#at the hands of a significantly weaker character. If you were to bring up his

[archorcist]

most of my verses don't factor in adam's death (with the exception of his sinner verse where he returns as a demon) but if and when they do, his death was at the hands of lucifer!

[satchelfunnies]

Hi here's a sonic fanfic I made. Not really what I usually post but this place allows for huge character limits and I feel like y'all might like this lol, anyways

Sonic stood in front of the broken wreckage of dr.eggman's egg spinner, the evil doctor's latest attempt to defeat sonic. He had turned little planet into an industrial nightmare, but sonic stopped it, he had gotten hold of the time stones, but sonic got a hold of them faster. Even a perfect replica, meant to out class him in speed and intellect couldn't stop him. And as always, the doctor's plans were foiled.

The doctor watched in horror and rage as he machine was reduced to pieces.

"YOU." He screamed at sonic. He attempted to snatch him but the hedgehog zipped away from his grasp.

"you're not taking little planet, eggman." Sonic said "and the time stones don't belong to you."

Eggman tried to grab sonic again but he darted behind him.

Sonic kicked the doctor down onto his stomach. Sighing in relief that both little planet, and the young Amy rose, were in safe hands again.

Suddenly, sonic was knocked off of his feet by a force that felt as fast as a bullet train. He was dazed by the speeding object, but could still see that it was metal Sonic, his robotic doppelganger made by eggman. The doctor got back up on his feet again, laughing.

"You FOOL." The doctor cackled "do you think my perfect creation would go down so easily?! My egg spinner was nothing but a RUSE you simple brained, moronic-" then in a flash of light, eggman was gone.

Sonic began to regain his balance, stunned at the return of his metallic replica.

"That oaf always did nothing but gloat and laugh." Metal Sonic said in a cold and serious tone. "I was made to bring the greatest results and that's what I will provide. Dr eggman was a buffoon but he was right in one assumption. Machines deserve to rule over this planet."

Sonic tried to rush towards metal to grab the time stones, but his clone was faster, instantly grabbing him by the neck and holding him in place.

"I've seen you." Metal continued "I've see your organic faults. You're weaker, slower, and significantly lacking in intelligence. When I'm done with this world little planet will be a paradise. And then I'll move onto the rest of the world. I'll do what that egg shaped fool couldn't, and I'll do it better."

[avengerscompound]

Small Gods: Spring Thaw - 2

Spring Thaw:  A Bucky Barnes Fanfic

Spring Thaw Masterlist | More Small Gods PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count:  2046

Warnings: nothing this chapter.

Synopsis: Bucky Barnes hates winter.  He always looks for the first signs of the ice thawing and new life growing.  When that desire for the end of winter brings to him the god of the spring thaw, he discovers a brand new reason to get through winter.

Chapter 2

Bucky arrived at the movies twenty minutes before he had arranged to meet you and then proceeded to mentally curse himself out the entire time because of how eager it made him look.  He was just considering leaving and coming back again so he could maybe come off as fashionably late when you appeared behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

He jumped and spun around, instantly going into fight mode, and when he saw your slightly bemused expression, he instantly relaxed.  You were wearing another warm winter coat that looked impossibly spring-like.  This one was sky blue with daisies printed on it as if they were polka dots.  Your hat, scarf, and gloves were in a darker shade of blue, and on the side of your beanie was a crochet daisy that matched the ones on your coat.  “Hey, you’re early,” he said.

“So are you,” you said.

Bucky smiled sheepishly and ran his hand through the back of his hair.  “Yeah.  It’s been a while and I didn’t want to be late.”  He held out a bouquet of different colored tulips for you.  “I got you these.”

“Oh my,” you said, taking them and inhaling deeply.  “These are so out of season.  They must have cost a fortune.”

Bucky shrugged.  The bouquet did cost significantly more money than when he’d last bought a girl flowers, but as that was in 1943, he didn’t think it was fair to compare.  “It wasn’t so bad.  And I knew you’d like them.”

You leaned up and kissed his cheek.  Another first for this new life he had.  It felt like a static shock and he flinched a little, and then hoped to god you didn’t notice because he wanted there to be more of that.  He wanted that kind of physical affection that had been withheld for so long.  “I love them,” you said.  “Thank you.”

Bucky turned back toward the cinema and then debated what his next move should be.  He had the tickets.  Did he offer you his arm or just start walking?  There were so many new rules about dating and he realized he didn’t know any of them.  Did you hold doors and pull out chairs anymore?  Who paid for things?

While he was thinking, you slipped your hand into his and pulled him toward the cinema.  “Come on, slowpoke,” you said.

The warmth from your skin seemed to radiate out from you so that he could feel it through both his and your gloves.

“Do we need to buy tickets?”  You asked when you entered the building.

“I’ve got them,” he said.

You took off your gloves and shoved them in your coat and looked up at him.  “Then let me buy the candy.”

“Now that hardly seems fair,” Bucky said.  “The tickets were cheap.  You’ll have to mortgage your house for candy.”

You snorted.  It was an adorable sound but you quickly covered your face in embarrassment.  “Oh my god,” you mumbled.

Bucky laughed and rubbed your arm.  “That was cute, don’t worry.”

You shook your head.  “I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that,” you said.  “So now I’m gonna buy candy so I can pretend it never happened.”

He chuckled and followed you to the counter as you bought popcorn, jolly ranchers, and a couple of sodas before the two of you headed into the theater.  It was strange how familiar it felt to be on a movie date.  Like muscle memory.  He sat down in the assigned seat and you put your coat on your lap with the popcorn sitting in his.  There was the awkward start where you aren’t sure if you should be touching or not - not that there was much choice in such a confined space.  There was an accidental hand touch when both of you went for popcorn at the same time.  Then you snuggled into him during the sappy parts and even though having you pressed against him felt alien to him.  It felt familiar and comfortable and he put his arm around your shoulders and held you in a casual way he hadn’t done to anyone since before he was sent off to war.

It was dark when you both came out of the theater with your arm tucked in the crook of his.  “Do you want to get a bite to eat?”  He asked.

“I would love it.  Just something simple though,” you said.

He nodded and the two of you began walking down the street together.  “Thank you for this, Bucky,” you said as the two of you walked along.  “I never do this.”

“I’m pretty out of practice too,” Bucky admitted.

“Why is that?”  You asked.  “You seem like a natural.  Not to mention - you’re very handsome.”

Bucky looked at you, once again not sure if you were being completely honest with him or not.  Not just about not recognizing him, but about any of it really.  Questioning his reality had become second nature.  He was used to being lied to and used.  He was used to things being taken from him.  “You really don’t know who I am?”  He asked.

You stopped walking, a little startled, and looked him up and down.  “I don’t meet too many people, I know we haven’t met.”

“No,” Bucky said, shaking his head.  “I’m the winter soldier?”

“Winter…?”  You said, furrowing your brow.  “You control winter?”

Bucky laughed.  “No.  What?”

“Oh,” you said, relaxing a little.  “I don’t know what you're talking about.”

“Captain America’s friend?”  He asked, only to be met with the same look of confusion.  “The Avengers?”

“I’m so sorry,” you said.  “I don’t keep up with current popular culture.”

“You don’t know about the people disappearing and then the fight and them showing up five years later?”  Bucky asked.

“I mean… I know they all went away and came back, but I wasn’t…” you trailed off.

“Captain America?  Iron Man?  Thor?”

Finally, a glimmer of recognition reached your eyes and you smiled.  “You know Thor?”

“I mean, a little.  He’s a nice guy,” Bucky said.

“I know,” you said.  “He’s really funny.  Likes to fight a lot though.”

“Wait…” Bucky said.  “Do you know Thor?  Like you’ve met him?”

“Yes!  I’ve met him.  It was a long, long time ago,” you said, nodding enthusiastically.  “Are the gods… are we showing ourselves again?”

Bucky blinked at you.  “What do you mean ‘we’?”

You looked around and took his hand tugging him along.  “We should go somewhere to talk.”

He walked with you until you found a diner and the two of you ducked inside and slipped into a booth by the window.  You put your coat with your flowers beside you on the seat and neither of you said anything until the orders had been placed.

“It was easier back before,” you said as you began to play with the little tubs of half-and-half on the table.

“What was?”  Bucky asked.  “I don’t know what’s going on right now?”

“I’m a god, Bucky,” you said.

Bucky laughed.  He wasn’t even sure why because he knew a god.  He knew and had experienced far stranger things than gods.  But here, sitting in a diner with you, the thought just struck him as absurd.  “What?”

“Back before, when people were primitive and didn’t understand how things worked, we just walked with the mortals,” you said, answering a question he never asked as you looked out the window.  You turned your attention back to him and lay your palms flat on the table.  “I don’t know how to start the story.”

