wanted it. Hoped for it. Now, though the circumstances could have never been guessed, you would both receive your wish. The confirmation long awaited. 

On Yule, you teasingly adored the tree in ribbons. Loki inside scoffed, rolling his eyes. But it only made you laugh harder. In Spring, you collect its flowers and put them in vases. In Summer, you cooled beneath it’s shade. Loki made sure your story was hte one most preciously protected, guarded. You made old charms from the flowers with his magic- for your safety and good health. Flowers worn over your head in crowns, on your neck. And in Autumn, you watched as they oranged and swirled. How lovely they were surrounding you as you held each other. 

A year and a half went by before you knew it, as swift as mortals lives. the cottage had an infant girl living in it.  She had dark hair, and your skin and eyes. And she was starting to walk. You held her up by both hands in the grass before the forest.  

“Come along Freya! There’s a good girl! A step at a time!” you cooed at her.

Who knew what her powers would be. What she was goddess of. But here, she wasn’t a goddess. She was just a baby.

She was Babbling as the grass tickled her feet. The loving, green dress you tucked over her. You held her tiny, chubby hand as she experimentally bent her knees. Then she made a sound of triumph.

Motherhood was not going to stop your gifts and powers as a goddess of fate. You touched the vines and turned fates however. But you had to give happy ones to the friends of him. The ones who meant so much to him, did so much for him. For Mobius, you made sure his sons grew up healthy and strong and happy, with long vacations by lakes and oceans. For Ouroboros, you gave him several awards and successes as a writer and the inspiration and motivation to create, pour water into his own well, and never lose the joy of it. You made sure they all were safe and content. 

 You scooped little Freya up your arms, giving her a kiss on the side of her head. She was behaving well- not crying loud to wake the whole village. Needing perhaps a cradle from the vines of Yggdrasil again in Norns Know what time of night if she was especially fussy. 

You walked her again to the tree. She looked out with her wide eyes. One hand trying to touch the leaves, the vines, the branches. A thing of flowers bloomed for her. One leafy vine went over to graze her cheek. She kicked in enthusiasm, giggling in such pure joy.

 You smiled at her and then at Yggdrasil. Seeing the portal open once again.

 Knowing he was inside again- to see her. Meet her. Hold her as he did when she was a swaddled newborn to be brought- for him to just hold her. Despite the great loneliness of Loki’s inital fate, you all did everything to change it. He would meet Freya and watch her grow up. He would see her, hold her, love her. Again. Again. And again. 

You turned your face to the baby with a smile, and then to the portal door and the god of stories waiting inside.

“Freya- let’s go see your father.”

[srbachchan]

DAY 6215

Jalsa, Mumbai Feb 21, 2025/Feb 22 Fri/Sat 12:27 am

The body .. the gift of the ones that produced it .. the body that carries from birth all that it has inherited through the dna genes of the reproductive elements .. and which remains with select additions till it perishes .. and none in this entire hemisphere be alike or common ..

Each day is a revelation of the unimaginable structures it embellished to exist its limited bearing .. leaving behind the gifts it acquired to stimulate and empower or give impression of continuity in the challenges it faced during its life duration ..

Some enlightened minds collect and leave behind through debate discussion and writing what they were able to give in gifting .. many others remained silent .. bore the impress themselves and lived the life they wanted or desired ..

How does it contribute when shared .. we are all each different .. our sharing shall be be different too .. does the contribution hold then .. or are we to be enlightened , by the enlightenment of them that espouse .. it shall not have universatility , in the more democratic sense .. but ..

Does true universality exist ..

Ask and ye shall be challenged dabated and enveloped into a universe that professes the ultimate knowledge it maintains .. to be an outsider to it cause nt just concern to them that profess , but to you as well ..

Am i right in thought ? Was I too independent in view ? Does non following or follow be a negative environ ..

Numerals be the governing factor .. be the argument or lament ..

I can follow the Pied Piper and lead the unwanted to their destined elimination .. but do I need a Pied Piper .. that is assumed importance , levitated to a pinnacle of the know all ..

When the World discovers each day when it evolves each day , how can there be a pinnacle of the know all .. the know all has never stopped nor shall it ..

each believes in the oft heard expression :

Let us just BE ..

It be the most unconvincing element of expression language ..

Affection and love ..

we are all the celebrated armoured warrior, that face the intricacies of the twisted tree branch of life , represented , by it's smouldering withered presence in the presence of that young lady almost unseen , by its smallness .. yet pretty enough when given it's closed up lit face profile ..

AAAH .. too philosophic temper in the Blog of the DAY ..

let loose the act and deliver the creative designed and executed for a Brand by moi .. song tune singing. part writing, acting by the blogomaestra ..

