#another victory over the boni

[cptains]

‘it’s not worth the trouble,’ ghost says, eyes averted.

you lift your palm to his jaw anyways, cradling his head through his mask. and treacherous, his body betrays him in the slope of his shoulders and the shifted weight melting down over your palm, molding into you the way his voice says he will not.

because beneath it all, he’s just a man, flesh and blood and the oh-so human desire to love still pulsing defiant from behind calloused walls. for every rejection, every betrayal, every part of him he sacrificed in the hopes for something better that never came, there was never another hand to salve the wounds left behind. and despite everything, he’s still ten years old, hiding under his bed and wondering why love just isn’t enough.

‘it’s not worth the trouble,’ he says again as if to convince himself that he is undeserving of the warmth on the other side of his mask. his voice thins and trembles, and he turns his head to curl closer into your touch.

a sickening pool wells in his gut. as early as he can remember, the greed of others has only caused him the kind of excruciating pain that carves its anguish in wounds that forever refuse to close. he should have learned his lesson. who is he to hunger? who is he to swallow the monster whole, and, in doing so, become one with the cruel urge to insatiably take, take, take? such vicious cycles cannot be broken when he, too, desires from the deepest parts of his heart.

want is a fever that burns its own pyre, but he has been cold for so, so long.

yet the hand that feeds him does not strike him, this time. you bring your second hand to cup his head in your palms like a precious stone, and that wretched, wretched want grabs him by his throat and rips him under the tide. and he itches to claw open his chest and tear his beating heart from the cage of his ribs because the violent intimacy of hurt might just let him ignore the simple fact that for the first time in ages, love is an unconditional generosity that solely gives. because the tide has swept him somewhere where the waves are still, and the water is warm, and your hands are so, so soft through the worn fabric of his mask.

‘i’m not worth the trouble,’ he rasps, because third time’s the charm, and maybe this one last heave will finally stifle the ache of life banging against the walls of his chest. it doesn’t. he buries his face in your hands, and even through the bony armor stitched over his mask, he swears he can feel you running your thumbs over where the highest points of his cheeks lie. his heart doesn’t quiet. of course it doesn’t.

his mind stills in defeat. resignation for a victory undeserving. maybe something in between. but where his words fail, you speak instead, your voice strong and clear as you press your brow against the brittle bone shielding his skin.

‘it’s worth it to me,’ you say softly. ‘you are to me.’

[cherry-poppins]

Don't Go Baking My Heart - (Underswap!Sans X Reader)

I'll bake my feelings into goods  Just for you to eat them so I feel understood What do you call sharing sweet treats together  A warm kinda love that stays forever 

You sit and stare at your phone, the blue light illuminating your face. The clock reads 1:55am. You loved nights, they were so comforting, peaceful, quiet. You could get so much done. Except tonight you were bored. You sigh to yourself, thinking of the options you had to feed your boredom.

You could go to bed and sleep, any normal person would. Get a nice cup of tea, read a good book or put on a movie. Play some white noise as you sarcoma into slumber. But you were too bored for that, you needed something to do. Then the idea of baking struck you, but as much as you'd love to do that by yourself you always found baking more enjoyable when you did it with someone.  

Which led you to stare at your phone debating whether or not to call your best friend. He'd be most likely sleeping and you'd feel guilty if you woke him up, knowing how much he valued his sleep. But then again he always said that he was up for anything…. Fuck it. 

The phone rang for a few seconds before your favorite skeleton answered, sounding groggy and a little annoyed. "You have three seconds to capture my attention or I'm going back to bed…. Unless you’re dying…. You’re not dying right? or is it a dead body? Stars i always knew this day would come, ok we're going to need-" 

He was unfortunately cut off by your laughter, sounding much like a tea kettle as you wiped the tears from your eyes. “Hahahaha I called you and the first thing that comes to your mind is that I'm dying or that there's a body involved? Geez and i thought your brother had a grim sense of humor”  

You giggled as you heard him sigh, sensing his disappointment through the screen. You didn’t need to see, knowing he was rolling his eyes at your attempt at humor. “Hardy hahaha, real funny. Wow you’re such a comedian you should have your own show. So did you need help with something or??” 

“Oh yeah I was wondering if you’d want to bake with me at my place?” You asked your voice trailing off at the end, now considering if this was a smart move. 

There was a pause on the other end of the line before you hear another long sigh. "Do you know what time it is?" Sans asked, sounding more awake now. 

“Yeah I’m aware…. But I need something to do and before you say anything I have considered all of the above and more. This could be fun plus I know you have a sweet tooth” Listening to the grumbling of a sleepy skeleton made you use your final straw.  

“Come on, don't make me bake by myself Starboy.” 

There was a pause before you heard a fit of giggling from him which soon matched your own. “Oh man, you're really pulling the ol’ nickname card. Alright you got me, you make it really hard to say no to you.”

You grinned, silently accepting your victory. "You know you love me, besides this is payback for all the times I had to deal with your last minute antics."

A totally exaggerated gasp comes from Sans. “Unbelievable, that's so not true. You know it's quite hurtful that you’d say- Pft nah I’m just playing with you. You make a fair point but i feel like we have this pact were you deal with my antics and i have to deal with yours” 

“Ha, cheers to that, but on another note hurry your bony ass up and get over here!” You yell into the phone, laughing as you hear the broken reply of Sans. Something along the lines of don't yell, it's too early for that shit. Bla bla, think of the neighbors. 

Sans then promptly hung up after claiming he’d be about 10 minutes. You waited for a few minutes before throwing him a text, reminding him just in case he fell asleep.... or got side tracked. Which happened often. You didn't mind though, he always made your life a bit more interesting. Kept you on your toes, all though you suppose he could say the same thing about you. 

Just as you’re about to text him again you hear a lil “ thwip ” from outside your apartment. Unable to contain your grin you rush to the front door, quick to unlock and open it. “You teleported here?” 

Standing in front of you with a slightly embarrassed look on his face stood Sans, wearing a blue flannel and fluffy blue pants with yellow stars. You couldn’t help but giggle to yourself that Sans was half dressed in his Pj’s. Not that there was anything wrong with that, he just usually preaches how put together he is.“Heh yeah, first time for everything ay? Also don't tell Papyrus, I know he’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

“Pft nah, wouldn't dream of it. Besides I feel like this’ll be good blackmail for the future” You joked as Sans rolled his eyes. 

“We little Miss Blackmail, may I come inside?” He asked, leaning against the door frame. 

With a large amount of consideration and a pinch of playful sarcastic comments you allowed him to enter. As the two of you walked towards your kitchen Sans asked what you wanted to make. “Heheh… the best i can do is chocolate chips cookies,  not that they’re bad. I make a mean batch of cookies.. But unfortunately that's about it” You smile sheepishly as you leant against your fridge. 

“Oooo that sounds great, who doesn't love chocolate chip cookies?” He reassured me. “Besides, don’t worry I make a mean batch of cupcakes. We’re freakin’ set” 

You smile “alrighty then, let's get baking!” 

Ok, the first thing you needed was the ingredients and cooking equipment. You ask Sans to get the mixer and bowls while you get the ingredients. Checking the fridge you scan the shelves for the ingredients you needed, though you were quick to find that you'd need more butter. 

"Oh come on…. Hey Sans we need more- Eh, what are you doing?" 

You watch as the panic spreads across his face as he gets caught red handed mid eating a handful of chocolate chips. Finishing what was in his mouth he laughs nervously before answering painfully slowly. “Eh… eating the chocolate chips?” 

Good grief. You let out a chuckle, informing him that we didn't have enough butter. Only for his response to be eating more choc chips. "Hey!!  You eat one more handful of chocolate chips and I'm sending you to the shop to buy more!” Giving him a playful bonk on the head as you jokingly  scold him. “Even though technically we have to go anyways because of the butter” 

"What shops would be open this time of night?" he asks. Fuck, he did have a point. You groan to yourself not hiding your disappointment, wondering if yall were even gonna be able to do this 

Sans thinks for a moment before he snaps his fingers as his eyes light up with literal stars in them. "You know my house would be closer, it was shopping day yesterday. We’d have to be quiet though because papy might be asleep."

“Heck ya! Awww, thank you Sans!!! I really appreciate it” You let out a giggle and a squeal, bringing him in for a crushing hug which was eagerly received. 

Despite being late at night ... or too early in the morning the two of you had gotten yourselves into a giggle fit, shushing each other as you attempted to sneak into his apartment. Just when you had thought you were in the clear you were caught by Papyrus with a cup of tea in his hands, although from where he was standing he thought he’d gotten caught by you two. We all stood there silently staring at each other until Papyrus broke the silence.

"Well good morning to you too" he said, giving a sleepy smile, giving you a small wave. 

"Technically the human hasn't slept" he giggles along with you, playfully rolling his eyes as you wave back. 

Papyrus chuckles at that, leaning against a wall. "Huh, well that makes two of us.” He says before taking a sip of his tea, only to nearly choke on the sip as Sans gasps realizing he had in fact been caught red handed. 

"Papy you promised you'd sleep tonight, this is the third night in a row. You can't keep taking naps throughout the day, it's not healthy." Sans crossed his arms and huffs. 

Papyrus sighs and shrugs at his older brother. "yeah, yeah i know but i finally have the motivation to get shit done and i'm taking full advantage of it. My book isn't gonna write itself ya know"

"You write those words papyrus!!" You encouraged him, throwing some finger guns.

The two brothers giggle at your silly attempt at encouragement. With that the two of you are left in the dark hallway, the faint smell of fresh coffee filled the cold air. Gathering the ingredients you'd need quickly and quietly you were back to your apartment within half an hour.

“Alrighty we got the remaining ingredients, we got our recipes and the oven is set to preheat” You say, looking at your fully prepared counter top. You look over at Sans and dramatically point at him, acting like a gameshow host. “You know what time it is Starboy?!” 

Sans smirked, flipping up the collar of his flannel before stroking a pose. “Time to get baking!”

You get back and start baking the cookies and teach sans. While the cookies are baking he teaches you.... Then there was an incident with the flour. you don't get these messes when baking cookies. you both decorate the cupcakes and ice them. 

You first taught Sans how to make your chocolate chips cookies, showing him the measurements, how to make it properly, and that a lil vanilla extract goes a long way and makes things taste so much better. Apparently he didn’t know that you have to mix all the wet and dry ingredients separately before mixing them all together. He then taught you how to make his cupcakes… There was an incident with the flour… and the blue food coloring… And somehow there's yellow star sprinkles everywhere?!

You don’t get these messes when baking cookies, or at least not when you do them. Regardless you had fun, chasing him across the kitchen with an icing covered spatula. Though he did get you baking with a cup full of flour, miscalculating his teleporting jump and ending up crashing on you… with the cup of flour. Now you could say you and Sans were matching colours. 

By the time you both were done the sun was starting to rise. The kitchen was a mess, you had cupcakes and cookies for days. and you both were covered in flour, icing and sprinkles. You both laid against the pantry door, watching the sun spill across the dining room table and across the floor. Sans checks the time before giggling to himself. "Heh usually i go out for my morning jog by now."

The realization finally sunk in, you had kept him up with you for the entire night till dawn, inconveniencing his own routine. “I'm sorry that i've kept you up.... i just thought…." Your spirling thoughts got cut off with Sans handing you a cupcake. The icing was by no means perfect. The icing was kinda uneven and the sprinkles were all decorated on one side but taking a bit of the baking delight it tasted delicious. 

"Don't sweat it, I love baking with you" he smiled at you sweetly, thanking you as you reached over and handing him one of your own baking delights. 

He takes a bite of your chocolate chip cookies and absolute melts, success! That's what happens when you spend years perfecting a single recipe!! Now only if you could put the same effort into your other recipes, or perhaps even your studies? 

“Mmm definitely worth it” Sans praised as he indulged in the cookie. 

“So worth it” you reply, finishing off the rest of the cupcake, wiping whatever frosting stuck to your face. You turn to Sans before asking “You wanna get cleaned up, get in some comfy clothes and nap all day?” 

Sans whined a bit, letting his head hit the cupboard door behind him with a thunk. "Ugh you're starting to sound like my brother.... but i might have to take you up on that. It sounds nice… perhaps Papyrus is on to something with that napping of his” 

[mistresslynndramione]

ESCAPE FROM MALFOY MANOR! A DRAMIONE CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE...

War AU/action adventure/rated E/75-100K, depending on your choices!

If you're going to behead an overly large reptile, make sure you're outfitted in a ballroom gown for the occasion...

Chapter excerpt:

Drawn by the noise of their brethren, many of the swans swam over to Nagini, sodden wings extended, bony necks and sharp beaks extended in vengeance.

Others, apparently remembering their creation at the hands of man, turned their white, sightless eyes onto Draco.

Hermione took aim, blasting one apart with a quiet, “Diffindo,” and a whispered apology. “I’ll take care of the swans,” she said, glancing back at Draco. And the snake. “Are you okay?”

Both of Draco’s arms were raised. In one hand, he held his wand like a conductor’s baton. He held his other hand open, his palm facing the mass of corpses. White eyes, shining in the growing darkness like those of a nocturnal predator, stared unblinking at him. An Inferi army, swaying in the sunset, patiently awaiting orders.

“I’ve got it,” he said, though his voice was pitched high in uncertainty. “I’ll lead them down the path and meet you back here in a few minutes.”

“Sounds good,” she answered, silently demolishing another swan. “I have a snake to kill.”