Bucky shook his head.  “The beginning?”

“That goes back to before I even was,” you said.  “And I don’t have all the story.  From what I understand, when the universe was born, the worlds were formed from a central point where all matter was one.  And then it exploded out in a mess of matter and energy.  Some of that energy you and I would call magic.  Some words, like Asgard and Olympus, were drenched in it…”

“Woah, hold up,” Bucky said.  “Olympus is real?”

“You’ve met Thor but you doubt the existence of the Greek Gods?”  You asked with your eyebrow raised.

“Right, okay,” Bucky said.  “Go on.”

“The magic on Earth is weaker and so the gods here are also weaker.  We came to be when people pray for us, even if that’s just a muttered hope, like “oh god let me pass this test,” you explained.

“So you’re telling me that there might be a god for the red light changing?”  Bucky asked.

You nodded.  “Oh yeah, they’re doing quite well for themselves.”

“That's…”  Bucky said and shook his head as he tried to absorb it.  “Not the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard,” he settled on.  “So what are you?”

“The spring thaw,” you said.

“What?  Like Persephone?”  Bucky asked.

“Well, no,” you said.  “For starters, she lives on Olympus and she’s way more powerful than I am.  And she covers all over Spring.  I’m just the part where the ice melts.  I was way stronger back before industrial farming.  People prayed to see the ice receding.  Now, it still happens but not with as much need.  Oh and also, when Persephone isn’t doing her thing, she has somewhere she goes.”

“What?  What does that mean?”  Bucky asked.  “Where do you go?”

You shrug. “I’m just not.”

“Not what?”

“Not anything,” you said.  “I’m here when people start wishing for the end of winter, and I’m gone when they stop.”

Bucky furrowed his brow and nodded.  “Would you believe me if I said I know how that feels?”

“Really?”  You asked.  “How?”

The waiter came over and placed their orders in front of them.  Bucky took a drink of his black coffee and wished it was something a little harder.  Not that alcohol would actually do anything.  “I guess I better start from the beginning too.”

As the two of you ate your meals, Bucky unloaded everything.  From when he was born, to going to war, to being captured by HYDRA and experimented on, not just once but twice.  About how they brainwashed him and had him commit unspeakable acts, and when they weren’t getting him to do these heinous things, they would freeze him, so that every time he woke he had no idea who he was or where he was or even what year it was.  How he’d broken out of it and had to adjust to life on the run 60 years after the last time he had control of his body.  How that had ended up going to shit and he’d opted to go on ice again because even that was better than living with what he had in his head.  How they managed to get HYDRA out and he was just settling into life again when Thanos happened and he’d just stopped existing.

The food was gone by the time he was done with the story and he was on his third cup of coffee.  He’d worry about staying up, but the caffeine would pass out of his system soon enough and besides, he didn’t sleep that great anyway.

You had listened intently, never interrupting, but the expression on your face told him how horrified and sad the story made you.  “... and then the Avengers stopped being a thing and I tried to cancel out some of my bad with a friend and then I moved here.”

You reached over and took his hand.  “I’m so sorry all that happened to you,” you said earnestly.  “And I can see why we were drawn to each other.”

“Why is that?”  Bucky asked.

“I bet you aren’t a big fan of the cold, huh?”  You asked.

He smiled and shook his head.  “No, you could say that.”

“Were you hoping for some sign of the thaw?”  You asked.  He smiled and nodded.  “And there I was.  I probably felt it too.”

“I’m glad you did,” he said.

“I’d like to see you again,” you said.  “Would that be alright?”

“How will that work if you’re only going to be here for such a short time?”  Bucky asked.

“Well,” you said thoughtfully. “I guess we’ll have to enjoy the brief time we have?”

// NEXT

[sketchguk]

a world alone; myg

➳ pairing: vampire!yoongi, street racer!yoongi x reader

➳ genre: modern vampire AU, street racer AU, bad boy AU, fwb AU, smut, fluff, angst

➳ wc: 11.3k

➳ synopsis: the rest of the world will pay no mind to yoongi’s gentle soul. they’ll take one look at his etched skin, bruised knuckles, and gnarly scar and write him off as the bad guy regardless of the faded heart he wears on his sleeve. they think they know everything about your best friend, yet they’ll never know about his bloodlust and his need for speed.

➳ warnings: explicit language, mentions of drug and alcohol consumption, heavy petting, blood sucking, menstrual blood, oral (f receiving), handjobs, fingering, unprotected sex.

➳ a/n: this is dedicated to my delightful destinee, @yourdelights​ 🥺💖 i was heavily inspired by Lorde’s music, and I’m dying for her comeback!! yoongi’s character was also based on jess’ character from gilmore girls (shout-out to vic for reigniting my love for that show @minsprings​ !!)

Your parents always warn you about hanging out with the wrong crowd. They’re under the false impression that anyone who surfs the internet for “fun” and recreationally smokes weed in their parents’ basement — two crimes worthy of capital punishment — is inherently the offspring of Satan.

It’s quite melodramatic to say the least, but they don’t even know the half of it.

Sure, you understand the consequences of drinking fireballs until your throat is raw and getting plastered beyond recognition. You can also see why it’d be a bad idea to stick and poke needles into one another’s arms or to have unprotected sex. It’s inevitably a part of suburban culture when there’s nothing else to do in this deadbeat town besides pray to a God who doesn’t even care to listen.

But if they think their advice is going to stop you from being a quote unquote deadbeat, they’re gravely mistaken.  

There’s no harm in a little bit of indulgence, right? Because if there’s one thing you can’t wrap your head around, it’s reasons to stay away from Min Yoongi.

They claim that the infamous bad boy is “nothing but trouble,” but to you, there’s absolutely nothing dangerous about his warm eyes and gentle hands. He may be a little wild and fluorescent in the dark, but under the moonlight, the way he wraps you around in his ink spattered arms makes you feel safer than no other. Although Yoongi is anything but perfect, you can easily acknowledge that.

Yoongi has his flaws. A million and one bad habits to kick. He has tired eyes, no doubt from his unhealthy lack of sleep. His caffeine addiction keeps him up at night, yet you can’t help but spur it every time you secretly drop by his place with an americano in hand. Not only is his hot breath laced with coffee beans, but on occasion, it’s unmistakably mingled with some potent nicotine. To be quite honest, the taste isn’t as bad as your parents describe it to be. You’ve been trying to wean him off of it though, and it’s been working for the most part.

Rather, in place of smoking a pack a week, Yoongi subconsciously bites his nails. Even though chewing off his cuticles isn’t a healthy substitute either, it’s certainly better than killing his lungs and filling it with smoke. You can also admit to biting your own nails out of fear or anxiety sometimes, but ever since you started to hang around the older boy, the habit has diminished significantly. Nowadays, your mouth is fixated on other things your mother wouldn’t be proud to hear about.

In the hazy, quiet of the night, when the rest of the world is fast asleep, you situate yourself on top of Yoongi’s lap, straddling him on either side of his thigh just like clockwork. The novel you were once reading is long forgotten from your dainty hands, too busy carding it through his dark locks and pulling at his roots. Your mouths are preoccupied with one another as he’s the one to bite your lip, and you’re the one to bite your tongue, holding back secrets he’s not ready to hear.

With parted lips and clashing teeth, Yoongi rolls his tongue around yours. In a fight for dominance, you’d gladly submit to him any day. A gasp falls between your teeth and a shiver runs down your spine as he trails his cold hands down your sides, rubbing circles into your exposed hip bones with his calloused thumbs, never daring to dip further south without your permission.

He peppers kisses down the column of your throat with his swollen lips, sucking bruises into the tender skin. Yoongi focuses his attention at the base of your neck, lapping at the pretty love bites adorning your clavicle. You brace yourself for what’s to come by squeezing at his broad shoulders. Growing restless, you begin to bounce on his lap, begging for him to use you at his disposal.

The faint glow of the overhead lamp illuminates his profile, his honey skin glistening in the low light. Your heavy lidded eyes wills itself to open up, meeting your sight with the man beneath you. While your eyes darken with lust, a clouded vision of Yoongi overcomes you ー his pupils shining with an otherworldly brilliance, a golden glare so intense that you fall prey to him every night.

Your sultry eyes are pleading for him to sink his teeth into your flesh, and who is Yoongi to deny you of all the finer things in life? He caresses your waist with a soft touch, gently squeezing at your sides as if he’s too afraid to let go, but Yoongi is vastly acute of all your reactions. So with the nod of your head and a whisper of affirmation, you confess that you want this ー him ー more than anything in the world.

