#also sorry if the images seem fuzzy

[tomahachi12]

Life’s sure got its Ups and Downs, eh, pal?

[shayneysides]

hobie: kill yourself

pavitr: WHAT THE HELL BRO WHAT DID I DO

original format from @ha-youwish in this post!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Steal Your Heart (Part 1)

When the calling card of the infamous Knave of Hearts arrives, he’ll rob his victims blind of their most treasured items on the appointed date. Enter ace detective Yuu accompanied by rookie cop Deuce Spade, both seeking to apprehend the Knave and bring him to justice.

Will they succeed, or will the phantom thief steal their valuables--and their hearts--first?

This was originally meant to be one fic, but it was getting to be WAY too long. I decided to split it in half and release this part now and the second part (which I am still working on!) later. This first part focuses more on Yuu and Deuce; the second part will be more Yuu and Ace.

(Please note: there are slight romantic implications in the form of an Ace/Yuu/Deuce love triangle, but those elements could also be interpreted as platonic or as just playful teasing with no additional meaning. It’s all in the eyes of the reader!)

Imagine this...

The police station’s waiting room was a familiar sight.

With time, the shiny checkered floor had grown matte, marred with scratches and scuffs from the boots that crossed it on a daily basis. Someone had taken to attempt to pretty up the otherwise dull space by hanging out abstract paintings on the cream-colored walls, and a vase of white roses dripping with red paint at the check-in desk. There was as even a glass tank which housed a small family of colorful hedgehogs.

Maybe they were meant to be welcoming—but really, they were more clashing than anything. Certainly not a fit for the stiff atmosphere of the station.

Still the fluorescent lightbulbs buzzed faintly, flickering in and out on occasion. The sound distracted from the old television mounted in a corner to entertain guests. It seemed to play commercials on a loop more often than it played actual shows. Currently, an Olympus Corp. branded tablet was being toted as the next big technological marvel—though the TV’s audio was fuzzy at best, and the image half static.

A coffee table pushed to the wall, stacked with a new stash of magazines. Whoever updated the reading materials—most likely the friendly senior officer with orange waves for hair—was into the latest trends, often selecting fashion magazines with high gloss finishes. A dangerously beautiful man graced the covers of many of them, dressed in the hottest summertime styles while looking the part of an untouchable ice queen.

As usual, the station was scented with coffee and tea, the beverages of choice for many officers burning the midnight oil or working overtime. The chief demanded it at times to meet deadlines and goals—he was such a stickler for them—and the caffeine helped those under him stay sane as they went about their duties.

In the afternoons, most were either out on lunch or on patrol, lessening the foot traffic at HQ. There was only one man in uniform, seated behind the desk and filing some papers.

Yuu shifted in their own chair, adjusting the rim of the baseball cap upon their head. They were suited in an inconspicuous jacket and sneakers, fingers toying with a badge in a pocket, hidden out of view. To the common man, they were a jogger--but one flash of their lilac gemstone bound to a black and white striped ribbon, and there would be no doubt as to what their true identity was.

The smell of coffee and tea grew stronger, and Yuu glanced up from behind the bill of their hat.

The bespectacled man from behind the fro

nt desk had approached. He had a sheepish smile, bearing a paper cup filled with hot brown liquid and a napkin with a donut laid upon it. Bright pink icing dusted with sugared violet petals crowned the golden fried pastry.

“Detective.”

“Mr. Clover.” Yuu nodded—a terse, polite greeting. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Please, just ‘Trey’ is fine.” He offered the treats, which they readily accepted. “Sorry for calling you in on such short notice. I’m sure you’re busy juggling your other cases—but I think I speak for the entire department when I say we’re thankful that you were able to make it.”

“No worries, I’m used to it in this line of work,” Yuu replied. “It must be something pretty urgent this time around. The Chief sounded frantic over the phone.”

Trey rubbed at his chin, grasping for the right words. “Let’s just say he’s not in the best of moods right now. You’ll need that sugar to get through this in one piece.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“Just trying to avoid any trouble. You’d better finish them before you step into his office. You know how he hates it when there are crumbs or spills in there.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Yuu gave a joking salute before starting to pack away at their snack. The drink was the instant kind, and practically scalding, but it was easy to tell that the donut was homemade. The pastry, flaky on the outside and fluffy on the inside, dusted with sugar granules and sweet icing. “Wouldn’t want the Chief to be blowing a fuse again.”

“No, definitely not. He’s done too much of that lately.” Trey carefully eyed Yuu’s donut, now only half of it left. “Oh, but be sure to brush your teeth a thorough cleaning tonight, or I might have some problems with you. Cavities and staining are real dangers, you know.”

“Are you Assistant Chief of Police or my dental hygienist?” Yuu took a generous swig, then a bite just as big. “You worry too much about everything.”

“Ahahah… Do I? It’s a habit, I guess. Comes with the job.”

“That stressful, huh?”

“Well, I do what I can to smooth things over. Hopefully you can too. It’s been difficult on our department with the Chief all rattled up about the… situation.” He stopped himself. “I’m sure you’ll hear all about it from him.”

So the case is top-secret, Yuu concluded with the last of their donut. Not to be discussed in the public.

They ran their tongue across the length of their mouth, lapping up the remains of sugary residue. “I understand. The details are not to leave his office.”

“You catch on quickly. No wonder why the Chief thinks so highly of your abilities.”

“Flattery’s a part of your tool kit as well, Trey?”

He raised his eyebrows. “… You’ve worked long enough with us to figure these things out. Nothing gets by you, it seems.”

“UGIGIGIGIGGGGHHHH!!”

The remainder of Yuu’s drink sloshed around in its cup, set into motion by the bloodcurdling scream.

A familiar man with orange waves erupted from the chief’s office, hurriedly slamming the door shut behind him. His typically relaxed features were arranged in panic, his hair frazzled.

“How did trying to calm him work out, Cater?” Trey inquired half-heartedly. It was a courtesy more than genuine curiosity.

“What do you think?” the senior officer groaned, sinking where he stood.

Yuu quickly finished their drink, tossing their trash—the evidence they had been there—away and then stood, adjusting their jacket. “That sounds like it’s my cue.”

“Yeah, it is.” Trey sighed, frowning. “He’s in a tough spot right. Be kind to him, will you? That’s all I ask.”

“You got it.” Yuu tipped their baseball cap as they passed the officer. “Thank you for the pick-me-up. I’ll be seeing you, then. Officer Diamond—get some rest.”

“Good luck.”

“You’ll need it, Yuu-chan! Brace yourself.”

The Police Chief was a small but serious man.

His character came through in his office space: books on law and order neatly arranged on shelves, papers and files alphabetically organized in their cabinets, and pens evenly spaced apart and arranged in rows. A crystal vase with deep red roses was poised beside his writing implements. A plate polished to a fine shine was propped up at his desk, reading: Riddle Rosehearts, Chief of Police.

Perched imposingly despite his short stature in his seat, he impatiently tapped a finger on an arm. Riddle’s face was a telltale red and veiny, proof of his earlier outburst, but was beginning to cool into a faint, smooth pink.

There was already another man in the office, sitting across from the Police Chief. He was pale and jittery in a suit the color of the night and sewn with blue sequins and glitter. A top hat rested upon his raven locks, the brim of it shading his hauntingly golden eyes.

Yuu removed their hat and, keeping it to their chest, gave a shallow bow as they entered. “Sir.”

One move out of line, one hair out of place, and they suspected he, in his volatile and vulnerable state, would explode anew.

“Welcome, Detective. I’m glad you could join us today.” Every word was a gruff puff of air, a leash with which to wrest control of his rage. Riddle gestured to the empty chair beside the nervous man. “Sit.”

Yuu obeyed, sinking into the seat offered. They casted a glance at the stranger adjacent to them, who was fiddling with his velvet-lined gloves.

“Mr. Crowley, this is the independent detective from Stray Cat Investigations that I had previously mentioned to you. The force has collaborated with them for a number of difficult cases in the past. Their wit and strategic skills have made them an invaluable asset. I thought it prudent to have them return to join us for your case as well.

“Yuu, meet Dire Crowley. He is the esteemed director and curator for the Sage’s Island Museum, and he’s come to us with his woes.”

“Hello, Mr. Crowley,” Yuu said politely. “It’s nice to meet you.”

He responded with a tired attempt at a smile. “Yes, you too.”

“Now that we’re all acquainted with one another...” Riddle produced a file from beneath his desk and placed it before himself. “Do you care to explain, or shall I?”

“I-I’ll elaborate!” Crowley crowed. He picked at a collection of keys belted to his waist, glistening gold under artificial lights. “The Sage’s Island Museum is planning a new exhibition on the Great Seven. As part of the exhibit, we are having many priceless artifacts flown in from all over Twisted Wonderland. We have donations from even Briar Valley’s royal family!!

“There will also be a great number of important VIP guests present for the grand opening of the exhibit. Royalty, wealthy benefactors, important diplomats, businessmen, celebrities... All individuals who wish to see their history on display! This is very important, you see!! M-My reputation--er, I mean, the museum’s reputation--is on the line here!!”

“Right.” Yuu nodded as they parsed through the information. “I’m following what you’re putting down. And where does your problem arise, Mr. Crowley?”

“Ah, now that,” Riddle smirked, “is the question of the hour.”

He opened his file, pulling out...

A single playing card, its back facing Yuu.

“I trust you’ve been keeping up with the news?”

“As any good detective would. There have been several robberies lately. Terrible, really.” Yuu’s expression clouded with concentration. “Hmm... but if it’s a potential robbery that you’re concerned about, Mr. Crowley... Doesn’t the Sage’s Island Museum boast a state-of-the-art security system from Olympus Corp.? I doubt the average thief would be able to bypass it.”

“That’s just the trouble,” Crowley loudly lamented.

“We are dealing with no ordinary thief,” Riddle clarified.

“It’s not?”

“No. Far from it.” The Police Chief exhaled sharply. “The string of robberies from before--they’re connected by a single thread, perpetuated by the same lone culprit. And now that scoundrel intends to continue his crime spree.”

“I’ve never heard of this before.”

“You shouldn’t have. It was a top-secret operation within my force since the first of its kind.”

“Why am I being told of it now?”

“Because, loathe as I am to admit it, the culprit has managed to outwit us and elude capture each and every time, He employs a bag of cheap parlor tricks and smoke and mirrors like the coward he is,” Riddle confessed begrudgingly. The blue-grey of his eyes were steely and stubborn. “A case as important as this needs the additional man—and brain—power, Detective.”

He placed the playing card down and slid it toward the detective. “This arrived in the morning at Mr. Crowley’s desk, the same as all the prior robberies. It gave him quite the fright. He rushed all the way to the station to beg for our assistance.”

“This is...” Yuu gingerly turned the card over, revealing a message scrawled on the other side in bright red gel ink. Each letter was big and bubbly, bursting with cheek and pomp.

Their heart jumped.

To the Old Crow that safeguards the Museum,

Heyo~

Your pockets look a lil’ heavy there, so I’ll help you out. (Aren’t I so kind?) Three days from now, I’ll claim one of your most prized treasures at the stroke of midnight.

Stand back and watch as I perform the greatest magic trick you’ll ever see... and make the portrait of the Queen of Hearts vanish before your very eyes. It’ll be a show-stopper!!

Until then,

Phantom Thief Knave of Hearts <3

P.S. Send the cops my regards, they can’t catch me lol (especially when their teapot tyrant’s patience is in SHORT supply geddit)

“They’re just flat-out announcing what their intentions are,” Yuu realized. They were half impressed, half shocked at the gall. “You said all of the victims received messages like this?”

“Calling cards, yes.” The fury had returned to Riddle’s features, causing his voice to spike and strain. “It’s infuriating!! What does he get off on, misappropriating magic as cheap parlor tricks for crime, writing notes in such a cocksure manner, taunting us to pursue him?!

“Not only is he poking fun at my height and committing a crime, but for mere SPORT?! For the THRILL of it?! He’s making a mockery of the good people of this island and of my men and our efforts to secure the peace!!”

The Police Chief slammed a fist down on his desk, rattling his glass vase and setting his perfectly straight pens askew. Crowley shrunk back in fear. “That Knave of Hearts...!! He must be stopped at all costs!!”

“Y-Yes, absolutely!!” Crowley chimed in. “For my--er, I mean, for the museum’s sake, this criminal must be put behind bars!! That’s why I’ve come to you, my good people!

“My taxpayer dollars help fund the police force, so I’ve come to collect on what its promise to protect and to serve the community!! Well, here’s the community at your doorstep asking you to protect and to serve!!”

“That’s why you want to put me on this case,” Yuu concluded, clasping the calling card to their racing heart. “To prevent this from going down tonight.”

“And furthermore,” Riddle added, “to investigate the identity of this so-called phantom thief once the museum is safely secured.”

“That’s a tall order, sir.”

“You’ll have access to our force’s resources, and to my officers. You will assist in overseeing this operation, with maps and outlines of the museum’s security detail from Mr. Crowley. We’ll cooperate to create a plan of attack to apprehend the Knave.”

“You misunderstand me. I never said I wouldn’t take the job,” Yuu coolly informed the Chief. Their mouth cocked upwards with confidence. “I’m always up for a challenge.”

“Oh, blessed day!! From the very bottom of my oh-so-generous heart, thank you very much!!” Crowley cried tearfully.

For the first time the entire briefing, Riddle smiled back at Yuu. “Hmph. That’s what I like to hear. Happy to be working with you again, Detective.”

“Likewise, Chief.”

The sun had already set when Yuu exited the station, the stars blinking into existence. Several hours had been spent picking the museum curator’s brain with a fine-toothed comb, looking over layouts, and memorizing security detail. The information had been well-stocked, and now came the time to let it marinate and bloom into plans.

Stuffing their hands in their pockets, Yuu shuffled down the sidewalk and past rows of parked vehicles. Ahead, neon lights flashed in and out, and the trains rattled on their well-worn tracks, buses and cars honking at each other, the chatter of street vendors filling the air.

And something different than the usual tonight.

The city never slept, always buzzed with energy. Yuu had become accustomed to its sights and sounds, finding them even comforting. Their best ideas were conceived against the hum of the cityscape. It was just soft enough to not fully distract, but just noticeable enough to tug at their thoughts for long enough to stray into new territories and concepts.

Light from lonely streetlamps created tears in the darkness, illuminating the path to their favorite downtown thinking spot: the Mostro Lounge. A good (albeit overpriced) drink would chase away their tiredness.

Yuu continued with that promise in mind, every step catlike. First quick, next slow, then quick, moderate, slow, quick, slow, quick, moderate. Their speed, ever alternating.

Their ears strained against the sounds of the city, slowly parsing through the individual elements.

Trains, buses, cars, chatter… and the soft footsteps masked by them. Footsteps which matched Yuu’s pace.

There was no mistaking it now.

I’m being followed.

They didn’t look to see who it was—the first rule of tailing a target was to never alert them to your awareness. Yuu would know (as oftentimes they were the one in the position of tailer).

They cast their eyes across the street, which was busy with bodies. Once Yuu merged with the crowd, they could easily shake off their stalker.

Their feet picked up their pace again, hurrying to the crosswalk. It was a glaring red, advising pedestrians to stop.

Shoot, Yuu cursed.

They felt a presence step up beside them. From the corner of their eye, they could make out a dark form--clothes. Yuu pretended to check the time on their phone, and glimpsed him in the reflection.

He was in a hoodie, with the hood pulled up and head down to conceal his features. His hands, too, were out of sight, a sea of baggy fabric hiding identifying features, save for his frame. Lanky, but reasonably packed with muscle to keep up with Yuu.

The man shifted, and his sight grazed theirs. His eyes were hard and icy, a silent threat.

Yuu quickly focused on the crosswalk light. Their heartbeat became as loud as the surrounding sounds. Screeching above the vehicles, shouting from the rooftops. THA-THUMP, THA-THUMP, THA-THUMP.

At last, the light turned from red to white.

Walk.

They started--and so did he.

“Excuse me.” A hand came upon their shoulder. The other pulled at something with a sinister glint. “Do you have a second?”

No walking, Yuu corrected themselves. Run!!

They sprinted down the crosswalk, jostling pedestrians with a hasty “sorry!” thrown back at them. As Yuu weaved through the crowd as fast as they could, they could not completely shunt out the man after them.

“Hey, please wait!! Where are you going?! C-Come back, I need to talk to you!”

His voice carried above the others. People jolted back, the crowd parting to make way for the man to charge forth. His volume swelled louder and louder as he gained on them.

Towering apartments seemed to bear down on Yuu. Their windows, glaring.

A shop. Find a shop and get inside!!

Yuu pumped their arms, pleaded for their legs to move more efficiently.

Again, a weight fell upon their shoulder. It was a clamp, fingers biting Yuu’s skin through their jacket as they dug in and held firm.

The other hand wielded the same shining object that it had before. Yuu looked more closely this time, and the unease in them dissipated. It was not the pointed tip of a knife, but the glint of a familiar officer’s badge wreathed in golden roses.

The man tore off his hood with a sigh--though Yuu noticed that he wasn’t one bit out of breath. Navy bangs fell across his forehead, his eyes a peacock green-blue, much friendlier under the streetlamps than the crosswalk signs.

He smiled at Yuu as though he were greeting an old friend. His grip turned into a tender squeeze. “I finally caught up with you!”

The detective awkwardly pulled away, confusion scrawled on their face. “Um... Sorry, who are you? I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

“Oh! Uh...” The man jumped, retracting his hand. “That’s because we haven’t! Er, not officially anyway, but I’ve heard a lot about you!!”

Yuu pointed to his badge. “That. You’re an officer?”

“Yessir!” The man offered the proof of his identity and stiffly saluted. “Officer Deuce Spade, sir!! I’m a new recruit...!! I just joined the force a few weeks ago!”

Yuu mustered a faint smile. The darned fool was going to give them away. “... Am I in trouble, officer?”

“Nossir! Not at all!” His entire face shone with eagerness, earnest, and a slightly nervous energy. Maybe Yuu would have found it adorable (in the same way that a child trying hard was adorable), were he not blasting your occupation to the public. “Why would you be in trouble, sir?! You’re working with...”

“Okaaay, that’s enough out of you!” Yuu slapped a hand over Deuce’s mouth, silencing him.

Curious onlookers murmured amongst themselves. Some had taken to halt and full-on gawk. Children pointed, adult narrowing their eyes with suspicion.

Yuu frowned, removing their hand to shoo pedestrians away. “Nothing to see here, folks. Just a misunderstanding. Move along, Wonder Boy and I can settle this ourselves.”

“Wonder Boy?” Deuce, in a daze, pointed to himself. “Is that... me?”

“Who else would I be talking about?” Yuu folded their arms. “I assume you’re free now?”

“I am, sir! I was just let off my shift a little while ago, sir!”

“First, drop the ‘sir’. It’s giving me a headache,” Yuu instructed. “Second, if you’re free, then you’ll be joining me for a drink and a chat. We have things to discuss--chief among them being why you were following me.”

Ring-a-ling!

A bell sounded as the door to the Mostro Lounge swung open. Deuce stepped into a new world, Yuu at his side.

The interior itself was dim, but glass lights fastened in the shape of jellyfish projected swimming incandescent lights in purple, blue, and pink. Velvet booths lined one half of the eatery, the other, a glossy bar with tall, narrow stools, the shelves behind it healthily stocked with bottles in jeweled tones. Strangers poised with drink took residence in most of the seats.

The entire back wall had been repurposed into a massive aquarium teeming with aquatic plants and exotic creatures. Seaweed and coral gently swayed to the rhythm of the smooth jazz floating through the lounge, fish frolicking among them.

“Whoooa,” Deuce gasped, craning his head to drink in every detail. “I’ve never been to a place as classy as this. It looks so expensive. You think my salary’s enough to cover at least an appetizer?”

“Hang on tight to your wallet,” Yuu warned. “This place will squeeze you for every thaumark you’re worth and then some—and they won’t feel a bit of remorse about it.”

The detective raised an arm, flagging a nearby waiter.

Their uniform was simple yet sleek: dark dress pants, a white bow tie, spotless gloves, and a cummerbund and suspenders over a lavender button-up shirt. It allowed for slight variation—one waiter skidded by with his shirt buttoned as low as food safety regulations deemed safe. Another jotted down orders with a jacket thrown over his shoulders and a pair of glasses tucked into the crevice of his buttons.

The waiter Yuu called out to approached like a shark fin cutting through still water, neatly bowing to greet their waiting customers. He was prim and proper compared to the other servers, not a button out of place.

When he raised his head, Deuce marveled at his mismatched olive and gold irises, the teal of his hair marred by a stripe of black. Three diamond-shaped scales dangled from his left ear, as sharp as his eyes.

“I bid you welcome to the Mostro Lounge, honored guests,” the waiter said smoothly. He gaze immediately cut to Deuce. “I see you’ve brought a friend with you, today, Yuu-san. How delightfully rare.”

“Acquaintance. We just met outside under… less than ideal circumstances.”

“Oya, how quick you were to seize on that chance encounter. I may even deem you a bigger opportunist than our dear manager.”

“… Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Deuce inquired.

“Perhaps you will find the answer to your question, should you act as a patron at our establishment for long enough.”

“Quit toying with him, Jade. You know what we’re here for,” Yuu grumbled. “My usual.”

“If that is what you wish. And for this gentleman acquaintance of yours?”

“Just ice water is fine, sir!”

Jade maintained his polite smile. “Very well. One glass of ice cold water for you. I will bring you a menu as well, in case you begin to feel peckish late into the night.”

“Oh, thanks!”

“Right this way then.” Jade gestured for the two to follow him.

“He’s upselling you, you know,” Yuu pointed out under their breath. “Hoping that you’ll buy something when presented with the opportunity to spend.”

“E-Eh, he is?! I didn’t even realize…”

“Fufufu. Please, do not let your worries consume you. You have come to relax, correct? We at the Mostro Lounge ask that you put your fins and your feet up and enjoy yourself while the night is still young.”

They were escorted to two empty stools in a (relatively) quiet corner of the bar. The glass jellyfish lights were clustered in the center of the main dining area, leaving the corner like a slice of dark, uncharted waters. Jass music and conversation filtered into a muffled melody.

Yuu plopped down with relief, followed by an apprehensive Deuce. He slowly sank into the cushy seat.

“I will be right back with your drinks. If you will excuse me.” With another bow, Jade rounded the bar and rolled up his sleeves—the transition from waiter to bartender. Presenting his back to the duo, he set to plucking bottles off of the shelves.

Deuce blinked. He still hadn’t taken to fully processing his new surroundings. “Are we really going kick back and have drinks when there’s a serial thief on the loose?”

“We can’t talk about that in public, or risk blowing my cover. It’s safe to talk here,” Yuu reassured him. “What happens in the Mostro Lounge stays in the Mostro Lounge. Say what you want about the slimy staff, but they know how to keep their patrons’ secrets. Client confidentiality and all.”

The young officer brightened. “Ooooh, I get it!”

“… You’re not the sharpest tool in the shed,” Yuu remarked bluntly. They slipped off their baseball cap, letting loose their hair. “So? Let’s have it.”

“Have what?”

“Your reason for following me.”

“Oh!! That.” Deuce nervously scratched at the back of his neck. “That’s kind of…”

The detective drummed their fingers on the polished counter. Methodical, deliberate. “You mentioned that you recently joined the force. However, only senior officials in the police department and myself were privy to this operation. How did you come to learn about it?”

Deuce stiffened, thrown off his beat (if he had any to begin with). “Th-That’s…!”

“I’m asking you a question, Mr. Spade. Please answer me truthfully.”

“I… um… Truth is, I…” Deuce stared at his lap, unable to meet the detective’s eyes. “I might have eavesdropped when I returned from my patrol shift…”

“Go on,” Yuu coaxed.

“There was a report I had to submit to the Chief, but it sounded like he was busy in his office. It’s hard to not notice him when he raises his voice, sir. I decided to wait outside until he was done, and… well, I got curious.”

“Wasn’t Assistant Chief Clover also present? He just let you do that without a single protest?”

“Assistant Chief Clover was very nice to me! He laughed a little and said ‘make sure you don’t get caught with your hand in the cookie jar’!”

Darn it, Trey!! You could’ve been a LITTLE stricter with this guy…! Yuu groaned, massaging the bridge of their nose. “Okay, I think I’m starting to get a better picture of what went down. You followed me wanting to learn more about the operation.”

Like a curious child chasing after a white rabbit. Still immature, still wondering, and still way over their head.

“Yes, but that’s not all!” Deuce insisted. He abruptly stood from the table. “There’s an even more important reason than just satisfying my curiosity, sir!”

Yuu quirked an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

“I had to talk to you—without the Chief around. I had to. That’s why I followed you in secret.” The officer nibbled his lower lip, as if biting back something harsh and bitter from coming up.

“Out with it, Mr. Spade.”

“Pardon the intrusion,” Jade coolly interjected. His tone was nonchalant but his bemused smile was a telltale sign that he was relishing in every second of the hot gossip. “Your beverages.”

He slid two glasses between Yuu and Deuce before departing. One was tall and slim—a highball—loaded with carbonated water and fruity gummies. Yellow for jeweled pineapples, red for ruby berries, green for frozen mint, black for floral cacao, and blue from pure azure salt. It was Yuu’s usual, the famed Mystery Drink. The other glass was, by comparison, an ordinary drink of water, a single large, clear cube of ice floating in it.

A bead of sweat ran down Deuce’s jawline. Condensation forming and racing on his glass of water.

Suddenly, the officer slapped both hands on the counter, slamming his face down upon its surface. His navy hair splayed, forehead touching the table in a display of humility.

Yuu almost spilled their drink. “What are you doing?”

“I’m begging you, sir!! P-Please put me on the mission!!” Deuce pleaded, his voice shaky but resolute. “I… I want to help catch the Knave of Hearts too!!”

“If that’s all you wanted, why ask me? Go through the proper channels to…”

“I can’t!! The Chief would never allow it.” His expression creased with shame. “He says rookies need to work their way up from meter maid to working on cases.”

“He’s right. You need to grow into these things, not rush in head-first in a burst of passion.” Yuu made to take a sip of their drink—but the officer’s fist collided with the counter, the liquid inside the glass sloshing overboard. Seltzer water splashed onto their pant leg, leaving a sticky wet spot on a thigh.

“P-Please reconsider! I know how to handle myself in a fight! I’m fast, I could easily catch up with him if it’s a race on foot!”

“Look,” the detective said irritably, “I don’t know what you’re hoping to accomplish here. Fact is, no matter how much you ask, I wouldn’t want to take you on for this case. You’re too green behind the ears—and sorry, but I just don’t see you as an asset.

“You may be strong and quick on your feet, but it’ll take more than strength and speed to catch the Knave of Hearts. There’s a reason he hasn’t been caught yet.” Yuu tapped at their temple. “It’s this. He’s got smarts, and we need to combat that with smarts of our own.”

“I-I can be smart!! I can try to, at least! Please, just let me try…!!”

Frustrated, Yuu scrutinized the young man again. Their eyes roaming, searching, for detail wrong, a hair out of place.

Years of sleuthing had built up a great amount of cynicism and distrust in the detective. How many times had they pulled back the curtain, revealing the ugly truths hidden out of plain sight? How many bruised egos--both clients and coworkers--had they encountered? People seeking status or to feed their own pride.

Yet when they looked at Deuce, none of that ugliness or ego came through. Here was someone who stubbornly stared right back at Yuu, unwilling to back down, even when his dignity lay in tatters on the floor the instant he prostrated himself.

Another selfish bid for recognition? They ventured, toying with the idea. Maybe personal ambition, looking to climb up in the world.

“... One reason,” Yuu said, holding up an index finger. “Give me one good reason why I should take you on. Convince me.”

Deuce recoiled--as though even he hadn’t expected to have made it this far, or to be taken seriously at all. His brows creased with effort as he racked the recesses of his mind to find the right phrasing.

A second later, he let out a piercing shout.

“GAAAAAAAAH!!”

With a grunt, Deuce grasped his cup of ice water and lifted it to his lips. He hammered the drink in a single swig, releasing a satisfied hoot. The liquid courage had revived the man, returning the spark to him.