Hermione sprinted along the pond’s edge. She pulled her beaded bag from thin air and tore at the drawstring opening. Plunging her arm in up to her shoulder, she felt around for the sword’s hilt. No sooner had she wished for it than did the warm metal slide into her palm.

The Sword of Gryffindor.

With a victorious bellow, Hermione pulled it from the bag, brandished it high, and...

Will she succeed?

Only YOU can decide if Hermione escapes from Malfoy Manor, this Halloween!

Click here to subscribe and read Chapter 1 of what the demented minds of @bek48, @efinna, @goodnight-fraublucher, Kinder Blucher, @mysteriouscatstellation, @misdemeanor1331, Mistress Lynn and @photonzeroinfinity have in store for you.

Art by the amazing @mysteriouscatstellation

We'll be dropping the entire fic on Ocotber 31.

Sharpen your swords...

[partrin]

"what in the jujutsu sorcery"

a short, rinharu drabble inspired by the fact that i still cannot believe, till this day, that mahito and haru share the same japanese voice actor.

cw: spoilers for jujutsu kaisen S2E18

"this," rin starts, in between stuffing handfuls of salted popcorn into his mouth, "is intense."

haru nods. he keeps his eyes on the screen and watches as the antagonist—mahito—a flamboyant, grey-haired villain with an ugly hairstyle, a questionable sense of fashion and an absolutely grotesque way of transfiguring human souls and bodies into macabre forms, prances through an alley while squealing gleefully, dodging throws and punches from the main protagonist.

"nanami didn't deserve to die the way he did," haru says non-commitally, blindly reaching out for the bowl of popcorn that rin (selfishly) holds close to his chest. "if itadori had come sooner, maybe he wouldn't have died the way he did."

"oho, so you're blaming the redhead now?" rin asks, cocking an eyebrow. he waits, smugly, for haru to take his bait as he reaches around him for the aforementioned snack.

"i'm not blaming anyone."

"but you said that if itadori had come sooner—"

"i didn't."

"you clearly said—"

"i'm not. blaming. anyone." haru says, putting his proverbial foot down. he glances at rin through his peripheral vision, gives him the side-eye, and watches as rin straightens up and shakes the tension in his shoulders out. "all i meant was that if itadori had come sooner, maybe he'd have been able to intervene."

"don't we all wish someone would intervene sooner..."

"what was that?"

"nothing," rin mutters under his breath. "nothing."

the scene onscreen flashes once. sounds of heavy yet quick footsteps scurrying through walls of thorn-like protrusions echo in the air. mahito begins to chortle like a madman and yell something about how delighted he is to be in a fight like this with the redhead protagonist.

"y'know," rin begins after swallowing down another handful of popcorn, "he kind of sounds like you. mahito."

haru scoffs. "don't be ridiculous."

"i'm serious!" rin nods towards the screen of the laptop with his chin for emphasis the second mahito erupts in yet another loud, inherently evil screech. "he's got that weird baritone of yours; the kind that gets impossibly high once you start screaming."

"i do not sound like that," haru argues, looking positively peeved. "and i don't scream. that's your job."

"shut up," rin grunts. "and you do scream. think i forgot the time you yelled in my face in the locker room after regionals?"

haru rolls his eyes. "no. but i'm sure i didn't sound like—" mahito's cackling rips through the atmosphere, "—that."

they watch with their eyes peeled wide open as itadori mumbles some sort of bold, heroic, intrinsically-motivated speech to himself, the kind that speaks truth to power, as he punches and tears through the walls mahito erects in his path. tendrils of empowerment escape the screen and travel through their veins, feeding them with a constant, heady flow of pride for the protagonist and his impending victory over mahito.

"you do, actually." rin says without looking away. "you sound almost exactly like him." he shudders bodily. "remind me not to piss you off."

"you've pissed me off," haru notes. "many times, actually—"

"shhhh, haru—" rin hushes, nudging haru with his bony elbow. "itadori's 'bout to beat his ass and win."

haru shoves his elbow aside and doesn't mention that he thinks in this verse, and that of itadori's, redheads almost always come out triumphant.

[kpforpresident]

7 and 22… separately lol

This is cheeky, anon 

Ok, two for the price of one 

To shut them up (NY AU)

Clarke hides her smile in her textbook as green eyes flare at her in exasperation behind a stack of seven books, each thicker than the last, all with law related titles emblazoned on the spines. 

“Clarke, you’re going to get me kicked out,” Lexa hisses in exasperation, tapping her pencil against the dark lacquered wood with a petulant frown. A silver haired librarian looks at them menacingly from across the room, a bony finger holding her place in her novel as she glares at the couple, tucked into a darkened corner of the quiet room. 

This area of the library is quiet, save for the two of them. At 10 p.m. on a Friday, Clarke is shocked the law library is open, period. Clarke scoots closer, wincing slightly at the screech her chair makes as she drags it over the worn wooden floors to sit closer to her frazzled girlfriend. 

Lexa’s eyes narrow at each inch that Clarke creeps closer, the pirated Columbia sweater that she had stolen when Lexa had gotten into law school tucked securely around her hands as she cozies into the familiar, spiced scent of the fabric. 

She peers at Lexa, making her eyes as liquid and pleading as possible. Lexa looks back, unimpressed, as she flips pointedly through the top textbook. 

“Babe, the whole purpose of me coming here was to pick you up, so we could go home,” Clarke complains petulantly, letting her bottom lip stick out as far as she possibly could force it.

“You told me to come get you at ten, that there was no way on God’s green earth that you had more than seven hours of work to do!” She whispers harshly, jabbing an accusing finger at Lexa. Clarke glances over at the librarian as she does so, mindful to keep her accusations down to a dull roar so as not to aggravate their keeper. 

“Babyyyyyy.” She drags out the word as she presses in close to Lexa, her nose crowding into the apple of Lexa’s cheek. 

“Clarke,” Lexa whispers back distractedly as she bends her head to scratch down another note in her methodical, neat handwriting. 

“Lexa,” Clarke hisses again, her hand closing around Lexa’s wrist. Lexa drops her pen willingly as she folds her hands, waiting politely for Clarke to finish her sentence. Four years of dating had taught her that Clarke was nothing if not tenacious. 

“Lex, I want to go home and I want you to come with me. I got that seasonal beer you like. I want to walk back to the apartment and order that great pizza place we found with the really puffy crust and lots of sauce, and then i want to go to bed and fu-”

Lexa, eyes widening in alarm as Clarke’s voice carried across the silent room and the librarian puffed up in premature furey, slung her hand around Clarke’s neck to slam their lips together. 

Clarke relaxed into the kiss, eyes slamming shut as she moved in to deepen it. Lexa, having kept one eye on the very angry book guardian, pulled away with another soft peck as she hastily shoved her books in her backpack, scrambling to pack everything away before Clarke started up again.  

Clarke lets a small, victorious smile spread across her face as she is tugged out of the library. She even gives a little wave to the extremely unimpressed librarian as they spring out into the brisk April night. 

/////

In a rush of adrenaline - takes place after the in anger prompt

Clarke flat out sprints through Polis, pointedly ignoring the raised eyebrows and side eyes that she gets when people see Wanheda running through the city, straight for the tower. 

She had dropped her bow and arrow as soon as she saw the tower light a golden flame, the first sign that Lexa had finally arrived home, abandoning her training with the Natblidas with a hastily shouted apology as she had turned and ran. Aden’s laughter had floated after her as she had scrambled to leave the training ring, vaulting over the short wall when her fingers wouldn’t cooperate to undo the latch. 

Tearing through the main hall, Clarke almost bowls over a very unimpressed, mud soaked Indra in her haste to reach their chambers in the higher floors of the tower. 

“Indra, hi,” Clarke pants as she bends double, clutching a stitch in her side as she tries to breathe through the pain. “Lexa- where-”

Indra cuts off her pathetic panting with a slight eye roll as she points a dented sword towards the stairwell that leads to Clarke and Lexa’s chambers. Clarke narrowly avoids colliding with a very surprised kitchen maid as she runs for the starwell, beginning the climb up to their rooms. 

Halfway through her climb, Clarke suddenly remembers the merits of the elevator and rides the last few stories up to their room with energy running rampant through her skin, foot tapping impatiently as the lift slowly makes its way up. 

Lexa had been gone for over three weeks in what was meant to be a routine border dispute and Clarke had missed her. 

Clarke bursts through the door without so much as an acknowledgement to both Cadok and Ryder, who once again stand guard at their bedroom doors. They had gone with Lexa on her expedition, despite her wishes that they stay to protect Clarke in Lexa’s absence. Clarke had strenuously objected, arguing that the Nightbloods and the entirety of the tower staff were more than enough protection, along with the rotating guard that followed her covertly when Heda was away. She tolerated it, if only for Lexa’s piece of mind. 

Lexa stops mid sentence from where she is quietly conversing with Titus, lips turning up in a shadow of a smile when she notices Clarke vibrating impatiently in the silhouette of the door. She dismisses Titus with a flick of her fingers, already moving towards Clarke as the doors swing shut behind her Flamekeeper. Lexa’s bright eyes sparkle behind the mask of her warpaint as she reaches for Clarke, but Clarke is already lunging for her.

Their lips meet in a practiced dance, slotting together as Clarke blinks back hot tears as she squeezes Lexa tighter than she ever thought possible, burying her head into her shoulder as she revels in the feeling of her houmon back in her arms. 

Lexa tolerated the manhandling without complaint, a soft sigh of relief her only sound when their lips finally part. 

“Hi,” Lexa breathes, a smile dancing on her lips as she gently pushes golden waves out of Clarke’s flushed face. 

Clarke, still shaking from adrenaline, can’t find the words to respond as she tries to soak in the relief that Lexa is home, that she's safe. Clarke runs her hands down Lexa’s sides, trying to scan covertly for injuries while still being discreet about it. Lexa catches her shaking hand as it skates down a sharp jawline, pressing a soft kiss into her palm as she folds their fingers together. 

“I’m fine, ai hodness,” she whispers, letting her words caress Clarke as she pulls their bodies together again, slotting one more kiss that tastes relief and love against trembling lips. 

Clarke notes as she once again runs her eyes over her wife, tugging her distractedly towards the bath as she tugs at buckles and armor that separates Lexa’s skin from hers. 

She pauses to whip her own shirt off, chucking it somewhere over her shoulder as she returns to unfastening Lexa’s pauldron and dropping it carelessly to the couch as she begins on her chest plate, smiling when soft skin is revealed. 

“I had a bath drawn when I saw the flame,” Clarke murmurs distractedly as she fastens her mouth to Lexa’s exposed neck, smirking when Lexa lets out a surprised breath and stumbles as she tries to patiently direct them both to the steaming tub that smells like soap and eucalyptus. 

“We have all night, Clarke,” Lexa reminds softly as she tilts Clarke’s chin up to meet her eyes, giving her a gentle peck on the nose as she does so. 

Clarke smiles and laces their fingers together as she somehow relieves Lexa of the rest of her armor, working on relieving her of her shirt next. 

“I won’t settle for anything less than forever, Lex,” she whispers into her smile.

[taitropa]

The caravan is curious but not so curious that they are not wary. A dozen campfires ring the large grassy field they have deemed their resting home for the time they spend recuperating between travel. Families gather around the flames like they always do to unwind. The Ghafas have joined another group for the evening and Inej can only guess how relieved that makes Kaz. He sits stiffly beside her in front of their own little fire and stares pensively into it, less a scheming face than it is simply contemplative.

Before she can inquire, a flurry of movement and the sound of little feet stamping down the overgrown grass around them alerts Inej to a guest. Next to her, she feels the moment Kaz is aware of a visitor as well and sees from the corner of her eye when they reach for the cane they’ve leant beside him on the felled log they both sit upon. Inej throws her arm out, warning him off, and stands just as the interloper throws themselves from the tall reeds across from the flames.

“Sancai hunuhuncha, didi?*” The girl is tall enough that she reaches Inej’s collar when she flings herself into her arms. Her long hair is pulled back from her face in a braid as is custom for most girls in the caravan but for the baby hairs sticking with sweat against her crown. She smiles broadly and freely, her soft chin bony where it digs into Inej’s sternum in their embrace.

Inej says with a healthy dose of fond scolding in her voice, “Namaste, Sanjana.”

“Did I frighten you?” Sanjana asks mischievously in Nepali. Her dark eyes flicker, though the fire is at the girl’s back, and Inej can’t help but smile warmly in return.

“How could you when you parade through the camp as an elephant three times your size?”

“I frightened your sweetheart,” Sanjana accuses triumphantly, but gives a cautious glance to Kaz who has yet to rise. Or release his cane as though he might use it against a girl hardly older than twelve. Sanjana has every reason to be wary of Kaz but Inej shakes her head.

“If he were truly frightened, you would not be here to gloat over false victories. Where is your mama? Does she know you have come to pester me?”

“Not you,” says Sanjana. She has not looked away from Kaz, who Inej is sure has also not looked away from her if only out of suspicion, and Inej can see now that it isn’t caution in her gaze at all but curiosity. “Is he really a jadugara?”

@hebzucht hi

[ferrocyan]

Chapters: 1/1

Word count: 2344

Pairing: Lue-Reeq/Warrior of Light

Characters: Lue-Reeq, Warrior of Light (female)

Rating: Gen

Additional tags: Pre-relationship

Summary: After failing the day's hunt for a Cardinal Virtue and an awful family meeting, the Warrior of Darkness couldn't help but want to cheer her new friend up. Nothing does the trick like a small victory, with a side of compliments.