Yoongi runs his tongue over the most sensitive parts of your neck, sucking on the prominent vein at the juncture of your shoulder. He slows down to massage his teeth into your skin, biting gently before piercing your jugular with his canine fangs. All the blood in your body rushes through your vessels, satiating Yoongi’s bloodlust thirst. You’re at a loss of breath, panting heavily as you overheat under the scope of his fiery glare and the electrifying graze of his extremities.

In any other lifetime, you would revolt at the sight of blood and its metallic taste, yet in this time and space, you would allow your best friend to do anything he pleases ー even if his greatest wish is to suck the life out of you. To Yoongi, your viscous blood is sickly sweet and beyond addicting. He doesn’t have a clue as to why he’d ever pick up another cigarette when you’re the only addiction he needs.

As the life drains out of you, one drop of blood at a time, you can feel yourself grow weaker in Yoongi’s arms. You fall limp, becoming a victim to his voracious fervor. But Yoongi understands your limits, being so in tune to your body, and he’s sure to stop before you descend into a comatose.

Your lungs are starting to cave inside of you as heavy sighs escape from your parted lips. Weakly tugging on the strands of Yoongi’s hair, you warn him of the dangerous territory he’s about to enter.

Yoongi suckles at your punctured skin, running his tongue over the point of contact before retracting his fangs and sealing the wound he had gouged with a kiss. He wipes his mouth clean of any residue with the back of his hand, whispering a thank you into the shell of your ear.

You nod your head and wrap your arms around Yoongi’s neck to catch your breath, barely even conscious of his soft coos and gentle caresses. Your head is spinning on an axis, but you allow yourself to fall deeper into Yoongi’s arms, fully knowing that he’s always going to be the one to catch you no matter what.

His sweet nothings reverberate around your skull ー a deep voice echoing like a polyphony, lulling you into your rapture. He brushes your hair back behind your head, and before you know it, your cheek is nuzzling into the cotton of the pillows as he lowers your body onto the firm mattress.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep for, but Yoongi’s delicate voice and quiet hushes bring you back to earth. You can feel his slightly chapped lips planting a kiss at the top of your temple and the soft tickle of his fingers tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Yoongi calls you by your name, fanning his breath over your plush cheeks until you stir back into reality. In your groggy state, your eyes unwillingly blink open, and although your vision is blurry, the sight of Yoongi and his precious smile is clear as day.

He helps you to sit up before passing you a glass of your favorite concoction. While you’re still stuck in a daze, your face instantly lights up at the sight of the tiny cocktail umbrella sitting at the rim of your cup.

“Small umbrellas bring big smiles,” he offers, “Drink up.”

It’s cheesy as hell, but you throw your head back to take a sip, making it all the more difficult for yourself when you can’t erase the larger than life smile from your lips. You’re instantly hit with the earthy taste of greens as there’s a mixture of kale, cucumber, and celery, but most importantly, Yoongi is sure to throw in a generous amount of spinach to replenish the iron that you’ve lost from his feasting. Even though most people would rather die than drink a blend of vegetables, you’re no stranger to Yoongi's Midas touch in the kitchen. He’s an expert when it comes to food, always going above and beyond without even trying. You can’t even fathom how a carnivore like him has gone as far as creating the perfect vegetarian steak as per your request – mentioned jokingly in passing, of course.

“You hungry?” He inquires.

You shake your head no, but he’s all ready to step back into the kitchen to prepare you a meal from the sparse ingredients in his low-humming fridge.

“Just want you beside me,” you pout, reaching for his hand, encouraging him to climb underneath the covers with you.

Yoongi gives into your wishes, interlacing his fingers with yours like it’s second nature. You lower your drink onto the stack of books designed to be a makeshift nightstand as he reaches for your paperback copy of Metamorphoses, lying precariously at the edge of the mattress. He settles beside you as you comfortably situate yourself across the bed, laying your head onto his lap and scrunching up into a fetal position.

Too wrapped up in your own world, you don’t seem to notice the presence of Yoongi’s ginger moggie until he’s curled up beside you, nudging at your bare arm, begging to be pet. You give into the scraggy feline, keeping busy, while Yoongi turns to your marked, dog ear page, finishing up Book IV with the story of Perseus and Andromeda.

Ideally, this is exactly how you want to spend the entirety of your Sundays. Although this is how your night always ends, it doesn’t always start off this way. Typically, you’re hanging around his apartment alone, pacing the age-old floorboards, biting your nails and waiting for Yoongi to arrive home safely from his lucrative hustle. You’d even chat it out with Yoongi’s kitten to keep your sanity intact, only to receive a hollow meow in return. Meanwhile, Yoongi spends his Sunday evenings doing all the things your parents warn you not to do. All in good faith, Yoongi earns some quick and dirty cash by participating in the underground street race scene. For you, it’s never been about the money, but more about his safety and wellbeing. And every week, with a few scratches in sight and give or take a couple of bruised knuckles, Yoongi returns home with a pocket full of cash like a double edged scheme. Regardless, you know for a fact that he does whatever he wants purely for his own happiness. It’s all for the cheap thrills, and if this is what he wants to do, who are you to stop him from doing so?

Yoongi rests his hand on top of yours to keep you safe when in reality, shouldn’t you be the one to do that to him? He’s reading the story out loud to you, and you’d probably never acknowledge this fact in the open, but in the repressed part of your subconscious, you’re more drawn to the deep lull of Yoongi’s voice than the enchanting story itself. The words go in through one ear, and out the other, but it’s not important because you’ve read this story at least a dozen times before. Instead, your attention is directed towards Yoongi and the subtle purse of his lips. Your eyes are fixated on the gentle slope of his rounded nose and the faint beauty mark that’s slightly off center.

It’s also hard to ignore the scar that cuts through the middle of his right eye. You don’t mean to stare, but it’s hard to believe that everyone perceives Yoongi as the tough guy because to you, he’s just… Yoongi.

Your Yoongi.

He’s the same guy who would save a stray kitten from the side of the road, befriending it and accepting it into his run down home despite the nasty claw mark that’s embedded into his face. And although Yoongi doesn’t have much to offer financially, he’d still give it his all to take care of the scruffy kitten. Per your informally formal one-woman petition, you’ve requested that Yoongi deem the domestic long-haired cat as San, and ever since then, he’s been inseparable with the little critter. It’s quite endearing to watch this man and his little bundle of sunshine cuddle like it’s nobody’s business or slow dance around the apartment with a cat in his arms in spite of his two left feet.

However, it’s upsetting how the rest of the world will never see the delicate side of your best friend in the same way you see him. Even now, as you lie in bed with him, fiddling with his pretty hands, you can never not think about how they fit perfectly between the spaces of your fingers, comforting you like no other man in your life could. You can’t even look at them without imagining how elegant they are when they’re dancing across the rusty and slightly out of tune grand piano in the corner of the room.

Even if his arms are inked in tattoos, the rest of the world will pay no mind to his gentle soul. They’ll take one look at Yoongi’s etched skin and write him off as the bad guy regardless of the faded heart that he wears on his sleeve.

“Remind me again why you like this stuff?” Yoongi wonders, placing the paperback face down on the bed. Your lack of attention causes him to call your name repeatedly until he finally resorts to poking at your sides.

“HUH?” You yelp, breaking out of your reverie, not fully comprehending anything he’s said in the last five minutes or so.

“Ovid.”

You lift yourself in an upright position, rolling your eyes at his blissful ignorance and lack of taste for Greco-Roman literature. “This is a relic of antiquity, and Ovid pretty much lays the groundwork for Shakespeare, bro. Pay some respect to his name.”

Yoongi breaks out in a smile at your term of endearment but shakes his head in utter disagreement. “You know I’m not a fan of Shakespeare,” he almost gags at the sound of his name. “I’ll admit that the dude has a way with words, and I applaud him for keeping up with the meter, but it’s just not my style.” Yoongi’s nose scrunches up in distaste, his eyes squinting shut.

“We literally wouldn’t have some of the greatest works known to humankind if Ovid didn’t exist.” Your arms run wild, waving in the air as if your points will come across stronger because of how manic you are. Perhaps you’re being a little too dramatic, but in your defense, Ovid is an absolute legend. “I mean think about it, we have The Tempest, Pygmalionー”

“Rousseau’s Pygmalion or Shaw’s Pygmalion?”

“To each one’s own, but you have to know that I’d pick Rousseau any day,” you shrug.

“Yeah, Shaw didn’t have that philosophical flavor, you know,” he chuckles. “I guess you have a point. Let’s not forget A Midsummer Night’s Dream though, a classic.”

An ear to ear grin spreads across your lips at the mention of one of your favorite works. You know that Yoongi is bringing it up for your sake more than his because of his strong hatred towards the brilliance that is Shakespeare. And you know for a fact that he likes A Midsummer Night’s Dream, but he’d never outrightly dare to admit how much he enjoys your book recommendations ー especially if they involve Shakespeare.