In a voice as clear as the drink he had just downed, Deuce said, “It’s for my mom. She’s just about the sweetest, most hard-working person I know.”

He hung his head and slammed his empty cup down, shaking the entire table.

“She raised me as a single parent. Mom never once complained, only wanted the best life for me.” Deuce glared into his glass, speaking with scorn and anger--not at others, but for himself. “And how did I repay her? I... turned to delinquency.

“I acted out because I wasn’t man enough to do the mature thing and work on myself!! She blamed herself for my stupid decisions! I made mom worry for me so, so much...”

Plip, plip.

Deuce faltered, letting quiet tears dribble down his cheeks and landing on the cube of ice left in his glass. Once they made contact with the frozen block, it was impossible to tell what was water and what was salt.

“I swore to myself that I would turn my life around... to show mom that it’s not her fault, that she did all she could to raised someone who could contribute to society!! So I studied really hard at the police academy, and even though my grades were crappy, I managed to graduate...!!”

He choked up, a concoction of fiery passion infused in his stuttering words. “I can finally be that model officer and make a change in the community! But I haven’t done a damn thing...! I just play meter maid while bad guys are out there running free, when I could be out there making this city a safer place for mom and everyone that lives here...!!”

The noises of the lounge seemed to fade into a stoic silence around Deuce. His declaration reverberated loudly. “I have to do this. I need to do this.”

He bowed again, his forehead pressed hard against the surface of the table. The single word he uttered was hoarse, desperate.

“Please.”

Deuce pried himself up almost painfully. The eyes were aquamarine, wet with hot tears. Something shone through them in shades of blue and green, priceless as any treasure: an honesty that burned like an eternal flame.

Yuu startled, striken by a single, haunting revelation: He’s telling the truth.

“... I don’t think I’ve met someone like you before,” they said cryptically. “I don’t doubt your story—but as touching as it is, I don’t know if...”

Hesitation reared its head, and Yuu forced themselves to look away. Couldn’t bear to see him, that wide-eyed sincerity.

Emotion clashing with their sound logic. Two things that shouldn’t have belonged together colliding. 

Wait... things that don’t belong together? Things I didn’t expect, surprises and twists to the tale...

A ex-delinquent turned into a policeman. A selfishness turned selfless. An anticipated lie turned into a truth. Something there that hadn’t been before.

The detective’s mind raced, quickly outpacing the words leaving their mouth. A solution which subverted expectations, a trap laced with honey for a man with sticky fingers.

That’s it. We’ll pull a trick of our own.

“Okay, I’ve changed my mind,” Yuu abruptly announced. “You’re in on this operation, Mr. Spade.”

“R-Really?!” Deuce’s face nearly tore in half, his volume revving up like a motorcycle engine. “You mean it?!”

“I do.”

Yuu took a cool sip of their Mystery Drink. Flavors from all over Twisted Wonderland cascaded over their tongue—a triumphant, fleeting pleasure.

They set their glass down and bent over, gripping Deuce by the strings of his hoodie. Yuu tugged, bringing the policeman lurching forward.

His clammy forehead against theirs. Centimeters away, his eyes widened. A flushed heat climbed to his cheeks, his voice set in a stammer.

“S-Sir, what are we...”

“You’ll have to follow my instructions very carefully,” Yuu replied with a devious grin. “Listen up, rookie: cuz you’re going to be the star of this show. Here’s the plan...”

The ambience of the lounge drowned out Yuu’s whispers. From afar, their words could only be read through the shapes of their mouth, the increasingly confused and alarmed expressions that Deuce pulled.

Jade observed them patiently, chuckling to himself. “My, my, it seems like our genius detective has found yet another solution.”

CLATTER, CLATTER!!

A tray piled high with empty plates and dishes was slammed down. Jade’s twin peered around the stack, leaning lazily against the bar.

“Eeeh, but I bet against them this time.”

“Playing the contrarian runs its risks.” Jade picked up a glass, staring at his brother through it. The golden orb called his left eye was clear as a topaz. “As for myself, I’m excited to see how this plays out.”

PLAP.

A notepad came down on the table as a third waiter joined them.

“Both of you need to stop gossiping and get back to work,” their manager chided, sliding the notepad—scrawled with fresh orders—to Jade. “Leave the customers to tend to their own business. We’ll soon know the outcome.”

[To be continued...]

[ficnation]

Chapter 7: Jos Metodai

Series: “Eat Your Heart Out” Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 4,4k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings A/n: I didn't even read it over ;-; sorry (unedited)

Main Masterlist || Hannibal Masterlist

PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

You awaken with a scream tearing from your throat, the echoes of the vivid images still lingering in your mind like tendrils of smoke. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, the echo of your scream reverberating in the stillness of the night as you gasp for air.

Will’s eyes snap open, his body tensing instinctively at the sound of your screams piercing the silence of the night. Confusion clouds his features for a moment, before recognition dawns and he bolts upright, his gaze scanning the dimly lit room in search of the source of your distress.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice laced with concern as he reaches out a hand to steady you, his touch a reassuring anchor amidst the tumult of emotions swirling within you.

Breathless and trembling, you struggle to find the words to articulate the remnants of the nightmare that still cling to your mind like cobwebs, weaving a tangled web of fear and uncertainty. Yet, even as you attempt to convey the depths of your distress, a part of you hesitates, reluctant to burden him with the weight of your troubled thoughts.

With a soft sigh, Will pulls you close, enfolding you in a comforting embrace that soothes the frayed edges of your nerves and calms the storm raging within. In his arms, you find solace, a sanctuary amidst the chaos of the night, as you cling to the fragile thread of connection that binds you together in this moment of vulnerability.

“Will,” you mumble his name like a lifeline, summoning the courage to articulate what you’ve just witnessed. “I saw...something. It felt so real, but also…unreal.”

“It was just a nightmare, darling,” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your sweaty forehead, soothing your fears with his gentle words.

You nod, but you don’t believe his words wholeheartedly. You’re not sure it was just a dream.

Gradually, the lingering tendrils of fear begin to loosen their grip on your mind, replaced by the warmth of Will’s presence and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest. In that moment, you allow yourself to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, the nightmare was nothing more than a figment of your imagination, a fleeting shadow in the night soon to be banished by the light of dawn.

“How did we get home?”

“We left shortly after the chess match,” Will explains, his voice calm and reassuring. “You fell asleep on the way back. You’ve been restless since we got home.”

You voice your concern, the worry evident in your tone. “Why is everything so fuzzy?”

Will pauses for a moment, his facial expression darkening with concern as he stares at you in silence, deliberating on how best to respond. “You should rest. You’re exhausted,” he says softly, brushing the back of his hand gently across your forehead, a comforting gesture that also serves as a discreet check for your temperature.

“No, no, no... Something’s wrong,” you mumble, tears gathering in your eyes. 

“Shhh,” Will whispers tenderly, his hands tightening around you, his body enclosing you completely. “It’s just a nightmare. I’m here, and nothing can harm you,” he adds, his voice tender and soothing as he attempts to calm down your nervous system and ease the flood of emotions that threaten to overcome you.

You lie in bed for what seems like an eternity, your throat burning and your heart aching as you try to digest the overwhelming feeling of dread you felt in the dream. You can’t stop trembling, even the touch of the sheets makes you feel uneasy.

Will moves next to you, his presence providing some comfort as he wraps his arm around you even tighter. You lean into him, desperate to feel his warmth and seek shelter from the outside world. His touch makes you feel safe, and you begin to relax a little, taking a deep breath as the intensity of your emotions eases.

The faint glow of the moon highlights the contours of his face, accentuating the intensity in his eyes as he watches over you with a silent vigilance. Despite the ethereal quality of his presence, his touch is grounding, a tangible reassurance amidst the nebulousness of the night.

It takes hours before you fall asleep again, and even then, your slumber remains shallow. Each movement from the man beside you jolts you awake with a start.

Will envelops you in a tight embrace each time, his body forming a protective shield against the outside world. His warmth steals your breath away, and you yearn to draw him closer, as if by melding with him, you could become one and leave your fears behind. But the memory of the encounter with the enigmatic figure, the haunting visage of Hannibal, lingers like a stain upon your psyche, refusing to be dismissed with the dawn of a new day.

This was undeniably the worst night of your life. Never before had you experienced nightmares of such intensity. Not even after your father’s death, when you were forced to leave Will and travel far away, had you endured such torment in your sleep.

You’ve slept poorly and you feel exhausted and sore from the nightmare. Will is up before you, busy in the kitchen preparing breakfast.

He notices the fatigue etched on your face and promptly brings the cooked food to your side of the bed, offering a tender smile as he sets down a steaming mug of coffee on the nightstand next to you. Then, he settles beside you, placing a reassuring hand on your arm, leaning in close so that his warmth and calming presence envelop you.

“Not feeling any better, are we?” 

“Not really, no. I’m tired, and my head hurts,” you mumble, clutching the blanket tightly. Your fingers keep tracing through the fibers, seeking some form of comfort as exhaustion creeps over you. Will offers you a reassuring smile and plants a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“I’ve never seen you have a nightmare like that before. Not even on the most difficult days.”

“Well, that is new,” you mumble, leaning back against him. You’re too exhausted to resist the overwhelming urge to surrender to the fatigue.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. It felt so real,” you add, turning to him and attempting to describe it despite the exhaustion and the headache that’s growing at an alarming speed.

Will pauses for a moment, absorbing your words and trying to comprehend the depth of your distress. He draws you closer, wrapping you in a tight embrace, as if to shield you from the haunting echoes of the nightmare. Tenderly, he presses a kiss to the top of your head and squeezes you gently, his silent gesture conveying his earnest desire to protect.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he whispers into your hair.

“I can’t stop seeing it...” you murmur, your voice shaky and fearful as you attempt to articulate the haunting imagery that continues to replay in your mind, the vividness of the dream lingering despite your lack of sleep. “It felt so real, as if it actually happened,” you continue, your breathing uneven causing your voice to crack as you struggle to convey the entirety of the experience. Uncertainty gnaws at your gut as you grapple with the unsettling feeling that refuses to dissipate.

Will remains silent, recognizing the rawness of your emotions, knowing that no words could easily soothe your distress. Yet, he persists in holding you tightly, refusing to let you confront your fears alone. Pressing his face against your neck, he seeks to offer solace through his touch, silently conveying his unwavering support even when words fail him.

“Will... “ You mumble, your voice barely audible. “Could it happen? This...this thing that I saw… I had no control over it,” you add, your breaths growing shallower as the images threaten to overwhelm you once more. You can’t bear to keep your eyes open any longer—the headache has made you sensitive to the light, and the haunting images continue to replay in your mind, tormenting you anew.

Will’s silence speaks volumes, his eyes locked firmly on you, watching, waiting. Your breaths grow shallow and frantic, and the pain in your head intensifies, driving you into a spiral of despair. 

“I don’t know anymore,” your voice emerges quietly, the lingering images refusing to dissolve. Those pitch-black eyes and antlers continue to haunt you, flashing before your eyes every time you close them, so you try to keep them open. 

“Shhh,” Will gently presses his lips to your forehead, caressing the skin with a gentle touch. His hand traces a pattern across your body, leaving a trail of gentle warmth in its wake as he draws your attention back to the present. “It’s just a nightmare, darling. Nothing more.”

“It’s not,” you mumble, barely able to fight off sleep. “It’s not just a nightmare.”

Will’s eyes narrow as he observes you slipping back into restfulness, knowing that despite his efforts, your mind still clings to the vivid imagery of that nightmare. Nevertheless, he remains steadfast, cradling you in his arms and offering his warmth and reassuring touch, determined to bring your body to a state of complete relaxation to ensure that your sleep remains undisturbed this time.

You eventually succumb to exhaustion, your head resting against his chest as your body melts into a state of serene calmness. Will continues to caress you gently, keeping you safe from the outside world. The untouched food on the bedside table serves as a testament to the intensity of your troubled night.

Your second encounter with Hannibal Lecter is a shock—both physically and mentally. You never thought that this moment would come so soon, and you aren’t prepared for it in the slightest. Not after the week you just spent slouched on the carpet in Jack Crawford’s office over piles of open folders and files. You’re exhausted, famished, and dehydrated. You don’t even have a clue what day it is. 

There’s a knock on the door, and before you have the chance to yell back “Crawford’s not here!” the man enters the office without even waiting for an invitation. Your heart skips a beat as you recognize the distinct figure of Hannibal.

His sudden appearance only adds to the disarray of your thoughts and emotions, leaving you feeling utterly unprepared for whatever twist of fate has brought him back into your life. Quickly regaining your composure, you rise to your feet, bracing yourself for whatever conversation or scheme he has in store.

Hannibal Lecter is a tall, elegant man—all sharp angular features, perfectly parted hair, and eyes that seem devoid of color. He wears a suit that looks as if it was made specially for him, immaculately tailored and pressed. He exudes a sense of style and sophistication that belies his true nature, his demeanor a stark contrast to the unsettling aura that surrounds him.

His gaze sends a shiver down your spine, and your skin erupts in goosebumps as you feel him scrutinize you from head to toe.

“Good morning, Agent Avant,” Hannibal Lecter greets you with a tone that seems to pierce through all your barriers, causing your heartbeat to accelerate like a car on the highway with no speed limit. Despite the unsettling effect he has on you, he remains composed and polite, exuding an air of kindness and understanding that belies the darker nature lurking beneath the surface.

You sense him taking in your appearance—the tousled hair on your head, the loose sweater that probably belongs to Will, the gray sweatpants, and the scattered open folders strewn across the carpet and glass coffee table. You feel like a stark contrast to his impeccably groomed appearance.

“It’s not a good time, Doctor Lecter,” you murmur, crossing your arms over your chest, feeling a pang of embarrassment at your disheveled state.

Hannibal’s face softens instantly—whether out of guilt, surprise, curiosity, or something entirely different, it’s impossible to discern. He takes a step towards you, and you feel as though you’re under his spell. The way his eyes scan over your body is hypnotic, and when he speaks, his tone is the most friendly it could possibly be.

“Forgive the intrusion, Agent Avant,” Hannibal says, his voice smooth as silk, each word carrying a subtle charm. “I merely wished to extend my greetings and offer any assistance you might require. I understand that you’ve been through quite a challenging time recently.”

You find yourself momentarily captivated by his demeanor, his words soothing some of the tension that had been building within you. However, a lingering sense of unease tugs at the edges of your consciousness, a reminder of the dangers that lurk beneath his polished facade. Despite this, you can’t help but feel a strange allure to his presence, a magnetism that both draws you in and fills you with apprehension.

Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion as you try to decipher the meaning behind his words and gaze. Despite causing quite a commotion with your sudden reappearance at the BAU, you consider yourself to be no one special.

After a few beats of silence that seem to stretch into eternity, Hannibal shifts his attention, casting his gaze around the office. His tone takes on a professional demeanor.

“Can you take a seat, please?” he asks, gesturing towards a chair positioned in front of Crawford’s desk.

You’re accustomed to occupying that seat, whether it’s to present your latest theories to your boss or to feign attention during his lectures, so you comply without questioning it. As soon as you’re seated, your hands instinctively grip the armrests for support, and you feel your heart rate begin to accelerate as the terrifying creature from your nightmares flashes behind his person. Here he is—the monster who took your sister’s life and nearly destroyed Will’s.

Hannibal reclines in Crawford’s chair, his gaze fixed intently on you, making you feel like a bug under a microscope. You attempt to acclimate to his unwavering attention, but it proves to be no easy feat. His gaze feels like a pair of hands delicately exploring every inch of you, and as your heart rate increases, you sense him delving deeper, searching for something within you.

After a prolonged moment, he finally speaks, his words leaving you breathless. “I’ve heard a lot about you recently.”

“From Will?” you inquire, your voice tinged with curiosity.

“No, not from Will,” Hannibal responds, the corner of his mouth raising almost imperceptibly.

The man watches you patiently, his words and tone exerting a magnetic pull that freezes you in place. Your mind goes blank—you’re at a loss for what to say in response, uncertain how to decipher his intentions. While you’re accustomed to Will’s penetrating stares and silence, Hannibal exudes a different kind of power—a captivating yet intimidating presence that both intrigues and unnerves you. It’s a dynamic that commands both fear and respect simultaneously.

“I must admit, I’ve heard about you too, Doctor Lecter,” you manage to say, forcing your body to relax, your shoulders dropping as you exhale the breath trapped in your lungs.

Hannibal nods slowly, his gaze unwavering as he processes your words. “Jack has spoken a lot about you and your special methods…” he acknowledges, his tone carrying a hint of intrigue.

His eyes continue to shift over you, as if he is calculating something, and you find yourself unable to look away, meeting his gaze head-on. The subtle curve of your lips seems to particularly pique his interest.

“Special and unconventional,” he goes on, his voice measured and deliberate, causing you to shift slightly in your chair under his scrutiny. “A bit reckless at times…” Hannibal adds, as if he were attempting to gauge your reaction or perhaps provoke a response from you.

You don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. You were aware that your methods might have appeared reckless to observers, but they had never failed you, not even once. You possessed a knack for working your charm on anyone, and if that didn’t suffice, getting a rise out of somebody was even easier. Crawford relished allowing you to do your thing, reveling in the satisfaction of achieving the desired results.

“And successful,” you assert confidently, emphasizing the undeniable effectiveness of your approach. “Very successful.”

“I know you work outside the box, barely on the edge between what’s moral and what’s not,” Hannibal says, as if this were some kind of revelation. “And I’m curious to find out more.” He leans back in his chair, his body relaxed enough for his suit to fold around him, exuding an air of intrigue and anticipation.

“Then tell me, what unconventional methods of mine have you heard about?” You cross one leg over the other and raise your eyebrow, a subtle challenge in your demeanor. You need to ascertain whether he’s genuinely aware of your methods or simply baiting you to reveal them yourself.

Hannibal stares for a long minute at your leg, then at your arms, your face. The way his eyes keep circling and circling you makes you hold your breath—his gaze is sharp and penetrating, with a touch of curiosity that you almost feel like covering up in some way. His scrutiny feels almost invasive, as if he’s peeling back layers of your facade to uncover the truth beneath.

“I’ve heard that you’re not afraid to provoke the suspect into revealing their motives,” he says slowly, each word carefully measured. “That you use empathy to understand their thoughts and fears, and that you can even convince them to help you.” He pauses, as if assessing each new word before he says it, while you listen intently, fingers tapping on the cushioned armrest.

“You believe that the human mind is like... a puzzle,” Hannibal continues, his tone thoughtful. “And once you find the right pieces to put together, the answers are within your reach.”

You notice that he doesn’t mention your other technique—either he has no idea about it or he’s choosing to omit it from his speech. Fascinating.

“What brings you here, then?” you inquire, shifting the focus back onto him, curious about his intentions for seeking you out.

Hannibal smiles as a knock sounds on the door. Crawford sticks his head inside, appearing almost like a visitor in his own office. His timing is unnervingly perfect—in a bad kind of way.

“Agent Avant,” the chief says, his voice soft as he takes in your appearance. You look even worse than two hours ago, a fact he didn’t think was possible. “I don’t want to interrupt, but we have to go.”

“It’s my day off,” you respond, a hint of frustration creeping into your voice at the interruption. So close. Crawford only quirks an eyebrow not saying anything more. “Not in this industry,” you concede with a resigned sigh, acknowledging the relentless demands of your profession.

“It’s urgent,” Crawford insists, his tone leaving no room for argument as he emphasizes the gravity of the situation.

It’s all you have to hear to shut everything else off. You jump to your feet and frantically search the room for your coat, your exhausted mind struggling to locate it even though your gaze skips over it twice.

“Give me two minutes,” you sigh, rubbing your temples in an attempt to coax your brain into action.

“I can drive you,” Hannibal offers suddenly, his eagerness to see you in action apparent. Without hesitation, he rises from his seat just as quickly as you did, crossing the room to retrieve your coat from the rack. It’s almost as if he knew which one was yours from the start. Before you can even say a word, he throws it over your shoulders.

“Thank you, Hannibal, but we already have someone waiting for us,” Jack declines, saving you from having to make that choice.

You put your arms through the sleeves of your coat and extend your hand toward Doctor Lecter. “It’s been a pleasure. I’m sure we will meet again in no time.” The way your tone of voice mimics his politeness makes his eyes glint with something indescribable.

“Surely, Mrs. Graham,” Hannibal responds, shaking your hand. “We’ll talk again very soon.”

You can almost feel him analyzing you again, reading the expression on your face from the curve of your lips to the slight movement of your nose. His gaze remains as sharp as ever, but the look on his face is almost affectionate when he looks down at you.

And then you realize he’s not looking at you—he’s looking past you.

You turn to find Will leaning against the doorway, his eyes fixed on you and Hannibal. He barely moves as he stands there, the light of the room falling on his face and illuminating him like a golden statue.

Will’s expression remains blank, as if he’s trying to process the entire situation from an outsider’s perspective. His eyes don’t leave you for a second, yet you get the sense that they aren’t even focused on you. He watches as you shake Hannibal’s hand, his gaze unwavering as your fingers brush Hannibal’s forearm. He seems so absorbed in observing the two of you that he appears oblivious to his surroundings, almost like someone whose mind is trapped in a memory.

Hannibal’s gaze shifts slowly from you to Will’s face. Sensing the tension, you discreetly pull your hand away. Meanwhile, you notice that Crawford has stepped out into the hallway, clearly unwilling to find himself caught in the brewing storm.

“Will,” you acknowledge him with a smile, attempting to quietly reassure him that everything’s alright.

Will snaps out of his trance as he hears your voice. His face softens, and he stares at you for a second before he moves towards you, intertwining his fingers with yours. You notice, again, that his expression is empty, but there’s a hint of relief in his eyes.

“Let’s go,” he says, gently pulling you with him, and you can’t help but notice how carefully he holds your hand. It’s almost as if he’s afraid of hurting you, the way he keeps his movements so gentle.

You’re in the back seat of the car when you notice the silence. You turn to look at Will’s profile, his face turned away from you, his eyes focused on the road as you head toward the crime scene.

He’s been unusually quiet lately—no comments, no observations, no idle chatter. It’s as if he’s trying to protect you from any unnecessary stress or fatigue. You wonder if he’s feeling frustrated because you refused to discuss what happens in your nightmares that repeat day after day.

Will’s silence fills you with unease, making you wonder whether his mind is filled with questions you should already have answered.

You try to distract yourself by studying the passing scenery, but your eyes keep gravitating back to his profile. Every time you look at him, his gaze is trained on the road ahead, almost as if he’s avoiding your eyes. You can’t help but sense that he’s keeping something to himself, like he’s holding back some valuable insight or observation that he thinks you’d prefer not to hear.

Jack, who is occupying the passenger’s seat, must have noticed your darting gaze. “What’s wrong with you two lately?” he asks, his voice carrying a hint of concern.

You freeze, feeling as if you’ve been caught in the act of doing something wrong. Will seems to tense up, his brows creasing in mild irritation. You open your mouth to offer some explanation or excuse, but Jack has already started talking again before you can even get a word in.

“Avant, you spend your whole days in my office; I’m starting to consider you a permanent resident,” Jack remarks, injecting a touch of humor into the situation to alleviate the tension.

Will glances at you out of the corner of his eye, his features appearing neutral despite the tense situation between you two. You can’t help but notice how his gaze lingers on your face for a few beats longer than necessary, as if he’s waiting for you to reply to Jack’s comments.

Feeling the weight of his gaze, you muster a faint smile and respond, “Well, Jack, your office does have a certain charm to it.”

“You don’t want your own?” Jack asks, his tone light but with a hint of genuine curiosity.

“I hate being alone,” you admit, your voice carrying a note of vulnerability.

Jack glances between the two of you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processes your response. “Can’t stand being alone with your own thoughts, eh?” he asks, his tone suggesting a hint of understanding mixed with a touch of skepticism.

“Yeah, you could say so,” you reply, keeping your response brief but acknowledging Jack’s observation.

“I didn’t take you for the type who needed company all the time.”

“Oh come on, Jack. You’ve known me long enough to know that,” you respond, injecting a touch of humor into your reply.

Jack’s lips curl into an amused smirk before he lets out a chuckle, his features returning to a more neutral expression. “That’s true,” he says agreeably, his attention shifting back to the road ahead.

Your attention is drawn back to Will’s profile. His gaze remains fixed on the road, his expression stoic and unreadable. You get the distinct impression that he’s listening in on your conversation with Jack, although he seems unbothered by it.

“We will talk about it,” you mumble to yourself, hoping that somehow Will hears your words, even in the midst of the steady hum of the engine.

Just as you finish your sentence, Will breaks your pondering, his gaze briefly returning to you and catching yours for a split second. You can tell from his expression that he heard your murmur, although you’re not sure if he caught the words.

There’s a subtle shift in his demeanor, a flicker of understanding passing between you, before he returns his focus to the road ahead, leaving you to ponder the unspoken communication exchanged in that fleeting moment.

You hold onto that moment, a glimmer of hope that perhaps Will is open to discussing whatever has been weighing on your mind. Despite the lingering tension between you, there’s a sense of reassurance in the silent understanding that passes between you.

As the car continues down the road, you find yourself lost in your thoughts, contemplating the complexities of your relationship with Will and the challenges you both face. You silently vow to find a way to bridge the gap that has formed between you, determined to address the issues that have been left unspoken for too long.

Taglist (I tag ppl that leave a comment or ask me for it): @strrvnge @raininhell @crowsoundsonly @gabriella-aesthetic @gayschlatt69 @russian-soft-bitch @lokittyy @hellouseemc00l @justaproudslytherpuff @it-s-tickety-booh @r4diocabeca @sanriogarbage @zoleea-exultant @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @emily-roberts @unsolvedghoulboyz @00hellohello00 @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @jadenblueberry @slashercupcake @octobermania @magdalenmillicent-blog @unsolvedghoulboyz

Leave me an ask or a comment if I forgot to add you <3

[propertyofkylar]

crawls in covered in blood

Harper 19 👀?

doctor's orders - m!harper x gn!pc

tags/warnings: 19. kidnapping, drugging, dubcon, medical kink, reader's genitalia left ambiguous

word count: 1810

note: wow....i hope THE harperfucker enjoys this...

“Mhm. And how has your mood been lately?”

You shifted slightly in your chair, sitting on your hands. Dr. Harper was a strange one. He was something of a therapist and psychiatrist. But he also treated injuries, and you had heard he’d even done gynecology work, so you still weren’t entirely sure what kind of doctor he even was. But the pills he prescribed worked well, so you came every Friday to see him. 

“Um,” you hedged a bit, but Harper’s encouraging smile urged you forward. “I mean, it’s not great. You know? Things kinda…suck.”

Harper nodded as you spoke, looking the perfect image of a doctor as he jotted down something on his notepad.  

“So I guess I’ve just been kind of…down. If that makes sense?” You offered. 

Harper nodded again. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Huh?” You hadn’t expected that. Harper offered you a warm smile. 

“I’m experimenting with more herbal remedies,” he explained. “I’ve purchased some tea leaves that claim to help with feelings of depression and anxiety. I thought you might like to try some. I know you like the pills, so this would just be a supplement of sorts. It may help lift your mood, even just a bit.”

Something made you feel a little uneasy. But your doctor had never steered you wrong before. And it was just a cup of herbal tea. What’s the worst thing that could happen? It would taste bad?

So, you nodded. “Sure. Thanks.”

Harper gave you another smile and stood up, busying himself with an electric kettle in the corner of the room. You watched idly from your seat. Maybe a warm cup of tea would be exactly what you needed. 

Several minutes later, Harper handed you a steaming mug. An herbal smell of chamomile, lavender, and something else you didn’t recognize wafted towards you. “If you like it, I’ll send it home with you along with your meds.”

You thanked the doctor and took a sip. It was warm with a mildly sweet taste. “It’s good,” you said, going back in for another sip. 

“I’m glad you like it,” Harper said. 

At the very least, a warm drink would make you feel better temporarily. The doctor made idle chitchat with you as you continued drinking. By the time you had emptied the mug, though, your head was feeling a little fuzzy. 

“Are you alright?” Harper asked, only seeming mildly concerned. “The herb blend does have a relaxing effect. It may be that it’s making you tired. 