बहुत ढूँढा, मिल नहीं रहा, जब मिलेगा तो डाल देंगे

अमिताभ बच्चन

[dreaisgrayte]

HEHHEHEHEHEH WHATS UP MY BBG? I hope you have had a good day/night! I have this idea in my head that I'm ITCHING to get out but you can feel free to ignore❤️

Can you do what would happen and what would Sanemi, Giyu, Tanjiro, and Obani do if reader got turned into a demon during a battle?

LIKE I SAID FEEL FREE TO IGNORE!! YOU DA GOAT BBG❤️

GEHEHE I'M DOING SO GREAT! 🫶🫶I HOPE YOU'RE DOING EVEN BETTER THOUGH 😡🥹 It was raining here all day and I was a worrisome parent and got soaked going to check on my kitties🥰🥰. (also why would I ignore such an angsty request MWAHAHA😈)

Includes: Sanemi Shinazugawa, Giyu Tomioka, Tanjiro Kamado, and Obanai Iguro CW: pretty much reader dies in all scenarios, but... yeah no my heart hurt writing these so there's no hope for any of us. Death, angst, sadness.

Sanemi Shinazugawa

The demon’s claws slice through you, tearing your skin apart. You fall to the ground, crumpled and bleeding

“San-Sanemi,” You choke out, the life draining from your beautiful eyes.

A vengeful scream erupts from his throat, burning his very vocal cords as he rushes the creature

Its head falls to the ground with a gruesome thump, Sanemi dropping to his knees next to your corpse. “YN...I’m so-”

Your eyes, they’re open and your pupils pull into slits. His next breath catches in his throat. “Sorry,” He breathes, his eyes stinging with hot tears

He picks up his nichirin blade, using it to help him into a standing position. Sanemi’s choked sobs echo through the forest valley. The glint of fresh sunlight reflecting off of his blade as he plunges the tip into your heart. The sun is cresting over the mountains in a new dawn.

Your garbled noises nearly drive him to the brink of whisking you off to a shadowy haven, but you wouldn’t want to live out your life being the very thing you fought so hard against. 

As the ashen belongings of your body blow past him he feels like he’s just stabbed himself through the heart.

“Sorry…so sorry.” He cries, but the sunlight dries his tears. 

Giyu Tomioka

He was by your side one second then cornered off by a second demon. He wants to remain close to you and protect you, but as he lands the final blow to the demon in front of him he catches the tail end of the demon lifting you by your throat. 

His blood runs cool, the demon’s features twisting in a cruel sneer as it makes you lick up the blood from his wounds. 

Too late, too late, too late

Just like with Sabito, Giyu was too late to save you. His head spins, running through possibilities to somehow not fuck up again

Tanjiro and Nezeko were a special case, who’s to say Giyu would break through to you? And when he didn’t? Would his heart finally go numb? The risk was too great.

The demon has dropped you and ran off, leaving you panting on the ground. You touch your throat, hacking up the blood it tried to feed you. A glimmer of hope sprouts in Giyu’s chest. Maybe you had saved yourself? You meet his gaze, tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Giyu,” you smile, the one he’d grown accustomed to seeing every morning when you greeted him. “Giyu, I need you to be strong,” you start, but he can’t hear you. He doesn’t want to.

“No, I’m not strong,” His voice is trembling. His body aches with the knowledge of what you’re about to request of him. He couldn’t do it. You meant too much to him and he was a selfish man. When everyone else ignores him you see through his suffering to the little boy underneath, scared of being seen for the fraud he was. 

There’s that smile again. “Giyu. You’re a Hashira, you’re more than strong – you’re kind. You know what you have to do. Please, before it’s too late.”

Giyu’s body feels limp as tears mix with his sweat. He was too weak to save Sabito, but he could still save you. He yells into the night, a pained scream that rustles the birds from their branches.

Your head thumps to the side, fanning into dust as he sinks to his knees, sobbing over your remains. Turns out – he wasn’t numb after all. 

Tanjiro Kamado

You’re bloody, a demon standing over you, it’s foul stench dripping round droplets onto your wound

“Let’s see if you have the heart to kill one of your own, slayer.”

Tanjiro had been through this before, with his younger sister Nezeko and things were turning out alright with her.

Would his bond be strong enough to snap you out of the demonic craze? You had acted like an older sibling to him, watching over his progress and always cheering him on. Often he thought the gods had blessed him with you so he would have someone to look after him when he had no one. 

“YN!” He screams, the demon slipping away into the night. “YN talk to me. If you can still talk that means there’s still time.” But the veins on your face bubble and contort your expression to one of hatred.

Tanjiro falls back on his hands, heart loudly echoing in his ear. “YN, please… it’s me…your little brother.” But it’s far too late to work on your once human heart. As you rise to your feet Tanjiro stumbles to his as well

His katana is shaking in his grip. You were a demon, but also his friend. He can’t see through his blurry vision. 