“I’m glad you see the error of your ways,” you smile smugly. “Besides, back to the point, Dickens was inspired by Ovid, and Oliver Twist is still your favorite novel.”

Yoongi clicks his tongue, completely defeated by your argument. “Hey! That’s not fair now. It’s basically a social commentary about my life. C’mon, you’re gonna pull that card on me now?”

“Exactly, so you’re not giving him enough credit,” you plead with a pout. “We read this when we were in high school, but I think you’d really enjoy it if you gave it another shot.”

Yoongi bites his lips and picks up the book once again in hesitation, observing it from cover to cover. He plays with the myriad of pink post-it notes that protrude from the worn edges, flipping through the pages and thumbing through all of your annotations.

“Fine,” he grumbles, placing the book back onto his bed. “I’ll give it another try, and I’ll have a full, in-depth review ready for you by this weekend but... you have to come to my race on Sunday.”

“Are you serious?” You ponder over his proposition.

“Yep, that’s the deal.”

Although you’re still skeptical about Yoongi’s side hustle, you’d still support him no matter what (even if it’s in stubborn petulance). Shrugging your shoulders and saying “what the hell,” you give in to his proposal.

Yoongi flashes you his infamous gummy smile, and a warm, fuzzy feeling blooms in the center of your chest. Call it what you want ー elation, glee, fondness, tenderness, something entirely nuanced, or perhaps something above and beyond all of that. Regardless, it’s easy to shrug it off when the feeling comes and goes every so often.

And shrugging it off is what you do best.

Nevertheless, Yoongi’s willingness to appease you causes you to squeal and ramble on about how excited you are for his commentary. Your mouth is too busy running while Yoongi stumbles across his tiny studio, slipping on his shoes and shrugging on his army green utility jacket. He reaches for your outerwear and your white high tops while listening intently to your excitement about the activities you have planned for this Saturday. He hums in affirmation as he slides his hoodie over your raised arms and tugs the black material over your torso, getting you ready to sneak back into your parents’ home.

“Mmm,” he murmurs with a smile plastered on his lips, “Can’t wait, babe.” He tries to conceal his joy as he ducks his head down, sliding your Converse past your ankles and tying the shoelaces up for you.

With your grasp in his one hand and his car keys in the other, he ushers you out of his apartment and into his run-down 1986 Grandeur Azera. The neon green digital clock on his car radio taunts him, blinking every few seconds to count down the limited time he has left with you before kissing your cheek goodnight, or rather good morning, and sending you off to the sheltered life kept under wraps by your overprotective parents.

Yoongi tries not to think too much about the impermanence of the greatest things in his life as the slow burn of sunrise peeks over the horizon. Rather, he’s focused on how the car ride is filled with some of his favorite sounds ー the low hum of old school hip hop playing through his vintage radio and the ring of your laughter resounding over his stupid jokes.

The weekend rolls around quicker than you expect it to.

Days in the cul-de-sac are abnormally slow, especially when you’re in the midst of June. With each passing day, sunlight drags on a little longer because of the impending summer solstice. From the confinements of your window, it seems like all you ever do lately is watch the golden sun rise and set over the lake.

On occasions, your eyes are drawn to the far distance where there are freight trains that chug across the railroad at the crack of dawn. You can’t help but think about the places they’ll go and the things they’ll see in cities outside of your own.

In all honesty, you should probably do something more productive with your days. While everyone you know is complaining about work or studying for a degree they won’t ever use, you’re too busy studying the floor. And although daydreaming about the bright lights and city sounds is a way to kill the time, you’d much rather do it with Yoongi at your side.

Each second that you spend with him is more precious than the last. It’s hard to contain your excitement over the little things like movie nights at the drive in with him because it’s pretty much the highlight of your entire week, hence why you drop by his workplace extra early today – a whole hour before his shift ends.

Your presence is made known to the entire auto shop when the shout of your name is amplified throughout the garage. Of course, you catch Jimin and Taehyung dallying around before they even take notice of you standing in the doorway. They race over to engulf you in a hug, nearly knocking the wind out of you.

“Working hard or hardly working?” You giggle at the two boys.

Jimin lies through his teeth, as expected of him. “Working hard, of course.”

He grabs the mysterious, white paper box from your hands, curious as to what’s inside.

“Cupcakes? For me?” Taehyung asks with innocence in his eyes. He doesn’t even have to wait for your response because the two boys are already ravaging away at the sweet delectables.

Surely you had the boys in mind having stepped foot into the antique bakery shop earlier that day, hence the extras. But earnestly, out of the kindness of your heart, your primary goal is to surprise Yoongi with his favorite red velvet cupcakes. At the same time, you wouldn’t deny its leverage as a way to sway him and his opinions on the awe-inspiring Ovid.

“Don’t eat them all at once, okay?” You warn the boys before wandering off to find Yoongi.

You first expect him to be in his office, doing paperwork of some sort, so you make a beeline towards the backroom. However, there’s nothing in sight of his office beside his cold coffee perched at the edge of his desk. There are also scraps of yellow notepad paper with lyrics sprawled across the pages and a framed photo of the two of you. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, but it’s still not what you’re quite looking for.

You make your way out of Yoongi’s office and down the hall, continuing your search for him. You come to a halt when your ears perk up at the sound of a kick drum and a bass guitar laying down the beats to an iconic Nas song. The faint sound of music slowly crescendos as you lead yourself to the source.

It should be no surprise to you that Yoongi is hot rodding his car and making last minute improvements for tomorrow’s race. Yet again, you find him with his head between the hood, either replacing the worn out brake pads or the loose fan belt (in which he’s shown you how to do a dozen times before).

Yoongi’s reactions might be a little slow for being a vampire considering he hasn’t acknowledged your presence just yet. Sometimes he’s a little short of hearing, especially when his radio is a tad too loud.

The only reason he turns around from the car is because his right hand man has gone unusually silent. Yoongi doesn’t even know how long it's been since you dismissed Namjoon, telling him that you’ve got it covered. Nevertheless, he’s grateful because he can indulge in endless discourse about Metamorphoses, his new favorite anthology, rather than botany which Namjoon never shuts up about.

Being so lost in conversation about literature, and with the cupcakes long forgotten, the two of you hardly even notice the time that’s gone by.

“Boss, we’re gonna clock out,” Namjoon interrupts the two of you.

“Clock out? Oh shit, what time is it?” A quarter to six.

“We’re gonna be late,” you worry.

Yoongi digs his hand into the pocket of his navy coveralls, dishing out a set of keys. He hands them over to Namjoon before coming to his senses, thereby chucking it to Jimin who is arguably more responsible.

“Don’t fuck up,” Yoongi warns them, albeit without any menace in his tone.

Yoongi tugs off his coveralls before grabbing your hand and heading towards his car, listening to the boys wolf whistle from behind him. He shrugs it off, but the smug grin he bites back says otherwise.

He opens the passenger door for you, allowing you to settle in first. Then he does a half run, half walk around the hood. Putting the car in reverse, Yoongi rests his hand behind your seat and throws his head over his shoulder. He drapes his wrist over the steering wheel and zips off into the quiet roads where you can both talk nonsensically as if there’s something to say.

Saturday evenings always start this way.

With two souls as hollow as the bottles you drain and a brown, paper bag full of snacks from the dingy 7-Eleven down the block, you and Yoongi would recline your seats far enough to comfortably watch the movie on the big projection screen.

This must be your week because not only does Yoongi confess his new found love for Greco-Roman literature, but he’s also willing to brave through a romantic melodrama with you ー A Walk to Remember, no less.

Yoongi takes a lot of pride in never having to cry, but this time around, he doesn’t hide the stray tear that rolls down his face. The crying quickly subsides, but still, he gladly accepts the tissue you offer him with no denial in his eyes.

While the end credits roll and everyone has a chance to exit out of the car park, Yoongi would feed you the remaining gummy worms until the bag empties out. Meanwhile, you’d feed him the rest of the chocolate you’d rather not eat. The two of you would also take the time to digest the movie ー tonight’s topic of discussion revolving around the fact that Jamie and Landon deserved better.

But once the coast is clear, your mouth always finds its way to his. And somehow, the two of you always end up undressed ー or at least with your pants pulled down to your ankles. Usually, it’s the both of you, but sometimes it’s one or the other. This time around, it’s just you.

Yoongi always knows how to take care of you, but there’s something telling you that tonight isn’t necessarily your night ー the need for an orgasm being his first priority but a second one for you.

“I wanna make you happy,” he pleads. A double entendre you fail to notice.

But no matter how blissful his lips feel against your cunt, you’re still hyper aware of how bloodthirsty he is at this moment.