“Mm…yeah…” you rubbed your eyes, suddenly feeling groggy. “Haven’t been sleeping well lately…”

“Don’t worry,” Harper was leaning forward in his chair, almost in anticipation. “Close your eyes. My next appointment isn’t for a while. You can sleep here for a bit, no worries.”

“‘Kay,” you murmured, your eyes shutting of their own accord. “Just a lil bit…”

You were out like a light. 

When you came to, you had no idea where you were. 

It didn’t feel like you were still in the hospital, though it still seemed like a doctor’s office of sorts. But the light was harsh and artificial, and you got the feeling this room wasn’t used too often. 

Also, your arms were bound to the bed, which wasn’t great. 

“Mm?” You were still quite groggy, so actual words didn’t come out of your mouth. You suddenly became aware of a figure looming over you, smiling. “D-doctor…?”

Harper undid your arm bindings, inviting you to sit up. “Sorry for that! I didn’t want you to move around or get violent in your sleep. The…tea effects are a little unpredictable.”

You rubbed at your sore wrists - how long had you been like this? - as you took in the surroundings. “Where did you take me?”

Harper rolled a chair next to the bed, stroking your hair in a rather unprofessional manner. “This is my private office. You need a more intensive therapy.”

You blinked. “I do?”

Harper nodded. “Yes. Your depression and anxiety is rather treatment resistant. I want to try some different things with you to help you get better,” he slid his hands to hold yours. They were cold and smooth. “Doesn’t that sound good?”

There was something wrong. Something was off. But your brain felt so, so fuzzy. “Yeah…that sounds nice.”

Harper beamed and clapped his hands together. “Excellent! Now, let’s begin,” he pulled his notepad out and studied it closely. “You say you’ve experienced rape and sexual assault. Is this right?” 

You shifted uncomfortably. “Uh…yeah.”

He nodded again and checked something off on the notepad. “Good. Then we are going to have sex.”

“What?!” Your ears were ringing. Did he just say that?

Harper set down the notepad and looked closely at you. “You say the assaults cause you trauma. Correct? I can show you how sex can be pleasurable and it will sort of rewire your brain.” He smiled placidly at you. “Don’t worry, you can trust me.”

It was weird. Something felt off. But…you trusted him. So you found yourself agreeing.

“Good!” Harper smiled warmly at you, standing up in front of you. Despite the smile, there was something oddly intimidating about him. But he was a doctor, and you weren’t. So it was probably okay. Right? 

The doctor sat next to you on the bed, moving closer then he’d ever been. “The first step is foreplay. This usually begins with kissing. Are you comfortable with that?” His breath was warm on your face. You nodded. 

And then the two of you were kissing, Harper’s mouth surprisingly cold, much like his hands were. “Very good,” he murmured. Harper practically tugged you into his lap and your patient gown rode up, making you suddenly very aware that there was nothing on underneath. Wait, weren’t you in a therapy session before? Where did your clothes go…?

Your thoughts were interrupted when you realized you could feel Harper’s cock rubbing against your most sensitive areas. The feeling drew a whimper out of you, which sparked Harper to reach under the gown and grab at your back. 

“P-please,” you whined, grinding down on Harper. 

But he did not relent. “Please what?” He asked. “You need to be specific.”

“Please…” you sucked in a deep breath. “Please, fuck me.”

“Very good,” Harper pulled away and beamed. “You’re a very good patient. You learn quickly.”

He reached into a nearby drawer and pulled out a small tube. As he squeezed the slimy fluid onto his fingers, you realized what it was - lube. “This may be cold,” Harper said before slipping two fingers into your hole. You bit down on your lip and groaned as the doctor scissored his fingers inside of you. It felt good, but it also felt methodical and practiced.

You pawed at the bulge in Harper’s pants, which he was not expecting judging by his sharp intake of breath. “T-that’s enough,” he stammered, momentarily losing his cool composure. “I think you’re ready now.”

Harper pulled his hand back and unzipped his pants. With one movement he tugged down his pants and boxers and you were suddenly staring directly at his thick cock. It was flushed and twitching, and the bead of precum on the tip gave you the sudden urge to lick it. 

But that wasn’t what was going to happen, at least not today, as Harper was stroking his dick with additional lube, and the way he was looking at you - no, leering - was decidedly unprofessional. You were too far gone at that point, though. The only thought in your head was how badly you needed that cock inside of you.

Your doctor grabbed you by the hips and, ever-so-slowly, lowered you down onto his cock. Harper practically hissed as you sunk further and further onto him, until your hips were flush with his. 

“V-very good,” Harper managed to get out, his face turning red. This was an act you were quite familiar with, and your instincts kicked in. You started moving up and down, Harper’s hands still gripping you tightly, and he began rocking his hips in unison.

Harper seemed practiced in every aspect, with his cock managing to hit every sensitive spot inside of you. He was consistent, too. Every thrust was almost rhythmic. It made the hospital bed creak and squeak, and if you weren’t almost entirely fucked out of your mind, you would’ve worried about its stability. But all you could focus on was riding Harper and how fucking amazing it felt. Maybe it was that tea you had, or maybe your doctor was just that good at fucking.

His grip on your hips only added to the pleasure and you quickly began feeling heat intensifying within you.

“I think,” you tried to start but were cut off by your own moan. “I’m gonna…” 

“Cum,” Harper said plainly, though clearly struggling to stay calm. “You can cum. It’ll - haa - be good for you and your…fffucking treatment.”

You didn’t need Harper to tell you twice, his hips slamming into you. You grabbed onto his shoulders and cried out as the orgasm wracked your entire body. You squeezed your eyes shut, but when you opened them, you noticed Harper was staring intently at you. It felt as though he was staring into your soul.

After several more thrusts, you could tell Harper was about to hit his limit as well. Never easing up on his grip, Harper held you down as he came, filling your insides with his hot cum. The two of you stayed connected for a few moments before he gently pulled you off, you letting out a whine at the loss of contact. Harper quietly studied his cum leaking out of your hole and dripping down your leg, then jotted down a few more notes in his notebook. You wondered what he was writing.

“Well,” Harper smiled at you, straightening his clothes out. “You did a great job. You’re a fast learner. I hope that was pleasurable.”

You could only nod in response.

“However,” Harper looked down at his notebook with a slight frown. “I’m afraid you still have a long way to go. This is only the beginning. I’ll need to keep you here at least for a few more days for further studying and treatment.”

“Oh…” you mumbled. In your post-orgasmic state, you struggled to understand what was going on. But maybe a longer stay wouldn’t be so bad.

Harper stood up, clutching his notebook to his chest, and gave you a few soft pats on the head. “No worries. I’ve already communicated with your guardian and school, so everything will be just fine.” He gave you another grin, one that felt a little less genuine, and made you feel a little uneasy. “Trust me. There is no better place for you to be right now than right here.”

And with that, he left the room.

[joels-shitty-puns]

The Key To Your Heart - Track 3

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Musician!Reader

Gif creds to @bestintheparsec

Series Summary: After writing your feelings for Pedro into a song, it gains a lot more popularity than expected. Ultimately it brings both criticism and support, with new possibilities around the corner.

Series Warnings: 18+ only (MDNI). Potential for puns/dad jokes (name of my blog, and the fic) should give that away. This is my first fic which should be its own warning, lol. Also some cursing. Mentions of masturbation (f) maybe more smut later idk. Sadness, reader is pretty depressed. Poor body image. Rude people. Bullying-ish and just lack of support? Anxiety. Age gap! Reader is in her mid 20's, Pedro is current age (48).

Other stuff: Reader is plus sized. AFAB. Inexperienced. Also has a dog, but you can pretend it is another creature probably. Further, in case it isn't clear, italics almost always are the reader's inner thoughts!

Word Count: 2.5K

Series List: Here!

Miss last chapter? Here!

Sorry this took so long. Work :( But I hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think. :) Thanks for reading!

-Pedro's POV-

The warmth of the midday sun beamed through the window as Pedro glanced nervously at his watch. 12:55PM. Finally, he grabbed his laptop and lay down on his couch with a soft *flump*. He quickly typed in "The Jazz and AllyKat show" into the search engine and opened up the website for your interview, just in time for it to begin broadcasting live. He knew you wouldn't be visible, but he would be lying if he said he hadn't been waiting anxiously since they announced it two days ago.

He was interested in hearing more about you. Hearing your voice speaking instead of just singing. Hearing the passion and levels of expression you may portray. Do you have an accent? A high or low voice? A lisp or a stutter? A rasp? You were such a mystery to him and the world, yet your shared conversation over Instagram the other day was so heartfelt. He appreciated your candor and vulnerability, especially in show business.

He couldn't figure out why… but ever since he heard your song, he couldn't stop thinking about you. There was something about you that seemed to draw him in. He was impressed with your lyrics and swooned at your voice. That voice! But with everyone contemplating who you were and who you liked, Pedro didn't want to be another one of those people, making you feel pressured. But he was certainly curious. 

The video began and he listened intently, not wanting to miss a single word. When your voice chirped a hello to the interviewers and listeners, his heart skipped a beat. He swore it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. He was drawn to you and wanted to learn anything he could, so he listened, trying to keep his breathing as silent as possible to not miss it. Why am I feeling like this? We've only had one conversation. Why am I so drawn to her, especially when she's already in love with someone?… he interrogated himself.

The interview discussed your favorite color, animals, and books, which Pedro vowed to read as soon as he could get to a bookstore. You listed off your favorite films and shows. However, although you had a great taste in cinema, he couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment that none of his roles were on your list. Clearly it's not you she loves, so you can put that out of your head now. He should feel relief, but instead he feels hollow at that realization.

When asked who your best friend is, you gush about your guy bff. You talk about how much you love him. How cute and sweet he is. Pedro can't help but feel a bit jealous of this guy who you love so much. But he listens on, his heart perking up and bubbling over when he hears you finally explain that your best friend is your dog.

Not only does she have a dog, but he's her best friend. And the way she talks about him is so…adorable, he thinks, gushing over your shared love of the fuzzy animals. He wonders what your dog's name and breed is, but you refuse to answer that question from the interviewers, for fear that someone may recognize his name and breed, tying him to you. The interviewers make a joke on your paranoia, which you ignore and Pedro scoffs at, their lack of understanding poking a protective instinct inside of him.

The conversation suddenly rolls into celebrity crushes and his chest tightens. But before they can ask you, he hears the air horn signaling the amount of viewers. Although he's disappointed to miss the potential answer you may have given, he also feels that strange protective feeling over you again, making him feel annoyed at the interviewers, knowing your desire for privacy. His thoughts only shift into a possessive manner for a millisecond before Ally proposes the possibility of your crush potentially listening to the show. His heart and emotions are on a bumpy roller coaster and he's practically jittery at the anticipation. He's leaning in to hear your answer when the door to his house barges open and a frustrated Oscar Isaac walks in, complaining in Spanish.

Startled, Pedro slams his laptop closed and flings it towards the coffee table, nearly spilling his drink. He yells questioningly, wondering why his best friend is barging into his home unannounced. Oscar is fully in the living room now, hands on his hips and ready to rant again. But before he has a chance to continue his argument with Pedro, he squints. His eyes look to the laptop, then to Pedro, now standing and looking frazzled after jolting up from the seat. He looks at Pedro's face again, eyebrow raised questioningly, and points to the laptop. "Were you watching porn?"

Pedro is dumbfounded, and if he wasn't on such high alert, he would've thought to lie and say he was watching porn. Instead he blurts "NO, I was not watching porn." It sounded like a lie. Oscar looks again from the laptop to Pedro, noticing his flushed cheeks and giving him a once over from head to toe, looking for any tells, other than the blush and the panic. "Yeah right, you slut. Let's see then."

Oscar reaches for the laptop, and Pedro grasps for it too, just a second behind. Too slow. Pedro argues "I wasn't. Not that it should matter, seeing as I'm in my own HOME… alone. Or should I say previously alone." Pedro throws his hands up in frustration. Oscar just laughs. "Okay let's see what you're so interested in then, that you don't even hear me knocking on your door or trying to contact you." He cracks open the computer.

"You're watching…an interview?" Oscar looks at Pedro, confused at why he would be so wigged out over a talk show. "I told you," Pedro replies, pointedly. Oscar glances back at the computer again, his brow suddenly relaxing and his lips turning into a mischievous smirk. "Ohh. I see… This is that girl you defended in your interview, huh? Someone got a little crush?" 

Pedro rolled his eyes and scoffed, trying to push away the warmth grazing his cheeks. "No. I don't have a crush. I was just looking for something to do and saw it pop up on my page…" Pedro rambled on, "plus it's just curious how much she's keeping a secret, you know? Everyone is wondering about these things." Oscar listened, amused, and Pedro continued. Please stop talking, Pedro thought to himself. "Plus I don't even know her. A crush? That's ridiculous."

"She doesn't know that guy in her song either and she managed a crush… and you defended it," Oscar said matter-of-factly. Pedro rolled his eyes, and Oscar continued. "Are you hoping her crush is on you?" 

Pedro sputtered out a quick answer. "Please. She sounds young... it's probably on someone like Harry Styles. Why would she have interest in an old man like me?" Oscar patted Pedro's shoulder. "You're too hard on yourself." Pedro ignored him and continued, "plus you know how I feel about relationships." 

"Yeah yeah…" Oscar continued in a mocking tone, hand pretending to be a sock puppet while he recited, "I don't have the time to properly grow a relationship, I don't want to get hurt, I'm focusing on my career…" Pedro ignored his mocking tone and simply agreed with the recitation. "Yes… now… Why did you feel the need to barge in here unexpectedly?"

"It wouldn't have been unexpected had you checked your messages. I texted you four times and even messaged your Instagram when I didn't get a reply," Oscar defended. 

"You know I'm not a texter," Pedro disputes.

"Yeah, no shit, abuelito. How many messages are unread on your phone? 600?" Oscar banters.

Pedro hastily defended himself. "No! I call them back! And abuelito!? Really?" He tuts. "You're not far behind me, pendejo. Plus you know I never check my Instagram messages either. I hardly even log on. You should've called me instead."

"I did. Twice. Anyway, I wanted to see if you were still available to watch the kids later. Buuuut, after not hearing back, I just decided to check on you. Glad to see you're alive, and clearly just distracted." Oscar wiggles his eyebrows.

Pedro crosses his arms, ignoring Oscar's last remark. "Yes, of course I'll watch the kids. Go enjoy yourselves!"

"Thanks P. You're the best… and I know I'm picking on you, but I just want you to be happy. I think if you like this girl you should try and talk to her. Dust off the cobwebs of your Instagram and actually message her or something."

I already have… Pedro thinks, running his thumb across his bottom lip. "Thanks, man."

Oscar left with a friendly pat on Pedro's shoulder. "See you later tonight then with the kids!"

Upon closing the door, Pedro sped over to his laptop again, hopeful that your interview hadn't ended yet. Fortunately for him, it was still recording. He hoped he hadn't missed anything.

The interviewer named Ally spoke. "Nice try. You know who we're trying to find out about. Has he, the man of your dreams and star of your lyrics, contacted you at all? Will we see a romance blooming?"

Pedro's heart pounded so loud he feared he would miss your answer. If she says yes… his mind entertains, not knowing the answer to the rest of that thought.

You spoke, hesitantly, and he felt the protective urge creep over him again. He wanted to know the answer but he hated hearing you uncomfortable . "I uh… I have received a lot of messages, some of them from celebrities."

He swallowed hard, his breath catching in his throat.

The interviewers replied excitedly. "Yeeeeaaaah?????"

There's a long pause. The silence is deafening, apart from the booming timpani of Pedro's heartbeat.

You answered, so softly he almost missed it. "Yes. We've talked."

He stopped breathing. 

"Did you tell him it was him? Did you admit you love him?"

"Absolutely not. It was just a nice conversation," you laughed.

We had a nice conversation…

"Will you tell us who he is? At least a description? An initial?" Jazzy asked, desperate for answers.

Ally chimed in "anything! We're starving here."

You giggled before answering. The most beautiful laugh he's ever heard. "I won't do that much, but I will say… he has brown curly hair... Gorgeous brown eyes… And he seems really funny and nice."

I have curly brown hair and brown eyes.. maybe it could be me, his heart offered the idea. I try my best to be funny and nice too.

It could also be Tom Holland. Or Dylan O'Brien. Or some other young actor, his self-doubt chimes in. But he also knew based on your eye color descriptor, that it wasn't Harry Styles, shutting down his earlier guess.

Ally lets out a huff. "That's a pretty broad answer but I guess it narrows out a few people.."

"Well we have another surprise. A way to narrow it down a little more…" Jazz proposes.

"Oh? What's that?" You replied. Pedro could hear the nervousness in your tone.

Jazz continued "I asked our tech to work his magic, and he managed to pull a list of our viewers during the highest number of people tuning in…"

Pedro's heart picked up speed.

"Then, since he's so good at working a computer, he was able to filter it further, running the names through the web and pulling out any celebrities. We have a list here and all you have to do is read through and say if he's on the list of viewers. The only ones who would know are the three of us. Of course if he's watching, he will also know if he's in the running or not."

You stuttered out, "o-okay.."

There was a long pause on your end while you read, and Jazz and Ally filled in the space with chatter.

Pedro sat, waiting nervously for your answer.

"Uhm… no. None of these names.." you finally answered.

His heart sank. It wasn't him. You didn't love him.

"That's disappointing," Ally answered. "I had really hoped he was listening. I'm sorry. I thought when we filtered through the viewers with our celebrity listener filter, we'd have some luck."

"It's okay.. he's probably busy or something.." you answered, though your disappointment was hard to hide. "Maybe he will listen later when he has time."

Pedro was logged in on his account. His name would've been on that list, and you just confirmed, without calling him out personally, that he wasn't the one you loved.

The interview soon ended and he closed his laptop with a sigh, flopping back onto his couch. He had hoped to message you and tell you he watched the video. But now he didn't see the point in it. You already knew he watched it, and you probably didn't care. He closed his eyes and eventually decided to try and ignore his feelings. You don't even know her. Don't be stupid. It's just a crush.. a stupid, hopeless crush..

Looking out the window, Pedro noticed the sun setting outside and glanced at the clock on his stove. Realizing Oscar would be back soon with the kids, he decided he needed to snap out of it. Put on a happy face before babysitting duty. He began straightening up the house and getting things ready before finally turning on a cartoon movie just in time for them to arrive. 

Oscar greeted him, and sat the kids in front of the movie. He knew his friend well enough to see through his smile and know he was upset about something. But he also could tell Pedro needed some space to sort things out in his mind first before he was ready to talk. So he left the kids with a profuse thank you, and headed out the door, leaving Pedro alone with his thoughts and two small bundles of energy.

Unbeknownst to Pedro, you looked through the list of celebrity viewers, scanning for his name. But thanks to his friend's intrusion, at the time that they filtered the list, he was disconnected from the live video. He wasn't on the list you saw.

Kept busy with the kids, it wasn't until they were back home with their parents that Pedro was forced to think about his feelings. Maybe he would still message you either way. You probably needed more friends and allies in this business, and he did enjoy talking to you, even if he wasn't the one you loved. If you didn't want to form a friendship with him back, that was fine too. But he would try. Still, his disappointment was settling in his heart. He didn't realize how much he was starting to care about you until you said he wasn't on that list.

So with the shared belief that neither of you cared about one another, you both went to bed, you both felt heavy in your hearts, and you both couldn't help but feel light tears spilling onto your cheeks as sleep eventually took over.

Equally unknown to you, he was watching, and he planned to watch it again when the video was posted, just to hear you talk a little bit longer. Just to learn more about you. Learn the tiny personality quirks he could pick out from your voice. Things that make you who you are, until maybe he could meet you in person. 

That's all for this chapter!! Thank you again for reading and let me know what you think.

Looking for the next chapter? Here!

Taglist: (Let me know if you want in!)

@pedrotonin @starcrossed02 @lightupsketchersperson

[arvensimp]

your father should know, pt. 4

Arven leaves you with something more than either of you bargained for when he goes off to Kalos for an internship, and through a series of miscommunications and heartbreak, he returns a few years later to learn that he actually has a child.

arven x fem!reader, nsfw content (in pt. 1), pregnancy (pts. 1, 2, & 2.5), angst, and stupid miscommunications

[part 1][part 2][part 2.5][part 3]

I'M HERE AGAIN THANKS FOR THE WAIT. SORRY ABOUT BEING THE WAY I AM LMAO please enjoy the next installment. it's not beta'd i'm out here livin like larry

~

[Group Chat: Team Star? More Like, Time To Go To HR AmIRight???]

WalkWalkFashionBaby: hey @ ParadoxChamp is this your man?

WalkWalkFashionBaby: [sent a photo]

[Image description: A man with wavy, longish ash blond and light brown hair, accompanied by a Mabosstiff, walking down the streets of Mesagoza. His hands are in his pockets, and he seems to be smiling.]

CassiopeiaYamahaSteinway: ?????????

CassiopeiaYamahaSteinway: !!!!!!!?!

CassiopeiaYamahaSteinway: yo wtf 

CassiopeiaYamahaSteinway: first of all that deadbeat isnt her man ortega

CassiopeiaYamahaSteinway: second

CassiopeiaYamahaSteinway: yea uh

CassiopeiaYamahaSteinway: @ paradoxchamp did you know he was back in town???????

CassiopeiaYamahaSteinway: third @ giacomo4pm momo if you don't change our nicknames in this chat back to normal I will absolutely dox you (again) and then change them back myself

Giacomo4pm: Can do, will do.

Giacomo4pm: Also, yo, damn, what's he doing back? I thought he fled the country or whatever.

--

Rika: so the sperm donor's here. Just came up the hill asking for you. Want me to send him packing?

Rika: yeah u do

Rika: well... I do.

Rika: also unrelated, holy sHIT, man's genes are strong. It's like I'm looking into a time machine for Basil's future.

Rika: except, you know. Basil will be way cooler and more handsome with your genes mixed in.

Rika: ❤️

Rika: plus no shitty facial hair.

Rika: or better facial hair.

Rika: anyway, I'm gonna eviscerate him.

Rika: love you. ❤️

--

You had been in Area Zero, gathering information on moth pokemon for Jacq when the director called, his usually placid voice laced with an edge of steel.

"Basil's father just stopped by." He says without preamble.

Your heart sinks, and you nearly lose your grip on Raidon, only barely managing to stay upright and drag the pokemon to a halt.

"His what?" You splutter, changing the phone to your other ear, as if you hadn't heard correctly.

"His father." The director repeats. "I know we have not...explicitly discussed Basil's paternity, but, well," He tsks lightly. "He showed up to speak to me."

Your head is filled with tarountula webbing. You feel your hearing go fuzzy, but somehow your hands direct Raidon up and toward the closest lab station. Out, out, out. Back to the school. Back to Basil, back to--

"I'm on my way to the entrance to Area Zero now." Clavell continues when you don't reply after a few moments. "I'll meet you there with Basil."

"What did he want?" You finally ask as you enter the station.

"I didn't give him the opportunity to chitchat."

You hum. "One second, Sir." You step into the transport pad.

A moment later, and Clavell is right in front of you, Basil tucked safely in his stroller, looking just as he did when you dropped him off this morning, save for his hair looking a little...off. You disregard it.

"Thank you so much." You sigh, hanging up the phone as Clavell gives you a sad sort of smile.

"Anything for you two." He says.

You kneel and try to fluff up your son's hair, but it has dried all crunchy from whatever happened during the day. He's getting a bath later, so you don't fret over it and just smile warmly to him, trying not to let your panic show.

"Ready to go home, sweet thing?" You ask him.

Basil nods, reaching with little hands for yours in his hair. "Mhmm!" He nods. "Ahso, Mama! I saw a big buddy! A big, BIG buddy!"

Clavell clears his throat and provides some context. "Mabosstiff said hello."

You look up to the director, knowing exactly which Mabosstiff he must mean. "Oh? Mabosstiff! That's...that's so great!" If your register is maybe just a touch too high, your smile too tight, it's only to maintain face in front of the boy to whom you turn back. "Were you kind? Remember how we always wanna be nice to new pokemon, yeah?"

"Uh-huh, uh-huh! He gived me a kisses! A lotsa kisses!"

So that's the crunch in his hair.

Oh, Mabosstiff...

"That's my sweet boy." You sigh, ruffling the mess before standing again to face the director.

"Thanks again. I'm gonna..." Another long exhale. "I'm gonna get us home."

Clavell nods. "You know how to reach me if you need something. And... Well, if you want me to intercede on your behalf, I'm happy to have words." He says stoically. "At times I felt I was the closest thing..." He gestures with his head outward toward the school. "He had to a parent in his life... I..." It's his turn to sigh. "I don't understand what happened there. How he could do what his own parents did to him? I'm sorry. If it's any consolation."

Your heart squeezes, and you distract yourself from the feeling by digging your nails into the soft foam of the handles of Basil's stroller. "Don't be. He made his choice, y'know?" You try to smile, but it's shaky. "He deserves to have the life he wants."

"He deserves a kick in the pants." Clavell responds. "Not that I'm an advocate for corporal punishment..." He adjusts his glasses in that grandfatherly way.

You laugh.

"Well, if he sticks around long enough, maybe you'll get a chance."

You hope he doesn't stick around.

Or...do you?

Do you even want to see him?

Either way, you don't want to linger on it in the lab.

"I'm gonna take this little one home."

Clavell nods. "Until later."

And then you're calling a cab to get back to your place, and Clavell is on his way back to the office.

While you're in the cab, you check your messages and sigh. Seems like Ortega caught a glimpse of Arven, and Rika is...fucking with him in some way or another.

You ignore your old classmates and opt to just text Rika.

Me: Got Basil from Clavell and we're on our way home rn/

Me: Love you too ofc 💖💖

A minute or so later, your phone buzzes. Rika again.

Rika: he's gone now

Rika: I put the fear of arceus in him if i do say so myself

You roll your eyes, smiling wryly. By now the cab is slowly descending to the space just outside your home, so you pocket the device and maneuver Basil in his stroller out of the cramped space and into the house.

Once he's unbuckled from his seat, he's bouncing around and grabbing at the attached bag, the one containing Buddy's pokeball, asking in broken syllables if they can play. 

It isn't a huge deal to let the pup out of the ball to play, so you hand it over to Basil, reminding him how to behave with his friend. At the same time, you also release Skeledirge to keep a watchful eye over the pair for a moment.

In the weeks since the Raisins Incident, as you've called it, you've come to the realization that your team can be of some assistance to you when you need a moment to yourself, when you're overwhelmed. Obviously Skeledirge isn't a parent. Neither is Raidon or Tinkaton or Screamtail or anyone else, but Skeledirge is smart enough to keep them safe for the precious seconds you need to breathe.

So you let the three alone in the living room and retire to your bedroom for a moment to collapse on the bed and gather your thoughts. You only need a few seconds. Just a few seconds of Mama time...just a few.

There's a sound at your open door as Basil toddles in, two pokemon in tow.

"Mama... Hungy?" He asks, clenching his shirt in tiny balled fists.

"Oh, sweetness..." You sigh, leaning down to pick him up and seat him securely on your lap. "You're hungry?" You press your face into his head, expecting its usual downy softness and the comfort of your child's scent, only to be met with that uncomfortable crunch of dried Mabosstiff slobber. Out of Basil's line of sight, your nose crinkles. "Let's see what we've got in the kitchen, yeah?"

"Toast? Toast 'n jellies?" He asks hopefully.

"I think we could do that, my littlest..." You respond with a smile, hefting your boy onto your hip as you trudge into the kitchen.

Of course, it would be just your luck that you're entirely out of oran jelly, the only jelly that Basil will eat right now. Thank you, developing taste buds and picky eating...

Maybe he won't notice if you try to give him pinap jelly instead this once?

You prepare his plate, the toast lovingly cut into four triangles, and you give him his sippy cup as well, but Basil only stares down unhappily at the food.

"Jellies?" He asks, his tiny button nose wrinkling.

"Yeah, Baby, I made you toast and jelly." Your heart clenches, anxiety rising, but you try to keep your voice chipper.

"Nuh-uh!" He insists, pushing the plate away.

"Oh, I'm sorry. We don't have the usual jelly. Do you wanna try this instead?"

Your son looks at you with wide eyes, rapidly filling with tears. His lower lip wobbles, and his brow furrows angrily. Times like these it's almost crazy how much he looks like...