(A loose rewrite of the level 74 DPS role quest "Freedom from Privilege")

Detour

  "Keep your coin, Father! We're leaving, C'astarhte! Right now!"

  Lue-Reeq stormed out of the Beehive. Tart understood why; being dismissed so utterly by his own father must have hurt, not to mention that he had been insulted in front of all the patrons of the Hive. It made sense that he wanted to get out as fast as he could. He didn't say where they would rendezvous afterwards, but Tart could probably find him at his usual seat at the Wandering Stairs. That would make sense. What didn't was how much this situation didn't sit right with her.

  The man Lue-Reeq called his father didn't spare Tart another glance. Nor did the woman beside him. Only the elven servant glanced over uncomfortably, mumbling when Tart caught his  gaze about how upset Master Reeq looked. Tart scowled and left them.

  It wasn't fair. Lue-Reeq was being dismissed by everyone, his own family and friends chief among them, and judging from his delight at Tart simply making their appointment, more people besides. It seemed that the only people who gave him the time of day were those interested in his coin. Tart hadn't known him for long, but what she knew of Lue-Reeq was that he'd called Tart his friend, treated her to lavish meals, and despite the carefree impression he gave off, held odd affections for everything around him. It was unfair that others couldn't do the same for him.

  Tart looked around the inner hall of Eulmore. no sign of a blue-haired mystel-- ah, out on the walkway. "Reeq, wait up!" She tried to call out to him to no avail. Tart huffed and ran after him, shouting his name a few times, then decided it was enough.

  A long bony finger emerged out of smoke, tearing a hole in space with its claw. Tart stepped in, came out of a similar tear fifteen yalms away, and-- collided with something solid.

  Lue-Reeq yelped as he fell. His momentum brought him ass over teakettle as he bumped into the suddenly-appearing Tart before him. "What the--C'astarhte? How?" he cried out. "Wait, I didn't mean to hit you! Please put the blade away!"

  Tart realized that the impact made her automatically pull out her scythe. "Oh." She sheathed it on her back. "Sorry." So he'd been near exactly fifteen yalms ahead. Tart noted the necessity to practice on the distance of Hell's Ingress. "Tried calling after you, but you didn't hear me."

  "You did? Ah. I thought it my imagination. My apologies." Lue-Reeq got up with her help. He rubbed his forehead with a grimace, then asked, "Do you... still have business with me?"

  Tart nodded. She needed to express a sentiment contrary to the dismissals that Lue-Reeq had received today. Only... she only now realized something important. Tart had only known Lue-Reeq for a combined three days. All she knew about him was that he was a friendly person. What could she tell him that would be valuable?

  Her best guess was that she could say something appreciative about his fighting prowess. That was the basis of their partnership, after all, and Lanbyrd had insulted him about it directly. But Tart hadn't yet seen Lue-Reeq in a fight. She couldn't say anything of value when she had no idea about him.

  Lue-Reeq tilted his head at her silence. "If you mean to ask for your payment, rest assured that I wasn't about to flee. I merely thought we could meet up at the Crystarium like before. But, ah, I do apologize for leaving first--"

  "That's not it," Tart blurted out. Shit, she needed to come up with something, fast. Rummaging into her bag, her fingers brushed against a stack of papers. She took them out and shoved them at Lue-Reeq.

  He accepted the stack, mouth agape in bewilderment. "This is...?" he prompted, then read the topmost paper. Or tried, rather, because after a few seconds of scrutiny he looked at Tart. "I can't read it."

  Oh wait, those were the Grand Company hunt bills. Tart shuffled through the bills until she found one with letters she didn't recognize and gave it back to Lue-Reeq.

  He gasped. "Oh, you can't read this one because it's in a different script, am I right? Very well then! This is a beginner-rank bill from Clan Nutsy, requesting the slaughter of three germinants, for the reward of, uh, three sacks of nuts? Is that a currency you're familiar with?" Tart nodded. "Well, if you're sure. I personally doubt that nuts are a valid form of compensation--but I digress. Authorized by the Eulmoran society of--" Lue-Reeq paused, gulped, then continued, "why, the esteemed Clan Nutsy has given indication of the germinants' location, after all! Whale's Breach, now that would be not a malm to the southeast of Gatetown. You can't miss it! Best of luck to you, then, partner."

  "Us," Tart corrected. "You're coming with."

  "I'll be waiting at the Wandering Stairs with a cele-- pardon?" Lue-Reeq had been waving goodbye as he started away, but now his hand hung awkwardly in the air. He gestured at himself, unsure. Tart nodded. "Why?"

  Tart crossed her arms. The first time they met, Lue-Reeq had asked Tart to show off her fighting prowess for his judgment by slaying a sin eater. So she had fought while he watched from the sidelines. The second time, they'd split up in search of a spider-like sin eater. After finishing it off, Tart had been overtaken by the Echo, and Lue-Reeq found her in its throes after he was done. Relaying as much to him, Tart concluded, "So we've never really fought together, no? When you say we're partners, I'd like it to be earned."

  Lue-Reeq flinched, his ears standing on end then drooping. "That is... not the first time I've been told the same. But we're partners in slaying Andreia, so all that matters is that we fight her together. Germinants cannot possibly compare to a Cardinal Virtue!"

  "Doesn't need to," Tart shrugged. "What matters is we do it together. No more objections, right? Surely not." She stuck out her tongue at Lue-Reeq, then headed to the stairs. Lue-Reeq made a distressed whine behind her.

  "Wait, the lift is over there!"

  "We're taking the stairs."

  "Why?! Oh, fine, just don't leave me!"

  Tart's gambit was working better than expected. a little ways southeast of Eulmore Lue-Reeq pointed out a pair of beasts sitting by a small creek. Massive rounded bodies, great maws sat below tiny faces, and a brown flower that had seemingly sprouted from the top of their heads. Seedkin, then--made sense why they would be called germinants. "Those would be our quarry. A little too close to settlement, aren't they? What are the guards thinking?" he wondered.

  "That they could leave their culling to hunters. Like us." Tart looked around for one more. "There," she pointed south to another germinant. "You grab that one and come back here. I'll get started on the two."

  Lue-Reeq frowned. "It's quite far away. Why don't I kill it by myself, and--"

  "To-ge-ther."

  Throwing his hands up, Lue-Reeq readied his bow and started off towards the lone seedkin. Tart pulled out her scythe and ran towards the germinants, then swung at both at once, beginning the offering of blood for her friend of the void. In short order Lue-Reeq returned, and Tart stepped into Ingress to meet him.

  With three enemies grouped up, Tart switched her strikes into wide swings, scythe spinning in wide arcs that left cyan arcane trails, while Lue-Reeq kept his arrows trained on his quarry. Radiant arrows flew and converged upon each germinant. A phantom arm tore out of the reaper's shadow and enveloped the seedkin in a sea of smoke. Choked, they fought back by spraying poisonous gas towards their attackers. but it was no use. The beasts soon fell to the pair of hunters.

  Lue-Reeq exclaimed in relief. "Wicked white, that was quite a thrill! I managed to escape unscathed, thank the gods for that. You are unhurt as well?" Tart nodded at him, and Lue-Reeq placed his hands on his hip with a sigh. "Great! Now if you have no further need--"

  "Proof of the kills."

  "Ah," Lue-Reeq said, though his face betrayed his cluelessness, "of course." Tart knelt beside one of the seedkin and plucked a petal from the flower on its head and a few seeds from its center. Lue-Reeq followed suit.

  After he helped her pack the flower and seeds into her bag, Lue-Reeq stepped back. standing silently as if waiting for a dismissal, hands running over his forearms. Tart thought it was the time to execute the real purpose of her gambit. She walked towards a nearby rock, sat on it and gestured towards Lue-Reeq to sit beside her. She then took out two apples and gave him one. They ate in silence for a moment, accompanied only by the swaying grasses on rolling hills.

  "You know," Tart said, "you're not bad. I don't know much about archery, but your technique is very clean. Efficient, no wasted movement, very well timed. I was amazed how fast you could nock arrows and have shots lined up perfectly. It was nice to fight with you. Good job, Reeq." She smiled at him as she finished.

  Lue-Reeq stared open-mouthed at her, the apple he was about to bite into nearly falling out of his grip. "Really?" he shrieked, then covered his mouth. "I mean, ahh, I did tell you how skilled I am, surely?" His hand was still barely covering his mouth, but it didn't stop the giggles escaping its confinement. "So you see! You see!" Ears flicking in punctuation, Lue-Reeq's face split into a massive grin, accompanied by a deep blush.

  Tart watched him, astonished. Her idea had worked much better than expected--the trap had sprung, and it released his spirits and cheeriness along with it. Yes, she liked him best smiling like this, after all. Entertaining the thought of reaching over to pet his ears, Tart hummed. "Mmhm, Reeq's the best."

  Lue-Reeq gasped as she said it. "So I haven't been imagining it! You... you've been calling me Reeq?"

  Oh. Wait. "Yes," Tart answered. She had, because that was how Lue-Reeq referred to himself before, and she thought that meant he wanted her to use it. He didn't seem offended by it now, but, "is it no good?"

  "No!" Lue-Reeq blurted, then quickly added, "It's all right if you'd like to! Or, or not. You are free to call me whatever you like!"

  Tart glanced at his tail, swishing back and forth eagerly, and held back her laugh. "Reeq is fine?" To his furious nodding, Tart continued, "then you can call me Tart, too."

  The suggestion froze Lue-Reeq. Something about it made him quiet, looking away and mouthing silently. "Wicked white," was all Tart could catch.

  He cleared his throat. "Um, Tart?"

  Oh, Tart realized. Come to think of it, she had always wanted someone to call her by that nickname. She savored the sound of it, like the crisp aftertaste of a ripe apple.

  Wait, Reeq was talking to her. "Yes?"

  Fortunately he was rather deep in thought. He said, hesitantly, "I have something to confess."

  He folded his hands in his lap, half-eaten apple cradled in the middle. He shifted to face Tart better, then spoke. "As you may have gathered from our exchange, I am a free citizen of Eulmore. Owing to my parents' considerable wealth, I have enjoyed a relatively privileged upbringing. Privileged... and unbearably boring, which is why I quit the city and resolved to become a bounty hunter."

  His chin dipped onto his chest as he continued. "I'm well aware of my fortunate circumstances, which is why I've elected to conceal it from the people of the Crystarium. People are... wont to come to uncharitable conclusions when they find out." He braved a glance towards Tart and gave her a small smile. "But I feel like you and I have established a rapport, so I think I can bring you into my confidence?" he asked, hopeful. Tart nodded and patted his shoulder, which relaxed immediately. "I'd be grateful if you refrain from telling others as well."

  Having discarded the burden of secrecy, Reeq exhaled loudly, jumped onto his feet, and pumped his fist in the air. "Now then! Since Lanbyrd insists on turning this hunt into a race, I say we beat him at his own game! We find Andreia and slay her before he does! Alas, I refused Father's money in a fit of frustration, and that will certainly hinder our efforts... but, I'm sure we will manage!" he exclaimed.

  "Ah, but now that I think of it," said Reeq, "I don't know if I can give you more than a token sum of payment today. I... I do hope that won't deter you from joining me again?" He tried for a hopeful grin while posing the question.

  "I'm not in this for the gil," Tart said. Reeq stared at her for a moment, head tilted to the side, then guffawed.

  "Of course, of course you aren't. Perish the thought! Hah, haha."

  Huh, Tart thought, did he think she was lying? She considered something else. "Then consider your help today as an extra payment. That settles it?"

  Reeq opened his mouth, said nothing, closed it again. He scratched his chin. Stared at rocks in the middle distance as if they offended his aesthetic sensibilities. Finally, he shrugged. "If you're alright with that, then by all means. We part with no debts to each other." He offered Tart a handshake. "I look forward to our future success together. As Tart and Reeq, bounty hunters extraordinaire!"

  Tart offered him a smile back, but it was only after they'd parted, Reeq walking back towards Gatetown while she rode Enbarr to Stilltide, that she really grinned ear to ear. No matter what duties the Exarch would give her, Tart decided she was going to see Reeq again as soon as she could.

(Originally posted on 16/11 aka my WOL's nameday (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧ thanks for reading!)

[despairforme]

CHAPTER 1 - What’s mine’s mine.

The promotion sign outside didn’t match the shop. The store looked old and somewhat dirty. The kind you’d just pass by, and that survived only by the grace of a loyal local customer base. The sign was in bright colors that immediately appealed to Atsushi. The store had managed to bring in a snack from another region, and was advertising it as a way to stay afloat among the dozen convenience stores in the area. Atsushi was here specifically to get the candy. He had walked by the sign on his way to school, but he’d been late already, and hadn’t had time to stop by. It had bothered him the whole day, and he was worried he was too late to grab himself some stock.

❝I hope I made it in time.❞ he mumbled to himself. When he entered the shop, a discreet bell rang. As always he had to duck his head to avoid the doorframe. It had become a habit for him at this point, since he’d been been forced to do it since middle-school. That’s what you get for being almost 40 cm above average height. The shop was cramped. He actually didn’t mind small shops, because they often had snacks you’d find nowhere else, not to mention there were almost always less people. There was a distinctive run-down feeling here, like the business was on its last legs. He scanned over the shelves to find what he was looking for as he walked down one of the ailes. The shelves reached all the way to the ceiling. 