He doesn’t even try to hide his enthusiasm as he laps his tongue around your entrance, licking up the residue you’ve pooled from your time of the month. His hunger is insatiable, and it’s evident from the way he puckers his lips around your clit, sucking on the tiny bundle of nerves.

His tongue delves between your folds, playing with your juices, and it’s absolutely intoxicating. Yoongi’s overgrown bangs are parted when your hands find their way to his hair. His line of sight no longer obstructed by his dark, gelled locks. Your breath hitches in your throat when Yoongi looks up at you ー his irises gleaming with gold.

A glob of spit forces its way down your dry throat as you try to overcome this heady feeling. Typically, you’re a woman of many words, but Yoongi obliterates every thought in your head with just a single swipe of his tongue against your heat. A string of curses warble from your throat as he’s relentless in his endeavor, pushing his tongue in and out of your walls, massaging the tender flesh until it's raw.

Your jaw falls slack as your mouth parts open to release a sigh. “Ngh, pl- please, Yoongi,” you stutter out.

“Mmm?” He hums against your folds, sending shivers up your spine.

Your thighs quiver as you fight the need to clamp your legs around Yoongi’s head, but he’s quick to spread them, wedging his tongue further into your tight hole. It’s slick with your arousal, and the squelch of your juices is amplified further with the intensity of Yoongi’s ravage.

You can feel yourself getting closer to your impending high as your walls clench tighter, but you take it like the good girl everyone knows you are. You’re overcome with desperation as your hips cant upwards, rutting yourself against his mouth. Yoongi flicks his tongue over your clit to coax you to your climax, stimulating the nub until whimpers escape from your pretty lips.

It feels as if you’ve lost all of your senses as you reach the edge of your release, pleasure rippling throughout your body. You can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut, and you swear that you can see all of the stars in the night sky. Your chest heaves in an attempt to catch your breath, and your heart races as you descend from your high.

But as always, Yoongi is right there to catch you.

He licks his lips clean to collect every last drop of your sweet nectar. He presses a chaste kiss against your overly-sensitive clit before repositioning your underwear back into place. Then, he peppers kisses up your body and burrows his head into your neck, whispering sweet nothings against the column of your throat, revelling in the afterglow. Once your heavy breathing slows down and your heartbeat plateaus, Yoongi looks up at you with the pretty brown eyes you know and love. And although you’ve recovered from your high, your pussy no longer pulsating, the warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest never dissipates.

Yoongi brushes his lips against yours before kissing you with fervor, saying all that needs to be said. Your mouths are having the unspoken conversation you’re too afraid to have when you’re both tongue-tied and trapped outside of your own mind. Whenever his lips meet yours, it feels as if the rest of the world is falling away at your feet. It’s comforting in a way that his words will never be.

But that’s okay because it’s precisely how you and Yoongi work.

He’ll hold you tight and kiss you goodnight, but you’ll just have to settle for that because the innermost part of your brain would rather wonder forever than know the disappointing truth about where you two stand.

You’re not quite sure why you haven’t been kicked out of the car park yet, but to be frank, you don’t really care and certainly neither does the security.

Yoongi is the first to break the comfortable silence. “You still coming to my race tomorrow?” His nose nudges against your cheek, and he lays a chaste kiss on your supple skin.

Your mouth presses together in a straight line as you contemplate your options. You’ve always been a little skeptical of his illegal pastimes granted that you’ve been raised to reprimand such activities all your life. But knowing Yoongi, you’d trust him with your heart and soul in his hands, and thus, you nod your head in agreement.

“Yeah, I’ll still come,” you shrug, humming in a low voice.

The two of you remain quiet in the backseat of his car, wrapped in the safety of one another’s arms, listening to the soothing melody that plays on the radio. Mindlessly, you trace the pretty ink on Yoongi’s forearms, running your finger over the ornamental designs.

“Is this new?” Your movements come to a halt upon spotting a piece of ink you’ve never noticed before.

Jamais seule written in a simple, fine line ink.

“Huh?” He asks, looking down at his wrist. “Oh yeah, Jeongguk did a custom for me earlier this week.”

In an attempt to hide your smile, you nestle your head into the crevice of his neck.

“What’re you smiling for?” A grin creeps onto his lips, but Yoongi doesn’t even need to ask because he knows better than anyone.

It’s just another reason to add to the list as to why there’s nobody in this world you’d rather be with than your best friend. At the thought of the tattoo, memories begin to flood your mind:

“Conjugate the verb parler in the imperfect tense.”

Yoongi refuses to answer the question. “Are you as hungry as I am?”

“Uhm, no? Yoongi, can you justー”

“My coffee’s getting cold. Do you want another cup?” Yet another excuse.

Your mouth opens up to refute, but he’s already on his feet, heading towards the coffee station at the corner of the cafe. Your hands cup around the mug that he’s left on the table, and you’re not surprised that the ceramic is relatively warm against your palms.

After spending the last hour studying for tomorrow’s French exam, you would have thought you’d make a breakthrough with Yoongi. But time and time again, he refuses to cooperate with you.

You don’t even know why he bothers returning to his seat when he doesn’t even care to study.

You let out a huff in another attempt to get him to learn. “Okay, let’s try this one more time. Can you conjugate the verb parler in the imperfect tense?”

“The coffee here is good, no?” Yoongi takes a sip from his mug once again, observing the hot liquid slosh around. The only thing he’s committed to is tiptoeing around his responsibilities (as well as his feelings, but that’s a whole other conversation).

“Look, I’m trying to help you study. If you don’t want me here, I’ll go. But if you want me to stay, then can you please focus and pay attention?” To no avail, Yoongi doesn’t respond.

“… Do you understand me?”

He doesn’t understand you. In fact, he’s on his phone, texting away and paying no mind to what you have to say.

“Bro, are you even listening to me?” You enunciate again with a scowl on your lips. Your jaw tightens as you pull out your own phone, angrily typing away at the keyboard.

You (1m ago): Yoongi, I want to help you study, so if you don’t want me here, I’ll go. But if you want me to stay, then can you focus and pay attention?? Please?? Do you understand me??

Yoongi (now): 🥺

Yoongi pouts and looks up from his device with sadness in his eyes. “I understand,” he mumbles under his breath. He finally puts his phone into the pocket of his hoodie and opens up his textbook, taking one step in the right direction.

You can’t say you didn’t try unlike all of your high school teachers. They’ve practically given up on the boy, seeing that he hasn’t shown up to class as he should. And when he does, he’s keeping it lowkey in the back of the classroom, sticking his nose in a new novel each week or scribbling away in his black, leatherbound journal. You’re not even sure how you got Yoongi to sit down with you knowing that he’s hard to get a hold of. But really, you’re just unaware that he’s afraid, always running away in the face of uncertainty.

Not even ten minutes go by before Yoongi is finding another excuse to fool around. It’s a whole new record, and you’re pretty proud of his accomplishment nevertheless.

“I’m sick of studying,” he groans with slumped shoulders.

“How can you be sick of studying? In the last hour, I’ve watched you make coffee and spin your textbook on your finger as if it’s a basketball.”

Yoongi’s lips press together in a straight line, but there’s no denying your observations.

“You’ve also tried to convince me that Tupac is the Mozart of our time. It’s not that I’m disagreeing with you, don’t get me wrong, but which part of this consummates studying?” You query with furrowed brows.

“Tell you what, let’s make a deal, okay?”

You shake your head at the thought of his proposal. “Oh, so you’re gonna bargain with me now?” Your voice is filled with exasperation.

“What do you think about ice cream?”

“What’s not to like about it?” Your arms cross over your chest as you lean back in your chair.

A wide, gummy smile spreads across Yoongi’s lips. “If we take an ice cream break, I swear that we’ll come back and study.”

A sigh falls from your lips because you’re not totally convinced, yet you ponder over the proposition. “I really doubt that you can keep your worー”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” He mimics the motion by tracing his finger over his chest. “I’ll even drive,” he adds.

Your eyes squint, still uncertain.

“I’ll treat you,” he offers.

“Min Yoongi, you are one convincing dude,” you chuckle.

Closing your textbook and gathering all of your belongings, you chuck them in the backseat of Yoongi’s car and head off to the ice cream parlor.

You make it just in time before closing, being the last two customers in store that they have to kick out. While you pick a flavor as peculiar as butter pecan, Yoongi decides on a fruity flavor ー orange to be precise. The two of you enjoy your dessert, licking away at the sugary mess before it has the chance to melt onto the black, leather interior of his car.

“Can I ask you a serious question?” You pry, looking over at Yoongi.

“Shoot.”

“Why is it that you’re flunking when you’re smarter than 90% of the people at our school?”