No, focus!

"It's good, I promise. Wanna see? Mama will have some." You take a bite of one of the triangles and make a show of smiling. "Mmm! So yummy! It's really tasty!"

"No!" Basils yells in response, his tiny tears now falling. Hangry isn't a good look on the little guy.

"Ahhh, we gotta get you something to eat, huh, bud."

"Jellies!" He blubbers, only barely understandable through his tantrum. Buddy the Maschiff jumps up, placing his front paws on Basil's feet, trying to get at the food, and Basil complies, shoving it down to the pup.

You sigh. "Alright."

Buddy re-enters his ball, still chewing the bread, and you take Basil from his high chair, depositing him in his stroller.

"We'll go to the market and get your good jelly, okay? Super duper fast, then we'll come home and have a feast."

Basil is still crying, but the promise of his good jelly seems to placate him somewhat.

It'll be fine anyway. The market is only a short walk from your apartment building, and you'll only be out for a few minutes. 

The journey there is easy. Basil's stroller is one of those fancy transforming models that's great for all kinds of terrain while also being pretty light. It helps that the market is all outdoors, too. Less helpful is the fact that the stalls are fairly narrowly placed beside one another. At least it feels that way with all the people around, but it isn't overly cumbersome to navigate.

"Jellies!" Basil starts to whine as you approach the stall that he's come to learn has his favorite snack. He starts making grabby hands towards the jars along the table, and you attempt to quietly stop him.

"Yup! They've got your jelly here. Once I pay, you can hold the jar, if you like. Sound good?"

"I pick, I pick!" Basil insists, arching his tiny body as best he can away from the stroller's restraining buckle.

"Hey now," You press a soft but firm hand against him, guiding him back to his seat. "I'll let you pick, but you have to be polite. Say please and thank you to the salesperson, kay?"

Your son huffs, squirming a bit more before collapsing against the seat. "I be good. I good." He grumbles, and you're finally able to unbuckle him and take him up in your arms.

"Okay now. Can you ask for what you want?" You give the salesperson a thankful smile as you speak to Basil. They seem willing to be patient with your little one.

"Jellies!!!" He cries gleefully.

"Jellies, what, bud?"

"Jellies, pease!!!"

"There you go... We're gonna get some oran berry jelly." You tell the salesperson, already reaching into your bag with the hand that isn't carrying Basil. "Remember, these are glass, so you gotta hold it gently."

Basil carefully (or as carefully as a nearly-two year old can) chooses a bright blue jar, holding it in both of his hands.

Gently, so as not to jostle Basil enough that he drops his prize, you rearrange him on your hip, freeing an arm to reach into your bag, so you can pay the shop keeper. 

That's when you hear it. Not particularly loud compared to the hum of the crowd, but clear as day anyway.

The sound of your name being called gives you pause. You look around. It's not uncommon for you to be recognized, but you're already on edge. Hopefully it's just a fan or something?

–

You heard him. From the way you stopped and looked around, hiking the kid up just a bit higher on your hip as you distractedly tried to find the source of his voice, it was obvious.

It isn't an overly crowded market, but there are definitely enough people milling around that quick travel isn't really feasible from where he stands, particularly if he wants to get closer.

He calls your name again, louder this time. Before it had almost been breathless, filled with surprise, hurt, delight, just a tumultuous storm of emotions tearing through his stomach at the sight of you, the sight of his little carbon copy in your arms. Now he's really trying to get your attention.

You pinpoint him, and Arven waves, his bulky form helping to differentiate him from the rest of the crowd.

He... He can't read your face. You look like a deerling caught in Flash. He watches as you quickly shuffle, taking your boy (his boy?) away. Are... Are you for real fleeing from him? He calls your name again, trying to move closer to your retreating form, but it's no use. He makes it to the stall where you were before. He's positive of it because you left the stroller behind, and judging by the yelling from the salesperson, you made off with some product without paying. It's a no-brainer for him to lay down the cash needed, assuaging the anger of the clerk. Arven also grabs the stroller, giving a nervous laugh about how forgetful you must be before he starts trekking with it in the direction that you fled.

Except. He quickly realizes that's not really gonna get him anywhere. He has no idea where you live. Yeah, he knows where you used to live, almost 3 years ago, but that was basically a shoebox, a place to store your supplies while out and about as a champ. No way you're there still. Not with a kid. Right?

He eventually takes a seat on a bench close to the market, keeping the stroller next to him. You've gotta come back for it soon, right? Even then though, he has no idea how long it might take you to come back. 

Once again, Arven desperately wishes you hadn't blocked him way back when. He pulls out his phone, hoping to shoot you a text, on the off-chance that maybe you unblocked him at some point maybe?

Me: Hi, Buddy!

is all he types before seeing the tell-tale red messaging, showing that the number is indeed still blocked. Ugh.

Fuck, maybe...maybe he could use a pay phone or something? Just to tell you where your stroller is. But are there even any pay phones anymore?

As it turns out, they do still exist! There's one just on the edge of the market, so Arven makes his way over, pulling out his phone to copy your number once he's in the booth.

Except.

That's not a Paldean area code he sees. It's Kalosian. Yes, it's your name as the contact, and it's your final, nasty message to him there in the texts, but....it's not your number. There's not even a call history that goes back that far for him to try and grab the number that he just can't seem to remember entirely. He used to have it memorized, once upon a time, the two of you having been the other's emergency contact for so long, so he knows he's not crazy. That number...

He realizes on a second glance that the number is affiliated with Bon Applintit. It's got the same starting numbers after the area code.

What the hell happened to--

"Arven!!!!" The cry of his name startles him out of the thought, but he tucks it away for later. There's something very, very off going on, beyond the kid and everything. Which also??? Kinda absolutely bonkers. He's not gonna lie to himself. He also can't think too hard about it.

"Arven!" Nemona pulls him from that dizzying train of thought, as well as the phone booth. "I've been sent to just, uh...grab this from you..." She tells him, awkwardly trying to work her way around him to grab at the stroller's handlebars. "Ya know... Mama and Basil need it and all." She laughs a bit uncomfortably, continuing her attempt to pry the pram from him.

"Basil?" He says out loud, the name punching him harder than any Hitmonchan. His fists clench tighter around the bars.

Nemona slaps a hand over her mouth, allowing Arven to angle the stroller away from her. "Were you not supposed to know? Ah, gosh darn it!"

"I mean--!" He starts defensively. "I guess?! I never knew about...about any of this!" He gesticulates wildly. "When was anyone gonna tell me about Basil, huh? What the hell, Nemona!?"

She gives him a strange look, her lips pursed and brows quirked. "You... You really had no idea?" She crosses her arms, studying Arven's expression. "Hold on."

Nemona takes out her phone and starts texting. Arven does his absolute best to be patient, but with every passing second he's growing more agitated. 

"Okay, listen! Someone has GOT to tell me what's going on!" He eventually bursts. "Who IS this kid? Why does she have him? Why does... I mean, why does the kid look like me? Everyone's been treating me like shit since I got here, and none of it makes any goddamn sense! If anyone cares to hear MY side of the story, she blocked ME! And to my knowledge it was just over a few missed calls! I thought she was just overreacting! I had no idea about any of this!" His anger over it all, over getting shunned by his friends years ago, over Clavell’s insults, comparing him to his father, it all bubbles over, and he’s letting it out on Nemona. 

She hushes him with a sound and a not-so-placating finger, not bothering to even look up as she texts with a single thumb. "Hold on, hold on, hold on..." The patronizing nature of it all pulls a huff from Arven, whose grip on the handles of the strollers is so strong his knuckles go white.

His friend locks the screen and looks back to him. Her gaze is steady and serious, in stark contrast to her typical jovial self.

"Okay. I believe you, amigo. You say you've got no idea what's going on? I'm sorry to hear that. I really, really wish I could just tell you everything. Or at least, what I think is everything? But this isn't really my place. Not my mankey, not my circus. I'm just the mankey's fun tia, y'know?" She tries to lighten the mood a bit, but it absolutely falls short. "But. For real, this isn't the kind of chisme I enjoy. Not when it involves any of you. I'm talking to her now." Nemona shakes the phone in her hand. "I'm gonna see if she's willing to hear you out."

"Hear me out? She was the one--"

"That isn't how anyone here knows the story, Arven. At least what she's been able to bring herself to tell of it. I don't think any of us can claim to know all the details, but do you think she'd lie to make you look bad? Really?"

That seems to give Arven pause. At least long enough for Nemona to check the latest message from you. She smiles.

"She's on her way to the Treasure Eatery and will meet with you there. Be sure to bring the stroller."

--

Arven makes it to the restaurant before you. It isn't really surprising, given your detour to the league building to drop Basil off with Nemona for a bit. He ought to thank his lucky stars for Nemona pleading his case to you, saying he seemed to be genuinely confused and distraught over the situation. Otherwise you wouldn't have bothered. This is...exhausting to think about. Facing him. Trying to figure out what he wants. Why he came.

You won't lie, your initial thoughts as you rushed home with Basil tucked tightly in your arms, shielding him from his father, were rather dark. Was Arven here to try and take him? Did he think he could use your baby as some kind of prop in his social media videos? People go crazy for dads after all.

But, no. If you're honest with yourself (like Nemona urged you to be) that's not the man you knew. You couldn't imagine him becoming someone like that either, especially if he didn't want to be a dad in the first place... Beyond that, if you think rationally for a moment, there isn't a court in the world that would order your toddler son to another country without you.

No, this...this will be safe. It will be scary. To see him again. But. There's no need to think there's danger. It will just be kind of scary. And you can deal with scary, if only for a few minutes. 

"Hey." Your voice sounds drained as you drop your bag on your side of the booth and follow behind it to sit. You want to look at him. Look him in the eye and ask him what his deal is, but you just can't summon that brand of bravery.

"Hey." His tone isn't really discernable; you can't guess what he's thinking. "I, uh...ordered your usual drink. Or...What you used to order? If that's cool?"

Sure enough, there on the tabletop is your go-to drink from the Treasure Eatery, a ring of condensation already formed at the base of the glass, dampening the flimsy cardboard of the disposable coaster.

"Oh." It surprises you, that small bit of thoughtfulness. "Thanks." You take the glass in both hands and sip, letting the frosty cold of it ground you before you finally look up to see him.

He's... He's so much like Basil, it makes a lump form in the back of your throat. The nose, the eyebrows, the bow of his lips. You've seen them all every day for almost two years now in the face of your little boy; things you noticed and adored, now mimicked before you. Beyond that, he's still Arven. Time hasn't changed him too terribly much. For an adult, it hasn't been too long, so it's not like he's suddenly grey and withered before you or something. The biggest difference is how he pulls his hair back into a low ponytail, the patchy stubble around his cheeks and chin. He's either growing it out to try something new or just hasn't bothered with a razor for a while.

"Hey." You finally say. Truth be told, if not for your drink, your throat would've gone dry just seeing him again.

"So..." He starts, leading.

"So...you're back."

"Uh. Yeah. The plan was to spend the weekend clearing out my old storage....and...head back to Lumiose..."

"'The plan was?'" You ask.

"W-Well, I mean... I. I don't think I can just go back now, can I?"

You tense. Why did that feel like an attack? "I don't see why not. You didn't seem to think it was important to, you know, come back before now. What makes you think you have to stay?" Your tone comes off colder, more callous, than your aching heart would otherwise reveal, and it does its job, egging Arven onto frustration.

"I saw Clavell with Basil." He starts, pausing when he notices your flinch at the name. "Then I saw him with you. And... I mean..."

"Oh, so you saw him and now suddenly you care?" You ask, venom dripping more than you'd care to admit.

"What are you saying?!" He grates, volume only as loud as public decorum would allow in the bustling restaurant. "You... You have to be kidding, right? Of course I care! There's... There's a whole kid! Right? Where did he come from, huh? Cuz, like... Those don't just appear! And he's yours, right? He's gotta be! Like, obviously I see my...resemblance, but I see you in him, too!" That surprises you. No one ever found your features in Basil anymore, save for your mom, who made an off-handed comment once or twice about your eye shape or something.

Arven takes your silence as reason to continue "I mean... I've seen my photos from a young age... I..." His anger fizzles out into confusion as he goes on. "I don't want to make assumptions about...about us or what we were? But...looking at that kid, it's gotta be, right? That it was me? That I'm..." He can't say it out loud. "But why? Why didn't you say something? Why did you hide something like that? Cuz, like... I mean...even...even if he were someone else's... I mean, why wouldn't you have said something?"

"Hide it?!" The accusation shocks you into a response. "I never hid anything! I tried telling you for ages, back when you actually picked up the damn phone! You forced me into having to text you about my son! Then you blocked me! I have the receipts, Arven. I don't know what kind of delusion you've got going on in that head of yours, but I never hid my boy from you until I was given reason to! Why would I go out of my way to force a child upon a man who couldn't acknowledge him? Why wouldn't I keep my son safe from someone who didn't have the decency to be there for him? For me?"

Your tone has risen to a point where a few of the surrounding tables have hushed to listen in, and Arven can tell that prying eyes and ears are now on you both. He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, an attempt to steady himself, keep from getting more heated in public. 

"Bud." He begins, the old nickname hitting you like a sucker punch. "I never knew. I don't know what happened there, but I promise. I promise on Mabosstiff's life that I had no clue about any of this. I think there had to have been some kinda mix up..." You watch as cogs turn in his head. "I think... I'm thinking maybe something happened with my phone." He says, pulling the device from his pocket. "Like... Lemme just try and make this clear from my end. Okay? I got this text from you..." He starts, tapping the screen. "It was kinda mean, and when I tried to respond, I was blocked." He holds up the conversation for you to read.

>Hey! Sorry we keep missing each other lately! I hope things are okay? Are you staying warm? It's getting kinda cold here.

>can we not do this?

>Not do what?

>"This" i'm getting real fuckin tired of you bailing on me all the time now that your some hot shot kalosian celebrity guy

>Whoa. Where is this even coming from??

>you kno exactly where its coming from, arven. Youve been super shitty to me since you left paldea and it really hurts my feelings.

>I'm sorry? I've been busy here. It's been a lot getting used to a whole new place and a whole new language. I thought you understood that. I really am sorry though.

>y'know what? I dont really care at this point. Ive had enough waiting around for you to call me or text me back. there are guys here who can do better by me

>[One Missed Call]

>[One Missed Call]

>[One Missed Call]

>Are you being serious right now? You can't be. This is a joke?

>[One Missed Call]

>[The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected and is no longer in service.]

Your face pales and stomach sinks as you read it. "Arven, I--"

"I just noticed earlier when I tried calling you about the stroller. That isn't even your number. It's Kalosian. It's... I think it's affiliated with my company? I can't be sure yet, but..." He locks the screen and puts his phone down. "I know now that you never sent those messages, and that somehow I lost everything related to your contact. So...whatever you might've sent...it isn't here. I couldn't have seen it."

With a nearly shaking hand, you grab his phone and open it back up, still remembering his old passcode (Mabosstiff's Pokedex number). "Hold on..." You absolutely sent a message. Whether it was deleted or not... You check his blocked numbers, knowing that on your end, you've been blocked since back when you first told him about the pregnancy. "Yup..." You show him the screen. There among several spam numbers was your own. "You blocked me."

Arven opens his mouth to argue. "Or, I guess," You continue before he has a chance to interrupt. "I was blocked... somehow? I still... I don't see how this could have happened..." You set the phone down and fish out your own from your bag. "Here." It only takes a moment to pull up your old conversations. "You can read for yourself what I tried to tell you."

>Hey! I know this isn't ideal, and I really would have rather said it in person or over a face call or even just a regular call, but I think you need to know, and I'm having a really hard time verbalizing it to you. I'm sorry to do it this way, but it's better to say it now than not at all, right?

>I'm pregnant, and it's yours.

>I'm so, so, SO sorry! I promise I didn't mean for it to happen like this, and I'm not trying to like…baby trap you or something. I swear! You're my best friend in the whole world, and I'm so happy that you can go and live your dream in Kalos right now. But I just feel like you should know? Like you should have a say in what happens here? I'd love to talk to you. Do...do you want to do this? Because....well if you're willing I'd want to try this. With you. But I also know that you're living your dream right now, and I don't want to get in the way of that! I want you to be able to really embrace this new journey you're taking and learn and grow and do wonderful things! But I just wanted you to know, you know? Please don't hate me. Just give me a call when you have a minute, and we can figure this out. Okay?

. Then after several months, you’d sent a picture. Just a simple selfie of you, looking exhausted beyond belief, hair tamped down to your head with sweat, but still smiling. In your arms is a tiny bundle with a little purple hat, face looking squished and wrinkly and perfect. Arven knows exactly what he’s looking at before he’s read your final message.

>He's here. I don't know if you care, necessarily? But... I love him so much, and I don't understand how you couldn't, so I thought I should share.

You watch as Arven tears up, holding your phone like a tiny, precious creature. "I never knew. I... I swear I didn't." He swallows. "My...my team... They all have access to my phone. Something must've... Someone, I guess..." He shudders then looks to you, resolute. "I'll figure it out. But." Arven looks at your hand on the table then flexes his own, curling and uncurling it from a fist. "I... I wanted to know. I should've known. I'm so sorry this happened..."

"Me too..." The anger and fear and sadness you had churning in your gut this whole time slowly begins to still. You don't know how to feel exactly about the misunderstanding, but you know Arven. You know he isn't lying to you, and to hear him apologize for all of this... It's like a weight off of your soul.

Arven pauses, gathering himself then stares you in the eye. "I was supposed to leave tomorrow, head back. Fuck that. I need to be here. I need to see him.”

It's another punch to the gut, and on instinct, you respond. "No."

[banjjakz]

➡ Fall asleep.

When you blink back into consciousness, a gentle warmth welcomes you to the land of the living. At some point in your slumber, you pitched sideways to huddle your achingly cold bones in a fetal position. Now, you find yourself struggling to activate your joints after succumbing to a slumber so deep it’s seemed to have left you with rigor mortis.

As you sit up, an unfamiliar layer of fuzzy fabric slides from your shoulders. A blanket! Ah, that explains the extra warmth. But you don’t remember bringing a blanket with you… and you’ve never seen this particular blanket in your entire life. Sure, it’s cozy and high-quality, but the pattern of wide-open eyes littered across the black cloth is off-putting – although, not entirely unpleasant.

Oh shoot, did someone put this on you? Have you been discovered?

“Hello.”

Spooked, you whip your head to the side, where you had not even registered the presence of another living being. “Ahh!!!”

“I did not mean to frighten you. I apologize.”

Are you – are you dreaming?

You must be dreaming. They term isn’t “yumejoshi” for no reason. There is no way Choso squats in front of you, less than a meter away, so close that you can smell his earthy, metallic fragrance. He hasn’t even changed out of his stage costume: his customary white robes are still soaked through with sweat from the earlier performance, gracing the pale fabric a tantalizing semi-translucence. His purple gi is nowhere to be found, which exposes the unholy caverns of his collarbones, the inviting jut of his skeletal sternum. The signature pigtails are also undone, leaving his stringy black hair to metastasize down the sides of his gaunt face, across the barren valley of his jagged shoulder blades. And yet, that solid bar of black remains perfectly applied across the center of his face.

“…Nn?”

“Are you alright?”

Choso stays where he is, head cocked in concern. Quickly, you realize you have two options.

You can tell the truth and admit that you’d been waiting outside just to see him walk a few paces before getting into a nondescript vehicle. Totally normal fan behavior that will definitely go over well.

Or, you can lie.

“I-I don’t have anywhere else to go,” you demure, casting your eyes down in false bashfulness. You would feel bad about this if you were a better person.  “And the memories from ShinShow’s performances always sustain me…I just thought, if I could enjoy the positive energy for a little while longer…I would be sustained. I’m sorry…”

“Why do you apologize?”

One of Choso’s most appealing charming points is his overly formal, somewhat antiquated manner of speaking. He sounds like a historical figure who has been yanked from the past, inserted haphazardly into contemporary pop culture. Very fitting for his lore. But you’d also been under the assumption that this was merely a stage act – is he that committed to his image? Or is it innate?

The thought of Choso simply being Like That is too endearing to bear. You hide your face behind your palms, concealing the tremulous smile that possesses your lips.

“It’s embarrassing… and I’ve troubled Choso-nii…”

The last thing you expect are cold, impossibly cold, hands to wrap around your wrists, kindly (but firmly) uncovering your face. Choso has drawn closer to you, so close that when he breathes, it brushes the bridge of your nose.

His face is impassive, as usual – but upon closer inspection, you notice a strange, wavering quality in his eyes, a slight tremor in his lips. There might actually be color on the tips of his ears. Usually, he appears as though he is so pale there is no blood coursing through his veins that could produce a blush.

Evidently, this is not the case.

“Choso-nii is not troubled,” he states plainly, leaving no room for argument. “The night is no place for a little one to be sleeping unguarded.”

Oh, you could faint here and now. It’s an active choice on your part to remain conscious. “Mn…”

“You will come with me now.”

And so you do.

This is how you find yourself in the back of an unmarked, utilitarian white van. To anyone else the vehicle would appear as little more than a maintenance truck. But you know better.

Inside the living-quarters is a mish-mash of discarded clothing items in varying degrees of cleanliness; discarded guitar picks; empty takeout containers; and a random jumble of electronic chargers. Inexplicably, there is also an abundance of first-aid supplies, with over half of it apparently already used. As he sits you down on one of the distressed leather seats, Choso uses the medical kit to tend to a few scrapes on your legs and arms earned from your impromptu nap on the concrete.

“It’s really not that bad…You don’t have to—”

“Enough.”

Embarrassed, you shut your mouth. How do you even cope with this situation? Here you are, in the back of your oshi’s travel van, as he sits on his knees in front of you, hands impatiently pushing your clothes away to reveal your bare skin. His touch leeches the body heat out of you like a parasite. You want to be sucked dry.

“This will sting.” That’s all the warning you get before hydrogen peroxide is unceremoniously dumped on your fresh scrapes.

Unbidden, you let out a strangled whine, hands flying to the closest part of him you can reach – which happens to be his head. You clutch at his hair to absolve you of your suffering. “Choso-nii! It hurts!”

Ker-thlunk. Glug… glug… glug…

Fuck! Your spasming must have knocked over the hydrogen peroxide…. the upended bottle spills its guts across the floor, drenching the air in an oppressively medicinal stink.

Oddly, no irritancy mars Choso’s features. If anything, he looks more flustered than you feel, which doesn’t make much sense to you.

“I’m so sorry! I c-can clean it up, I promise---”

“Leave it.” He speaks without meeting your eyes. “You are injured.”

Barely, you want to retort. But acknowledging the fact that your so-called “injuries” are very minor surface scrapes would shatter the illusory bubble of realized fantasy into which you have miraculously stumbled.

Before you can reply, Choso continues: “The human mouth is the fastest-healing part of the body. Saliva heals.”

“Okay,” you say, because there is nothing else you could possibly respond with. He can’t mean—surely, he doesn’t—

But there he goes, leaning in close to the supple flesh of your bared leg, breath ghosting along the very surface, raising the hairs that quiver in eager anticipation. “I said I would help you feel better. Please allow me this. It is my duty.”

And then he begins to suck on your wounds.

“Oh-kay,” you squeal, entirely convinced that you have begun to astral project. The scrape on the inside of your knee is laved over by his tongue, which is, strangely, just as chilled as the rest of him. When his eyes flick up at your exclamation, you realize that you have yet to release his hair.

Nor do you want to.

“B-be gentle, please…” You’re laying it on thick. You know it. How could you resist? He’s eating it up – literally – mouthing repeatedly over the sensitive area as though he is spiritually compelled to do so. And just because you’re a little too observant, a little too greedy for your own good, you decide to push your luck: “Will Choso-nii make me feel better everywhere?”

With a wet pop, he unleashes your leg from his wet, red mouth. “Where does it hurt,” he asks, pupils blown wide, nothing more than a twin pair of black holes.

“Mn…all over…I’m sore, from sleeping on the ground…”

Choso rises from his knees to crowd you into the back of the seat. Of course, you willingly melt back, pliant in the wake of his potent desire.

“Do you need Choso-nii to make it better?”

“Please,” you whimper, peering up at him through your dewy, tear-damp lashes.

Holy shit, you can’t believe this actually worked. Two hours ago, you were just one of hundreds of faceless, sweaty fans, screaming their hearts out to some of the most hauntingly morbid lyrics.

And now, you are caged in the unforgiving embrace of your oshi, completely at his mercy, littered in hickeys and lovebites and bruises as he has his way with you. Your sharp cries of pain do the opposite of dissuade him; with each groan and plea for him to slow down, take a pause, ow, ow, it hurts Choso-nii--, he grows all the more impassioned, all the more frantic.

He only pulls away from you when there is not a single inch of exposed skin left for him to mark. The sound of your comingled pants fill the van, fogging the windows with physical evidence of your salacious tryst.

Neither of you speak for a moment, content to simply gaze into each other’s eyes. His hair is frazzled every which way, due in no small part to your rough handling. Is it normal to be turned on by such a trainwreck of a human? Should you really be wet between the thighs at being mauled?

“Do—” his voice cracks in a way you have never heard before, not on any livestream, not in any video, not on any stage. “Do you feel better, now?”

Maybe it’s fate…maybe, somewhere out there, far, far away, there is a benevolent being who wants nothing but the best for you. Maybe they concentrated their divine powers into finding you, in this moment, and directing your gaze to the loose pocketknife innocently resting on the grimy floor next to his clunky black platforms. In this moment, as you pick up the blade, unsheathing it without breaking eye contact with the ghoulish specter hovering above you, an inexplicable wave of love and appreciation washes over you, bathing your half-dressed body in the warm waters of some distant, far-off shore.

It's almost too easy to slice a surface wound – a cat-scratch, really – into the plush swell of your upper thigh.

“What about here, Choso-nii?” You ask, enraptured by the peculiar twitching of his facial muscles. “Can you kiss it better right here?”

Once again, you are right on the money.

Choso dives to chase the rivulet of blood running down your leg like a man stumbling across an oasis in the desert. Devotionally, he tongues at the gory slit, sucking more blood from your self-inflicted wound, moaning as if he is the one being pleasured right now. In a strange way, you think he might be.

Your initial quick-thinking unleashes an outlandish chain reaction which finds you, inevitably, entirely unclothed with a not-insignificant amount of reddening slashes across your naked form. When it’s all said and done, Choso will tend to each and every cut, diligently disinfecting and dressing the disrupted flesh, allowing you to weakly tug at his hair (now pulled back from his face into two twin pigtails) when it burns.

Upon the final swipe of antibacterial ointment, you are halfway in dreamland, barely cognizant enough to recognize that you should probably be getting the hell out of here, at this point. However, shunning reason and common sense is the exact behavior that’s gotten you this far – so you decide to stick to what you know.

“Choso-nii,” you murmur groggily into the leather seat. “Blanket?”

“What blanket?”

His confusion is confusing you. “The one you gave me… ‘s cold…”

“…I did not give you a blanket.” For the first time since he’d picked you up behind the venue, Choso’s voice sounds grounded in reality. Released from the shackles of lust and taboo desire, he speaks with lucid candor. “Was that blanket not yours?”

“Nope,” you hum, blissfully dazed. “Where ‘s ‘t?”

Sleep descends upon your worn, battered form before you hear his answer.

Oh well. As long as Choso-nii is nearby, you have nothing to worry about.

[ROUTE CLEAR.]

next suggested route: okkotsu yuuta

> main menu > prologue > guide

> report an issue

[moodsandtenses]

Dracula's Guest: in which a business trip gets off to a rough start

Welcome back to Dracula Daily season! If you want to kick things off a little early this year, why not treat yourself to a read-through of Dracula’s Guest? Cut from the novel in the drafting process (ETA: the specifics of where exactly it fit into the plot of Dracula are a little fuzzy, for complicated reasons), and later published as a separate short story, it takes place today on April 30, also known as Walpurgis Nacht. The whole thing’s available here, thanks to Project Gutenberg.