What’s the point, it’s not like anyone can reach that high? Apart from him, of course. He spotted a smaller version of the promotion sign, but the shelf was empty.

Maji ka? How could his luck be this bad? Was he going to start to walk around with Libra’s ‘lucky item of the day’, like Mido-chin? Frustration and disappointment was rising. Those emotions were never far beneath the surface, so they would spring up easily. Then - some hope. A single package of candy was hiding on the top shelf. Atsushi perked up, and reached for it.

Another hand grabbed it at the exact same time. A white, bony hand with scarred knuckles. Atsushi frowned and instinctively tightened his grip and tried to yank the candy package. The other hand did the same thing.

❝Oi, let go it’s mine.❞

❝Oi, let go, it’s mine.❞ they both said at the exact same time.

He looked from the hand to the owner now, following a long, thin arm. His eyes widened slightly when he realized he didn’t have to look down to meet the other’s eyes. In fact - he had to look slightly up. Atsushi had only ever met one person in real life who was taller than himself. He had a thinner build than Atsushi, but his shoulders were very wide. His face was unpleasant. Thin lips and narrow eyes. He had large teeth that were flashed in an annoyed sneer, a deep furrow between his skinny brows. There was slight surprise on his face too, probably similar to Atsushi’s, the guy had probably never seen someone who was as tall as him either. His hair was long (even longer than Atsushi’s own), and inky black. They both glared at each other while their knuckles turned white around the candy package. Had it been an anime, sparks would’ve flashed between them. To any spectators, they probably looked like two shaggy dogs in a tug-of-war over a bone. Atsushi’s mouth opened in a mute ‘ oh no ‘-sound as the package slipped from his grip, and the tall stranger triumphantly pulled it away

❝Oi! Give it back, I was first!❞ Atsushi complained, holding out his hand as if the stranger really would change his mind. It didn’t look like that was going to happen. The guy’s grin screamed ‘victory’. Had he not had his hands full it looked like he’d place both his hands on his hips and laugh at Atsuchi’s defeat. In one hand he had the candy package, and the other was occupied - by a basketball that he was balancing under his arm.

❝Haaaah? No way! Ya lost out, deal with it.❞ The ╬ symbols were certainly popping up on Atsushi’s head now. The guy had a hoarse voice, and something about the way he spoke just made Atsushi think he was a bad guy. He pointed to the other’s basketball. It couldn’t be helped. This was the only way he was going to get his hands on that rare candy.

❝Play me for it. One v One. If I win, I get the candy.❞ This suggestion surprised the other. He looked conflicted for a moment. He seemed like the type to never back down from a challenge (Atsushi was kind of like that himself, because he absolutely hated to lose, but he was also too lazy to get riled up all that easily). There was nothing for the stranger to gain from accepting the challenge, apart from the prospect of victory. Not that there was any chance of Atsushi losing against this guy. He might be the tallest person he’d ever met, but that didn’t automatically mean he was amazing at basketball. Atsushi had always said that basketball was a game for tall people, but he was not simply tall. He also had a remarkable talent.

❝Oh, ya play basketball, huh? Should’a guessed, since yer so tall.❞ What was the height difference between the two of them anyway? A few centimeters? Less than 10. Somehow, Atsushi didn’t feel like he was standing opposite someone larger than himself. It was the other’s build, he decided. He really was skinny. He wore a black, baggy t-shirt. From how loose it was on him, it was obvious that he was thin. Then there were his arms, which appeared to have zero muscle on them. He certainly didn’t come off as athletic. ❝Ain’t like I’m gonna turn down a challenge. I’mma take ya on.❞ The guy cocked his head back, clearly confident.

Atsushi followed behind the other to the check-out. He was so annoyed that he wasn’t even tempted to grab something else for himself. After payment was made, they walked outside. Atsushi had no intentions of walking behind the other like some puppy, so he walked next to him. Normally when he walked, he’d drag his feet out of habit so that others wouldn’t have to jog to keep up with him. He didn’t have to do that now.

❝Ya got a name?❞ The guy suddenly asked.

❝Murasakibara.❞ Atsushi answered.

❝‘Daz way too fuckin’ long. I ain’t never gonna remember that.❞

What is up with this guy?

There was a moment of silence. What was he supposed to say to that? ❝I’m Jiruga.❞

❝Sorry, I don’t remember names of people I beat.❞ It wasn’t true, but he felt like biting back. Jiruga chuckled, the raspiness of his voice exchanged for a surprisingly deep tone.

❝Ya ever played someone was tall as me?❞ He was taller than Jason Silver, wasn’t he? Though he looked smaller. It was the lack of muscles. The few centimeters between them wasn’t going to make much of a difference. Atsushi obviously weighed more, which was going to give him an advantage.

❝I don’t know, like I said, I don’t remember the people I beat.❞

They walked for a little bit without further conversation. Atsushi was glad. He wasn’t a very talkative person, and he didn’t like this guy, so he’d prefer not to chat with him. They both knew where they were going. There was a public court not too far away. It was run down so it was rarely used. How convenient. How old was this guy anyway? It was strange that he hadn’t seen him around before. He was maybe a couple of years older than himself. Was he also a high schooler? If he was, why hadn’t Atsushi heard of him before? Such a tall guy was bound to draw attention in the basketball environment, regardless of his level of skill.

The court was deserted, as expected. The hoop was rusty, and the court markings on the asphalt has completely disappeared. It had been a while since he played street-basketball. It wasn’t the sort of thing he’d usually go for. If he played, it was because he was being dragged along, most likely by Muro-chin. While being annoyed was not a good feeling, he had to admit that he did like it when something could lift him out of his apathetic state. It was one of the reasons why he liked basketball in the first place. It made him feel something. It made him care.

Jiruga placed the candy down on the stone fence that separated the court from the street. If it had been the other way around, Atsushi could’ve imagined Jiruga simply snagging the candy and making a run for it. Jiruga bounced the ball a couple of times. The ball was normal-sized, but somehow it looked slightly small in those big hands. Was that how other people felt when they saw Atsushi handle the ball?

❝First one ‘ta score five wins?❞ Jiruga suggested. It was all the same to Atsushi what sort of game-set-up they went for, so he nodded.

❝Bring it on.❞

Was this a lot of effort for some candy? Maybe.

Mah, it’ll all be worth it when I win.

Jiruga started with the ball. He bounced it it with the tips of his fingers. It gave him more control in some ways, but it would be easier to take the ball because there was less grip-strength. When he finally moved, he was fast. Some added agility probably came with having a lighter body. However. He was underestimating Atsushi’s reflexes. When Jiruga attempted to pass him, he timed the bounce so that he slammed his hand against the ball when Jiruga was merely touching it with his fingertips. The ball quickly moved into Atsushi’s palm like it wanted to get stolen. He wasted no time. He was closer to the hoop than Jiruga, so he didn’t have to pass him. Two long strides and he was close enough to jump up and score. Out of habit he was choosing the path of least energy spent, so he wasn’t going to dunk it. The ball was about to pass into the net, when Jiruga’s hand reached it, and he slapped it away. He had barely even jumped to reach it, like he too was playing lazily. 

Tch.

They glared at each other for a split second, before they both reached for the ball. Jiruga’s arms were longer. He reached it first. They were caught in another tug of war with their large hands. Those skinny fingers had a crazy grip strength, and Jiruga pulled the ball away from him successfully. He jumped up to score. Atsushi followed him, and this time their roles were reversed. Atsushi prevented Jiruga from scoring just like the other had done.

Everytime Atsushi stepped up his game, Jiruga would match him. He was always holding himself back out of habit. Nobody could compete with his strength, so if he wanted to play basketball at all - he had to hold back. Or he’d hurt his opponents, or his teammates. This mental barrier wasn’t something he thought about a lot. It was just sort of there. Now though, he was noticing how he was stepping further and further towards breaching the barrier. It was an exciting feeling.

Maybe I can get a little serious...

He jumped up this time, both hands around the ball, and he finally scored. Jiruga had not been prepared to use both hands to stop it. Atsushi was already sweating. He hadn’t thought he’d need to spend this much energy just to score once.

The real surprise came when Jiruga went ahead and scored twice. There was something fiery about him now. His annoyed expression had been replaced with concentration and - maybe enjoyment? Like he was having fun. Often, breaking the deadlock would make it easier to score in a match, but that wasn’t the case here. Atsushi was having a really hard time stealing the ball now. At one point, Jiruga had stopped using the tips of his fingers when he bounced the ball. The only thing Atsushi could do to win the ball was to get the rebound when one of them failed to score. He could use more of his power, he realized.

When he jumped up the next time, he positioned his body so that he’d push Jiruga away, rather than letting him jump freely. In the air, it was a simple matter of weight, and - no surprise. Jiruga lost that battle. The other was pushed back when their bodies collided, while Atsushi continued his jump, slamming the ball down with both hands and finally scoring his second point. When he let go of the ball, he grabbed onto the hoop, swinging back and forth once for a softer landing. That’s when he heard the hoop creak alarmingly. His feet hit the asphalt, and when he looked up, the whole thing was coming down. He quickly got out of the way. There was a thundering sound of metal against stone when the hoop crashed into the ground. After that, there was a moment of silence. Then Jiruga started laughing.

❝Oh, ‘fer fuck’s sake, I was just gettin’ in’ta it.❞ He was wiping sweat off his forehead, and pushing his bangs away from his face. Atsushi was a little out of breath. He too wiped sweat of his face. The score was only 2-2, but they had been playing for a while. He’d been so into the game that he hadn’t even noticed the sun breaking through the clouds. No wonder he was feeling so hot. Jiruga dipped his tongue out between his teeth and panted like a dog. ❝Ya broke it so, ‘daz yer problem. I’m keepin’ ‘da candy.❞

This day really is the worst.

Now he was sweaty, tired, hot, and he was without candy. But...

It’s been a while since I played like that.

Not since they all played against Jabberwock, where he’d broken his wrist. That didn’t mean he wasn’t frustrated though! He hadn’t exactly lost, but it felt like a loss because he didn’t win. He was going to get a milkshake to cheer himself up. He didn’t say anything to Jiruga. No ‘ good game ‘ or ‘ see you later ‘ (he didn’t want to see him later). Instead he began to walk in the direction of the nearest place that sold milkshakes. But why...

Why is this guy walking with me?

❝Why ya followin’ me?❞

❝That’s my line! Why are you following me?❞ Atsushi seriously couldn’t deal with this guy.

❝I’m gonna get milkshake, and it’s this way.❞ Jiruga pointed down the street they were now both walking. Atsushi exhaled and pouted. Should he go somewhere else?

Aaaaarg what a pain!

He wasn’t going to go somewhere else just because this bastard had had the same idea as him. Jiruga had put the candy package in the pocket of his pants, and Atsushi imagined it was now melting from the other’s body heat. How tragic.

Thankfully it only took them five minutes to walk to the fast-food joint that sold milkshakes. And burgers. And fries. Atsushi was almost drooling now. He was hungry. A small victory for him was that he managed to get first inside the restaurant. Jiruga had opened the door (for himself) and Atsushi had pushed past him (there was no way to ‘slip’ past someone when you were his size). He was first in line now. He looked up at the menus, mouth watering. He was so goddamn hungry...

He ordered a large strawberry milkshake, large fries and a large burger.

❝ Double that order.❞ he heard Jiruga say from behind. He turned around to look at him.

❝ Hah? I’m not paying for your food.❞

❝ C’mon, it’s cheaper ‘fer us both. I’ll share ‘da candy with ya.❞ Jiruga was gesturing to a poster that said ‘ double deal ‘, where you’d get a discount on your order if it was double. Atsushi wanted to tell him ‘ no way ‘ just for the satisfaction of making him pay the full amount, but - he was always interested in saving money. Buying cheap snacks was one of his hobbies. Not to mention he’d actually get to taste the candy he’d fought so hard for. It was a win-win. It wasn’t like they had to sit together and eat.

❝Fine.❞

Atsushi paid. They got their food, and then they sat down at a table. Together.

Wait a minute.

❝Who said you should join me?❞ Atsushi mumbled, his eyebrow twitching slightly. Jiruga had sat down opposite him with his tray of food. His milkshake was chocolate flavored.

❝Hah? Don’t ya think it tastes better with milkshake?❞ Jiruga had pulled the candy package out of his pocket. ❝Or do ya wanna taste it after we’re done eatin’?❞

❝No.❞ Atsushi reached out and took the package, opening it. Jiruga didn’t protest. He was biting into his burger with eager, like he was starving for it. The candy, which was a type of chewy-candy with surprise flavors in different colors and a liquid center, had indeed melted a bit. The package contained several smaller wrappings. Atsushi opened one, and finally, he could pop it in his mouth. He hummed in delight. It was delicious! Bliss! He took another one. Jiruga was watching him with an amused expression.

❝Ya got a big sweet tooth, huh? Me too.❞

❝You have big teeth in general.❞ This made Jiruga snort.

❝‘Daz right. Big teeth, big bite.❞ He demonstrated by finishing the rest of his burger in one go. Atsushi made a hmmm-sound and drank some milkshake. The last piece of candy he ate had strawberry flavor, and now he was experiencing a strawberry overload. He loved it. Jiruga tried a piece of candy now. He squished it between his fingers before putting it in his mouth. ❝Pretty good. I sure prefer Japanese candy ‘ta European. This is much sweeter.❞

❝Where do you get European candy?❞ No surprise, he’d be very much interested in trying new things.