“Pathetic,” you spit, then before Tanjiro can will his heart to do what he knew he couldn’t, you spill into the shadows

His vow to cut the head from Muzan Kibutsuji’s body grew a thousandfold that night

Obanai Iguro

You had been on this mission for weeks now, fighting side by side. Obanai had grown fond of you.

That was until a demon stole you away, reminding him that fondness sprouted weaknesses. However, he tracks you down regardless.

The demon had set up in a cave, the dawn making this rescue mission easier, but as he steadily slides into the heart of the cave he finds you’ve been tied up, dried green blood on your lips

“Fuck,” Obanai hisses into the darkness, searching around for the creature that did this to you

“It’s gone Obanai…” You drawl, your voice raspy and strained. He winces at the state of you.

He rushes to untie you, hoping it’s not too late and the insect Hashira can work some miracle cure on you. If Obanai was fond of you he couldn’t even imagine how the corp members felt about you. 

It had been a while of your fighting off the urge to turn, there had to be hope for you. If only he could get you back to headquarters fast enough…

As if reading his mind you shake your head solemnly. “Please, let me see the sunrise one last time,” you croak, gaze drifting to the sunlight filtering in from the cave’s entrance. 

Obanai squeezes his eyes shut, the electric buzz of his heart making it hard to fulfill your request. He was stagnant, breath quickening as you pleaded with him.

He offers you his hand, willing his chest to return to steel. He leads you to the outside world and your grip tightens as you step into the sun. Obanai’s body aches with unrelenting sorrow. If only he’d kept a better eye on you.

Soon enough, a faint ‘thank you’ blows past him on the wind, and he rushes away from the spot, not willing to look at what he had so carelessly taken for granted. 

[mae-gi-writes]

Finders Keepers | Gally [TMR] - Part 2

In which Gally gets soft for one of the boys in the Glade, only…is it a boy? alternatively; In which Mai disguises herself into a boy to fit in the Glade, only to be suspected by the keen eyes of the Builder's Keeper.

Taglist: @edynmeyer1 @ss28

Also available on Wattpad.

PREVIOUS || NEXT >>

-----

The first time Gally's knowledge about the new Greenie gets challenged, is a few weeks after his first arrival.

Truth to be told, the Builder was surprised at the new boy's tiny stature when he first emerged from the Box. His limbs were frail and looked sickly, his face so tiny, tinier than Newt's, and he was about five feet four, barely reaching above Gally's chest. Needless to say that he was less than impressive. Physically anyway.

He attributed it to thinking that maybe Mai was young, and so brushed it off as part pf the Creator's plan, no matter how twisted and sick they got.

But the first time Gally gets suspicious, is one very specific night.

It's been a few days since his last conversation with the Greenie during dinner and it seems that he's made himself quite comfortable with Frypan in the kitchen. It's currently evening and everyone's slowly falling into bed after a hard day's work. Gally has been speaking quietly to one of his Builders, only to realize that he hasn't showered yet.

"I'll be back." He says, grabbing a fresh pair of clothes from his hut, a towel slinging over his shoulder, before he walks in the direction of the showers.

The stalls are further away in a more hidden part of the forest, far enough that it gives you some semblance of privacy for those who don't feel comfortable bathing in the open. Gally doesn't really mind, it's just a shower after all, and they're all boys.

He walks through a few of the scattered branches along the paved off trail they'd created, before his ears pick up on the sound of running water.

Probably a lone soul, he thinks, before pushing open the wooden door.

"Oh shuck!"

No sooner has he stepped in that a towel is suddenly flung in his face. Gally yells out in shock, stumbling back in surprise as his hands try to find purchase onto the wooden walls of the half-built stall. He's so busy trying to get it off him that he barely register's a voice screaming:

"Don't look!"

"Wh—"

"I said don't look!"

"Okay okay fine!" He yells back, holds out his hands in a semblance of mercy, "I won't look."

Silence. And then, the voice speaks again with hesitation, "you—you promise."

"Yeah," Gally pauses, "yeah I promise."

Why is he even promising such things?! This is ridiculous! Gally has every right to rip this towel off him and yell bloody murder about how rude this is— but something in that person's voice has him hesitating. There's fear and something else, something he can't quite put his finger on.

So he waits, as promised.

And after a few minutes — or what feels like eternity, the voice re-emerges, "alright. I'm done."

Slowly, so as not to scare off the boy, Gally reaches up to pull off the towel from his face.

"Mai?"

His eyebrows rise in surprise, but the said boy seems to be intent on averting his eyes. His hair, freshly washed, falls into his face and for a minute he looks so lost that pity swells in the Builder's chest.

But then, logic breaks through and prompts him to ask, "what are you doing, you slinthead?"

"I--I'm sorry I panicked."