Some further discussion of this absolute wild ride of a not-quite-canon side trip below:

Dracula’s patented “when in doubt, address the problem with Wolves” strategy gets off to an early start

We join Dracula’s guest - unnamed in the story, but pretty obviously Rough Draft Jonathan Harker - in Munich, on the first leg of his business trip to Transylvania. If this had been part of the finished book, it would have really front-loaded the tension, giving Jonathan a whole Vampire Sidequest to get involved in before he even gets to Transylvania. A few fun facts worth noting here: 

The Dracula Daily community has done a lot to rehabilitate Jonathan Harker’s reputation, restoring his place as a courageous, resourceful vampire hunter and countering the pop-culture image of him as a clueless naif that’s persisted since the early film adaptations. Rough Draft Jonathan, meanwhile…well, he really is a whole lot more Like That. The whole first chunk of “Dracula’s Guest” mostly consists of him cheerfully ignoring a SPECTACULAR parade of red flags: 

Whereupon he burst out into a long story in German and English, so mixed up that I could not quite understand exactly what he said, but roughly I gathered that long ago, hundreds of years, men had died there and been buried in their graves; and sounds were heard under the clay, and when the graves were opened, men and women were found rosy with life, and their mouths red with blood. And so, in haste to save their lives (aye, and their souls!—and here he crossed himself) those who were left fled away to other places, where the living lived, and the dead were dead and not—not something. He was evidently afraid to speak the last words. As he proceeded with his narration, he grew more and more excited. It seemed as if his imagination had got hold of him, and he ended in a perfect paroxysm of fear—white-faced, perspiring, trembling and looking round him, as if expecting that some dreadful presence would manifest itself there in the bright sunshine on the open plain. Finally, in an agony of desperation, he cried: “Walpurgis nacht!” and pointed to the carriage for me to get in. All my English blood rose at this, and, standing back, I said: “You are afraid, Johann—you are afraid. Go home; I shall return alone; the walk will do me good.” The carriage door was open. I took from the seat my oak walking-stick—which I always carry on my holiday excursions—and closed the door, pointing back to Munich, and said, “Go home, Johann—Walpurgis-nacht doesn’t concern Englishmen.”

Abandoned village plagued by rumors of the Un-Dead? Carriage driver crossing himself repeatedly and refusing to go near the place? Even the horses are panicking and trying to get away? Sounds like a lovely place for an afternoon stroll! Sorry, I’m simply too English for foreshadowing. 

(Maybe this is just what comes of being engaged to Mina Murray, goth girl extraordinaire, who will later display the same “when in doubt, make a beeline for the creepiest local ghost stories” approach to vacation planning in Whitby.)

The inscription on the tomb of the vampire that Jonathan 1.0 encounters - who might or might not be one of the Brides of Dracula - identifies her as “COUNTESS DOLINGEN OF GRATZ, IN STYRIA.” Styria is, of course, the setting of Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu’s 1872 vampire novel Carmilla, suggesting a direct connection between the two stories that didn't make it into the final novel.

The tomb is also inscribed with a Russian translation of “The Dead Travel Fast,” the same line from the German gothic ballad Lenore that will later get quoted at Jonathan on his first encounter with Dracula himself. He just cannot get away from that quote (and the gothic heroine narrative parallels inherent therein). 

Jonathan is saved from his nearly-fatal encounter with Countess Dolingen by a very familiar wolf, before being rescued by a search party of soldiers (who are understandably pretty freaked out about the whole affair). The maître d’ of his hotel later reveals to him that he knew to send out a search party thanks to a quietly hilarious telegram from Dracula himself, who’s evidently decided to take proactive steps to protect his guest/investment/snack for later:

Bistritz. Be careful of my guest—his safety is most precious to me. Should aught happen to him, or if he be missed, spare nothing to find him and ensure his safety. He is English and therefore adventurous. There are often dangers from snow and wolves and night. Lose not a moment if you suspect harm to him. I answer your zeal with my fortune.—Dracula.

The whole story is obviously Not Canon as far as Dracula proper is concerned - and in particular, the more oblivious narrator here is a pretty far cry from the Jonathan we've all come to know and love over the past several time loops. But all the same, it's a fascinating look at what could have been, and furnishes some intriguing ingredients for Dracula-adjacent storytelling (thanks to that Carmilla connection in particular). And it is pretty funny to imagine Jonathan going through All That and then just cheerfully getting back to travel-blogging his trip for Mina like absolutely nothing happened. All like, “Well, that was terrifying! Anyway.”

[aquaquadrant]

Oooo following with the other post about session 6 life series resulting in tension between Bdubs and Tango they were also in season 8 at the time owning pass n gas together!!! I just see them getting back to hermitcraft and Bdubs going over the top to make things up to tango. He had the mindset it's just a game and didn't realize how badly it would hurt tango. Bdubs keeps giving tango gifts and trying to build redstone things for Tango to help out. Makes the angst of Tango on the Moon and Bdubs back on earth extra sweet. Maybe that's when Tango finally forgave him

“i’m sorry for killing you in last life.”

tango pauses at bdubs’ unexpected words. he won’t look bdubs in the eye- he hasn’t been able to since they got back from their last session, and bdubs thinks he knows why.

voices chanting in his ear, screaming for blood. fire coursing through his veins with every frantic beat of his heart. the way he can almost smell the extra lives on tango, the maddening urge to kill so strong he’s shaking from it. his eyes burn from how intensely he’s watching tango as he creeps up behind him, fingers tightening around his sword, and the next thing he knows his sword is in tango’s back-

“that’s another world,” tango says finally, his voice wooden. “i don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“okay, okay,” bdubs replies automatically, before his brain catches up to him and informs him of tango’s tone. “uh- wait, really?”

“what?” tango’s shoulders hunch up defensively.

“you mean it?” bdubs asks, brows creasing together. “cause um, you… you got real mad, about that, and i uh-”

“yeah, it’s fine,” tango says, in the voice of someone who is absolutely not fine.

bdubs winces. “tango-”

“it’s just part of the game, right?” tango turns to face bdubs, and it’s suddenly very obvious that he’s pretending. “it happened, i lost my cool, no need to be sorry.”

“well, i am. sorry, i mean.” bdubs swallows. “i’m sorry it was you.”

tango exhales sharply in what might be a laugh. “makes it sound like you had a choice.”

tango never had the curse, but he did spend a lot of time as a red, and they both know it’s not that different.

“yeah,” bdubs agrees, rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah, i uh, i’m sorry for how i acted after, then. i didn’t know- i mean, i thought you were just playing it up, you know? i didn’t know.”

tango stiffens. “didn’t know what?”

bdubs hesitates. didn’t know a betrayal like that would cut tango so deeply. didn’t know what it looked like when tango went into a blind rage. didn’t know it would feel so personal.

tango seems to read his silence. “bdubs,” he sighs, “we’re friends, right?”

bdubs blinks. “wh- yes, yes of course!” he insists, his heart jolting.

“then please, don’t bring it up again,” tango says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “okay?”

bdubs hears the waver in his voice, and recognizes the request for what it is. it’s not forgiveness- that’d mean confronting and accepting what actually happened, beyond the surface level betrayal, and tango can’t.

“okay,” bdubs relents.

~*~

“is this thing on? tango! hey!”

a familiar face appears on the screen, the image fuzzy and distorted by static.

“this is- the world’s gone crazy, there’s stuff floatin’ and flyin’ all over the place-”

his frantic words cut in and out.

“the moon’s humongous, it’s coming-”

those big eyes are full of fear.

“i think it’s gonna blast us all to kingdom come- my perfect builds, your builds, they’re all getting-”

the moon looms in the background, impossibly big and bright.

“keralis’ place, it’s- mobs everywhere- here we go! i float! i fly now!”

their home is being torn to pieces.

“my only suggestion is that you stay up- stay on the moon- don’t come- this place is falling to shambles-”

bdubs is alone at the end of the world.

“tango listen, i’m- for everything, i’m so s-”

the transmission goes out.

tango stares at the black screen. “message received, buddy,” he whispers, a couple tears streaking down his face as he narrows his eyes in renewed determination. “i forgive you. and i’ll tell you that myself, after i save you.”

~*~

tango drifts aimlessly through the void of space. with the last breath of oxygen remaining in his cracked helmet, unshed tears frozen on his lashes, he says, “i’m sorry, too.”

[xticklemeemox]

The Love You Want, III: Part Nine

if some of this feels rushed i'm very sorry i struggled with the end smut and also the sex convo towards the beginning <3 and this ended up way longer than i thought, which seems to happen a lot

okay fine i struggled with pretty much this entire thing i kind of hate some of it for not being detailed enough but my mind has failed me

Word count: 15,426

ao3 version

Masterlist

Previous Part

Next Part (Ten)

Fic under the cut <3

Vessel was exhausted. All he wanted was to rest. As much as Vessel enjoyed the sex, enjoyed the pleasure and the affection III gave him, he's so fucking tired. It wore him out, the most taxing thing he's done physically in a while. There will be no rest to recover from it either, no death to reset his body at the end of the day. He promised.

Vessel feels worthless. All he had to offer was his body. Now III won't even want to have sex with him, Vessel is sure, and II hasn't come to Vessel yet. Vessel is sure he won't want to have sex with him, either. He'd heard, and well, felt, II and III have sex. Maybe III has decided that Vessel isn't good enough. He knows II must have been good, made III feel what they'd made Vessel feel, if III was that loud, if their pleasure was that great even if he was confused as to why neither of them seemed to actually cum. Vessel doesn't know how to take control like that, never, ever would have dared Before. He could never make III feel that good. It's no wonder they went to II if Vessel wasn't enough.

Vessel... didn't know how to make them feel as good as he did. He wants to, though. To show them how much he loves them in a way they won't get tired of. Maybe they'll stay with him if he's good.

I was trying so hard though, Vessel thinks, pacing back and forth in his room as he holds his arms around himself so tightly it hurts, nails digging into his sides. A silent sob squeezes his lungs, trying to keep up the image of concentration over the bond to make it seem like he was working on something. Its more difficult than trying to fake calm, and it feels wrong to do after III had asked him not to, but Vessel can't help it. They can't know that Vessel is being pathetic over something like this.

He was quiet, and obedient, and Vessel actually ended up enjoying sex for the first time in, well, ever. Vessel knows he slipped up a little bit, but III was kind enough not to hit him over his mistake. They even lied and said they liked it when Vessel bit them. That was so nice of III to do... Vessel didn't deserve that kindness. Didn't deserve III's kindness when Vessel demanded they stay inside, or keep fucking him, that first time. Vessel really shouldn't have done that. Maybe Vessel's actions drove III away and it only took a little while for the infatuation to go away.

Vessel was desperate to punish himself. He needed to. He'd been bad, he knew one wrong move and III would leave him, wouldn't love him anymore. He knew II, fuck- Vessel's beloved II, was far more worthy of III's love and affection. They deserved each other, deserved to be happy. Vessel fears he might get in the way of that.

His claws finally break the skin below his ribs, but the pain does not bring much relief. It brings guilt, and shame. The only thing he can see in his minds eye is the terrified expression on III's face when Vessel had cut into his arm what feels like so long ago. The way II's eyes had seemed to dim, usually such a bright blue, as he forced a smile on his face for Vessel's sake, still giving Vessel kindness he didn't deserve.

Vessel drags his nails, just a little, as he pulls his hands away from his sides. He clasps them tightly around a bicep, holding himself in a hug. The house is silent when he leaves his room, II and III's bonds still fuzzy with sleep. Silent footsteps tread the floor until he reaches II's room, and Vessel is glad the door doesn't creak when he opens it. Minimal light from II's window shines in on the bed, golden rays illuminating the two cuddled together. III, the warmest of the two of them, has kicked off the sheets exposing long legs and some insanely short shorts that make Vessel blush up to his ears. II is curled into his side, face hidden in the space between III's side and arm, only his top half covered by the sheets. His sweatpant-covered legs are entangled with III's, his hair peeking out from under the blanket. Elvira opens her shining eyes to leer at Vessel from her spot curled up at II's feet, tilting her head. Vessel tilts his in return, and for just a moment, cat and vessel to a God stare at each other. Vessel looks away first and accepts defeat with a small huff of a laugh.

Vessel takes his phone out and snaps a picture, or three. The smile that had twitched onto his face falls at the glimpse of something that fills Vessel with more shame. Visible on III's neck is a purple bite mark, teeth indents a darker color than the rest of the bruise. Vessel knows he is the cause of the damaged skin and hates himself all the more for it.

He turns from the doorway, closing the door behind him as quietly as possible. He thought it would be alright to go in, to join them, but Vessel doesn't feel as though he deserves it, doesn't deserve the safety and the reassurance it would bring to lay with them. Not after he left a bruise on III. If III won't punish him for it, Vessel will do it by denying himself the comfort of their presence.

Vessel finds himself outside, wandering Sleep's realm aimlessly. No shoes adorn his feet as he follows a small stream deeper into the forest. A hand trails along the bark of the trees as he passes, enjoying the harsh scraping against his fingertips. It feels less like he's intentionally hurting himself, and it makes him feel less guilty about pressing his fingers further into the bark so that the pain becomes greater.

Bracket mushrooms follow his fingertips, sprouting where he touches. Vessel loves this forest, every habitual breath he takes that he does not need is echoed here. He feels it in the trees, with every step he takes. The forest thrives with his presence, and Vessel feels at peace. The objects of Vessel's desire lay in that big house that contains his heart, but it is not his home. He has no home, has never had one.

A snap of a twig to his right causes Vessel's mind to be brought back to the present, to his body. He notices the silence in the forest first, no rustle of leaves in the wind nor birdsong. No animal life skittering over the floor or the telltale humming of a bug's wings. His head turns with the force of some instinct he can't resist, and he meets the empty-socketed gaze of a deer, a stag easily taller than Vessel. Its large off-white horns branch out from its bare skull, a skeleton with mottled remnants of muscle and tendons hanging off its bones. The stags ribs on one side are completely visible, showing empty space where organs should be, and where there is less bone, ghoul fungus protrudes and red moss is in the place of fur. It stands out against the greens and browns of the forest, the red leaves and vines like splashes of blood over the antlers, dripping down from the bones. It steps forward on legs that should not move, missing all of its nerves and tendons on its limbs, just a single step, and no further, then seems to wait for something, empty gaze seeming to bore into Vessel's intensely.

Vessel had seen this creature before, he realizes with a start. In Sleep's realm, the one time he had been allowed to rest. It had been there, nearby, staring at him when Sleep had returned Vessel's mind to this realm. It was such a brief encounter Vessel hadn't recalled it when he woke up, desperate to get out the lyrics his God had given him. He recalls it now, though, with the stag in the earthly realm.

A bird caws. All six of Vessel's eyes move towards the sound at its nearness, ending the stare down he had been having with the stag, both of them still as statues. On a low hanging branch, a crow sits, head tilted at Vessel curiously with a necklace clutched in one foot. Vessel tilts his head in return, following the crow's lead as it tilts its head the other direction.

"Pretty birdy." Vessel murmurs, and the crow stills.

It does not blink, nor even seem to breathe. Then, so suddenly it startles Vessel, it caws loudly, so loudly it hurts Vessel's ears. He flinches back from the sound, ducking his head as the bird takes flight. The necklace is dropped at his feet, and he reaches down to pick it up. Antique gold and littered with coins all along the lengthy chain, Vessel turns one over in his fingers, taking in the etchings.

When Vessel turns back to the stag, he finds it gone, nowhere to be seen. There are no footprints left where it stood, nor a trail leading off anywhere into the forest. It is as though the deer had never been there at all, and Vessel wonders if he hallucinated the whole thing. The necklace clutched tightly between his fingers says otherwise.

He fiddles with its coins for the rest of the walk, running his thumb over each coin, then the other side before moving along the chain. He repeats the cycle, taking in the forest and readying himself for when the others wake up. He's not ready to talk about anything sexual. Wonders what he should or should not say. There is no attachment to the act, for Vessel. At least... at least there wasn't. He can't shake the image of III falling apart above him, rough but never hurting him as they fucked Vessel... listened to Vessel's selfish requests and did not hurt him. III should have, Vessel would have deserved it.

It should be easy enough, in theory, to let II and III talk about whatever they want... but Vessel is confused, already, about what they're to talk about in the first place. He knows if he asks, they'll answer. They've always answered him. They have never ignored him, never made him feel as though his voice is not welcome. He feels guilty when he cannot give it to them, even.

It could have been minutes or hours since Vessel had seen the crow and the stag, lost in his thoughts, before he feels III waking. He starts back as soon as the fuzziness of sleep begins to clear from their bond, realizing quite suddenly that he did not leave them a note or a text to let them know where he was going. He brings out his phone as he walks, attempting to type as he goes but trips almost immediately over a stray root he had not seen. Vessel manages to save his phone from a terrible fate, but not his knees. They ache faintly when he stands, birds tweeting mockingly, and he makes sure to stand still while he texts this time.

(Eepies)

Vessel: Good morning :::) Went out on a walk, heading back now.

?¿?: good morning pretty! i love you see you when yuo get back!! be careful!!!

Vessel: I love you, too! :::D

III spams Vessel's phone with heart emoji's and blushing, smiling faces and Vessel feels warm with affection. He loves III so, so much. Wants III to love him enough to stay, for II to stay.

"You'll grow flowers without even being asked, and yet you let me trip and fall without a care. I suppose you really are attuned to my hearts desire for pain." Vessel mutters to the forest as he continues walking.

Another root sticks up and almost trips him again before he even finishes his sentence. Vessel huffs out an irritated laugh, "Do as you will with me, but try any of this with Two or Three and I'll set you on fire."

A raven croaks out something that resembles a mocking laugh and Vessel finds himself amused. He can't believe he's talking to a forest and the life within it is responding to him. The walk back is quicker, Vessel eager to see the others again, no matter how the conversation later is going to go. III is humming from the kitchen when Vessel enters the house and stops at the open doorway, hopping down from the counter after setting their drink down.

They taste like coffee when they ask Vessel for a kiss, sweet caramel flavoring on Vessel's split tongue as their curls tickle Vessel's cheeks. "I made your usual." III smiles, a pretty thing that lights up their face.

Vessel flushes under the affection, something warm bubbling up in his chest, taking the offered mug with both hands. He lets it warm his cold fingers as II stumbles into the kitchen, shirt askew, hair a mess, and sweatpants very low on his hips. Vessel finds himself staring over the lip of his mug as he takes a generous sip of his coffee, watching as III kisses II just the same as they'd kissed Vessel, handing II his own mug filled with steaming tea.

"Thank you, love." II says, holding the mug with one hand as he takes a sip, leaning into III's side.

"Anytime, Doll. We should have that conversation when you wake up fully. Vessel just got back from a walk."

"Yes, yes, of course." II agrees, walking over to Vessel's side and asking for a kiss.

Vessel leans down so his face is nearer to II's, smiling when II places a kiss to his chin instead of his lips. Vessel leans down just a little further at II's pout, letting the other plant a soft kiss to the bitten skin of Vessel's lips.

"Good morning, Vessel." II murmurs as he pulls away, breath ghosting over Vessel's mouth.

"Good morning, Two." Vessel breathes out, feeling a little dazed from just a single kiss. "I'm... I'm gonna put something in my room. I'll be right back."

Vessel sets his mug down, face warm as he fingers the necklace in his pocket. He wants to put it somewhere safe before he forgets about it.

"Miss you already, love." III says, taking a sip of II's tea.

II grumbles incoherently as he leans into III's side. Vessel walks away with a blush and a fond smile. Vessel's mug has been brought from the kitchen to the living room by the time he returns, and it makes Vessel feel warm, for a moment, that they had thought of him. Even so, Vessel shoves himself into the far corner of the couch, away from where the other two have pressed close, still sipping at their drinks. II looks far more awake now, tired eyes watching Vessel over his mug, just as III is.

Taking a deep breath, Vessel asks what has been on his mind since they first got together, diving right into the conversation even as he feels he may throw up from the nerves.

"Your main intent was to bed me, was it not? That is what all of the kissing is for, right?" Vessel blurts nervously, and almost stops talking entirely at the thunderous expressions that strike over II and III's faces, "It took longer than I thought it would. You waited longer than my other partners did."

III is practically vibrating with his fury, spindly fingers clawing at their jeans until he forces them away when they stand. II lets out a measured breath as he sets his mug down.

"No, Vessel. That is not at all why I have kissed you so profusely since we got together." III's voice is filled with barely contained rage, and Vessel shrinks back at the sound, arms coming to wrap around himself.

"Oh." Vessel's voice is small, shaky, as he keeps his gaze focused resolutely on the floor.

Despite what III has said, Vessel expects a hit for his gall. He knows he will expect a hit... for a long time, but he wants to believe that III won't hit him. He wants the other vessels to be different than the others of his past. He wants, and wants, and wants. Even so, he tenses, and resolutely does not meet III's eyes. That had only served to make his first partner angry, and Vessel learned better. There was only one scenario he had wanted Vessel to look at him, and this isn't it.

III keeps his hands loose at their sides and in full view of Vessel as they move closer.

"I'm going to take your hands now." III states as they kneel in front of Vessel.

Vessel does not verbally respond, does not nod or shake his head, he doesn't do anything. Only sits there, frozen like a statue. His hands are cold in III's when they take them, shaking visibly.

"I kiss you, because outside of holding your hand, Vessel, it is the only way I can show my love for you physically. I do not want to upset you, so I heed your wishes to leave your chest alone when all I want is to trace the markings there, to- To be able to hold you. I heed your wishes to not touch your neck when all I want is to lavish it in attention when I fuck you so you know you're mine. So you do not doubt my affections."

"I..." Vessel starts, voice hoarse as his throat starts to close up from the tears he is trying desperately to hold back.

They slip down his cheeks anyway, overcome with the desperate echoes of believe me, believe me, believe me, being sent from III's bond.

"I had sex with you because I love you, and I've been blessed with another way to physically show you."

Vessel feels stricken, and it shows clearly on his face. His fingers twitch, aching to reach for his mask to hide behind. His bond is a mess of so many emotions that he couldn't begin to properly pick them apart.

"I did not know. I am sorry. I am..."

Vessel swallows thickly. He wants them to know him. He wants them to love him despite how broken he is.

Vessel has always been quick to bend and break under his basic need to be loved and close to someone.

"I am not used to my partners wanting to show me affection without sex being the end goal." Vessel bites his lip, slowly moving his top pair of eyes to meet III's, "They did not kiss me for any other reason than to use my body. They did not show me affection unless they wanted something. Sex was not an act of love."

"...Any of them? Not a one of them fucking-" II mutters, shoving his hands under his thighs to keep them still.

"My first partner had already broken me out of refusing sex. I loved him, so I didn't mind. It just meant a few minutes of- Of his weight smothering me. Of pain when we fucked cause he was... so rough. But he was kind afterwards, would hold me if I asked, would kiss me as much as I wanted. He... stopped being that nice eventually. The others, neither of them ever asked to- and- and I wanted them to be pleased with me so-. I loved them. I loved them and- and they loved me too so it was okay if it hurt- I deserved it. I loved them."

"You deserve far more than whatever pitiful excuse for love they gave you. They did not love you in return, sweetheart." II cannot hide his ire, but he tries his damn hardest to not raise his voice.

"Is that why you were so confused when I prepped you, Vessel?" III struggles to keep the enraged bite out of their voice as they reach up very slowly to wipe at Vessel's tears, hating how Vessel still flinches back.

It just makes III angrier. Vessel had been working so hard to stop flinching, he'd been doing so well. Even as those thoughts flood III's mind, they can't stop going back to what Vessel had said, at what that means has happened-

And Vessel doesn't even understand it himself. Doesn't understand what has been done to him. III isn't sure he ever wants Vessel to know- to realize...

III glances up to II, foot tapping with the fiercest grimace III has seen since he's known him.

"I did not know it was something you did for whoever was on the bottom. Not with another male, at least. My other two partners after him were female. They did most of the work, didn't like when I- existed. So- I kept quiet, and did as told. I have always been easy to push around. My parents made sure of it." Vessel continues blandly, even as his face has crumpled into a nervous expression that screams of despair and shame.

So much shame.

"It felt better with the girls, almost good, even. It didn't hurt to have sex with them like it did my boyfriend. They- Liked to hurt in other ways." Vessel knows he should stop talking, knows that the other vessels don't want to hear any of this, surely don't want to know how useless he was at sex, but he can't, not now that he's started.

Talking about the sex is the easiest part of talking about his past. He had so little care for the act until III pleasured him like he'd never felt before.

"I didn't know sex was supposed to feel that good for whoever was on the bottom."

"It is." II says, distraught but striving to be gentle with his tone, "Sex is supposed to be feel good for everyone involved. Your past partners did you a disservice, Vessel. Every one of them."

"Sex is not a blood sport Vessel. It is not something where you fight for control and only one person comes out on top and gets to feel pleasure. We're going to show you that, if you'll let us. You deserve to know what sex is supposed to be like." III follows up with, looking just as miserable as II.

"I don't- I'm sorry. I didn't know." Vessel murmurs, feeling as though his shame is going to replace the blood in his veins.

"It is not your fault. You had no one to teach you. We will." II states, desperate for Vessel to understand.

"Did you really enjoy it when we had sex or did you lie with the bond again?" III asks, head falling down to rest their forehead on Vessel's hands still held in their grasp.

III feels nauseous at just the thought of Vessel not telling them if he was hurting him, if- If Vessel didn't want to have sex at all and III has just become like everyone else that has hurt Vessel. More tears prick their eyes, and III fears he may throw up.

No, no, Vessel didn't want III to think- This isn't what he intended.

"I enjoyed it. Believe me." Vessel insists, practically begging, "You were the first person I've ever wanted to fuck me. Before you, I had never- I always wanted it to be over quick. I knew they would leave when they were done. You- You stayed. You- Were so kind to me. You made me feel good."

"You, um, cleaned me up after, too. I didn't even bleed and you still-." Vessel mumbles, flustered, still feeling surprised at how nothing had hurt with III.

The relief III feels is immediate, flooding their system and loosening their tense muscles. His tears spill over at the relief, a harsh breath being released even as III knows it should be a sob, but they refrain with tremendous effort. Alongside that relief is the ever present hot coil of anger. Vessel had looked pleasantly surprised when he had said there was no bloodshed when they'd had sex. III knows that kinks can be painful, bloody, if that is what is desired. III knows that was not what Vessel meant, can see it on his face, can feel it in the bond.

"That's what you're supposed to do, sweetheart." II says gently, and Vessel can only nod because he didn't know that either.

"Can we, uh, get on with the conversation we had originally intended, about the sex?" Vessel tries to move on, needs the attention to move on from him even if only momentarily.

II and III share a loaded glance as III wipes their tears. It takes effort to stifle their shared rage, their shared despair, but Vessel is still keeping his bond open to them, is still willing to share parts of himself. They're not going to waste the chance to know more about him, no matter how it grates so deeply under their skin, against bone it feels like. It hurts to love Vessel, and yet it is so easy. They want him, they love him, no matter how it hurts because the pain that has been dealt to him is not his fault. The pain that has been dealt to him has not turned him towards cruelty. He has kept his kindness, kept his softness. He has not let it harden his heart. Vessel is a man filled with love for everything around him unless it threatens those who have his heart. Love for everything except himself.

"Okay, sweetheart. I know you don't have much to go off of, so I'll start, then Three can go. If you have questions about what either of us are into, I want you to ask." II starts off, and Vessel nods, even if he's still unsure about this whole thing.

"As Three found out last night, I'm into edging."

"Is that what you were doing last night?" Vessel asks, and II nods.

"Yeah, I like when I'm brought to the edge of cumming and then not allowing myself to. I find the orgasms feel, ah, more fulfilling I suppose?"

"Why were you doing it to Three, then?"

III snorts, cheek leant on Vessel's knee. He looks so pretty below Vessel, watery blue eyes filled with mirth. "I was being a brat. That's the role I like playing in the bedroom. I disagree or disobey and get manhandled or ordered into obedience. It doesn't hurt unless I ask it to. It's something to be talked over with your partner beforehand, though. I did something Two told me I shouldn't and he didn't let me cum yesterday. That is what's considered a punishment, but one I didn't mind receiving. Its not supposed to be anything detrimental to your health or peace of mind."

Vessel isn't really sure if that is something he would consider a punishment. Before III had finished speaking, the idea of II punishing them was concerning. Vessel could only think of II hurting III, but he didn't feel any pain from III yesterday when the two had sex.