❝I dunno? I lived in Spain ‘fer ‘da past three years or so. My parents only decided recently that we should move back here.❞

❝Hōō... I kinda thought you were older.❞ But this would explain why he hadn’t heard of him before.

❝Ain’t we ‘da same age?❞

❝I’m turning 17 in October.❞

❝‘N I’m turnin’ 19.❞ Jiruga chuckled, finding it funny that they had both imagined the other to be older. Atsushi was used to people thinking he was older than he was, thanks to his height. Jiruga probably had the same experience. He pulled off the bun of his hamburger to pull out the pickles and the tomato, placing it aside. He hated vegetables (not counting potatoes). “Ya ain’t gonna eat that?”

❝No.❞ Pickles and tomato? No thanks! Jiruga reached out and promptly scooped up both the pickles and tomatoes from the tray where Atsushi had left it. He blinked in surprise.

❝More ‘fer me.❞ Jiruga grinned with his mouth full.

They sat in silence for a bit. Jiruga ate his fries and drank his milkshake. Atsushi did the same (he also ate some more candy). The silence wasn’t awkward, he decided. It was like they had a joint understanding that there was no need for small-talk or chatter when they didn’t have anything to talk about. Jiruga probably wasn’t a very talkative person, just like Atsushi. They’d reached the bottom of their milkshakes when Jiruga spoke again. ❝It was a pretty good game, huh? Too bad we didn’t get ‘ta finish it.❞

❝Un.❞

❝Been a while since someone could keep me from scorin’. I love winnin’, but who’s gonna acknowledge me as ‘da strongest if I only crush weaklings?❞

❝You weren’t crushing me.❞

❝I know, but I wasn’t goin’ all out.❞

❝I wasn’t either.❞ This made Jiruga grin.

❝Wanna play again sometime?❞ Whenever someone asked him to play, he’d almost always respond with No thanks, it’s too much of a pain. His first instinct was to be as lazy as possible. That response was completely skipped now. Because yes - he wanted to play him again.

❝Yeah.❞

[ CHAPTER 2 ]

[cleliacleliadatura]

Best Friends in Death.

I scattered pink hydrangeas in her honor on Savage Neck Dune. Did she even like it there? I can only imagine yes, another guilty token of questions assumed not asked. The best I could do given the circumstance, the most quiet respectful place I could find to say a prayer in her honor without interruption, including from my own mind.

It's been over three years now, all I can wonder is what piano song would she play today? Her delicate bony fingers flew across the ivory keys with a sense of artistry, expertise and knowing. A genius.

Her paintings? The same, vibrant strokes that created a semblance of ordered disorder. An innate understanding of composition.

I see her life and realize how oblivious I was to its reality, of why she was here-how she got here.

I am angry at the Parisian community for treating her like an outsider.

Angry at the man who lied to me, comparing to her a made up notch of papier-mâché

I am angry at her eating disorder, her illness. Of in-substantive substance to a lie I can only assume was denied.

"I see the real you" she commented on a photo I shared, in a complete drug-induced state of narcissistic injury.

She was critical.

But she loved the same, a little flower. The photo of her, in her tiny skeletal frame, making big waves in a new country, a victory not easy for others to comprehend, or rather feel, on a personal level.

Gone.

Fleeting feelings, lasting months if not years, of suspicion.

This was a set up? Her death?

How difficult, how completely shocking to grasp the weight of suicide.

[geasrua]

Text Version of Glimmer

Marcus turned away from the computer to take a much-needed break. He turned in his old, rigid swivel chair to look out the window at the overcast skies. Tiny droplets of rain had started steadily pinging against the window. He had already been at it for over a week. Eight long days filled with endless account balancing and pure monotony. Marcus felt a small moment of calm as he looked over the city from inside the cold office building.

Marcus leaned back and ran his hand over his face, his thumbs pausing momentarily to investigate the bags that had formed under his eyes. His eyes ached from the time spent staring at a screen. Overworked was too tame a term for what he felt. He felt utterly wrung out. His eyes wandered towards the window and appreciated the gloomy skies. They suited his mood. It felt nice to know that the world felt like he did. Eventually, he turned his attention back to the computer. At least his prison was next to a window.

Another interruption came a few minutes later. Steve stopped by Marcus’ cubicle on his way out of the building; the boss didn’t stay late, of course. Marcus went through the motions and told Steve he didn’t mind working overtime. Again. Being a team player was rewarding. All the while, Steve’s Rolex and class ring glinted garishly. They taunted him with a life he would never have.

Steve loved to flaunt and wore both every day without fail. The overpriced hunks of metal always gleamed on his tanned hands. Marcus said something about needing to return to work, and Steve finally walked away to go home.

Marcus had been told this was how it was going to be. Each year, January was their busy month. Of course, there is no way to anticipate this. It only happens in the same month every year. The business can’t afford more workers, or so the higher-ups claim. After all, what would they do after business died down? Well, they would probably fire them, honestly. What’s the point in having a few extra hands and letting your employees have a slow day? That doesn’t increase profits!

Marcus chuckled; the thought shouldn’t be funny, but laughing made him feel better. A little better, anyway. He sank into the cheap desk chair again and refocused on his station. The tiny cubicle seemed to fold in on him as he worked. He lost awareness of anything else as he willed his exhausted brain from one monotonous task to the next. Each account he closed should have felt like a victory. Another step closer to home. He knew he was hours away from going home with each completed task.

By the time he was finished, each account was all caught up and tidy. It was dark outside, fog clinging to the windows.

He stood and stretched. The office was deserted, save the custodian, a woman in her early sixties. She had faded gray hair. It framed her face in strands that seemed less like a style and more like neglect. Her hands were bony and gnarled as she clutched a rag and dusted down desks. She looked simultaneously like a grandma and a witch. She was wiping things down near his cubicle, scowling. Her name was something like Edna. No, that wasn’t it. He wished she had a name tag.

Marcus checked his phone. He had five missed texts from his daughter. They were all asking when he would be home.

He grabbed his jacket and bag, hit the power button on the work computer, and started to walk out. On the way, he passed the custodian, who scowled up at him. He wasn’t sure if she could smile. Maybe her face was stuck that way. As he went past, the woman spoke. Her voice creaked like an old, unused door.

“Working late again? How come it’s always you?”

Marcus looked at her, willing his brain to work. Why did Edna care? The schedule was horrible, but he needed the overtime. He didn’t like it, but this was how it was. Complaining wouldn’t change anything. Edna didn’t seem to notice.

“If I were you, I’d have done something about it by now. Who cares if someone else has to pick up the slack?”

Marcus’ brain finally caught up, “I am sure they used to work just as hard as me. It’s part of climbing the totem pole, you know? It’s not so bad. Although I am tired, thanks for your… thoughts, but I should get home.”

Marcus kept walking to the elevator but heard Edna call from behind.

“You know, he keeps his office unlocked if you ever want to mess with him. No cameras over there either; He probably set that up on purpose. That’s why no one has noticed his extra meetings with his secretary.”

Marcus looked back. “Why would I want to break into my boss’s office?”

“Maybe you could get a bonus.” She grinned and cackled, “Or you could change your schedule. That man’s so far up his ass that he probably would overlook it anyway. I think he has four of those watches. I can’t fault him for it. The gold looks nice.” She snorted.

He wouldn’t ever steal anything. Marcus was indignant; she would think he would fall to that level. He was sure she had already done something based on her suggestion and tone.

“Have a good night….” Marcus trailed off and didn’t try Edna. Maybe it was Suzy. He decided it was better to avoid using a name altogether.

“My name is Diane. Good night, Marcus.” Her scowl returned. “Say hello to your daughter for me.”

Marcus thought about Diane as he walked to the BART station. The rain had started coming down now. Apparently, it was going to rain all weekend. He vaguely remembered Steve and his other co-workers complaining about it, even though San Francisco was usually foggy. As if complaining would stop it from ever raining here.

Marcus realized he had forgotten an umbrella.

He tried to collect his thoughts as he waited at the station. He knew he’d never mentioned his daughter to Diane before. She hadn’t worked there that long, at most a few weeks. Perhaps she had just overheard someone, but something about her unnerved him. He didn’t know where they found her, but she had already implied she was stealing from her employer. Marcus tried to put it out of his head and resolved to report her later. He was sure that if anything were stolen, security would catch it or someone would notice.

The train arrived, and he stepped on. He found a seat and hoped it would be a peaceful ride.

After Diane’s behavior and the unsettling mention of his daughter, Marcus hoped she would be gone soon.

He tried to relax and ignore the noise and smell of urine. It was coming down now, but somehow nothing smelled like rain. The stench of the city only got worse. He still had a long walk after the train. The screeching of the train rang through his head like banshees calling to him. After arriving at his station, he still had to walk home. Berating himself for forgetting an umbrella, Marcus began the journey.

His clothes were soaked through and dripping by the time he arrived home. It was late enough that no one was in the street as he climbed the stairs to their apartment.

Zoey had left the kitchen light on for him. He went to the fridge and grabbed a slice of leftover pizza from the previous night. Kicking off his shoes, he went down the hall to his room. Their apartment was small, just a tiny kitchen area with an island dividing it, a small living room space with a couch, and Zoey’s Nintendo Switch. They’d had a TV with it, but it had broken a few months back. So now they just propped the Switch up to watch things. A short hallway led to a bathroom he and Zoey were forced to share and two bedrooms. It even had a little balcony past a sliding door. Just enough balcony to stand on and get some fresh air. The apartment was not much, but it was a palace for San Francisco apartment sizes and a steal for San Francisco apartment prices.

Zoey’s door was closed, and her light was off. He could tell by the blue light shining under the door that she was still awake. Zoey liked to stay up late like most new adults do. She would be up for hours, most likely. He decided to leave her alone. Marcus devoured the pizza, shoving it into his mouth. He chewed the last of it and threw his wet clothes into the hamper in the corner. He tossed himself onto his bed. He was out before he could throw the blankets over himself.

Marcus heard a loud creak, and he bolted upright in his bed. Usually, he would assume it was Zoey, but something about it didn’t sound right. He stood up and opened the door. Zoey’s door was wide open, but it was black inside. He didn’t hear her breathing or movement. He walked around the small apartment listening.

He didn’t hear anything,

“Zoey? Are you ok?”

He waited, and there was no answer. He entered the living room and saw someone standing on the balcony. Just a silhouette against the city lights reflecting off the clouds. The door was open, and there was a cold breeze coming through. He breathed a sigh of relief. Zoey was getting some fresh air. That was all. Maybe she was just as stressed as he was. She’d been working just as hard on her college applications… He started walking towards the door, but his foot struck something. It wasn’t hard and felt spongy. Marcus looked down at someone lying on the floor as his eyes finally adjusted. He flung himself back, falling to the floor.

“No, no, no. Please. No.”

Panic settled in as he realized how she was lying. On her side, blood pooled on the floor around her head. The same way he had found her two years ago. Her black hair was coated with her blood from the gaping wound on the back of her head. The wall behind the couch was covered in viscera. A revolver still lay in his wife’s hand.

He froze as the figure on the balcony turned. Slowly, deliberately.

The body on the floor began to warp and flex.

There was a snapping sound. Her neck ripped and forced her to look up at the ceiling, and her face was frozen, mouth open, almost laughing. Her arms and legs twisted like an insect. He looked from the body on the floor to the figure on the balcony. She rose up on her twisted arms. Twitching and raising her limbs, contorting and dragging herself towards him. He pushed back away from her, trying to stand and escape. She grabbed him by the ankle and dragged him back down. He tripped, and her broken limbs scratched him, tearing at him and pulling him closer. She wrapped him in her arms and legs. Holding him in a cold tight hug. He heard a familiar laugh as she embraced him. Crushing him. He felt himself breaking; he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t….

Marcus woke up shaking and panting. He stopped and looked around. It was early morning. Everything seemed okay. It was just a nightmare. Just a nightmare. the stress was probably getting to him. He laid back down briefly, forcing himself to slow his breathing and calm down. He didn’t usually have nightmares, especially this vivid. Marcus hadn’t thought about Charlotte in months. The burnout must really be getting to him.

Thankfully he had the day off today after closing those accounts last night. He could finally get some rest. Marcus laid his head back down for a bit, trying to go back to sleep. He kept hearing Diane’s creaking voice, his dream echoing in his head. Discovering Charlotte again after what she had done to herself. He sat up as he realized sleep was not coming to him. He decided to get some coffee.

He moved to the living room, drinking his fresh coffee and watching videos on his phone. He had the volume down to not wake Zoey and watched anything to distract himself. As he watched, his head became heavy despite the caffeine. He let his head fall to the armrest and fell back to sleep.

Zoey woke him up when she walked into the kitchen to steal some coffee from the pot. He shook his head a bit to wake up. He watched his daughter pour the coffee, her messy dark hair covering part of her face. Seeing her reminded him of Charlotte again. His daughter took after her. Dark hair, fair skin, sarcastic sense of humor. Marcus shook his head. Chasing away the thoughts of his late wife.

“Morning, Zo.”

“Morning, Dad.” She put the pot back in the machine and leaned against the sink. “You’re actually home. Busy season over then?”

“I hope so. I got everything caught up last night. I have the day off. So if there are more fires, it must wait until tomorrow.”