“Ah,” he shakes his head in disbelief, “It takes more than intelligence to act intelligently.”

You scoff in rebuttal. “Seriously? You can quote Dostoevsky word for word, and I’m sure you can recite the entirety of Crime and Punishment in your sleep.”

You can see him shrug his shoulders out of the corners of your eyes. “I really don’t see the point when I’m not going to go to college.”

“Okay, so what’s your big dream, then?” You ask with worry laced in your tone.

“I don’t think you necessarily need to have a big dream.”

A drop of your ice cream melts onto your hand, and you’re quick to wipe it away. You’re shocked to hear what he has to say because everyone in this deadbeat town has a dream. It usually involves getting away from said deadbeat town. “Okay, enlighten me then?”

“You just need to be happy.” He’s stoic in his response.

“Are you happy?” You ask. It’s a loaded question.

He shrugs.

It’s quiet.

Moments go by.

Yoongi’s the first one to break the comfortable silence. “They’re flunking me because I’m truant. I work in the auto shop outside of town, so when I’m not in school, I’m picking up extra shifts there. It doesn’t pay a lot, but it’s enough to keep me alive, you know? It’s enough to cover the car too.”

Another drop of ice cream melts onto your wrist. You don’t fail to notice the fact that he hasn’t addressed your question. “But are you happy? Is this what you want?” You try again.

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, pondering. “I’ve always thought about doing this, but... I want to drive out to L.A. and take my chance at music production or something.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Sorry, it sounds stupid, I know.”

A fond smile makes its way onto your face. “I think that’s so cool,” you reassure him.

He cocks his head to the side as he tries to hide the smile that mirrors yours, but you can see his hard exterior break down before your very eyes. Nobody has ever believed in him the way that you do.

His eyes sparkle in the moonlight as if the galaxy lays dormant in his lonely irises. “... But the thing is, I don’t know if I want to be out and about in this world alone.”

You’ve never seen Yoongi so vulnerable before, and you never thought you’d have the chance to see it. So you comfort him in the way that you know best.

“Jamais seule,” you offer in consolation.

Yoongi’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What?”

“Jamais seule,” you repeat once again, placing your hand on his shoulder. “It’s French for ‘never alone.’”

He chuckles at your explanation. “Are you trying to make this a teaching moment?”

You nod your head in response, a proud smile making its way onto your lips.

“Okay, then what about you, huh?” He inquires. “What’s your big goal then?”

“Me?”

He nods his head. Of course he’s talking to you, but you’re taken aback because nobody’s ever really taken interest in what it is that you want to do.

“Realistically, I guess I’d be a teacher? When I was younger, I was thinking about doing dance, but I think I should specialize in French or maybe even English? I want to learn other languages too, but I’m not totally sure if I can make a career out of it.” Your nose scrunches up at the uncertainty.

Yoongi orients his body towards yours, taking in your profile. “Fuck that. Learn all of the languages you want to learn, okay? But tell me what it is that you really want to do now, unrealistically speaking.”

You look over at him, and your heart swells up inside your chest. A warm, fuzzy feeling overtakes you as you brace yourself to share this part of your life because honestly, you’ve never admitted it out loud to anyone before in part because nobody has ever bothered to ask or even care in the way that Yoongi does.

“I want to be a flight attendant.” It almost feels as if a weight has been lifted off of your chest as you heave out a sigh. “I want to see other countries, experience different cultures, and meet new people. I just want to see what the world is like outside of this town, you know?”

“I know,” he mouths. His gummy smile resurfaces on his lips as he nods his head, listening to you speak so passionately about your dreams. “I think you’d make the best flight attendant in the whole world.”

In the entire cosmos, there’s a short list of things that you genuinely love. One being the delicacy of antique books, worn and torn with age, brimming with the faded passages of time, two being chips and guac, the magic elixir to instant happiness, and three being Min Yoongi.

It should be no surprise to you that you’d do anything in the world for your best friend, but hanging around the dirt drag to watch tonight’s race is the last thing you would ever expect.

As you approach the spectator crowd, the smell of burnt rubber and seared tarmac infiltrates your senses. There’s a cloud of smoke rings floating around you while the people huff and puff on their Newports and Marlboros. Some of them even offer you a lighter, but you politely decline.

It’s pretty obvious that you don’t fit into this scene. You’ve never even shown your face in this part of town before, but everyone else seems to know one another relatively well, hanging out on the hood of their cars and getting drunk off bottles of Smirnoff.

“Hey, princess, take a shot with us why don’t ya?” Someone whistles.

You turn your head to the side, only to find a group of girls eyeing you from head to toe. “No thanks, I’m good,” you offer with a timid voice, shrinking away at their electrifying gaze.

Yoongi pulls you closer to his side, wrapping his arm around your waist and squeezing his fingers into your hip bones. His eyes glimmer with gold as he shoots daggers at the group of girls.

“Don’t talk to anyone you don’t know, okay? Stick with Hobi,” he whispers to you through gritted teeth.

It’s not long before you come across Hoseok, socializing with a group of people who appear to be crossfaded. Yoongi pats him on the back, drawing his attention away from the dead end conversation.

“Hey!” Hoseok shouts with enthusiasm. He wedges himself between you and Yoongi, resting his arms around both of your shoulders. He turns your attention away from the group of people he was once conversing with, walking in the opposite direction. But once you step far away enough, out of reach from the crowd, Hoseok sighs in relief.

“Thank God for saving me, I literally don’t know how much longer I can talk to them for,” he shakes his head and rolls his eyes in spite of the happy-go-lucky personality you’re so familiar with.  

The blare of an air horn cuts through the bustling night, indicating that the race is soon to start. Yoongi cups his hand around Hoseok’s ear to tell him something in secret, and in response, he nods his head in affirmation.

Yoongi turns to you and flashes his sweet smile. “When I win, I’ll treat you to whatever you want, okay? Ice cream? Pizza? Tom kha gai from that Thai place you like? Name it and it’s yours.” Yoongi walks backward to take one last glance at you before tugging his headset over his ears and running off to the direction of his car.

You smile to yourself as the warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest begins to bloom once again.

You shout “good luck” to him as he steps away, but you know for a fact that he can’t hear you. He doesn’t need the luck anyways.

Hoseok taps on your shoulder, gathering your attention to lead you to the frontlines where you have a good view of the action. He fiddles with the device in front of him, tuning his CB radio, twisting the dial back and forth to find the right frequency.

“Agust D, this is J-Hope, OVER.” Hoseok shouts into his intercom with a little too much enthusiasm.

“Dude, we’re not gonna do this,” Yoongi complains through the static of the speakers. You can’t help but giggle at his response. It’s very characteristic of Yoongi, and you can already imagine the creases forming at the corner of his eyes as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

Your eyes look over towards the two approaching cars, one of them being the black and yellow Grandeur Azera you know so well. Yoongi and his opponent toe their tires to the starting line, making sure it’s a fair game.

The host speaks through his megaphone, but it’s hard to hear over the screaming crowd. His words are muffled, and it’s nearly indecipherable, but he’s most likely explaining the rules and safety to everyone, or at least you hope he is.

Yoongi, being the cocky bitch he is, revs his engine over the voice of the announcer. Through his rolled down windows, you can see him tap his fingers over his mouth to let out a dramatic yawn. He even checks the time on his watch just to show off.

You shake your head at his overwhelming pride, and just in time, he looks over at you to send a wink. Despite the roll of your eyes, you can’t hide the heat that rushes to the apples of your cheeks.

The countdown begins as the announcer yells through his megaphone. The crowd amplifies his voice as they count alongside him. The two cars rev their engines, and it’s deafening to your sensitive ears.

An overwhelming sense of nervousness rushes through your veins, but you squeeze onto Hobi’s arm to anchor yourself. The thought of Yoongi getting into a fatal accident crosses your conscience, but you quickly wipe the image away from your mind. You trust Yoongi, and there’s nobody in the world who does it better than him.

In the blink of an eye, you nearly miss the cars zipping off into the dead of the night, too lost in your thoughts.

Looking over Hoseok’s shoulder, you can see the red and green dots floating across the monitor, the green symbol representing Yoongi’s GPS signal as he zips around the circumference of town. All the red symbols show the police hotspots within a 10 mile radius.

“Yoongi, right turn in 3 blocks,” Hoseok says into the intercom. According to the police scanner, the cops are too close for comfort.

“Yep, gotcha.” Yoongi’s voice sounds faded through the speakers.

In hopes of clearing the static, Hoseok fiddles with the dials. “What the fuck? I’m losing you.”

Panic rises to your chest as you watch the green dot speed across town, driving in close proximity to the law enforcement. Even worse, you’re losing communication with him. It’s nothing but static.