"It would be better to show you, sweetheart." II says when he feels Vessel's concerned confusion down the bond.

III nods along, agreeing, "You and I have a different bedroom dynamic than me and Two, which is completely normal. Your dynamic with Two will likely be different too, if you have sex."

"I'm also technically considered a dom, or dominant. I like having control during sex, and usually don't like it being taken from me. I do like when Three fights for it, though. I know they have no intention of keeping any control they gain." II explains, finally scooting closer to press their thighs together on the couch.

"Well, maybe I do like having control for a little while." III smiles mischievously, winking up at Vessel playfully.

It makes him smile even if he's still confused. "It does sound different than when you topped me." Vessel adds, reaching slowly to play with a strand of III's hair.

III's leans into the touch with a smile, and Vessel carefully threads his fingers down to the scalp, holding his fingers there. III's eyes flutter closed for a moment, but Vessel does not yet move his fingers. He watches, waits for any sign III is going to pull away, any sign they will grow angry with Vessel, and then begins to run his fingers through III's hair.

"My third would pull my hair." Vessel blurts, and guilt immediately floods the bond like a dam has broken.

"I wish you would have told me, Vessel. I wouldn't have done that." III says, wiping a stray tear away hurriedly as he blinks his eyes open.

Vessel wishes he hadn't said anything. He expects III to pull away, but the other doesn't move away from Vessel's gentle hand that has stilled in their hair.

"Its alright, though. It didn't hurt when you did it. I did not even lose any strands of my hair. She would pull back so far that it made it hard to breathe, but she liked that. You were so careful that the memory slipped away before I could, ah, panic."

"I wouldn't mind if you wanted to do it again, since it's you, but it didn't make me feel good. It was just something you had done- Does that make sense?" Vessel stumbles, trying to explain but not sure he's managing.

"That just means its not one of your kinks, sweetheart. It's normal to not be into everything your other partner is." II reassures, pressing his arm into Vessel's so their bodies are flush against each other.

"I... liked being told I was good." Vessel offers, with a tilt of his head.

II and III don't even mind that the conversation has detailed from its original intent. Any information from Vessel is a blessing, no matter how saddening or enraging.

"I noticed. I like being called a good boy in bed, too." III affirms with a smile.

Vessel is a little confused though. It wasn't being called a good boy that made Vessel feel good, it was- It was being praised, he thinks.

"I think I just like being told I'm being good. In general. I like- I like feeling like I'm contributing to your pleasure. I just- I-" Vessel can't seem to articulate it properly, and he doesn't know if there's even a term for it.

"You've got a praise kink, probably." II offers up, almost certain he's right.

"You like biting, too. When you bit me, I could tell it was an instinctual reaction. You... stopped and pulled away very quickly." III brings up exactly what Vessel was hoping they wouldn't.

"I'm not allowed to bite. It's- It's weird. And just another of my freakish mutilation habits."

"Things are different here Vessel. If you want to bite, then you can. When you bit me, we both enjoyed it. I love the teeth marks you've given me, loved the sting when I received it. It's like- Like you've marked me as yours."

Vessel ducks his head to hide the embarrassed flush over his cheeks.

"I was surprised you didn't hit me when I did it. I expected you to. My previous partners would have... I bruised you. I left a mark." Vessel starts trying to braid strands of III's hair just to have something to do with his hands, trying to will away the new tears gathered in his eyes.

"Hitting you has never crossed my mind. It will never be something I even consider." III should feel offended that Vessel thinks so little of them, but knows that other, less kind hands, have hurt him.

"I deserved it, Three. I know I hurt you when I did it. I deserved to be hit for it."

"Would it make you feel better if every mark you left on me, I return? I'm entirely willing to bite you back." III offers, trying to compromise in a way Vessel will agree to.

III hates that they know Vessel will likely agree to this, if it means Vessel gets hurt back. They're going to get him out of this thought process that sex is going to hurt. If III is right, then Vessel is going to enjoy being bit in return. He's going to teach Vessel that III wants to be bitten whenever the need strikes Vessel because III likes the thought of being owned by him. Whether its during sex or not.

"I do not expect either of you to pander to my tastes." Vessel states, trying desperately to grasp on to some familiarity.

Fuck, Vessel shouldn't have said anything. He should have kept his mouth shut about anything sexual, for his own sake. They're going to leave him now for sure. He wants them to love him, he wants them to stay. He wants them to stay so badly.

III eyes the expanse of Vessel's thighs near his face, wondering where would be best, before they lean down and sink their teeth right above Vessel's knee.

Vessel's hand slips out of III's hair as he lets out something akin to a surprised squeak. III's teeth do not break skin through the fabric of Vessel's clothes, but that wasn't their intention anyway.

III catches Vessel's confused gaze, feeling triumphant at the thread of arousal now thrumming through the bond that certainly wasn't there a moment ago.

II watches in a mix of wonder and amusement as III moves to a different spot to bite down, sinking their teeth into a different part of Vessel's thigh. Vessel's arousal only grows, along with his bafflement and the blush staining his cheeks pink. Not once does Vessel's bond show any pain, a testament to III's control as they move to Vessel's other leg, biting on the inside of the thigh as Vessel releases a breath of held air.

"I am not pandering to anything. You're mine, ours, and I'm showing you. Claiming you. I've left my mark, now. I'll happily leave more if you'll let me." III says, finally pulling away.

His head lays on Vessel's knee again, a hand coming to trace the line of spit in the shape of his mouth soaked into Vessel's jeans.

Arousal surges through Vessel like a tidal wave at the words, and he wants nothing more than for III to fuck him right then. A smirk slides onto III's face, knowing exactly what Vessel wants and completely willing to give it to him.

III goes to stand, blue eyes stormy with lascivious intent, but II stops them, "Ah, ah, we've not finished our conversation. You can go at it in a little while, once we're done."

"But Two, he really wants it-"

"I said no, Three, or did you not want to cum today either?" II smiles knowingly, a hand coming to rest on Vessel's unoccupied knee.

A pout makes its way onto III's face, but they nod in agreement anyway.

"Words, pretty."

A groan is muffled into Vessel's thigh as III turns to hide, "Yes, sir. I understand."

"Good boy."

Vessel tilts his head, wondering if this is the dynamic the others had spoken of coming into play. It is... interesting to watch, to see how II handles III whining and pouting playfully. Its endearing to see, even, to see III this way. Vessel knows he would never have the courage to do something like this, nor be allowed to.

"Explain the safe word and color system, like I asked yesterday, Pretty." II says, and III nods, cheek smushed against Vessel's knee.

"I'm sorry, Vessel, I should've explained this to you when we had sex. Do you know what a safe word is? Or the color system?"

Vessel's head tilts involuntarily in confusion, and while II and III love how cat-like it makes him seem, it clearly shows he has no idea of what III's just asked.

"It's where you have a word used during sex if someone needs to stop. Its usually used for more hard-core sexual scenarios, but can be used whenever. The color system is basically like a stop light. Green for go, yellow for slow, and red for stop. Red means you stop whatever you're doing entirely, no matter what it is."

"I've never heard the terms before." Vessel admits quietly as his mind races.

II and III nod, having already expected this.

Vessel doesn't understand why they're explaining this to him. Doesn't understand what this has to do with him. He thinks, heavily confused, that they could just stop. They could pull away, stop kissing him, stop fucking him. They don't need to tell him anything, or use some weird color system.

"It's pretty easy to utilize once you're actually having sex, even if the concept seems a little simple, silly even." III goes on, both he and II watching Vessel closely for any ounce of comprehension.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" Vessel blurts, brows furrowed.

II and III share a glance that Vessel does not miss. "So you can tell us how you're doing during sex, Sugar."

Vessel hunches into himself further, very slowly inching his hand back to wrap a finger around one of III's curls.

"Why would I say anything if it ruins your pleasure?" Vessel asks, meekly.

"Getting off means little if you're suffering mentally or physically, Vessel. You matter more to us than either of us cumming." II tries, but Vessel still doesn't seem to understand.

"We want you to enjoy the sex too, Sugar, and we want you to tell us with the color system if we do something you don't like."

"We went over this earlier, sweetheart. We want to have sex with you because it will feel good for all us, but mainly because we love you. We want to make you feel pleasure, just as much as we want to feel it too."

"I don't- I do not understand why it matters though. I will be content if only you two found your release. Mine does not matter."

"It matters to us." III asserts, "We want you to tell us if you're not sure about what we're doing, or if you want to stop entirely. We want you to tell us if you don't want to have sex at all. I will always listen to you. Always."

"Okay." Vessel agrees quietly, and III kisses Vessel's knee affectionately, an arm hugging his leg.

II leans his head on Vessel's shoulder, taking Vessel's hand and bringing it to his lips to kiss his knuckles. The conversation continues after a moment, as II and III go back to going over their preferred kinks. Neither have anything they don't particularly care for, but III admits that there hadn't been much want to explore anything. They keep trying to encourage Vessel to add on his own preferences, if he had any, but they all find that Vessel never got the chance to figure out what he likes outside of his biting kink.

"That's okay, sweetheart, we'll figure it out together." Is what II reassures Vessel with, but Vessel isn't sure how well that is going to play out.

Vessel does not intend to use the color system, does not intend to share his likes and dislikes. Just because the sex is suddenly amazing, it doesn't erase what everyone who has ever fucked him has said, what they've done.

III stays wrapped around Vessel's leg, only shifting positions a little once the conversation is over. II curls up at Vessel's side, leaning into him as far as Vessel allows. Vessel knows III's knees must ache as he continues kneeling, but III seems perfectly content to stay there as they reach for the game controller on the coffee table, starting up NieR: Automata again on their shared save file.

Vessel lets III play first since he's gotten through this part off the game on his own, content to run his fingers slowly through III's hair again, loose enough to pull away quickly in case III does not like him doing so anymore. The other vessels bonds were a mess of emotions, even as they all tried to distract themselves with the game. Vessel was sure that II and III were angry with him. Why else would their bonds be filled with such rage? He must have said something wrong, been too curious about what was being said. He must have made some sort of mistake. Vessel wishes he had the courage to ask what could be done to rectify it.

II frowns, eyeing Vessel as he glances back at the game. "Penny for your thoughts, Ves?" II's voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, trying not to disturb III who is hyper focused on the fight they're in.

Vessel takes some time to think of what he should say. If he should say anything at all. He wants them to know him, wants them to love him, to stay with him.

"I- Are you angry with me?" He murmurs, leaning over just far enough that his cold breath ghosts against II's ear.

It sends a shiver down his spine even as one side of his mouth tilts just so into a frown. "No, I'm not mad at you. I can guarantee that Three isn't either. We are upset, yes, but its at the people who hurt you."

"Why? There is no need for it."

II's brow furrows, first in confusion, then in thought. "I love you. I do not want you hurt. To imagine what you must have gone through, the pain... It makes me sad. It makes me angry at those who did it to you. It is the same as when that bastard hurt our Three. You were angry for him, as was I. It's- Vessel, honey, it's the same thing."

Oh... Vessel supposes he understands, and yet...

"I am not worthy of it then, your anger on my behalf."

"You are worthy of it though. You became worthy of it that first moment you smiled at me, the first time our eyes met. The first kind word you gave."

Vessel averts his gaze, gnawing at his lip in thought. II is glad to see him not refuting his words immediately, turning his head to place a featherlight kiss to Vessel's shoulder. "... It- feels nice to have someone be angry for me, instead of at me. I just- I do not feel as though I am worth the effort. I don't think I ever will."

"It took me a long time to realize that I was good at drumming, that I was skilled, not just talented. That I deserved the praise given to me by my teacher, by my mother's. I never thought I was going to go anywhere with my drumming, it was just a hobby, but... We're going to start a band. You, Three, and I. I know you two acknowledge what I've done to gain that skill. If we never make it anywhere with our music, you two, your acknowledgement of my time and effort, will be enough. What I'm trying to get at is that... accepting yourself, accepting your flaws, it is not easy. It took time and effort on my part, and my mothers belief in me, to want to love myself. To appreciate what I've done and the effort I've put into the things that are important to me. Am I- Am I making any sense?"

III pauses the game, leaning back between Vessel's thighs and looking up at him and II through wet lashes. "You are to me. I did not accept myself, when I was younger. I tried very hard to be someone I wasn't-"

III sucks in a sharp breath, turning in between Vessel's legs to kneel between them properly, reaching out for comfort through Vessel and II's hands, freely given. III's grip is tight in Vessel's own, and Vessel wants to show his support, to transfer all the comfort they've ever given him back to III. Their head comes to rest on Vessel's thigh, eyes falling closed as they think over what to say.

"I saw all of these people, kids like I was. Adults, elders, no matter their age... So many of them in that town went along with what was expected of them and they were not happy because of it. That old woman from that thrift shop we went to... the first time I'd ever bought a skirt for myself was there. I was terrified going up the register, trying to think up an excuse. She didn't care about what I was buying... She only asked if it was for myself or a friend. I told her the truth, and she smiled without many teeth left, and was so kind. She told me it was fine to wear whatever I wanted, no matter what anyone else said. It- It was a very short interaction but it meant the world to me. I never got to thank her for it. I'm surprised I remember that, actually. I thought Sleep had taken almost everything but our painful memories."

"He left some of my good ones, too. The important ones." II murmurs, lifting III's hand to kiss the palm.

III continues, "What I'm trying to say is that, if it weren't for that old woman showing kindness, accepting me, I'm not sure if my road to accepting myself would have been possible at all. Just one person believing in you, believing in your potential to change, to grow, can be enough."

"To love oneself is not the easy task we are sometimes told it is. We are all limited by something. We are all guilty of something. The first step is wanting to try."

Vessel does not say anything for some time. He turns their words over and over and over in his mind. He did not realize that II had struggled with his own self-confidence before. You would not guess it, seeing him now. Knowing what his wish to Sleep was. Seeing how much skill he contains in his short body. It was hard won skill, Vessel realizes now.

III had asked to be accepted by those around him. Vessel did not realize with them, either, that their want for acceptance from others had to first be attained for himself, by themself. They had both worked to be the people they are today.

Vessel, he does not want to stay the same. He does not want to be the same person he was before he became the Vessel of a God. Already, he knows he has changed. It was more than the physical changes gifted to him.

There was not a chance in hell Vessel would have ever tried to lessen his own pain, Before. Every slice into his skin was done with the intention to hurt. Every slice was meant to sting for as long as possible. He never would have cleaned them, bandaged them, Before. Not even when he first arrived to the manor.

II had helped him, encouraged him to take a little better care of himself. He always seems so proud of Vessel when he comes to him, having hurt himself and yet still had tried to take care of the self-inflicted wounds. Vessel never wants to see that look on III's face ever again, when Vessel had taken a knife to his skin right in front of them.

Vessel wants to be better for them, even if they do not stay with him. He... isn't sure if he wants to be better for himself which he is sure is what II and III would say is most important, knowing them.

He wants to be worth their love and care, if what they say is true. He wants to be worth the time and effort they've put in with him.

Vessel doesn't say anything, but he nods shortly, and II smiles, kissing Vessel's shoulder again, once, twice, before lifting Vessel's hand to kiss his palm. III unpauses the game after pressing a short kiss to Vessel's stomach, an action that causes him to let out a small laugh as III turns back around. A quiet thing that couldn't even be considered whisper-level, and yet the sound sent II and III's hearts soaring in adoration. III leans back between Vessel's legs again, and Vessel's threads his fingers through their hair, other held clasped in II's.

II and III stand to go make lunch around midday, dragging Vessel along with them despite his light protests. They stay close to him, giving him simple tasks that absolutely do not require the use of any sort of blade.

Vessel remains thoughtful, truly thinking over what II has said. II isn't sure he completely got through to Vessel about being worthy of their love and care, but this is progress. He never would have believed him when they first met. He declines when they ask him if he wants to join them in worship, and they let him go off to his room without a fight. Each had the same request of their God, and it was better for Vessel to not be near in case he refused them.

II and III kneel together at the altar, thighs pressed close. In front of them are bunches of daffodils and bellflowers tied together with string on either side of the table. Individual flowers without their stems lay strewn about, and a bouquet of the prettiest ones, touched by Vessel's hand, glow gently from their place on the offering plate.

They have been trying to keep their seething rage under wraps since their talk with Vessel. It was not rocket science to puzzle out what Vessel had said happened to him. What atrocity had been done to him, repeatedly, by people who claimed to love him.

The candles are lit, all except the largest in the middle of the table, set towards the back. Their skin darkens, going fuzzy around the edges while bits of black seem to flake off into the air before dissipating. The sight is familiar as Sleep's powers wash over them, as their worship commences. III's eyes glow brighter than II's, striking blue in the midst of the black of their sclera, of their skin.

"Would you allow us to kill those who hurt Vessel?" II starts off, voice a sharp blade of anger.

He tries keeping his voice low, so Vessel doesn't hear in the room over. The red candle lights, golden glow flickering against the sigil on the wall above and behind it. Their God has arrived, and in turn their eyes glow brighter, bodies humming with the presence of their God. It is a pleasant feeling, familiar. Their worship is stronger together.

'Those who hurt him? It is a long list including himself... Ah, I see. My First's past partners. If you wish it, the people of his past still live... Alas,' Sleep explains, voices heard only in their minds, 'It is not time for their lives to end.'

"What? But why?! Do you understand what they've done to him?" II struggles not to shout, hands fisted over his thighs.

In Vessel's room, they can hear a thud against the floor and a brief flash of pain. They both send their alarm down the bond and Vessel sends back his own reassurances, the blurred image of a knocked over stack of books following.

III's hand reaches out to take one of II's once they're sure Vessel is okay, forcing II to clasp their fingers together. The touch helps ground II, to calm himself some.

'You have not heard of all that has been done to him. All that he has done. You are ignorant of many things. When the Fourth is chosen, when you find out everything of import, you must all decide if you are to stay with my First. I will not keep fickle vessels who will not adhere to their purpose.'

"We're not going to leave him no matter what happens." II snaps, angry at the mere thought that he would ever abandon Vessel.

"He killed people for me. I would do the same for him, for Two. Nothing that has been done to him or that he has done is going to make us leave him." III tries, firm in tone and gaze.

'You are still ignorant of many things. Your continued devotion to him, to me, is not certain.' Sleep reiterates, distaste clear in His tone.

"What about the person, or people, who killed Vessel? Can we at least kill them so Vessel never suffers what I have?" III tries to bargain, grasping at any way to release their anger on those who hurt who they loved.

'There is no need. That will never happen to my First. Their killer is no longer of the human realm.'

"So they've died already?"

'Yes.'

"That's a relief, then." II says, turning to smile hesitantly at III, bond still a mess of anger and frustration.

"Yeah, Vessel doesn't need to suffer over something else from his past." III says, just as relieved.

If III could take back those words, knowing what is to come, then he would have in a heartbeat, would cut out their own tongue if it meant Vessel could be spared the pain soon to follow.

Sleep does not say anything further, does not spill the truths that his First has asked him to keep. Despite intending to keep the First's secrets, Sleep does not understand why the secrets need kept at all. Does not understand why Vessel refuses to tell the others what he does so that he can rest. The death is only temporary. With every blood offering Vessel gives Him, the easier it is to bring the First back from his death.

His First seems so sure they will leave him. That they will not choose to stay. Sleep is sure they will... but cannot be certain. His vessel has no heart in his chest, and human love, no matter how strong, can be torn away in the face of one's lack of understanding or compassion or a strong sense of morality. Sleep supposes he does understand, then, His First's worries. But Sleep chose these vessels for him, these vessels chose to live for as long as Sleep himself for Vessel.

"Two and I are offering our best selection of flowers, touched by Vessel's hand for longevity." III goes right into the worship they had also intended. "Oh, and this stone I found outside. It looks like a bit of meteorite, and reminded me of my devotion dream. The stars that were around me."

'I appreciate your offerings, my vessels. Truly. They are heartfelt, and so strengthen me. How are thingscomingalong with the musical aspects of your worship?'

II takes over the conversation, "Well, I think. The record label you influenced has given us a manager. We still need to come up with a name, though."

'I see. Decide quickly, Second. You may leave, if you wish. You'vedone well today.'

"Thank you, my God." II murmurs, bowing his head in reverence.

Despite their differences in opinion on how Sleep handles Vessel, II does love their God. Worships him the same as the other vessels. He will never agree with the God's indifference to the pains Vessel inflicts upon himself.

"Yes, thank you, Sleep." III adds as they, too, bow their head.

Sleep's presence brushes against their back, their marks tingling, and then He is gone.

"You didn't tell us about already having a manager! Sleep's right, we don't even have a name." III blurts, turning to II immediately.

II shrugs, sending down apologies, "Vessel will only freak out. He's nervous enough as it is with our new relationship. I planned on mentioning it when we picked a name."

"If you think that is what's best..." III says, "What about a guitarist?"

"I'm not sure. I was going to leave it to our manager, or put out an application or something. Its difficult because of what we are. I had been hoping for the Fourth to be with us by now, but that is not the case."

"Now that I think about it, how are we to work with anyone? We look... different."

"Masks on at all times, I'd assume. I don't think that's going to work well with anyone closely involved in the band though. Do you think we should call Sleep back?"

"Probably, but it can wait until tomorrow. We'll pick a name first, then worry about our image. Are we done here? I want to see Ves." III agrees, already moving to stand before they have even finished speaking.

II laughs, a sad, weak little thing, at the reminder of Vessel and their intentions with worship today after finding out how he had suffered. It is quick work putting out the remaining candles, III leaving the flowers on the offering plate.

II and III corner Vessel in his room, intending to cuddle him, as close as he allows anyway, for their own benefit. III crawls onto the bed and asks for kisses, eyes a little wet and bond a muddled mess as Vessel sets his book down at his bedside. II follows, slower, shutting the door softly behind him, watching the two as he makes his way to the bed. There are more books in here than before, definitely going over the limit II had set, stacks of them at the foot of the bed. There is one nearer to the door that is still askew, teetering dangerously as though it had been restacked with little care. Little flowers that II knows III had gifted Vessel sit in small glasses and vases, glowing gently, on every available surface of the room.

As III curls up at Vessel's side, his plushie acting as a barrier between them, III notices that the plague doctor has gained a new necklace. II sits at Vessel's other side gingerly, smiling when Vessel tries to scoot over so they all have room on the bed.

"That necklace is neat Ves, where'd you get it? I don't remember seeing it around."

Vessel is silent, hesitant to respond. III waits patiently for an answer, running a finger over one of the coins gently. "There was a stag in the forest today, a skeleton more like. It looked otherworldly, which I know it must have been since I've only ever seen it once, in Sleep's realm. Crimson moss in place of fur, mushrooms growing out between the ribs. It was larger than I was, with red vines and leaves twining through its antlers. It- Had no eyes. Just empty sockets in its bare skull. It was beautiful. A crow had startled me so I turned to look, then it dropped this necklace at my feet. The stag was gone when I turned back."

"If you saw it in Sleep's realm, how did it get here?" II asks, curious.

"I'm not sure... You believe me?" He asks, quiet and avoiding the gentle gazes resting on his form.

II leans forward and places a tender kiss to Vessel's brow, "Of course we believe you, Vessel. If you went out into town, came back, and told me the sky had turned neon green, I'd believe you. I'll always believe you."

"Besides Sugar, we're vessels to a God." III muses, "I can probably turn my whole body into something very much not human. You have six, beautiful eyes. Two is unusually strong for such a short man."

Without a thought, II reaches over and flicks III right between the eyes. III grabs ahold of II before the other can pull away, wrapping a long arm around his shoulder and pressing all their weight into him so they both go tumbling onto the bed. Vessel watches with wide eyes as III steals a kiss from II whose brows furrow. "You're never going to stop making jokes about my height, are you?" II huffs, and III laughs, whole body shaking.

"Never. Unless they actually hurt you, then I'll stop. Promise."

II eyes III with serious eyes for a moment, gaze falling to their lips briefly, "No, its fine. I don't actually mind all that much. I get my revenge eventually."

"Is it really revenge if I like it?" III jokes, eyes bright.

The tension in II and III's shoulders seemed to have slipped away, and Vessel was glad for it. He didn't mean to, but he made them worry. Their arguments never turn cruel or painful, and Vessel is continually surprised by it. By the playfulness that they are able to so easily fall into. Vessel wants that. Wants to be comfortable enough around them- Wants to trust them enough-

Vessel doesn't know how to let loose that way. His jokes always fall short, he's sure the others only laugh out of pity. When II and III danced in the kitchen, Vessel had wanted to join, even if he knows he would surely not be able to dance so freely as III did. He'd end up as stiff as II, Vessel thinks. He can't remember the last time he had danced or had fun with his body like that, simply moved our of enjoyment or because he felt a beat in his bones and had to move with it. The closest he had ever gotten was listening to II drum away at his kit to a song Vessel had written. The beat had reverberated through his bone marrow and Vessel had the strangest need to move with it. He did not.

Vessel is torn from his thoughts, eyes growing wider, as II reaches up and grabs III's hair, slowly tilting their head back. Just once, II tugs on III's hair with as much force as they'd already agreed on, "We're both supposed to like it, honey."

Using his strength to pull his body up, II kisses III then, claims III's mouth as his own at the same time he pulls just that little bit harder on III's hair. III moans, eyes fluttering as they struggle to watch II, feeling II's tongue slip into their mouth to tangle with their own.

Vessel can't tear his eyes away, feeling himself growing hard as he watches them. He doesn't know what to do with himself, and nervously picks dirt out from the underside of his nails to have some sort of release for the restless energy he can feel slowly building inside of him.

II pulls away, body dropping back down to the bed, cheeks and neck flushed red, lips swelled slightly from the ferocity of the kiss he'd just shared with III.

III moves to follow II down, to take II's lips again but II stops them with a simple command to wait. II turns his head to look at Vessel, taking in the light blush on his cheeks and the growing bulge in his pajama pants.

"To clarify before we start anything serious, are you okay with me watching?" II asks, searching Vessel's gaze and bond for any uncertainty.

He finds none as Vessel nods.

II's voice is so terribly gentle as he asks, "Use your words, pretty."

Vessel's blush gets more pink, gaze flitting away nervously before forcing himself to meet II's gaze. "Yes. That is fine."

"Sir." He adds, a little panicked.

"You don't need to use that name with me unless you want to. And I mean it, Vessel, only if you want to. Three is a little brat, and likes to taunt me with it. That is likely not going to be your intention, is it?"

Vessel would never dare taunt II- Could not even imagine-

Vessel shakes his head profusely, and II smiles reassuringly. He turns towards III, who has sat back on their heels to watch Vessel and II, head turning to stare at whoever is speaking almost comically. "You've been quiet, Three. Not plotting anything, are you?"

"No, sir. This is important. I'm being patient." III smirks, proud of themself.

"Good boy." II praises, smirking in return before turning once more to Vessel with a kinder look, "Have you ever had a blow job, my love? Or given one?"

Vessel shakes his head to the first, nodding to the second, adding on quietly with a grimace he tries to hide, "My girlfriends would use their hands to get me ready for them. Was that for the same purpose?"

"Probably, yes. Different parts need different prepping. By the look on your face, I take it they weren't very good at giving hand jobs." II frowns, but forced a smile on his face for Vessel's sake, "How would you feel about Three giving you a blow job?"

"Giving me...? Why?"

Its so damn endearing how Vessel tilts his head to the side, something he does so often, but the confusion that seems ever present when they talk about anything sexual is saddening.

"I want to make you feel good. Will you let me?" III practically begs when Vessel's bond does not dip toward negativity at II's question.

"Think it over, sweetheart. Is it something you want to experience?" II urges Vessel to think it over, and he just grows more confused.

Vessel can only think of how it felt to take a cock in his mouth, the way his jaw had ached painfully for days, his throat bruised from the inside, how he couldn't breathe. The first time Vessel had taken a cock in his mouth, he shoved away, even with the hand still gripping his hair, no matter how it hurt and tore strands free, just to get away in time to puke at his side. He had not been given time to wipe away the vomit from his mouth before his boyfriend had pulled him back by his hair.

'Fucking look at me. God, you can't even do this right? Seriously, ___? You'd better learn fucking fast, fucking crybaby. If you don't want me to fuck you every time, the least you can do is learn to do this properly.'