She grinned back. “Great. I don’t want to take your whole day off, but can you help me with this essay? It’s for Berkeley. I already edited it. I just need you to read it and tell me if you think it could use any work. That is, if you haven’t forgotten how. College was probably like fifty years ago for you.” She let out a little amused breath.

“You know I can still read, regardless of how old I am.”

Marcus stood and pretended to arch his back like an old man. He was middle-aged, not decrepit.

“Yer damn zoomers with yer flannel and Fortnite.” He waved his hand as if he had a cane. “Bunch of communists.” Although he was very proud of his old man voice, Marcus thought he had aged gracefully. He stayed active, after all.

“I’d be happy to go over it for you, sweetheart. Now give your old man a hug.” he leaned in to hug Zoey.

Marcus hated how busy he was. Zoey would be gone soon, and he had wanted to be there for her last year of high school. Still, he had missed so much just keeping the bills paid. Marcus wasn’t scared for her to leave and become her own person, but he finally understood how hard it was. Letting her move away was bittersweet. Even if she didn’t end up going too far. He was still forced to spend his days in an office, away from her. Part of him hoped she would stay close if she went to Berkeley.

“Love you, Zo. Sorry I’ve been working so much.”

“I’m pretty used to it. Love you too.”

He pulled away. “Now, let’s see that paper. If I finish it now, we can do something fun later.”

Zoey nodded and left to get the printed paper and a pen. Marcus leaned over to wash his mug and put it in the dishwasher.

Marcus sat back on the couch and pulled a small side table before him. There wasn’t enough space between the sofa and the TV for a good coffee table, so they made do. Zoey returned with the essay and sat next to him. She grabbed the Switch and played an action game about some black and white bugs while he read.

An hour later, he had read the entire application essay and done substantial writing in the margins. He set down the paper and sighed. Zoey paused her game and looked at him expectantly.

“It’s good, Zoey. I think you might be going to Berkeley.”

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off.

“No, I am not just saying that because I am your father. It’s really well put together. I put my thoughts all over it so you can revise it, but I am excited. I think the admissions board will agree with me.”

Zoey wiggled and threw her arms in the air. She clearly had been stressing over the essay. She really wanted to get into a good school. College seemed less critical, but Zoey wished to enter STEM and discussed getting a Ph.D. or Doctorate. Learning was essential to her, and Marcus would make it happen if she wanted to go.

She practically tore the paper out of his hands and ran to her room. Marcus called after her.

“If you want a break, we can go to a movie or shopping later. I know I need to get out of the house. If you don’t mind hanging out with your lame Dad.” He laughed at her enthusiasm.

Zoey stuck her head out her door and said, “Of course, I’ll take my lame Dad to the movies. Is anything good playing?”

“Maybe, they haven’t had any big films lately. Feels like everything gets pumped onto streaming these days.” Marcus pulled out his phone to see if anything was playing. It really did feel pointless to go to theaters. They both enjoyed the experience, though, so they would go whenever they could find something worth seeing. When Marcus pulled out his phone, he noticed a missed call and a voicemail. His heart sank. The call was from Steve. Marcus thought he had finished everything. He knew he had. Steve should have no reason to call him, and the only reason Steve would is if he needed Marcus to come in. He pressed play on the voicemail and held the phone to his ear. It felt like a grenade held next to his head.

“Hey… yeah… uh, Marcus. I got a call from Cameron earlier. Yeah, they left early yesterday. So their financial statements still need to be taken care of. Something came up here, and you’re the only guy I’d trust with this.”

Marcus could clearly hear laughing in the background. He also thought he heard the clinking of glasses.

“So… can you go in and correct those real quick? Just forward them over to me when it’s done. Thanks a ton, buddy. Bye.”

Marcus set his phone down. Thinking of going in and even touching work today was like drinking vinegar. He thought about ignoring it. Zoey walked to the bathroom to shower before their movie, humming. He thought about Berkeley. Marcus hadn’t told Zoey, but he had been saving for this. For years, every horrible weekend was spent in that cubicle. He had bitten his tongue and gone through it to ensure she had an excellent place to live and could have good things, even if it wasn’t a lot. He had saved and penny-pinched. She could go to her dream school. Marcus had saved a lot, but it wasn’t enough. He had to go back in.

Marcus stood. He walked down the hall, each inch feeling like lifting a weight. He walked over to the bathroom door and knocked.

“Hey, Zo, I just got a call. I gotta go back to work for a bit. It should only be a couple of hours. Check out the movies and let me know what one you want to see. You can revise your paper while I’m gone, and we will go once I am back instead.”

She took a moment to reply. Clearly disappointed. Zoey’s tone tore at his heart.

“Okay, don’t work yourself too hard, Dad.”

“I’ll be fine, sweetheart. Sorry I have to go back. I’ll talk to you later today, okay?”

Marcus trudged to his room. Cursing Steve the whole way. He threw on a button-up, some slacks, socks, and shoes. He decided not to wait for Zoey to get out of the shower. He wouldn’t be at the office long if everything went well. He walked out the door, dreading another trip on the train. Marcus was determined to be done quickly.

He arrived at his cubicle and set to work while still damp from the persisting rain. He pulled Cameron’s work from the file share and fixed any errors he found.

After a couple of hours, it was done. He fixed all the financial statements and double-checked them. He sent a journal of what had changed to Cameron and Steve and sat back to breathe.

He hadn’t lost too much time. He could still have a day with his daughter. He stood up and got ready to leave. As he walked out, he noticed an open door. Steve’s office was wide open. It wasn’t last night, and he was sure Steve hadn’t returned. The man treated his weekends like religious holidays. He decided to look in, remembering what Diane had said the previous night. At first, the office looked the same as he’d always seen it, but one of the doors, his desk, was ajar. Thinking of Diane snooping, he decided to open it. Inside were typical office supplies and some hard copies of files. Nothing that she could do real damage with. They really should be locked away, though. He closed the door and started to walk out. He stopped when he saw it. On the desk was Steve’s watch. The exact Rolex he’d been wearing when he had left. He picked it up, shocked that such a valuable accessory was lying in the office. Maybe Diane was right. Maybe Steve did have more than one. It seemed odd he would have another of the same exact model, though. He thought about Berkeley as he held it, about what Diane had said. Steve was neglectful, barely paying attention to his job and employees. Why would he value the watch if he didn’t value his position? He just left it here, after all.

Marcus stopped and looked around the room and out the door. There really weren’t any cameras watching his office. Marcus started to set the watch down, but then he saw something else on the desk. A paper he hadn’t noticed. Another important document that should be locked away. It was a list of employees to be laid off in the coming quarter. Marcus’ name was second from the top.

He was instantly livid after everything he had gone through. All the burnout, all the years of work hoping to get ahead. Everything he had done was to give Zoey the life she deserved. They were going to throw him to the curb. Marcus looked at the watch again, looked around one last time, and shoved it in his pocket. Steve wouldn’t notice anyway.

He left the paper where it was, closing the office door behind him. He saw Diane watching him from a few cubicles away. Towel and cleaner in hand. He gave her a wave.

“Steve needs to learn to keep his door closed.”

Diane’s face twisted into an eerie grin. She seemed to smile just a little too wide. How had he not noticed that before?

“He sure does. You’re heading home, Marcus?”

“Yeah, hope you can get out of here soon. Have a good day.”

Diane called from behind him. “Have a good day, Marcus, and be careful when ya put it on.”

Marcus stopped momentarily but ignored the ominous remark and left.

Later that night, he and Zoey returned from their movie. It was some family film about a talking cat. Zoey had picked the film, and Marcus hadn’t paid much attention. Zoey was teasing him about his old brain when she asked him about it. The entire movie, he had been focused on the watch. The cursed thing in his dresser and Diane’s words about trying it on.

Back home, he sat on his bed, looking at the watch. Trying to decide if it was worth it. Selling it would get him tens of thousands. All of that could go to Zoey, and no one would know. He was close to funding her school, but this would make the difference. There shouldn’t be anything to link the theft to him, and he was reasonably sure Steve wouldn’t notice. He could get a new job and leave that awful place behind. Everything would be fine. He would just relax and revise his resume.

A part of Marcus considered returning the watch, saying he just took it to keep it safe for Steve. Steve would vouch for him and let him keep his job. But after years at that company, he knew that wouldn’t happen. After all the hours and overtime he put in, after all the excellent work. They were throwing him away. He decided against returning it. This was better.

He recalled Diane’s words, “Be careful when trying it on.”

How had she known it was in his office? Did she put it there for him? If she said anything, he could just claim he was holding it until he could return it to Steve. Before finding someone discreet to buy it and dealing with the creepy old woman, her last words rang in his ears.

Marcus knew he had to try it on.

He unhooked the gaudy gold band and placed the Rolex on his wrist. He waited for a moment to see if anything would change. Nothing happened. He reached around and fastened the band on his wrist.

He waited again.

And again.

Nothing happened.

Marcus looked at the watch. He had been holding it away from himself, Hanging on his arm like a hissing gold serpent. He started to feel like a fool, expecting something unexpected to happen. This was crazy. There was no way Diane could know what he had done. He paced around his room, fixated on the watch. He still hated the way it looked. It was too showy. But on his wrist… He enjoyed it. Marcus thought of Zoey’s face when she found out he was paying for her entire education and beamed.

He left the watch on for a bit. Wearing it wouldn’t harm anything, and having something luxurious felt nice for once. He reached over to his bedside table to grab a book he had been reading.

As soon as his hand touched the book, he felt something move from him into the book. The watch glowed, and the light traveled from his hand into the book. As the light entered the book, the air seemed to warp around it. The warping rapidly spread like ripples of water. The whole process only took a second. Once done, the book shone and reflected the room’s light.

Marcus pulled his hand back as if the book scalded him. He looked at his hand, quickly holding it away from himself. He carefully undid the clasp and let the watch fall onto the bed. Nothing happened. He reached over and grabbed the book. It was a lot heftier now and shimmered in the light. He watched the book, seeing if it would do anything. When it didn’t explode, he picked it up. The cover refused to budge. He thumbed the pages, and the thin gold film shifted slightly. The book had changed into pure gold. He wouldn’t be able to finish the story.

Extraordinary.

His thoughts raced as he immediately wanted to try more. He looked around for something that he wouldn’t mind losing. He decided to try a glass he had left on his dresser. A gold cup wouldn’t be too odd if he had to get rid of it. Although having a gold book and a gold cup probably would be strange. Still, he reached out and touched the cup. Nothing happened.

So Diane hadn’t lied, and he hadn’t misheard her. She knew about this somehow. The watch would turn whatever he touched to gold so long as he wore it. He could make anything gold. He could use this power to get whatever he wanted. No more pinching, no tiny apartment. Marcus could give Zoey whatever she wanted. Someone with a large amount of gold, seemingly out of nowhere, could arouse suspicion. Marcus would find a way around it, though.

He needed to do it again. He had to be sure that he understood the process. Now that he knew, he wouldn’t change his door. He put the watch in his pocket and walked out of his room. He passed by Zoey’s room. She was still working on her paper and didn’t notice he had left his room.

He went out their front door and down to the street. He looked around for a rock or piece of cement. It could look like some natural piece of gold. He found a few pieces of asphalt near a pothole. He surveyed the street. No one in the street or the sidewalk that he could see. He bent down and tried touching the pieces. Nothing. He pulled the watch from his pocket and fastened it onto his left wrist. With his right hand, he grabbed a sample no bigger than his thumb.

Nothing happened.

He looked at his hand in surprise. After a moment of thought, Marcus tried his left hand, which was the wrist the watch was on. The feeling returned and flowed through him into the chunk. He was still astonished when the little piece of asphalt warped and rippled. Marcus picked it up and studied it. Surely enough, it was gold.

The watch turned things to gold. It didn’t seem to have a limit on what type of things it would change. The change only worked if Marcus touched something with the same hand the watch was fastened to. Lastly, he could remove the watch and safely handle things again.

He stopped looking at the shining chunk in his hand and stared off into the street. Marcus peeked around again. He felt as though every window had a pair of eyes in them. Remembering his dream, the things Diane had said. The watch hadn’t done this before he picked it up.

She had mentioned Zoey, and Zoey was alone upstairs.

Marcus had to get back upstairs.

He stood up, dropping the golden asphalt in the gutter.

Marcus sprinted back to their apartment. He was careful not to touch himself or anything else with his left hand while he went to undo the watch. He did not want to know if this ability worked on his own body. At the stairs now, Marcus stopped to take off the watch.

He pulled the delicate latch.

It did not move.

He tried again.

The latch refused to yield.

He tried for another minute. A new panic joined his concern for Zoey.

This was fine, he reasoned. He would check on Zoey. Ensure that hag was nowhere near his daughter and then figure out the latch. He reached the stairs and took them two at a time.

Marcus reached the door of the apartment and threw it open. The only light came from his and Zoey’s rooms. He was ready to use the watch on Diane if it came to that. Just one touch would make sure he and Zoey were safe from her and whatever this was. He kept his left hand down and to his side, slightly behind, as if it were a dagger he was hiding.

Marcus knew where Diane would be. After his dream, he knew. He looked over to the balcony and saw a figure. The dark figure turned to look at him. The lights of the city outlined her. He ran to the sliding door and slung it open

Zoey jumped into his arms.

She squealed in excitement and hugged him.

“Dad, I finally finished.”