Hoseok slaps the radio in rage, but of course, nothing happens. “What the hell’s going on?” He even rips out the batteries and puts it back into the device to no avail. He looks over at you as if you have the answers, but you’re rendered useless when your mind draws a blank.

Hoseok pulls your hand away from your mouth, not even realizing that you’ve been chewing on your nails all this time.

“Well shit, now what?”

“Hope and pray?” He shrugs.  

At the sound of his words, your heart drops to your stomach.

Your hands begin to tremble as you monitor the screen. He’s cutting close to the finish line, but you have no eyes on his opponent. Meanwhile, the cops are spreading across the map, probably searching for the source of the disturbance.

Yoongi has yet to be caught, but he’s smart enough to maneuver through the backroads he knows better than anyone ー the ones he’s practically grown up on.

The green dot races across the screen, coming closer and closer to your marked location. The boisterous rev of an engine can be heard within earshot, so your attention shifts to the far end of the dirt path. Your heart pounds against your ribs as you cross your fingers, praying and hoping that Yoongi is the one who’s returning to you.

The lack of street lights makes it difficult to see down the cloudy road, but you never seem to give up, leaning over the makeshift barrier and tiptoeing above the crowd.

The sound of the engine elevates as the frontliner approaches. Your attention focuses on the two tiny, bright lights emerging from the distance. However, your vision is blurred as the two lights diverge into four. Another car follows behind it, charging full speed towards the finish line. Your hands squeeze around Hoseok’s wrist as the two of you anxiously wait to see the winner. The headlights illuminate at a greater lux as it speeds down the path. You begin to squint, trying to adjust your eyes to the light to make out the license plate number or at least something that’s telling of who the lead driver is.

But fear not, because a sigh of relief escapes from your lungs as the yellow detailings on the infamous Grandeur Azera is within sight. Yoongi crosses the finish line with full speed, and the crowd erupts in a roar.

He decelerates before coming to a full stop. There’s a haze of dust that trails behind his car, and a silhouette of a figure emerges from the smoke. It’s none other than Yoongi who trudges out of the car, and it’s unmistakable from his golden glare which shines through the exhaust.

You let go of Hoseok’s wrist in favor of racing towards Yoongi to wrap him up in the safety of your arms. He immediately reciprocates and melts into your embrace. He squeezes you tightly around your torso, and you fall further into his arms. Your nose presses against his shoulder, burrowing your head against the crook of his neck.

You chuckle through the stray tear that rolls down your cheek and onto the green denim of his jacket. “You idiot, you love scaring the life out of me, huh?”

Yoongi pulls away from you to cup your cheeks, angling your face so that he can gaze into your eyes. His irises slowly revert back to the shade of brown you’ve come to love. He wipes away the tears streaming down your cheeks and tucks a tendril of hair behind your ear.

“Iー” He opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but he decides against it. Instead, his lips come crashing down onto yours, kissing you as if it’s his last breath.

“Care to explain what that was all about?” You slam the door shut behind you.

Yoongi refuses to answer.

The air doesn’t feel clear between the two of you, and it hasn’t ever since the kiss. It feels off. Tense, even. As a matter of fact, it’s been unusually quiet since the car ride home.

Your head has been spinning round and round because Yoongi never acts like this. Whatever it is that goes on between the two of you doesn’t go beyond the confinements of these four, egg white walls (with the exception of his car, of course).

But bottom line: It’s an unspoken rule that whatever happens between you stays between you.

Yoongi is sullen in his contemplation. He kicks off his boots, trudging into his apartment with heavy feet as if he’s a teenager ridden with angst. You would think that he’s retired from the days when he keeps to himself and feeds the world with the “I’m misunderstood” bullshit as some lame excuse. But yet again, he’s crawling back into the shell of the man he once was.

He chooses to ignore the obvious problem as he shrugs off his jacket and switches out one t-shirt for another. You hate the idea of him going to bed upset, but no matter how much you try to get him to talk, you’re left with utter silence.

Being tired and frustrated of his lack of communication, you decide to stand up from the edge of the mattress, plodding through the creaky floorboards to stand before Yoongi. You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, but his glassy eyes avert yours, looking anywhere but at you. All you can see is the faint beauty mark on the side of his nose, but never in your life did you think that you’d frown at the sight of it.

You opt for getting his attention by wrapping your arms around his waist, resting your head against his bare chest, listening to the violent storm that pulses beneath the shell of your ear.  

His arms hang by his side. You squeeze him a little tighter, and he huffs out a sigh, falling prey to your touch. Your cheek is pressed tighter against his chest as he envelops you in a hug. His fingers trail up and down your spine in an effort to comfort you, but really, it’s more appeasing to him than to you knowing that you’re within arms reach.

“They tapped into my radio.” His voice cuts through the quiet air.

You swallow down the knot in your throat as you listen to his every word.

“God, they said some fucked up shit to me.” His hands clench tighter against the cotton of your t-shirt, and you can hear his heart pound harder against his chest.

A painful sigh escapes from your lips as you listen to the tremble of his voice. “Whatever they say isn’t true, you know?” You offer in consolation, “They don’t know you like I do.”

“It wasn’t even about me, ughー They were talking about you, and... fuck, Iー” Yoongi fights against the tears that are threatening to spill, the frustration evident in his tone.

Your heart shatters at the sound of his broken voice. “Yoongi, people are gonna talk, and nothing they say will ever matter, so just let ‘em talk.”

Your words ring through his ear as he harshly swallows a glob of spit down his throat. He thinks to himself in silence, wondering whether or not his words will ever matter to you.

“Can I tell you something?” He pulls away from you to take a better look at your expressions.

“Yeah, of course, anything,” you knit your eyebrows together and nod your head in solace.

Yoongi walks backwards until the back of his knees knock against the edge of his bed, allowing you to climb onto his lap, mounting his thighs with one leg on either side. He licks his lips to ease his nerves, anxiety bubbling up to the surface. His hands get clammy as he rests them on the curve of your waist.

But all of that dissipates once he fixates his attention on your eyes.

It feels as if you two are in your own little world together while everyone else dances around in the ruins of their dreams.

His eyes soften and a shy smile spans across his lips. “I love you.”

You’re taken aback by his confession, almost as if you didn’t hear him correctly granted his low murmurs. Your mouth hangs open, jaw slack. Your eyes blink, stunned by what you may or may not have heard.

It takes four and half seconds for you to register that ー holy shit ー did he just say what you think he just said?

“What’d you say?” Your brows knit together and your forehead creases asking for the much needed confirmation.

“You really want me to say it again?” He’s bashful as he hides his rosy cheeks in the crevice of your neck, his hot breath tickling your skin.

“Say it again,” you encourage. Your face starts to ache with the beaming smile painted across your lips.

Yoongi’s mouth curls into a smile to mimic yours as he peppers kisses against the column of your throat. He repeats his words once again, each syllable caught between a featherlight kiss.

“Iー” His lips ghost against your jaw.

“Loveー” Onto your chin.

“You.”

His soft eyes flash open to gawk at your lips, waiting for permission to kiss you where he so desperately wants to. He blinks, looking up to peer into the depths of your soul through the gateway of your irises. You can see the whirl of emotions in his eyes, a mixture between elation and tenderness and everything in between.

But above all, you can see the love.

A shy look is exchanged before you flutter your eyes close and lean forward to hesitantly brush your lips against his, testing the waters. But once he melts into your touch, you dive into the deep end, firmly committing to your desires.

It takes another half second for you to register that ー holy fucking shit ー you’re actually kissing the love of your life.

Although you are no stranger to Yoongi’s lips, something about this feels different. Yet again, you’re drunk off serotonin and intoxicated by his fiery touch. The world around you disappears alongside your worries and your troubles. All of your feelings, your emotions, your secrets, and all of your wishes are laid bare before you.

But what’s different about this kiss is that for the first time in your life, you know for a fact that this is what love is supposed to be.

“I love you, Yoongi,” you finally confess with your whole chest. Tears begin to form in your eyes and a smile that’s larger than life spreads across your lips, bringing pains and aches to your cheeks. But nevertheless, it’s all worth it because Yoongi loves you and you love him.

It doesn’t even register in your head that your back is now flat against the mattress, nor do you register the embarrassing amount of slick that has pooled at your entrance. At least not until Yoongi presses his fingers against the slim cotton of your underwear, teasing your folds with the glide of his calloused fingers.

“You’re wet already?”

You mewl upon his comment. “Can’t help it.”

Yoongi tugs off your shorts with your underwear in tow. His mouth reconnects with yours in longing, and his lips taste exactly like blackberries, bay leaves, and blissful midnights blanketed underneath the stars.