Vessel couldn't have seen him through his tears as he shoved him to the ground, finally letting go of his hair. Vessel was ordered to go brush his teeth and be back at his boyfriends side quickly, or he would get angry. Vessel hated when his boyfriend was angry. Wanted to please him so he'd be kinder, gentle like he used to be. Vessel had choked on the toothpaste, too, scalp and knees aching as he retched into the sink, sobbing as quietly as he could manage at the time.

Why would III willingly want to experience something like that?

"I promise I'll make you feel good. Whatever experience you had with it before, I'm going to replace it with something better, I promise."

Vessel wants to believe III. He really, really does. III had made him feel things Vessel did not even know were possible, made him feel pleasure. So he nods, slow and hesitant.

"Your agreement in words, Ves, if you can." II requests, and Vessel does as asked only marginally less hesitant.

"Vessel will want to keep his shirt on, sir. Can I- Undress him?" III asserts, crawling closer to where Vessel leans against the headboard.

Vessel cannot stop his eyebrows from lifting in surprise as III makes a request for Vessel's own continued comfort, finding himself touched. Strangely, being considered makes him grow harder, to his own embarrassment.

"I am fine with it if Vessel is."

III turns to Vessel eagerly, trying their hardest to stay quiet and still, to let Vessel decide on his own, but the bond is rife with their anticipation. III has already seen him before, so Vessel nods easily, despite his worry over what is to come.

III closes the small distance between them, very gently pulling Vessel's legs so they're laid straight down the bed. There is indecision through the bond as III tries to figure out how he wants to go about getting Vessel undressed. They want to straddle Vessel, to see him under them as they take off his clothes, yet knows it is not likely to be easy that way. III finds he doesn't care when he glances up from inspecting Vessel's body to find Vessel watching him, all six crimson eyes attuned to every move III makes. III finally just reaches forward, kneeling on the bed at Vessel's feet.

His hands come to rest on Vessel's hips, barely brushing the fabric there as III comes to rest their knees on either side of Vessel's own. "Is this okay?" III asks, watching Vessel for any signs of distress.

Vessel nods, murmuring a yes. The action causes III to glance down at Vessel's lips, finding himself staring without a care for what he was just doing.

"Kiss?" III whispers, leaning in close as they finally press their hands to Vessel's waist, thumbs slipping into the waistband.

Vessel nods again, anticipation making his eyes bright. III leans over Vessel, pressing their lips together and slipping their tongue in to tangle with Vessel's own. III starts slowly sliding Vessel's pajamas down his waist, purposefully not dragging his underwear down as well. Vessel's split tongue slides against III's, and for a moment, III wonders what it would feel like for his tongue to be on III's cock and he moans into the kiss at the image. Surprise flits down the bond at the sound, and somewhere beside them II lets out a short laugh.

Vessel has grown increasingly harder with every gentle touch, with every second III's mouth remains on his. His underwear is growing increasingly tighter as his bulge grows, the friction it causes only making Vessel feel worse. Or better, to be more precise.

III only breaks away from the kiss to slowly slip Vessel's pajama pants down and off his legs, leaving him in only a shirt and boxers. He does not do so quickly, they take their time. They sit and watch as more and more of Vessel's skin is revealed, cannot stop themselves from tracing one of the tendrils of ink crawling their way up Vessel's thigh, as though reaching for the bandages still wrapped there. The gentle touch causes Vessel to shudder as tingles spread through him.

Vessel's underwear comes off next as II slowly slides one hand down his sweatpants, starting to slowly stroke himself with the limited movement his hand is allowed. Vessel's cock is leaking pre-cum when III manages to get his boxers off, stopping at the sight of it before he can get his underwear even halfway down Vessel's thighs.

The sight makes their mouth water, just imagining taking that large cock in their mouth or ass. Fuck, the stretch would be delicious.

"Finish getting him undressed, Three. You don't want to keep him waiting, do you?" II orders, leaning on his side with his head propped up on a hand so he can watch III when they inevitably start.

III refrains from taking Vessel's dick in their mouth right then, letting out a whine of impatience as Vessel watches with wide eyes, a deep blush overtaking his face and traveling up to his ears. They're quicker about getting Vessel's underwear off, then, dropping them off to the side of the bed with his pajamas.

It is quick work getting Vessel's legs bent and spread before him. III stops to take Vessel in with his hands on the others hips, the blush over his cheeks and cock hard, leaking pre cum from the tip. His shirt is slightly askew, lips swollen from all the kissing the other two had subjected him to, and he is staring at III with half-lidded eyes. III wants nothing more than to take a photo to capture Vessel's divine beauty.

A hand slides up from Vessel's hip to his stomach, taking his shirt with him. III's hand deliberately does not go even close to his sternum, keeping to Vessel's only rule. III lets their hand rest there, splayed over Vessel's stomach and feeling the barest hint of abs beginning to form.

"Such a pretty thing." III croons, "My pretty boy."

Vessel's blush gets deeper, one hand coming up to try and hide his face in bashfulness.

III moves up enough to stare in one pair of Vessel's eyes, taking the hand from his face gently, before planting a kiss over each of his six eyelid's. III peppers kisses all over Vessel's face, every one as worshipping as the last. They move to Vessel's jaw, placing a kiss on the right side before moving down to the exposed skin of Vessel's stomach.

Vessel's breaths get shorter, harsher, as III kisses down to his bellybutton and then lower, nuzzling into the pubic hair there before a long stripe is licked up Vessel's shaft. He lets out a whine, hips just barely bucking up as though he couldn't stop himself.

"Want it really bad, don't you, my love? Don't worry, I'm going to make you feel good."

III gives no other warning except for a small lick at Vessel's tip before opening their mouth wide, flattening their tongue, and taking Vessel's cock in their mouth as far as it will go. It is not an easy fit, III taking short, measured breaths in as he slowly swallows more and more of Vessel's dick.

Vessel can do nothing but watch, utterly entranced, at the sight of III taking him in with tears beading at the corners of their soft, mischievous eyes. It bumps against the back of III's throat, but III doesn't gag or show any signs of discomfort except for the involuntary tears. Their bond remains painless, happy even, as III sinks their mouth down further.

Vessel can't quite think of much outside of the warm, wet heat of III's mouth around him. This is what it feels like to be given a blow job? Fuck, it felt divine.

III does not allow Vessel a moment to breath, hollowing their cheeks and sucking while their tongue presses flat to the underside of Vessel's dick. Swirling their tongue around the shaft shoots more pleasure down the bond and Vessel's cock twitches in III's mouth.

Then III lets out an intentional moan, a low thing that grows in sound and the vibrations bring Vessel very close to the edge.

"Can you take him deeper, Three?" II asks, smirking as he runs a thumb over his tip, enjoying the show.

III hums out an attempt at an agreement that makes Vessel's head tilt back into the pillows involuntarily with a breathy little keen. He is quick to move his gaze back down to III, selfishly enjoying the sight of their pretty lips around Vessel's cock, taking him in so well. III looks beautiful like this, Vessel thinks, reaching down hesitantly to brush a stray strand of wavy hair behind III's ear as they take more of him down his throat.

Two pairs of Vessel's eyes remain on III, capturing every movement with ease, while the top pair watches II slowly jerk himself off, off to the side.

A swirl of III's tongue spurs a small whimper out of Vessel, eyes clenching shut at the pleasure coursing through him. He feels close to cumming, body alight with the ecstasy III's mouth is giving him.

Vessel's eyes shoot open when he feels movement on the bed, II crawling towards him with intense eyes. He stops directly at Vessel's side, kneeling on both knees before reaching out and cupping Vessel's face. Vessel leans into the touch,  "Cum for Three, love."

Vessel does, hips bucking up into III's face as the other gently holds them to keep Vessel still as they swallow the cum spilling down their throat. III ruts into the bed, cock craving friction as Vessel's release spills over their bonds, too. His eyes glow brightly, like bloody moons in a night sky, and II's voice is firmer than intended when he asks Vessel to look at him, taken with the beauty of finally being able to watch Vessel cum with his own eyes. That, perhaps, was his mistake.

III is already pulling away when the first tremor of terror rocks down the bond between the three of them, eyes wide as Vessel completely stops moving.

"Red." II blurts before falling into a mutter, "Shit, shit, shit. "

He pulls his hands away from Vessel, afraid the touch will make him panic more. II isn't sure if it was something he did, or said, or if it was something III did.

Vessel can't breathe. Can't hear anything. Not past the voice in his ears, demanding he look at them and to stop fucking crying. Can't feel anything but the hand pressing painfully into his jaw, unkempt nails digging into his face and the smell of minty breathe in his nostrils.

Somewhere inside Vessel knows what II has said, has done, is not the same. Vessel feels terrible for ruining everything, trying to keep from crying as III pulls away and II stops touching him. He wants their hands back on him, the only kinds hands that have ever graced his skin.

"Ves, sweetheart, are you okay?" II asks, and the pure concern in his voice causes Vessel to let out a sob as silent as any other he's ever released.

The lack of touch only makes him feel worse, and he wants to beg, plead for them to hold his hand, or go ahead and hit him for being so pathetic just to feel the touch of their skin on his. He just wants to feel them again, when he needs it. Instead all he can do is lay over on his side, struggling to breathe with aching lungs, choking on the words he wants to say but is too afraid to let out.

His breaths come out in shorter and shorter pants, arms wrapping around himself as he brings his knees up to his chest. He looks small, II thinks, curling in on himself on the bed as if he could become one with the sheets and disappear completely if he tried hard enough.

Gold leaks from his eyes, clenched shut tightly. Vessel feels alone, even if the other two are right there beside him. They feel too far away, not close enough. He wants them near. He wants them to hold him. Vessel wants their gentle hands to brush his skin again just so he can force his mind away from the feeling of other hands on him, other, rougher hands pulling his face up with a bruising grip, straining his neck, demanding he look at them-

Please, please, touch me, hurt me, anything, please-

Vessel thinks that if words could be sent down the bond, his thoughts would have been shouted down the tether connecting their souls.

II must take pity on him and his pathetic form, staining the sheets with gold as he sobs silently.

"Is it alright if I touch you, Vessel? Just my hand, if that's alright, sweetheart."

Vessel nods so fast he gets dizzy, trying his damndest not to reach forward and crawl into II's lap, desperate as he is for them to show him the kindness he craves but does not deserve.

"Please." Vessel begs with every bit of desperation in his blood, fingers twitching with want.

III shakes, still half-hard and struggling to shove away the tingles of pleasure still coursing through them, longing to hold Vessel so badly it hurts. Not being able to hold Vessel, at the mans own request, has to be the worst torture III has ever faced and he was beaten and murdered for fucks sake. They want to reach for Vessel, too, to take his hand and run a soothing thumb over his knuckles just as II is doing, but Vessel's bond is just so overwhelmed with emotion, III fears he'll make it worse.

Anxiety and terror and the thick tar of being lost in one's mind that is filled with bad memories are all swarming Vessel's bond, fighting over which will cover the tether thickest.

"Don't leave, don't leave, please, please don't leave." Vessel mutters repeatedly, so quiet the other two vessels can barely make out what he is saying.

When they do manage to decipher it, it breaks their hearts. "Not going anywhere, my love." III says, watching helplessly.

They take Vessel's hand in their own when they notice him reaching out, only to pull back, then reach forward again. He can tell what Vessel wants but will not ask for.

II and III feel a little helpless as they watch Vessel's chest hitch with sobs that make no noise, face turned away into the pillow to hide. His trembling does not cease for what seems like eternity, squeezing II and III's hands tightly. It surely must be uncomfortable, to still hold their hands and yet be curled up, arms needing to stretch to reach. III uses his available hand to pick up Vessel's plushie, placing it under his chin. Vessel immediately tries to hide his face in it instead of the pillows. It takes time for his sobs to lessen then peter out entirely, breathing becoming less erratic, but still heavy. His mutters begins them not to leave have continued, but the vacancy in his eyes has cleared with the end of his sobbing.

"What happened, Ves? Was it something we said, or did?" II asks, so gentle, always so, so gentle.

"He used to grab my jaw when I couldn't meet his eyes. Jerked me around by my chin with a bruising grip." Vessel mutters, "Wasn't good enough. Have never been good enough. Not for anyone."

"Fuck, I'm sorry Vessel, I didn't know. I won't do it again." II looks so defeated as he says it, leaning into III as they continue holding one of Vessel's hands each.

Vessel scrambles to fix what he's done, needs II to know it wasn't his fault. "No, no, please, Two... you've asked me to look at you before and it didn't bother me! I promise. I think..." Vessel starts, stumbling over his words as more tears slip down the side of his face, "You've cupped my face before, too. It may have been the situation. I- This scenario was familiar enough. I was just never on the receiving end."

It feels strange for Vessel to be the one rationalizing what happened, when usually its the other two trying to reassure him, but his heart is so disconnected from anything sexual that his mind can see what has happened far easier.

"I liked it when you held my face, carefully like I was worth something. I liked what Three was doing, liked you watching. I've never- I didn't know that's what a blow job was supposed to feel like for the person on the receiving end. Suppose I was shit at giving them, Before." Vessel huffs out a humorless laugh, sitting up and wiping away tears.

Vessel hates the looks on their faces, not quite pitying but so distraught, and Vessel did that to them. He's the reason they look like that, all because he couldn't keep in control of the bond well enough to cover up what had happened. And then they'd shown him concern, and he'd crumbled.

Vessel forces his body to relax completely. Forces his muscles to finish untensing, shoves more calm down the bond, forces himself to meet II's eyes, to look at him like he had asked for. They'll be pleased with him when they finish here, Vessel is sure. Maybe they won't look so upset if Vessel offers up his body once more.

"I'm ready to continue with whatever else you wish. I feel better now." Vessel murmurs as he sits up, steeling himself for how he's going to have to fake his interest in the sex.

No matter how good it had felt, Vessel is exhausted. He wants to lay down and beg for sleep that will not come.

"No, it's alright. We'll continue this another time." II says, and III nods along easily, concerned.

"I- I do not mind." Vessel tries, desperate, gripping the sheets tightly to stop himself from reaching out to III, who gets off the bed to collect the damp rag they'd set aside.

He doesn't want them to be disappointed, knowing he is the cause.

"Sweetheart, you just had a panic attack. Neither I nor Three mind continuing whenever you're ready, but I don't think that time is now." II refuses gently, reaching out and adjusting Vessel's shirt so that it sits properly on his body, no longer crumpled haphazardly.

"It's happened before. It- It doesn't matter. I can continue. I know I can." Vessel insists, but II's expression remains firm.

"No, Vessel. You're still shaking."

"I'm- No, I'm not." Vessel holds tighter to the sheets, fabric beginning to tear under the force of his claws, trying in vain to still his body.

"I don't want to continue anyway. I kinda want to go watch a show, why don't we do that instead?" III offers, climbing back into bed with the rag in hand.

Vessel levels suspicious, guilty eyes on III but their bond remains truthful, calm. II sends III a grateful look that Vessel misses while trying to probe III's bond for any sort of lie.

"I'm down for that, honey. How about you Vessel?" II agrees, gently wiping Vessel's cock off.

Vessel sits there, trembling, still fighting valiantly to keep any more tears from falling, and nods imperceptibly.

"You're not in trouble, Vessel. No one is upset with you. We're concerned, and so we're going to take care of you." II explains, helping Vessel slip his underwear back on, then his pajama pants.

Vessel feels a little like he is being coddled. Still, he thinks back to what II and III had said to him before. They say they love him. They... get angry on his behalf. They do not yell at him, they do not hit him. They kiss Vessel like he is something to be adored... Vessel's mind is a muddled mess of thoughts as his present fights with his past over the truth of their words.

Vessel lets them coddle him. Breathes out a shaky, but truthful 'yes' when II asks to kiss him. Leans into II's lips on his, does not expect anything further when II slowly slides his hand onto Vessel's thigh, where it sits, merely laying there.

III hops out of bed first, picking up all of their phones and holding them in one large hand, fingers bent in what is surely awkward positioning. They watch as II and Vessel kiss, a slow, languid movement of lips as II sends down every ounce of love his body possesses towards Vessel's bond. There's a spark of recognition on Vessel's end, a small thing, and III hopes it is Vessel beginning to realize that it is their love for him.

Vessel knows they do not love him, not the way he loves them. If they love him at all, it is the version of himself he has allowed them to see. It is the version of himself that hides his lack of heart, hides his desire for death. A version of himself close enough to his core that they think they know him, truly.

If they think him pitiable now, they know nothing of what is to come should they ever find out all of Vessel's hidden truths.

The spark dies, and whatever realization Vessel had been having slips away to be replaced by his crushing self-doubt and anxiety and aching, bone-deep pain.

II pulls away slowly, ever so gently resting his forehead on Vessel's. "I love you." He murmurs, pressing a chaste but tender kiss to Vessel's lips again.

The smile Vessel shows them is twinged with uncertainty, but he repeats the phrase back with every ounce of love in his soul, because he means it. He loves II. He loves III.

"Here, Ves." III calls, holding out Vessel's plushie as he and II climb out of Vessel's bed.

Vessel reaches out and grabs it without hesitation, holding it close to his chest with both arms. "Here, for if you get cold. Your hands and feet are always freezing." III says again as he wraps a large blanket around Vessel's shoulders, pulling a large bit of the fabric over Vessel's head as though he were wearing a hooded robe. Vessel lets II lead him out of his room and down the stairs while III goes to brush his teeth quickly.

Their hands shake as they do so, taking a deep, deep breath in and releasing it before stepping back into the hallway. Elvira waits for him, tail flicking back and forth as she sits regally.

"Hey, pretty kitty, going to come hang with us? Vessel could use the support right now." III says quietly, crouching down to pet her.

She rubs into his hand as he scratches her head, petting a line down her spine and up her tail that she leans up into. Elvira follows him back to the living room, hopping up on the couch beside II.

"Lay your head in my lap, sweetheart." II offers, patting his thigh invitingly as Vessel flounders on what to do with his body, more anxious than usual.

III starts up the TV as Vessel very carefully lays down on the couch, scrunched up as small as possible, placing his head on II's warm thigh. It's familiar, and comforting. Vessel realizes it has been a while since either he or II laid their head on the others thigh. III picks up Vessel's feet, placing them back down on III's own thighs after they sit. One hand remains on Vessel's sock-clad ankle as III settles back into the cushions, scrolling through an anime app.

Vessel listens as II and III debate over what to watch. When they ask his opinion, Vessel is honest, more forthcoming than he should be. He wants them to know him, as much of himself as he can bare. "Wasn't allowed to watch anything that wasn't a documentary. Or read anything other than educational books."

"Well, you can read and watch whatever you want here, Sugar. Let's watch Fairy Tail then, it's a good starter anime, despite its length." III says, knowing he and II will need to talk with each other, and Vessel, about it eventually.

It must have been his parents, III notes. They're not sure who is higher on his shit list, Vessel's parents or his past partners. Right now, Vessel's parents are at the top of the list, III decides, watching Vessel with an adoring smile. Vessel's book and movie choices so far have been explained. To think they wouldn't let him watch or read anything fun. It explains why Vessel never knew anything about video games, or any of the movies they had watched previously. They'll have to compile a list of their and II's favorites to show him.

Observing Vessel as he watches the show with rapt attention, body slowly losing the tremble, one hand coming to grasp II's by the shorter man's knee, III considers Sleep's words from when they had last spoken with the God, slowly trailing their fingers over Vessel's calf and back down to his ankle rhythmically.

Sleep had said that Vessel's killer had already passed on. III can't help but wonder how.

It's of no matter now though. As long as Vessel remains safe from that threat, III is content. He supposes getting a hang of his transformation power would be useful for the future. They'll have to speak with II about it, since they already intended to work on their gifts together. Maybe they can rope Vessel into it as well, though it doesn't seem as though the other needs it.

III turns his gaze back to the show, one hand slowly crossing the space between them to rest at II's side, just barely touching him as III's arm lays gently over Vessel's form. Vessel huffs out a laugh, pretty ruby eyes sparkling as he finds enjoyment in one of the characters penchant for taking off his clothes subconsciously. III adores him, they think, as their gaze slides over to II who is also watching the show with tired, but interested eyes. III adores both of them.

[flowerbloom-arts]

(this is a reupload of a an ask post that is """mysteriously""" not showing up on my or other people's dashes. The following post exposes the truth about Moominpappa, and after many attempts at reuploading this with screenshots of the post and with the images I used I found that it's the screenshots that are causing problems. The people must know the truth of Moominpappa's lies, and I shall stop at no end to try and educate people on the web of lies that Moominpappa from Tanoshii Muumin Ikka 1991 is created for himself. Tumblr and its agenda to keep 90s Moominpappa's dignity in tact shall not dissuade me any more! Book Moominpappa would be APPALLED BY SUCH SHAMELESSNESS!)

-

@helshdy asked:

Sorry if this is obvious but how did they retcon the moominpappa backstory? Do Hodgkins, Joxter, Muddler, and Fuzzy just straight up not exist?

-

Okay so like... let's start with the stuff the episodes actually tell us.

There's one episode where the Moomin family (Sniff, My and Snorkmaiden included) get invited to Aunt Jane's mansion, which is pretty cool to see tbh, we finally get to see what her living situation is (she doesn't even have a housekeeping staff, she's so goddamn lonely)

And in one scene the kids are cleaning a room and they happen upon a photo album, and the album features... a younger Moominpappa living with Aunt Jane at what appears to be a summer house....

[INSERT SCREENSHOTS OF AUNT JANE'S PHOTO ALBUM]

Now, this is an odd discrepancy that goes unquestioned by the kids but it's not unreconcilable with Adventures of Moominpappa, maybe this is just one childhood summer Moominpappa deliberately left out of his story because it didn't contribute to his story and he doesn't like Jane. That's a minor enough piece of lore to make it make sense.

But then there's Return To Childhood, the episode with Wimsy.

After a mishap with the kids except Moomintroll mistaking Wimsy for an intruder, Wimsy and Moominpappa explain the history of their friendship to everyone, and what they say is uhhhh... (checks notes)

Moominpappa would constantly change schools in his childhood and then he and Wimsy were dormmates at the last school he went to.

...

Now that completely throws AoMP out the window.

We also have real tangible proof of this in the episode, Moominpappa and Wimsy try going on a little adventure together and they come across their old school, it even has the initials they carved on a tree and the same principal is still running the school (AND DOESN'T LOOK ANYTHING LIKE THE FILLYJONK PRINCIPAL).

[INSERT SCREENSHOTS OF MOOMINPAPPA AND WIMSY'S INITIALS ON A TREE AND THE SCHOOL PRINCIPAL]

And based on the kids that currently attend the school it seems that this is a an elementary/middle school?

[INSERT SCREENSHOTS OF THE PRINCIPAL SURROUNDED BY A GROUP OF COSTUMED STUDENTS]

(they're wearing costumes for a festival here)

And that's like. Woah. Holy crap??? Moominpappa like...... actually lied to us. ATLEAST about the majority of his life. And of course the kids don't question this because of Bad Writing BUT WE KNOW NOW.

Though, with all of this I'd have to backpedal and say that Edward the Booble as he was does in fact exist, there's an episode where the characters get Edward so they can use his tears to heal a mermaid tail, although he doesn't seem... quite as big as he was in AoMP (it could just be the animator's horrendous inability to be on model but this is beside the point)

The Ghost, is also real, we all saw him in the Dame Elaine episode didn't we. It's undeniably him, it has all the references we need without a shadow of a doubt despite the very different appearance between that episode and AoMP.

Allegedly he still lived on the island the Oshun Oxtra were on (but we could also argue that it wasn't necessarily that particular island, or it could mean that Moominpappa did in fact go to That island but the events didn't transpire the way MP said they did)

The fact Moominpappa is lying about his backstory could also explain his utter lack of familiarity with Mymblemamma despite his claims of having been friends with her in his youth (allegedly in the Japanese dub MP didn't actually say she was Little My's mother and that she was just another lookalike like the rest of the parents, but also allegedly in the Finnish dub he did say she was her mom, so which is it??) and we can't chalk it up to the show's lack of continuity because based on the Dame Elaine episode the show was perfectly capable of having continuity that adheres to MP's Memoirs even before they actually adapted it. (Both Dame Elaine and Moomin Builds a House were episodes before AoMP part 1)

And the most damning thing about this whole thing is that if you actually watch the AoMP episodes, Moominmamma explicitly had no way to call Moominpappa out on this, she explicitly doesn't know what his backstory was pre-meeting him. "But surely she'd point something out if she didn't know who the Oshun Oxtra was" WE DON'T KNOW IF SHE'D KNOW, SHE WAS LITERALLY OUT OF THE ROOM WHILE MOOMINPAPPA DESCRIBED THEIR MEETING, AND SHE OBVIOUSLY WASN'T HEARING WHAT MOOMINPAPPA WAS SAYING OR WHAT THE KIDS WERE TALKING ABOUT BECAUSE SHE WAS CONFUSED ABOUT THE KIDS STARING AT HER IN DISBELIEF.

IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW

MOOMINPAPPA IS JUST A BAD STORYTELLER AND I DON'T HAVE TO ACCEPT THE UTTER LACK OF CHARACTERIZATION AS REAL

IT'S ALL A LIE

JOXTER AND MUDDLER WERE PROBABLY OLD SCHOOLMATES FROM ONE OF HIS SCHOOLS AND THE REASON WHY THEY WERE LOOKALIKES AND PARENTS WERE BECAUSE HE DIDN'T ACTUALLY KNOW THAT THEY HAD KIDS

WOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

[admrlthundrbolt]

Holding Out For A Hero (Mumen Rider x Chubby Reader)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Waking up beaten and in an unfamiliar place. Mumen Rider can't but feel sorry for his captors. Because he's the only one that knows what's coming.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi guys, I'm back at it. I had the idea of a reader that would destroy the world for their partner. I thought sweet little Mumen Rider would fit the roll perfectly. So I hope you enjoy.

Also, we're coming up on the twentieth story and I was wondering if anyone might have a suggestion for it? Feel free to leave a comment.

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

Satoru's head throbbed and there was a lingering taste of blood on his tounge. The tight feeling of rope trapping his body to a chair. Looking up, he winced at the harsh light filling the room. Squinting at his surroundings, he tried to remember what he was doing before he woke up.

Fuzzy images were all that he could manage. The sound of slow footsteps snapped his thoughts away from the past. A trio of men entered the room. In the dim lighting, it was hard to make out any details, but they all wore bright red jackets.

The one in the middle leaned forward, studying him. “So your the so called famous Mumen Rider?” He leaned back and brought a baton under his chin. “You'd think that the class C rank 1 would’a been harder ta take down. But I guess that just proof'a how weak all you heros are.” He then reared the weapon back and brought it hard onto his knee.

Trying to muffle his pained cries, his teeth dug into a trembling lower lip.

The other two exchanged looks, but stayed silent. Leaving the assumed leader to continue. “Ya see. We noticed that you come out on top more oft’n than not. So that leads us ta believe that you have someone on your side. Now we don’t care who it is, s rank or hero association. It don't matter.” He tapped the baton on the top of his head and continued. “What does matter, is what they’re willing ta pay for you.”

Gritting his teeth through the pain, he said. “How long have I been here?”

That earned him a hit against the other knee. This time he couldn't hold back his agonized howl. “We’re the ones asking questions here!” He was practically frothing at the mouth as he yelled. Rearing the weapon back, Mumen Rider tried to prepare for another assault.

One of the men that were standing back shot a hand forward. Stopping the baton just in time from cracking into his skull. “This isn't what the boss wanted.”

Now that the second man stepped in, this seemed to give the third some courage. “Yeah, he said to get a name for the ransom. That’s all.”

This angered the first man more. “Fuck the boss. I’m tired a this weakling being a ‘beacon of hope'. I mean look at how pathetic he is.”

That hurt his pride as much as the injuries ached his body. “How long have I been here? “

This caused the first man to reel towards him. “What the he'll does it matter man. Your not getting out’a here without payment.”

The second man took pity on the bound hero. “A few hours. We grabbed you in J City.”

This caused the first man to sneer at the other two men. Pulling them away, Mumen Rider had a bit to unjumble his thoughts. Why would he be in J City? Was there a crime, none that came to mind. Was he shopping? That could be it, but he couldn't remember making a list. Maybe an appointment?