Marcus’ panic and reflexes took over. He lifted his hands and leaned back as she hugged him. Zoey’s beaming face was the last thing he saw as his left hand gently tapped her bare arm. Everything slowed down as the same feeling flowed through him. She didn’t realize it as her face warped in front of him. Her smile became otherworldly as reality shifted and her flesh rippled.

The next moment she was gone. Zoey’s face shined as it caught the little light, replaced with a smooth golden facsimile. The momentum and new weight slammed into him, and they fell together to the floor, his daughter’s golden arms holding his waist. As they landed on the carpet, her weight hit him. He heard two sharp cracks. The first was from the floor. Somehow holding the immense weight of the statue. The second noise came from somewhere in his body.

Marcus thrashed, trying to get out from under his daughter. His chest was in agony. He coughed, struggling to catch his breath. He frantically tried to push off the golden statue that had replaced his little girl. He realized it was hopeless and started sobbing. Blood came up with his hacking and cries. He laid still, looking down at his situation. Zoey’s arms had broken the floor, keeping some of her off him. The weight was still enough to flatten his body. The bones in his waist and thighs were splinters. There was a pool of blood rapidly expanding under him. He was completely pinned and, through the haze of pain, realized something worse than the pain. He couldn’t feel his legs. He tried to shimmy out from under the weight. Pain shot through him as he moved. Something had snapped in his chest, and his lungs refused to work. He laid his head back, gasping, crying, and looking at his daughter’s smiling face. Frozen in a freakish grin. He couldn’t look away. He heard a familiar cackle from the doorway. Marcus turned his head. His vision began to fade as Diane sauntered into the room. Diane bent down to unsnap the watch from his wrist.

“Thank you so much, Marcus.”

[racointeur1]

YOUR     DORM     ROOM      HAD      BEEN      ALIVE      WITH     COMPETITIVENESS.        the      rushed     tapping    of    buttons    &     frustrated    huffs    &     groans    &     verbal     protests    filling     the     air      as     you     fought     one     another     on       screen.       the     score    was    an    even      split     that     you      were     determined     to      shift     into     your     own     sweet     victory.       sore     loser    was     just     another     title     tacked     onto     you     and     like,      so     what???      who      doesn’t    like    to     win?         you     shift     in     your     position     on     the     couch      to     lean     forward     more,      bony    elbows    digging     into     your     thighs     and     your     focus     is      intense    on     the     screen    ahead    of     you.        one     miss     click      (     yes,    a     miss    click!     that’s    all     that     happened!     you    had    @earthlost    otherwise!     )      &     your     character    goes    flying    out    of     frame,      marking     your     defeat.       

“dude!      no,     that     was,      i     literally     had      you!      that    wasn’t     fair!”       you     huff     out    a     breath     that’s    a     little     too     dramatic,      practically    expelling     all     air    from     your     lungs    as    your     head     falls     back     against     the     cushion.      you    stare    blankly    at    the    ceiling,     an      annoyance     festering    as     you     listen     to     lance     boast     at      your     side.      eyes     roll      and     head     turns     to     look     at     him.       it’s     then     that     it     really    registers      just     how    close    he    actually    is,      and     it      might   as    well     have    been    a    jump     scare     from     the    way     your     heart    almost    leaps    out    of    your     chest.     

“yeah,     yeah.   you     won,       big     deal.      do     you     want     like    a     cookie    or     something?”       sarcasm     comes     out    like    second     nature,     framed     by     the     mild     annoyance    at     your     loss,      &      masks     the     nervousness     you     suddenly    feel      from      being    so     close    to     him.       realistically,      you     could    just     scoot    over.      it’d     increase     the     distance,      lighten    the    air,        maybe    even     stop     the    way     your    eyes    drop     down     to     the     unbearably     annoying    curve    of    arrogance     present     on     lance’s     mouth.      “what    are    you     doing    anyway?    why    are    you     so    ----”     but    he’s     talking    again     before    you    can     blame     the    lack    of    space     on     him.

“ let’s just call this what it is… just really close talking. ”

it     stuns     you      momentarily.       makes     you     blink      a     few     times,     and     then     brows     are     furrowing     for     curiosity     to       mold     into      frustration.      irritation,    maybe?       it’s    all     the    same    when    it    comes     to     him.        hand    lifts     to     press     into      lance’s     chest    and    shove    him     backward      lightly,      a    scowl     pressing     into     your     face.       “yeah,      too     close.       can    we    just    get    back     to     the     game?     i’m     calling     a     do    -     over.” 

[petersaysthings]

It seems there’s always a price. I’m tired of being the angel with burnt wings.

Every night, I become a weak old man reflecting on my losses both real and imagined, and every night, my demons come to visit whilst I curl my frail bones up next to the fire.

You must increase, that I must decrease.

I’ve known many gods over my lifetime, all with different names, different faces, different bodies I must learn and explore anew. But the most important of these have been different demands. Demands for which I sit and listen as they outline their dogma, their spellcraft, their lore that compels me to follow. For they, unlike me, have navigated the unknown world of frightful wonders, and I remain safe beneath my covers as the last ember of my fire dies.

And though my room darkens as they share their stories, their spells, their myths and legends with me, I notice that final ember glowing a little brighter and ponder to myself, ‘perhaps I shall last the night, if only to shelter them’.

And so I feed these travelers, these great gods I so love, as—for a time—I get lost in their stories. So lost, my own pain dissipates, and the darkness is dispelled. And I think, ‘surely they understand more of the outside world, having lived more than I. If I stay with them, I might learn how to explore, how to experience new wonders again, to leave behind the cold before I freeze. Food here is scarce, and the crawl of time beckons me to move on.’

And so I bow down in worship. I take up my mat and go. One must leave behind everything, I am told. Give up earthly pleasures—not that I’d known any—and march toward a divine light. And all will be right. I will live as a Disciple. I will be a Holy man, drink the mana, live off every Scripture, every word that this god says.

And so I spread my bony arms as if they were that of a hollow bird, and he adorns me with feathers, that I might fly. We share many stories together. We revel in many victories. We trace the curves, scars, and raised topography of one another’s secrets like a map that leads our way to horizons yet unknown. We sing songs and anthems of our youth, we howl with unbridled passion as wolves in the night and laugh like children at the skins made of nightmares we’ve shed.

My Savior. My love. My world.

The fire is dying tonight as we’ve ridden on wings of uncertain change. He sleeps. I am kept awake. But as he dreams, the demon memories of old come to visit me.

‘My Savior. My love. My world,’ the serpents hiss and laugh. ‘Did you believe it would be so easy? That venturing out into the wilds was safe? And yet here you are, and he has led you to ussss’.

Bodies encircle me as the shadows encroach, my last embers failing to keep them away. Bodies without names, without faces, slithering and  slimy and vine-like. They offer a twisted comfort. A brief escape from the cold, as mine and my companion’s passionate howls echo back from the mountains.

And in my memories with this stranger I sheltered, I explore my grief. I ponder many things. I fear the wonder which he has awoken in me. But most of all, I fear what I have awoken in him. I’ve shown him a path that perhaps I cannot walk. I fear that all the shelter and warmth I’ve given will only lead him to a brighter, healthier light in the woods while I will burn out in the ashen cold desert of my mind, for I can scarcely fend for myself against the slithering demons, the things that keep me from that path. The things that constrict my stomach. The things that make me regurgitate my own food to feed others.

‘You offer nothing,’ the serpents remind me.

Their vines wrap tighter, until their weight is crushing my chest. I rise in a panic. My eye falls on that final ember, the last light, the fragile unprotected thing allowing me to still behold his face.

My last hope. My last love. My Savior! My world.

The orange is fading fast, threatening to be extinguished. “No, no, no!” I cry.

My reason for living. The reason I left my cabin. The reason I ventured out here alone in my wake, miles from home, miles from youth, miles from safety, arthritic fingers grasping for a new existence. I cannot behold it anymore. My eyes can no longer make out his beautiful sleeping face. It’s fading out, trailing off with the final wisps of smoke from our once roaring fire.

I close my eyes, and I can still feel his warmth until the moment it abandons me. The serpents squeeze me tighter, lest I should think they left with him. And so I crouch down in the pale moonlight, fingers tracing the ash, the only softness I will now know. I gaze in the dim across from me.

He has gone.

My Savior, my love, my world.

I gather my things and return home, stomach emptier than when I’d left, as oft happens when one feeds a stranger all that has been stored for a season. I haven’t the strength to hunt. I haven’t the strength to mourn. All I can think on is returning home, until the sun at last rises on a cold, rainy day.

At least there is shelter, despite many leaks. At least a bed. At least a window. At least safety, for now, from the tides. And so I lay on my bed and dream a pleasant dream.

Some months later, perhaps I’ll hear news of the great traveler whose face I can no longer remember, save for knowing it was the face of an angel. He’ll have a new lover in a new town somewhere, living out new adventures both corporal and spiritual, and scarcely think of me.

For what am I, but a pile of crumpled bones bound together by the weakest of sinews and peppered in ash? A humble hermit in the woods, always providing shelter and aid whilst no one comes to mine.

‘He must increase, that I must decrease’. Eternal unease. The suffering Savior. The sacrosanct.

Would that I might be mine own. But there are too many serpents that take hold of my nights, that bind my wings and keep me from flight. I could cut off their heads, and still they’d grow back.

Sometimes, I wonder if they aren’t what keep me from love, these little chokers of the light. That they threaten to murder my Saviored travelers, that the sacred becomes terrified of me.

Rilke once said that to behold an angel is terrifying, and I must agree. The most singularly beautiful, haunting, terrifying thing I’ve ever seen, because the fear of loss makes beautiful things ugly. It creeps in your heart, a presence you will not notice at first, until the viper strikes, and suddenly you knew it all along.

‘You were simply blinded by love,’ you think.

And perhaps like me, the festering thoughts encroach too much, and you find yourself in bed staring at the wall, unable to think or sleep or close your eyes, you just lay there and paint pictures on the wall with your mind.

Until the next angel shows up to drag you out of it and plunge you back into the heart of darkness.

And you wonder between these passing thoughts, hating the entity, worshiping it, dreaming up another that disappoints you too, until a fateful knock comes on the door of your heart to make you forget all of it.

An older Savior of mine once said “life is full of unknowns, so why choose to die, when death is as life is?”

I suppose we can never fully be rid of it, the curiosity that kills, that beckons us forth and drives us to continually answer that fateful door, knowing in some ways what awaits us on the other side.

But I answer it anyway, because what is life but a story of hope and lies we continue to tell ourselves? What is faith, if not trust in the shaky unknown wilds that sustain us from darkness to darkness, breathing new life into the final embers of a dying fire?

I am he of little, humble faith. The littlest, smallest, uncherished spark. But I promise you, given the chance, I would light up your dark.

Perhaps my destiny is that of a white dwarf star. Perhaps my rewards lay somewhere beyond this world, and for now, I must place my hope in a brand new day, rather than nightly visitors. For they will surely come and go.

But my love and my will is forever.

[aristocraticvision]

Chapter 53: Advancing the Agenda

Just as Pompey had driven the pirate scourge from Our Sea in record time, so too was Aulus Gabinius quick to move on to the next phase of Pompey’s plan – which was to wrest command of Rome’s eastern legions away from Lucullus.

Again, Gabinius used his powers as a tribune of the plebs to summon witnesses to the rostra to testify before the popular assembly. These witnesses painted a grim picture, describing the war against King Mithridates of Pontus in frightful terms.

One soldier testified that some of Lucullus’ legions, unpaid for years, had simply refused to leave their winter camps. The poverty of these fighting men, of course, stood in stark contrast to the immense wealth of their aristocratic commander, who had shipped back wagonloads of booty from the campaign.

So great was Lucullus' wealth that he had bought an entire hill outside the gates of Rome and was building a great palace there. Gabinius next subpoenaed Lucullus’ architects and bade them show their extravagant drawings before the people. As a result, the name Lucullus quickly became synonymous with outrageous luxury and excess.

In December, Gabinius’ term as tribune ended. Yet he was replaced by yet another of Pompey’s creatures, Caius Manilius, who wasted no time in furthering his master’s interests. Manilius immediately proposed a law granting command of the war against Mithridates to Pompey – as well as the governance of the provinces of Asia, Cilicia and Bithynia.

Any hope Cicero might have held to remain neutral on the issue vanished when Gabinius came to call, bearing a message from Pompey. The general asked Cicero to support the lex Manilia in all its provisions – an action that would place an even larger target on his back when it came to the aristocratic boni, or “good men.”

Unfortunately, Cicero had little choice but to comply. He worked on his speech for days, carefully crafting each word. Since it would be his first truly political speech from the rostra, it would be crucial to make a good showing – despite his personal feelings.

While Catulus and Hortensius spoke passionately against the measure in the senate – even going so far as attacking Cicero himself – as patricians, they were barred from directly addressing the plebeian assembly. Yet that was of no consequence. All of Rome knew their arguments by heart, as they had not changed since their opposition of the lex Gabinia.

As such, Cicero couldn’t help but make sport of them when he finally addressed the people.

“So what would my boni friends say of this?” he asked, rhetorically. “As always, they would agree – if any one man were to be given the supreme command, it should be Pompey, the most able general Rome has to offer! Yet they also argue that, despite his ability, no one man should bear that responsibility! That no one merits such a command – for it is far too much power to place in the hands of any Roman!”

“Yet that line of thinking has already been proven dismally unwise, has it not?” Cicero continued. “For let us face the facts – had Rome listened to the bleating of these ‘good men,’ Our Sea would still be swarming with pirates, would it not? So I say, let Pompey Magnus do to King Mithridates and his allies what he has already done with the pirates. Let him wipe them from the face of the earth!”