"You panicked? For what?" Gally rolls his eyes but the flush taking over Mai's face is enough to cause him to soften a little. He proceeds to dump his own towel and change of clothes onto the latter's shoulders, "right. Since you're here, might as well prove yourself useful."

"Wha--" Mai stutters out, red in the face, and Gally lets out a sigh of exasperation. He pushes the younger boy out of the shower stall, "stop being such a wuss, Greenie." before slamming the door in Mai's face. -----

For a minute, Mai stands frozen. Not sure what to do.

Here she is, holding Gally's -- yes, Gally -- clothes and towel as if they're casual friends, as if they're more than passing acquaintances. She's not sure what to do with them, not certain whether she should be chucking them over the stall and making a run for it. That idea sounds tempting, but Mai's too much of a coward to face Gally's wrath afterwards.

So she decides to stay, biting her lip upon hearing the faucet twist and Gally's tired sigh. He sounds like he needs that shower, and yet why can't she stop picturing his broad shoulders without his shirt? Is is chest as defined as it looks? He's so tall, Mai wonders whether he gets it from his dad or his mom. And his arms...

Stop it! She snaps herself out of her daze, what is wrong with you?

Her cheeks are burning when she reaches up to touch them, and Mai quickly tries to think of something else to calm down her heart that's suddenly beating like a hummingbird in her chest.

It's not like she's blind either. Gally is attractive, mainly because he's so huge and tall and everything that girls would want in a guy. So can anyone really blame her?

She's so caught up in her own thoughts that she doesn't hear Gally until he shouts out her name two or three more times.

"--Mai! Don't tell me you ran away you shank!"

"Oh--uh--I'm here!" Mai fumbles with the towel, wondering whether she'll be able to chuck it at him. But the shower door swings open a fraction, enough for Gally's hand to pass through.

She swallows, watching as his bare hand grabs onto the towel and disappears behind the wall. Next come his clothes, and she almost sighs in relief when the Builder finally steps out fully clothed, hair damp, and skin glowing red from the shower warmth.

Gally's swiping the towel through his hair upon noticing her staring at him, "what?" he asks gruffly, voice echoing in a lower baritone that has Mai's spine in shivers.

She whips her head away, "nothing."

"You got a problem with naked guys or what?" he can't help but ask, side-eyeing her in the process.

"I--No! It's just--I--" Mai stumbles through words as she tries to rack her brain for a coherent response. Biting her lip, she finally mumbles out, "I'm not used to it, is all."

Gally hums, "Never heard of that one before. You like guys?"

The question comes so out of the blue that it takes the girl a few seconds to realize what he's asking of her. What he thinks she is.

And before she can think twice, she blurts out, "yes."

Gally's eyes widen. He looks at her for a minute as he digests the information. Mai looks back at him, cheeks blazing with red despite realizing that he might bully her for this kind of confession.

Maybe that's why she's quick to add, "don't tell anyone." she pauses, hesitates, "please."

There's a small pause, before Gally dips his head into a nod. Mai lets out a breath of relief. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to be the type of person that gives out useless gossip, nor does he seem like he'd blabber to any of his close friends. Bullying her though, that might be on his list of must-do's now that he's aware of her supposed sexual preference.

They're nearing the Glade now and Mai's readying herself to come up with an excuse when the Builder beats her to it.

"I want extra eggs."

Mai almost stumbles and catches herself. She blinks up at him, "you want—"

"Extra eggs in the morning. You heard me," Gally's eyes are intense on hers and he folds his arms, "or I can spill your dirty little secret—"

"It's not dirty!"

"Should I then?" Challenge glistens in his eyes, amusement dangling from his lips.

"No— ugh— fine. I'll give you extra eggs." Mai's shoulders slump. She just hopes no one will take notice of this sudden preference.

"And extra curry at lunchtime and dinner."

She throws him a glare, "that's too much."

"Then I guess I'll spread the word first thing tomorrow--"

"Okay fine fine! Yes, you'll get extra curry. Just--don't tell anyone." Mai feels like begging might prove useful at this point, the way Gally stands there looking satisfied of how much of a wreck she's being because of him, "please, Gally."

He holds out his hand, grinning, "it's a deal, Greenie." 

"My name is Mai," she mutters while gripping his hand. She can't help but notice how it engulfs hers entirely. Jesus, this guy's a monster.

"Good that," he's already turning to go back to his hut but then stops in mid-action, an amused smile thrown over his shoulder, "goodnight Greenie. And stop staring, you look like you might drool."

"Oh shut up Gally!" 

But the boy is already gone and walking away by then, his laughter echoing through the air. Mai rolls her eyes, grumbling under her breath as she makes it back to her own hammock squeezed in-between one too many. 

Great. She's definitely not looking forward to tomorrow.