That triggered a memory. Walking down the street, he looked down at his phone. Texting you that he was on his way to your favorite ramen place. Sending the message he noticed the time, realizing that he would be late if he didn't hurry. That was when he went down an alley, knowing it would get him there faster. Then everything went black and there was a throbbing sensation at the back of his head.

Eyes widening at the realization, he struggled to get the men's attention. “You have to let me go. Please, your safety depends on it.”

A taunting smirk came onto the armed man's face. “Oh really. Does the big brave hero think he can escape now?” He stepped forward, only to be held back by one of his companions.

“What are you talking about?” He said, noticing the shift in the hero's behavior.

“The Wretch is coming.” Satoru was surprised at how steady his voice was.

The timid third man started breathing heavily. “No, they’re gone. They haven't been spotted for month.”

“Yes and if you want to keep it that way, you’ll let me go.” He struggled in the tightening bindings harder.

“Oh, so that's how you do it. You got some sort of guard dog. Is that it?” The violent man started cackling at the thought.

The scared thug was on the verge of hyperventilating . “No, you don’t get it. It’s a Demon level monster that could become any combination of creatures. Some survivors even claim that it should be Dragon level.”

This caused baton guys eyes to widen. “But I thought they were declared dead.” Turning to Mumen Rider he grabbed the shoulder straps of his armor and brought them face to face.

Only to have his next action halted by a roar. The pounding noise of fast footsteps was the only thing filling the room. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath in anticipation. As the door blasted off it’s hinges, the tension stifled the room.

The thing that came through was an amalgamation of monster parts. Tentacles thrashed as sharp teeth nashed together. Standing taller than any man they had ever seen. Patches of fur and scales came into view as you stepped closer to the group.

The hyperventilating man passed out at first glance of The Wretch. Now the other two were trembling. They could only stare wide eyed and frightened at the sight before them.

Reaching your target, you slashed the ropes off of Satoru. A growl left your panting maw when he slumped forward in exhaustion. Supporting him with one of your appendages, you cradled him gently against your chest.

As you took your leave, you noticed only one conscious man was in the room. He was swinging a baton towards you. With a simple flick in his direction, he sailed into a nearby wall. Losing all sense of the situation, as he to fell unconscious.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next thing Mumen Rider knew he was waking up in a hospital room. He was brought to reality by your voice conversating with another familiar one.

You noticed him stirring and smirked. “Look who's awake. You feeling better Sleeping Beauty?”

Your smile never fail to make him flush. Grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers together. Gentle caresses with soft hands brought him to a wonderland of euphoria. All thoughts of your soft full body were paradise in his mind.

Only for the fantasy to be broken by a sharp cough. Saitama didn’t mind public affection, but if you both continued. Well he would definitely feel like he was intruding.

“Oh Saitama, it’s nice to see you again.” Satoru tried to will the redness from his cheeks. It was one thing to be intimate with you in private. But to carry on in front of one of his co-workers, and friends, was another embarrassment all together.

With a nod, he was happy to see that his interruption had reign you both in. Though you still held the other man’s hand tightly. “I’m glad to see that your feeling better than last night.” He glanced over at you and smiled. “She was carrying you and you looked pretty bad.”

This caused the helmet wearing hero to blush all over again. “Wwwell, you see.”

He was cut off by a swift kiss to the cheek. “He had a run in with some bad guys. I happened upon them at the end, but Satoru was exhausted after handling the situation. So I helped him here. Simple as that.” You smiled at the heros, but Saitama could tell there was more to you. While Mumen Rider knew there was more, but that was his secret to keep.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Trey, Leona: The Cat's Meow

Ooooh, I see the vision now... Maybe?? It looks like each member of the same dorm might have a similar default image in the bottom frame of their initial art? Both Ace and Trey have the Queen of Hearts… I guess we’ll have to wait until Cater’s birthday to see if the pattern keeps up?

nfdbwjccwbxgak How fitting to see Trey posed alongside a painting of the Cheshire Cat considering who he’s childhood friends with… and also that Trey’s VA also goices Lucius www (Side note: they fr always gotta have Trey claim he’s “normal” right before he pulls the sussy face which is most certainly NOT normal 😭)

A Tale as Old as Time.

A rotund feline stood on hind legs in a platinum frame, one paw curled under its round chin and resting on its fluffy tail, the other flicked out in a devil-may-care gesture. Purple, pink, purple, pink—its fur was striped in a repeating pattern. Eyes raised upward, the cat looked inquisitive among the gnarled trees, as if posing a riddle to the viewer. Why is a raven like a writing desk?, perhaps.

Huh, I wonder what he's wondering about. Trey rested his chin in one hand as he pondered the painting—and the question.

The longer he gazed at the cat, the more familiar its silly smile seemed to be. How difficult he was to read. A thought crept up on him, one lazy stride at a time.

"... Reminds me of a certain guy," he muttered.

"I hope you’re not talking about me," came a sarcastic drawl from beside him. It, too, was cat-like in its own right, a different flavor of feline: more languid than whimsical. “Because I won’t be laughing like a hyena at jokes made in poor taste.”

"Leona." Trey immediately made to step back, making space for the dorm leader. Leona's immense presence practically demanded it. "No, of course not. I was thinking about a childhood friend.“

“Hmph. You’ve got a childhood friend like this?” He made a face at the Cheshire Cat. A frown to challenge its foolhardy grin. “… Now I almost feel sorry for you, having to put up with a guy like that.”

“Oh, Chenya’s not that bad,” Trey said dismissively. “He’s a troublemaker, sure—but he’s got a good heart beneath all of that, and he wouldn’t hurt a fly. The worst is gets up to is playing a trick or two and stealing snacks.”

“What an exciting life,” Leona snorted, clearly not convinced. “He sounds like a real rascal for his age.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. Sometimes it feels like he never really grew up from the times him, Riddle, and I were rolling around in clover fields and stuffing our faces with cake. Still, he’s our friend—even if we’re far apart for schooling.”

“It was already hard enough to believe you’d be friends with him, but Riddle too?” A smirk rose on Leona’s lips. “Life works in mysterious ways.”

There was a chuckle from Trey. “Ahahah… Does it surprise you? We all come from the same hometown. The community there’s very welcoming. I guess that’s why we ended up reaching out to Riddle one day and… I’m sure you know how the rest of that story goes.”

He didn’t—and nor did he care to know, so he said nothing. Instead, Leona inclined his head. In the dimness of the museum, his eyes glinted a bright green.

He gave a command.

“… Oi, herbivore. Tell me more about this hometown of yours. Tell me what it’s like.”

Trey blinked, slightly flabbergasted at what he was hearing. Leona stared at him expectantly. He clicked his tongue.

“Well? Don’t keep me waiting.“

Huh, I didn’t think of Leona as the curious type. If that’s what he wants though, who am I to deny it?

“Okay. so…”

Trey returned a hand to his chin. His words, he considered. How to best arrange them to paint the most flattering photo?

Green, so much green. A scattering of red dotting the landscape. Saturation, cheer. Something warm and fuzzy whenever he imagined those scenes—like the sun upon his face.

“Imagine a place bursting with flowers. Every color, every shape, every smell. Some remind you of cotton candy that rots your teeth, others of old shoes and skunk."

Leona's sensitive nose wrinkled at the suggestion. "Real poetic there."

Trey continued. "Everyone knows each other not because the community is small--I'd say it's a decent size?--but because people see each other and talk. They ask how you are, how your family and business are doing. They come over with a platter of cookies to welcome new neighbors, ask if your kids want to come over and play with theirs."

Fond memories played out in his head: the time he had eaten a whole bottle of mustard to prove a point, messing up his signature spell and imparting a loaf of bread with a bad flavor, his first cake at four years old. Everyone had told him he had such talent for baking--but looking back on it, hadn't his "cake" been a lumpy, gooey mess?

"You could screw up pretty badly and they'd still pat you on the head and tell you it's fine, it's just an honest mistake or what a good job you did. My parents are like that too. It must come with the territory."

Leona listened and nodded to every piece of information Trey presented. He appeared bemused as he watched the vice dorm leader, a fleck of sunlight caught in his emerald eyes. Like that of a silent predator stalking innocent prey.

“How picturesque. No wonder you’re so well-adjusted and normal,” Leona purred, his gaze half-lidded. “It must be the power of true love at work.”

“You could say that. The community I grew up in was very loving and supportive. I’m thankful for that.” Trey smirked so briefly that onlookers could have easily missed it. "... It lets me get away with a whole lot more."

"You don't strike me as the kind of guy to act out."

"Not often," Trey corrected. "Only little acts when it's deserved."

"You and your bleeding heart." Leona's scoff gave way to an eerie quiet. From it came a soft, contemplative sigh. "... Must be nice, being able to afford to live so contentedly."

"Ah, you probably didn't have that kind of luxury," Trey recognized. "The life of a prince is different from us common folk."

"There’s pressure to perform and social politics to navigate. Complicated webs that span several circles, grace and relations to uphold, airs to wear. Aaaah, it’s such a drag," the lion beastman groaned.

"Yeah, I can imagine that." Trey smiled sympathetically. "But even though we come from very different places, I'm sure that you also had loving and supportive people in your life, Leona. Everyone does."

"Hah. Are you listening to yourself? You sound as mad as him." Leona jabbed at thumb at the Cheshire Cat. "It's the first-born prince--the one destined to be king--that they all adore."

“… That’s not completely true, is it?” Trey adjusted his glasses. A stray beam of light reflected off the face of them, casting the glass in pure white for a fraction of a second.

The reason Leona was asking about my hometown... It must be genuine curiosity. He's never known something like it. But the fact that he asked must mean he wants to learn, right?

The prince's eyes were angry, suspicious slivers now. "What are you suggesting?"

“I heard from Ace and Deuce that you have a cute little nephew that adores you. A lot of the Savanaclaw underclassman as well. And from Lilia—there’s a grand chamberlain you used to be close with as a kid. Playing chess and getting you out of trouble. Your brother too, he must care for..."

Leona bared his teeth, raised his voice. "Don't act like you know--"

Me. What I've been through, what I've suffered.

"Whoa, whoa!" Trey held up both hands. "Sorry. I said too much. I shouldn't have let my own curiosity get the better of me."

A growl--colored with residual anger--emanated from Leona's throat. "If you understand that, then don't stick your hand into a lion's den a second time."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Trey pulled back, the fingers of one hand curling into a loose first. The other hand found its way to perching at his waist as he leaned his body forward. He attempted an apologetic confession--but instead produced something slightly sinister.

"What are you doing now?"

"Cat to cat communication," Trey said, deadly serious. "You know, like 'nyah'!"

A pause.

"... Is that good enough of an apology?" Trey inquired.

"Don't screw with me," Leona muttered, batting away at his peer's poised "paw". "In the first place, your posture's all wrong. Are you trying to piss me off?"

"Looks like I failed to lighten the mood."

"You're really terrible at it," Leona grumbled under his breath. "You sure that childhood friend of yours is the troublemaker of the group? Cuz to me, I see another troublemaker in the trio."

"I'm a normal high school boy. You even said it yourself."

"And which one of us started meowing at the other out of the blue?" Leona expertly countered.

Trey stifled his voice, which had started to work its way up into an awkward laugh. "Pfft, alright. Point taken."

"Here I was, thinking you were 'normal'," Leona simpered. "The red young master sure has a way with picking the company he keeps. You're all odd to balance out his rationale."

"That's the role a card soldier plays for his queen. Friend, baker, cat, trump card--I'm here to be them all."

[sulkybbarnes]

Hello ! I have read -per your tags- that you are a fungi biologist !!! First this is very cool, second i have a question about MOLD if its ok :)

Can you eat jam where the mold has been removed ? What is the general rule if there is one behind NO eating bc mold or ok eating if removed ? Im really curious about it +is it true that mold can grow in your body ? (I had a pack of unfortunately moldy tobbaco and a friend insisted on smoking it and i had to use the argument that they would become Moldy From The Lungs to stop them.... but is this true ?)

Anyhow, thank you for your time and keep on fungin' <3

Hey pal! First of all, thank you for the question (and for thinking fungal biology is cool haha), it was absolutely delightful for me to get this. I wish people talked to me about fungi outside of work more often! 🍄

As a disclaimer: my work is mostly molecular biology work on Saccharomyces cerevisiae aka Brewer's Yeast, and occasionally Candida albicans, and neither of these is closely connected to the mold question. I'm by no means a food safety expert either, but with that out of the way:

The short answer is that I would not eat jam with mold on it, even if you remove the mold. I would say that the rule to go by is that if it's a soft food with mold on it, discard the whole thing. If it’s something "hard" like a hard cheese, then it's probably safe to cut away the mold and eat the cheese. I found this little guide that seems quite reasonable and helpful to me, and it’ll tell you more about what types of food grow mold and how to handle them if you scroll to the end!

The long answer: Molds, like a lot of fungi, grow multicellular filaments called hyphae (Brand & Gow, 2009; Brand, 2012) which are only micrometres long. Meaning that you would need a microscope to be able to see them. Think of them as invisible roots or arms that can spread through your food. The fuzzy, green/grey/white manifestation that you see of the mold is a “colony” or in other words a network of cells or hyphae (Miguélez et al., 1999) depending on the organism. If you can see it, it is because it has been growing for a while, and that most likely means that your food is already contaminated with the “roots”. And these aren’t harmless; because depending on the type of mold, they can produce mycotoxins. Mycotoxins are biochemicals the cell makes which can cause serious harm to your health (Gonkowski et al., 2020). They have been known to cause allergic reactions, gastrointestinal issues, and poisoning. This is all dependent on the type of mycotoxin and the concentration of it, and the individual’s health, but I reckon this is the case where you want to be safe not sorry. From Gonkowski et al: “It is known that mycotoxins may act on many internal organs and systems, including, among others, nervous, reproductive and immunological systems, metabolic processes and endocrine glands” (Rykaczewska et al., 2019). In some cases, bacteria can also grow with the mold and cause illness. So, the long answer also boils down to: no, don’t eat it, it’s really not worth the risk.

And, yes, mold can grow in human lungs if the spores are inhaled. Granted that is most likely to happen with immunocompromised individuals as far as I know, but! I would advise against sniffing it at any rate haha.

I'm including the references in the text and at the end for fun, in case you’re interested to read more about this or see the microscopy images in the papers!!

Happy and safe eating 🍄😊

Brand, A. (2012) ‘Hyphal growth in human fungal pathogens and its role in virulence’, International Journal of Microbiology, 2012, pp. 1–11. doi:10.1155/2012/517529.

Brand, A. and Gow, N.A. (2009) ‘Mechanisms of hypha orientation of fungi’, Current Opinion in Microbiology, 12(4), pp. 350–357. doi:10.1016/j.mib.2009.05.007.

Gonkowski, S., Gajęcka, M. and Makowska, K. (2020) ‘Mycotoxins and the enteric nervous system’, Toxins, 12(7), p. 461. doi:10.3390/toxins12070461.

Miguélez, E.M., Hardisson, C. and Manzanal, M.B. (1999) ‘Hyphal death during colony development in streptomyces antibioticus: Morphological evidence for the existence of a process of cell deletion in a multicellular prokaryote’, The Journal of Cell Biology, 145(3), pp. 515–525. doi:10.1083/jcb.145.3.515.

Rykaczewska, A. et al. (2019) ‘Imbalance in the blood concentrations of selected steroids in pre-pubertal gilts depending on the time of exposure to low doses of Zearalenone’, Toxins, 11(10), p. 561. doi:10.3390/toxins11100561.

[ravendruid]

Be In My Eyes - Chapter 24

You can read the previous chapters here or on AO3. HAPPY 2024 EVERYONE! I hope you all had wonderful holidays. I'm sorry it took me so long to update. This chapter is kind of short, but I hope you like it. Summary: Keyleth tries to study for finals (keyword: tries), but the universe has other plans.

We will resume this another time, Kiki. Vax’s words replayed in Keyleth’s mind over and over again, even after almost a week since the snowball fight. They hadn’t had the opportunity to resume their interrupted moment due to the mountain of homework and essays they had to work on during the weekend, and the even larger mountain of assignments they were given the next Miresen. To make things worse, Keyleth’s anxiety flared up at the first mention of final’s week. It’s not that she had forgotten about it (the looming red circle on her calendar did not go unnoticed), but with everything going on between classes and dealing with whatever her heart was putting her through with Vax, Keyleth had lost track of time. Since Keyleth felt like she had been falling behind in some classes again for the past few weeks, she decided to increase her study hours, and because Vax and her were on speaking terms again, he was back to spending long hours at the library—or wherever it was that Keyleth decided she wanted to study that day—with her.

On Whelsen, after a particularly cold and snowy day, Keyleth decided to stay home to study, so once she got home from classes, she switched into her most comfortable flannel pajama set and draped a fuzzy blanket on her lap as she sat at the kitchen table in front of Vax, who was wearing his hoodie again. The apartment building’s temperature was centrally controlled, and while maintenance had been nice about keeping it cool during the warm weather, they hadn’t made the transition to heat yet, so the residents were forced to bundle up to fight off the cold.

Keyleth and Vax were home alone again (something that had been happening more and more often) since Pike was at the art studio finishing a painting before the stress of the exams took over, Grog was at practice (which seemed inhuman to Keyleth that he had to play sports in this cold), Scanlan was still in classes, Percy at the workshop finishing some super-secret project, and Vex had taken Trinket on a walk with the promise to return home with snacks. 

Ever since the snow day, whenever Keyleth found herself alone with Vax, the memory of their almost-kiss came crashing and taking over her thoughts like a storm. Between how close his warm breath had been to her lips, and the memory of the loud beating of their hearts on repeat on Keyleth’s mind like a scratched disk for the past ten minutes, she was having a hard time focusing. It also didn’t help that every time Keyleth glanced at Vax, he was lost in thought and focused on his books, either biting the end of his pen or with his tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth as he wrote. The tongue in particular was something Keyleth found extremely distracting as it led to very disrespectful thoughts like how it would feel in her mouth, her skin, or—

Keyleth squirmed uncomfortably in her chair, shaking her head to erase the image of Vax’s head between her legs from her mind. These new thoughts had been recurrent from the moment Keyleth realized she was attracted to him, but even more so since they practically kissed, and it was not the moment for that

“Are you okay?” Vax asked, looking up at her. He didn’t seem to have any idea Keyleth had been stealing longing glances at him for the past hour. 

“I’m fine. Sorry,” Keyleth apologized and returned her focus to the book.

It didn’t last for long, though. Not even a minute later, her head lifted back up to glance at Vax. It was hypnotizing to say the least. The hood of his sweatshirt rested on his back, letting Keyleth see the woven braid from the top of his head that fell on the rest of his loose dark hair. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his chin rested on his hand, and his eyeliner was smudged again, as it always happened at the end of the day (it was like Vax didn’t care to reapply throughout the day). He was beautiful in a way most dangerous things are. Charming and mysterious. Even after so many months of getting to know him, Vax still hid secrets that Keyleth wanted to unravel like her life depended on it, but she waited patiently for him to come to her, to share those dark secrets. 

As if Vax felt Keyleth’s gaze on him again, he looked up, locking his eyes with hers. Keyleth loved his eyes but she always preferred to look at them in the sunlight when they became a lighter, almost amber-like, color. Under the fluorescent light of the kitchen, and with no sun in sight, Vax’s eyes were a shade of dark brown that resembled chocolate (which Keyleth also didn’t mind). And then there was also the intensity in his gaze, as if he was trying to peer into Keyleth’s soul to figure out answers for questions he was so afraid to ask. Sometimes it bothered her, others it made her stare even deeper in challenge. This was one of the former moments. Keyleth was afraid that if for some miracle Vax was able to read her mind, he would see that the reason for her cheeks to be tinged with pink was not because of the heat of the blanket on her lap, but the very disrespectful thoughts she had about him minutes before, so Keyleth quickly shifted her gaze back to her book.

The third time Keyleth was caught staring, she was absent-mindedly biting the end of her pencil as she watched her crush write something in his notebook. Keyleth didn’t even realize she had been staring at Vax with a goofy smile on her face until he looked up with a knowing smirk. Keyleth tried to avert her gaze (again), but this time Vax got up with a chuckle and walked around the table into the kitchen to fill his glass with water. Keyleth tried to pretend she wasn’t paying attention to his movements behind her, or that she wasn’t focused on the sound of his bare feet (how could he walk barefoot on the freezing floor?) moving about the kitchen and the rustle of his clothes as he approached the back of her chair. Keyleth almost flinched when Vax set his glass on the table next to hers, and she sat ramrod straight when he supported his weight on his left hand and leaned above her right shoulder, whispering with his lips close to her ear, “What are you studying Kiki?” His voice was sweet like honey and his sweltering breath kissed the skin of her neck. 

Keyleth gulped at the proximity. Vax’s left arm brushed against her shoulder, the other one held the back of her chair, and his nose brushed sensually against the shell of her ear as if he was waiting for a sign to kiss her there. “Anatomy,” Keyleth replied, fully aware of the flush that spread up her neck. 

Vax hummed so close to her that Keyleth’s pulse increased. “This is wrong,” He said, pointing at the exercise Keyleth had been trying to work on. One of the reasons why Keyleth loved to study with Vax was because he was great at Anatomy—her worst subject—and he always took time to explain things to her and to answer her questions with such patience that Keyleth almost wished she had more classes in common with him so he could explain everything to her. Even though Keyleth usually paid close attention to Vax’s explanations, this time her focus was definitely not cooperating with her when he told her how to correct the exercise. 

“Thank you,” Her voice wavered. 

“Any time, Kiki,” Vax kissed Keyleth’s neck behind her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. Keyleth drew in a sharp breath and she felt Vax smile in triumph against her skin. “You okay?”

Keyleth couldn’t answer. She was too stunned, too flustered to form cohesive sentences. The bottom half of her body was suddenly on fire (especially between her thighs), the hairs of her arms raised with goosebumps, and from the pull in her navel, Keyleth knew she was bound to have very vivid and very disrespectful dreams with the man whose nose still hovered by her ear. Nodding in response to Vax’s question was also a mistake because in doing so, the brush of his nose and lips against her neck created another wave of arousal. Keyleth wanted to ask him for more—her body begged for more—so much so that she subconsciously cocked her head to give Vax better access. He smiled again and leaned in, but just as his lips were about to brush that sweet, sensitive spot on her neck again, the front door opened to a cacophony of voices and the clicking of nails on the floor.

Vax was gone in a blink of an eye, leaving Keyleth shifting in her seat trying to hide how much his proximity had affected her. The sudden cold of his absence didn’t do anything to help cool off the heat, so Keyleth set her blanket on the chair next to her, avoiding eye contact with Vax. Soon after, Vex’ahlia, Percy and Trinket entered the kitchen, chatting boisterously.

“Look who I found downstairs,” Vex’ahlia said, dropping a bag from the store on the table. Percy rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed, avoiding eye contact with Vax and Keyleth—and for a good reason, from what Keyleth could ascertain. His lips were a shade of red darker than usual, almost slightly smudged as if he had been eating candy. If Keyleth didn’t know better, she would have thought her best friend had dug into the candy in the bag, but, unfortunately for him, Keyleth knew that the smudge came from Vex’s lipstick (and even more unfortunately for Percival, from the glare in Vax’s eyes, he also knew the same). 

“Hello,” Keyleth’s voice was still shaky, but thankfully only Percy seemed to notice that and the color on her cheeks. 

“We ran into Allura in the atrium. She said that Gilmore is throwing a costume party this weekend. No specific theme,” Vex announced, pulling a chair next to Vax and digging through the store bag to bring out a bag of candy.

“Finals start in a month. I don’t think it’s wise—” Keyleth started saying, but Vex interrupted her, “Yes, yes. We know. Live a little, Keyleth.”

“What do you mean, live a little?” Keyleth asked, outraged. Hadn’t she been doing just that? Sure, it had been a while since she went to Glorious with everyone else, but she’d been joining them on game nights instead of studying, and it was only a few days ago that she convinced everyone to skip classes so they could have fun together. She was living a little. 

Seeing Keyleth’s reaction and hearing the offense in her tone, Percy intervened by setting one hand on the table between the girls, “I think what Vex’ahlia is trying to say is that we should go to this party together, as a group, and have fun so we can focus on exams afterward.”

“That’s not—” Vex’ahlia started, but Percy gave her a stern look as if to say drop it, so she remained silent. Whatever was happening between them, Vex seemed to listen to Percy more than she listened to her brother recently.

“I personally agree with Freddie,” Vax announced, closing and stacking his books. It seemed like study time alone with him was over. “We should go to this party, and then focus on exams for the rest of the month. And then—” Vax’s eyes glinted with mischief “—when exams are over, we should throw a raging party to celebrate.”

“Now that is an idea I can get behind, brother,” Vex’ahlia slapped Vax’s shoulder, popping candy into her mouth.

Keyleth’s shoulders sagged in resignation, she mumbled a low “fine” and closed her books. It didn’t matter that Vex had brought candy for their study session because there wasn’t a study session anymore, not the way Keyleth wanted.

—

“Should we do a theme for the party?” Scanlan asked a few hours later. The group sat in the living room after dinner, almost everyone holding a bottle of beer in their hand and a notebook in the other as they brainstormed ideas for their costumes. 

“Allura said there wasn’t one,” Vex replied.

“Sure, but what if we did a group theme?”

“Like what? Do we all dress up as football players?” Grog asked.

“Yes, or we each dress up as a character from a movie or a game,” Scanlan threw the idea at the group.

“There are only two days left until the party, Scanman, and some of us can’t afford to buy a costume,” Vax noted.

Keyleth was sitting on her armchair in the corner. She had refused a beer, opting for a cup of tea instead. The last thing she wanted after a stressful day of classes was to go shopping, not to mention that stores would be closed by the time she was done with classes for the next two days. If only there was a way for them to use whatever they had in their wardrobes… Keyleth’s eyes wandered between her roommates, studying their looks. Grog and Pike had very similar styles: relaxed and comfortable, often opting for sweats and large t-shirts or clothes that allowed them to move. The twins’ styles were also very alike, both going with edgy clothes that could easily be interchangeable. The only people whose style deviated were Keyleth, Scanlan and Percy: the former because most of her clothes were thrifted or handmade; the second because they were sometimes flashy and bold; and the latter due to his business casual style.

“Wait, that’s it,” Keyleth thought out loud, sitting up on her armchair with a smile.

“What’s what, darling?” Vex’ahlia asked. Every head turned to Keyleth in confusion, making her heart jump to her throat from being the center of attention.

“Uh… I had an idea,” Keyleth mumbled.

“Let’s hear it.”

“What if we dress as each other? We can put our names on a piece of paper and each one of us goes and selects someone at random, and we can use their clothing. That way we don’t need to buy new stuff. But we should keep it a surprise until the day of the party.”

“That’s a great idea Kiki,” Vax’s eyes lit up with pride—Keyleth’s heart sank back into her chest from Vax’s words of reassurance.

“How do we keep it a surprise if we need to use their clothing?” Percy asked.

“We steal it,” Vax replied with a laugh. 

“Okay but I don’t think Vex’s skirts will fit me,” Grog pointed out.

“I’d love to see that,” Vex laughed. 

“Well, we might have to buy one or two things, but it should be easy, right?” Keyleth’s anxiety was back. What if they hated the idea of wearing each other’s clothes?

“I think it’s a wonderful idea, I’m in,” Pike said with a smile. 

Scanlan and Vax agreed, then Vex and Percy, who exchanged a knowing look between them, and lastly Grog with a shrug. They wrote down their names on a piece of paper, folded it and mixed it inside Grog’s cap. The hat went around as they took a piece of paper one by one. It took Keyleth all her strength to hide her excitement when she saw the familiar handwriting on her piece of paper. This is going to be fun.

“Did anyone get their own name?” Scanlan asked. Everyone shook their heads, some smiling, others looking worried. “Well then, good luck everyone.” Scanlan winked.

Keyleth knew right away what she wanted to wear, and how she was going to do her hair and makeup, but some of her anxiety returned as she looked at the person she had been randomly assigned—chuckling on the inside at the irony of the situation. She had no idea how she was going to steal their clothes, but she had two days to figure it out.