The crowd roared, and Cicero left the rostra to thunderous applause as Manilius stepped forward to call for a vote. Within a few hours, The lex Manilia passed overwhelmingly.

Thus had Cicero surmounted another great obstacle in his career. Yet now, he was hated by the boni more than ever.

BEGINNING | PREV | NEXT

[simplee-dreaming]

Backstage

A/N: This isn't the finest work but since NWH I've been dreaming of a fic with Tobey, Tom and Andrew so hope it's okay! If you're unfamiliar with Graham Norton, he's a UK talkshow host and I highly recommend watching his show cause it's just hilarious.

Word count: 1393

Summary: The guys and the reader have to entertain themselves whilst they wait to go on a talk show

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

“Hey guys, I’m so sorry for the delay. He’s still stuck in traffic. Going to be at least another half an hour if not more,” the assistant said. 

“Don’t worry about it - not his fault there was an accident!” Tobey responded. 

“Yeah we’re fine to wait. How are the audience?” Andrew asked. 

“Not great. But we’ve got the warm up keeping them busy. As for you guys, help yourselves to refreshments. We’ve got a few board games, a switch over there if you fancy it. I’m really sorry again,” she apologised. 

“I’m sure we can entertain ourselves,” you said with a reassuring smile. She smiled back at you and left the room. 

You, Tom, Andrew and Tobey were all waiting to appear on The Graham Norton Show - a huge favourite of yours. Though, due to an accident happening in London, he was stuck in traffic and heavily delayed coming to the studio. 

“Right, I don’t know about you lot, but I fancy the switch!” Tom said ecstatically, getting up from his chair.. “Ooh they have Mario Kart!” 

“I’m game,” Tobey replied. Tom threw each of you a controller and returned to his chair. You all carefully picked your characters, Tom chose Luigi, Tobey chose Boo, Andrew chose Daisy and you…well…

“Why did you choose Link? He’s not even a Mario character!” Tom exclaimed. 

“He’s an awesome character though,” you shrugged. 

“And the brunette one too? Come on Y/N.” 

“What? Brunette Link is the best Link.” 

“And blonde Link is the Weakest Link,” Andrew said. You chuckled but Tom groaned. 

4 races later and you were very much in the lead. Tom was becoming a sore loser, Tobey had no idea what he was doing and Andrew spent most of the game driving way too sensibly. 

“Right, I’m gonna grab a drink. Anyone else want one?” You asked, they all politely declined. 

As soon as you got up to leave, Andrew laid across the sofa where you were sitting. He stretched out his long body to cover all areas. 

“Oi, move your arse,” you said, coming back into the room. 

“Never,” Andrew responded. 

You huffed as you placed your drink on the table. 

“Move.”

“No.”

“Fine.” 

You walked over to where he was lying and sat on top of him. He let out an “oof” as you got comfortable. 

“Was this necessary?” He asked

“Absolutely. You wouldn’t move from my seat so I sat on you,” you said, folding your arms. 

“You have got a very bony butt.” He said.

“And you’re bony all over, what’s your point?” 

“Are you going to move?” 

“Are you gonna get up from my seat?” 

“I will when you get off of me.” 

“I don’t believe that for a second.” 

“Alright missy, you got me there,” he said, running his hand up your side. You squeaked and he narrowed his eyes. 

“What was that?” 

“What was what?” 

“You squeaked..” 

“No I didn’t, must’ve been a mouse…” 

“No no, you squeaked…” he ran his fingers up your side again and you twisted, trying to block his fingers. 

“Y/N, we’ve worked together for months. How come I’m only finding this out now?” 

“You never asked.” 

He reached over and squeezed your side, eliciting a yelp from you. 

“Well now I know I don’t need to,” he teased, rapidly squeezing your side. You collapsed into giggles and tried to twist away from him. He giggled but retracted his hand. 

“Now that is adorable,” Tom piped up. You blushed. 

“Aw, look she’s gone all shy now,” Andrew teased. He smirked as he put his arms behind his head in victory. 

Without thinking, you seized the opportunity and lent forward to tickle his sides. His arms instantly slammed down as his adorable giggles poured out of him.

“Awww Andrew’s ticklish too!” Tobey cooed. 

“Shuhuhut uhuhup!” 

“Now who’s embarrassed?” You teased, spidering your fingers up and down his sides and occasionally across his tummy. 

“Guhuhuys hehehelp mehehe!” He giggled, desperately trying to bat your hands away. 

“No chance,” Tobey replied, giggling along with him. 

Tom, however, snuck up behind you and tasered your sides. You shrieked and fell backwards. 

“Wahahait nohohot fahair!” You yelped as Tom rapidly squeezed your sides. You rolled over and fell off the sofa. 

“Hey!” You exclaimed.

“Sorry darling, I couldn’t resist,” Tom laughed. 

“Ah gravity. Thou art a heartless bitch,” Andrew giggled.

“Shut your face.” 

“Or what?” 

You smirked and lunged at him, clawing at his tummy. He kicked his legs and squealed. 

“NOHOHO!” 

“Alright Y/N, stop torturing the poor boy,” Tobey said. 

“Absolutely not, he deserves it!” 

“So do you.” 

Before you even had time to register what Tobey had said, he wrestled you to the ground and straddled your waist. 

“Whoa whoa Tobey-NO!” You fell into a loud cackle as he pinned your arms above your head with one hand and wiggled his other fingers into your armpit. You flopped about like a fish below him, struggling to release your arms from his grip. 

“Andrew, come and get your revenge before she escapes,” Tobey called, still tickling your armpit. Andrew shot off of the sofa and knelt next to you. He manoeuvred his hands so he was tickling your tummy. You tried to kick your legs as much as possible. 

“GUHUHUYS NOHOHO!” You shrieked as you felt another pair of hands dance around your neck. 

“Oh dear, Y/N, what have you gotten yourself in for?” Tobey teased. He released your arms just so he could stick both his hands in your armpits. You couldn’t protect yourself anywhere else without making the armpit tickling worse so you just had to give in and kick your legs as much as possible. 

“Aww, poor Y/N, far too ticklish for her own good!” Andrew teased. He let one hand tickle your tummy and moved another down to squeeze just above your hips. It was torture. 

Tom’s hands left your neck but you didn’t see him sliding down to the other end of your body. Only when you felt a shoe being removed did you realise you were in trouble.

“TOHOHOHOM NOHOHO!” You cried, trying to kick your left foot out of his grip. He held on tightly and scribbled his fingers all over your socked sole. Your laughs turned to screams as Tobey picked up the pace of tickling your armpits and Andrew ran his fingers up and down your sides. 

“Apologise for torturing Andrew and we’ll stop,” Tobey said. You bellowed out a no. 

“Oh well, more revenge for me I guess,” Andrew lifted up your top and quickly blew a raspberry on your belly. This sent you into a silent laughter. 

“Cootchie cootchie coo Y/N…” Tobey teased, his hands now switching between your neck and your armpits. 

“You are so ticklish - you’re lucky we didn’t know this before or you would have been in real trouble!” Tom teased, his fingers now tickling both your feet simultaneously as he sat on your legs. 

“Imagine, we’d have gotten nothing done on set. Not with someone as ticklish as you walking around,” Andrew cooed. Your laughed dipped in and out of screams and silent laughter as your body fell weak. 

“Sorry to disrupt…whatever this is…but Graham has arrived so this is a 10 minute call,” the assistant said, blushing as she watched the boys torture you. They all stopped and turned to her. 

“Ah, saved by the bell. Thanks for letting us know,” Tom smiled, getting off of your legs. Tobey got off of your waist but you lay there, panting. 

“I think someone may need a touch up on hair and makeup…” Andrew said, gesturing at your messy hair and the mascara tears down your face. You sat up and slapped him but giggled. 

“Come with me Y/N, we’ll get you sorted,” the assistant said kindly. 

“You will all pay for this, you mark my words,” you warned as Tobey gave you a hand up.

“Oh is that so?” Andrew teased, tasering your side once more. “I think you’ll be the one watching your back from now on…” 

You narrowed your eyes at him and smirked before tickling his tummy. He jumped backwards and went to lunge for you but you had already run out of the room, giggling. 

Let’s just say it wasn’t long before the audience discovered that you were ticklish too…

[solntepyok]

Their attraction to you

There are only two characters here: Xenophanes and Lord X. There are two variants for each. I'll see if I can write something similar with the rest of Sonic.exe's Mod characters. But in the meantime, let's keep it that way.

TW: It may contain scenes of violence descriptions. So read with caution. Thank you for your attention.

---

Xenophanes

He gets furious when you try to escape from him. He loves the way you scream, rubbing your tear-red eyes, begging him for mercy as he clutches you by the throat with his long claws. He laughs in a way that chills your soul — you are terrified to look into his eyes. They are bottomless, cold and merciless: you cannot see his soul in them, he has no heart, he has no compassion. He is very cruel to you when you resist him, when you try to escape. He growls menacingly, bares dagger-sharp fangs, tears your skin until it bleeds. His eyes fill with blood and he tosses you aside. You fall backwards — you can't get up again. And he slowly, savoring every second, heads towards you. You must not resist. You must be submissive to his satisfaction. He is your Master and you are merely his plaything, his slave, of which there are several dozen in his domain. But it's you he's attracted to.

He has been interested in you for a long time. Ever since he became aware of you, he has been interested in watching you. No matter how often you turned around, trying to catch someone's insistent gaze, which intuitively kept you on your toes, you still never managed to see him. Because he wouldn't let you see him. You had to play by his rules, because that was his idea. You are his prey, the most beautiful victim that he must have. And he is a clever and ruthless hunter, cornering you, giving you no escape. He knows that you are weaker, that you will not escape: the cowardly hare will sooner or later find itself in the teeth of the cunning fox, ready to tear his captured prey into a thousand pieces.

Lord X

As if you were delirious, you kept repeating the same thing. Time after time, taking a breath, you wanted to fall over and burst into tears like a child. You knew he was somewhere near, very near. He would torture you again, he would hurt you again, and again you would not be able to fight him back. Just because it is impossible. His strength and speed were several thousand times greater than yours, you could feel his strong energy, his endless power. No one is capable of holding back so much hatred, pretense and bloodthirstiness. He was holding himself back by deliberately taunting you. For him it is just another game in which he will undoubtedly emerge victorious, while for you it is another suffering, endless agony. Each time you repeated the same thing as he grabbed you by the throat and opened his mouth. You screamed out loud as a bony hand groped out of his mouth, clutching your face. Horror froze your face, and a single phrase burst out as you exhaled: "I don't want to die!"

In his circles he was truly the Dark Lord. He was the one whose mere name made every living thing hide in the corners. Everyone knew he had no equal in bloodlust, except you. He was as annoying to you as all the fuss about him. "Nothing lasts forever." You thought. And you were wrong. He punished you for your bravery. You've endured everything his victims once endured. You felt an animal fear of him, you knelt before him like the last wretched creature, begging him to spare you, even though you hated that feeling of helplessness. It was as if he was pulling your strings, forcing you to do what he personally wanted. You realised this too late, when it was no longer worthwhile to be a hero. You have learned too much for your determination. Your mind and body are in his hands now — you have become his puppet forever...

[dougdimmadodo]

Giraffe (Giraffa camelopardalis)

Family: Giraffidae (Giraffe Family)

IUCN Conservation Status: Vulnerable 

Reaching an average height of 4.3 to 5.9 meters (14.1 to 19.4ft), the Giraffe is the tallest living land animal - its neck alone can grow to be over 1.8 meters (6ft) in length. Found in scattered populations across Sub-Saharan Africa, it primarily inhabits dry grasslands (although it may also venture into forest in search of food) and feeds on leaves, fruit, seed pods and flowers (showing a particular preference for acacia trees), with its extremely long neck and legs allowing it to reach higher-growing food sources than any other land-dwelling animal, and its thick lips and flexible tongue (which can be up to 50cm long and is prehensile, meaning it can grasp in a similar manner to the tails of some monkeys) being well suited to stripping the more nutritious components of trees off of branches while limiting the risk of injuries from thorns. The great size of this species means that it requires enormous quantities of food to sustain itself and makes it extremely easy for predators (such as lions, leopards and striped hyenas) to spot, and as a solution to both of these problems Giraffes are almost constantly active - they sleep for a total of around 4.6 hours every 24 hours, and never do so for more than around 35 minutes at a time. Giraffes are social animals, living in loosely structured herds that contain both males and females and typically consist of around 10-20 members, although individuals leave and join herds very frequently - it is not unheard of for a Giraffe to spend a period of time living alone, or to join a group with as many as 70 individuals. During periods of heavy rainfall when plants are most abundant females become receptive to mating and males begin to compete for their attention by swinging their necks and slamming their heads into one another, with the bony, horn-like structures on their heads (known as ossicones) helping to increase the damage done by the impact. Victorious males will then attempt to court the female by rubbing their heads against their backs, necks and legs. After a gestation period of around 15 months a single calf is born, and as Giraffes give birth standing up this calf begins its life by falling nearly 2 meters and slamming into the ground. Giraffe calves are already around 1.8 meters (6ft) tall at birth and are born highly developed, able to stand within just 30 minutes and run after around 10 hours.

Image source: https://www.inaturalist.org/taxa/42157-Giraffa-camelopardalis