Your breath hitches in your throat and you shudder under his touch as he grazes over your clit. His finger dips between your folds, collecting your arousal before rubbing soothing circles over your sensitive nub. Your heavy eyelids fall close, and Yoongi watches your face contort in pleasure, your eyebrows creasing together.

Growing restless of his teasing, you lurch forward to palm the tent in his pants. You will yourself to open your eyes just the slightest bit.

“Hard already?” You tease with raised brows.  

“Can’t help it,” he echoes.

You pull on the fabric of his jeans, begging him to remove the material from his legs. He obliges while you strip your top off.

At the sight of your bare breasts, Yoongi’s lips find its way to your pert nipples, hallowing his cheeks and sucking on the tender flesh until the blood rushes to the surface of your skin. His hand trails its way down your body, dipping two fingers into your tight hole, pumping in and out to massage your walls.

A thick glob of saliva forms in the back of your throat, and you sputter it into the palm of your hands. Reaching down for Yoongi’s shaft, you jerk him off exactly how he likes it. Your thumb traces over the tip of his cock, swiping over the slit as he leaks beads of precum.

Yoongi sighs as you work faster, milking him for all of his worth. He grips his hand around your wrist to slow down your movements, wanting to change it up. Instead, he trails kisses up your body until he’s hovering over your lips.

“Don’t wanna come like this,” he says with a heavy sigh.

His hand replaces yours as he pumps his length and lines it up at your entrance.

You brace yourself by squeezing your hands around his shoulders, clinging on to him for dear life. He pushes his member one inch at a time until your fingernails dig into his supple skin, dragging him down to meet your lips.

A gasp falls from your throat as the angle changes, and he pushes deeper inside of you.

“Oh, fuck,” you quiver.

Yoongi lays a kiss upon your cheek before meeting your eyes once again. “You okay?”

“Better than okay,” you nod.

A blinding smile makes its way to Yoongi’s lips and you can’t help but reciprocate. He pushes his length further until he’s balls deep, his pelvis pressed up against yours.

You throw your head back against the mattress, exposing the blank canvas of your neck. For a second, his eyes are gilded with gold, but it quickly regresses. His tongue runs over his bottom lip before languidly licking a stripe up the side of your neck. He suckles on your skin until it discolors, leaving behind a love bite that’s none other than a mark of his love.

As you finally adjust to the thick stretch of Yoongi’s cock, you start to fidget, rutting your hips against his.

“Yoongi, please move,” you cry out, wrapping your legs around the small of his waist. And you swear you could physically cry in this very moment.

At your request, his hips begin to thrust, fucking himself into your wanting pussy. With the drag of his dick, you can feel every inch of him move inside of you. Your walls contract and mold against his shaft, his balls slapping against the curve of your ass. The filthy sounds fill the tiny space of his studio apartment, as does the squelches of your arousal.

Yoongi bites his lip as he relishes this very moment. The way you look beneath him, taking his cock like a good girl, fucked out and in total bliss as a dribble of spit cascades down your lips. He tucks his hand underneath your chin to wipe away at the saliva, only to fall back down into a plank position.

Your chest heaves and your head lolls to the side. You can hardly see through your eyelids which are falling shut, but somehow, you resist, seeing the pretty ink that’s engraved into Yoongi’s skin. The most prominent one ー and also the newest addition to his sleeve ー being at eye level. Leaning over the slightest bit, you press your lips against the simple, fine line ink.

A fire within Yoongi is ignited upon your action. His hips begin to stutter, reaching close to the end of his release. He sticks his fingers in his mouth, sucking on the digits until they’re nice and wet. His hand trails a path down your body, only to find its way to your clit. It’s hot and slick down there, especially with the newly added pressure.

A series of moans tumble from your lips as he relentlessly rubs harsh circles onto your nub.

“Oh my god, Yoongi ー Yeah, just like that,” you whimper when the tip of his cock pushes against your cervix. Your eyes are starting to water at the immense amount of pleasure building up in the pit of your stomach.

“Like what?” He smirks, “Like that?”

His thrusts are harder as he quickens the pace. Your body drifts further up the mattress with the force of his hips and your arms wrap around his upper torso to keep yourself anchored. Your fingernails scratch the surface of his skin, leaving behind a trail of red marks down his back.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Yoongi, Iー” A strangled noise escapes from your parted lips.

“Yes, baby? You can come for me.” The soft coo against your ear contrasts against the harsh slap of his hips, sending you further into your release.

“Yoongi… I- I love you,” you manage to sputter out, albeit weakly from the current, fucked out state that you’re in.

At the sound of your confession once again, Yoongi grunts harshly, his breath fanning across your face. His cock grinds harder against your cervix as he chases your high.

The knot in the pit of your stomach unfurls with a harsh thrust, and you dissolve into pleasure. Your walls clench around his dick which continues to pound into you. Your body heats up and your heart races a hundred beats per second as waves of bliss come crashing through you.

Yoongi molds his lips against yours, kissing you with ardor. As you tremble beneath him, your vision starts to blur and your eyelids fall shut, yet with a few more pumps, Yoongi is releasing himself inside of you, painting your inner walls white with his cum. He collapses on top of you, chest heaving.

Your pussy is bare and battered, but you wouldn’t have it any other way with sticky thighs and Yoongi’s pulsating cock inside of you.

The two of you lie down together in the safety of one another’s arms in an attempt to catch your breath. Your fingers run through his raven locks as he rests his head against your chest, listening to the come down of your beating heart.

In the dead of the night, the air in this tiny space is quiet and still while every other deadbeat in this town runs rampant in the world, yet you wouldn’t have it any other way as long as you are never alone.

[lesserfandomappreciation]

This is probably a tall order, but I was wondering if you could do some general personality headcanons for the Deadly Six from Sonic Lost World? It hurts my heart that the characters weren't more popular, but I can understand why at the same time since they're not that fleshed out. I mean, there's hints of stuff here and there, it's just not much. But the zeti have potential, damn it! Let me know if you want some specifics on things, of if you wanna do this in pieces. Thanks for your time~

WORLD BUILDING! World building and character building is my ham so I’m thrilled to do this! This actually become significantly longer than intended. 

So I have never played this game, so I’m basing this exclusively off a few cutscenes I managed to find and general initial impressions. Let me know if you want something more in-depth!

Deadly Six reimagined (Sonic Lost World)

General

The Zeti race as a whole is referred to as “demons” with the Deadly 6 appearing to be the deadliest of their species. Heavily implied in the game is the fact that the Zeti are a lethal, violent race taking pride in practiced malevolence. 

An entire race being evil or amoral is not only an outdated trope, but one with really icky origins so knackers to that I’m throwing in some of my own world building. 

Based on how the Deadly 6 are all either disciples of or literally Master Zik, the reimagined!Zeti race is less malevolent so much as focused on attainment of glory and recognition. Every person is expected to discipline themselves into a strong, powerful being capable of great achievements. Competition is rampant with rivalry being imposed from a young age. 

Despite rivalry, those who study under a common Master consider themselves as a structured force or clan representing their Master and his/her/their ideology. Master Zik in particular holds the ideology of complete domination of foes and enforcing the strength that already exists. Those who come across his clan often get the impression the Zeti exist to conquer when really, it is only in response to what is done to them to remind people not to mess with them. 

Zeti are driven by the goals of communal recognition; challenges make individuals stronger, thus reinforcing the people as a whole. Spar-matches and challenges are inherent in the society. Clans and individuals alike compete to bring glory. 

But. There is an unspoken rule amongst the Zeti that keeps things from ever turning to a full blood bath. Zeti do not turn against their own Clan or family (both if they are one in the same as is the case with many). The idea of any Zeti attacking a sibling in learning or a relative is unheard of - any who did that are considered dishonorable and risk expulsion as a whole from society. 

Master Zik

Utter the name “Zik” in any Zeti plaza. Previous foes will wilt in cowardice. Pride from their allies puffs up further. The average Zeti, neither friend nor foe, will still be able to share a tale or two of one of the greatest warriors to have ever trained. 

In a society focused on discipline and achieving greatness, Zik went above expectations. Bars he set have but rarely been neared. Until Zavok, most were largely considered impossible to meet. 

Zik is a unique Zeti. Warriors do set Clans up to welcome new students and carry on their name, but Zik is not an easy master. His ideology of domination is standard but his ideas of strength are incredibly unique in a world where weakness is to be quelled and trained away. Zik believes that the inherent strength within an individual should be harnessed instead of ignored. Any skill can be made combative if one knows how to master it completely. 

In all his years Zik took on only a handful of students, with only 5 ever making it into his inner circle and being official members of his Clan. He is not an easy teacher. 

Obstacles are nothing to this little Zeti. He has faced a lifetime of challenges due to his small stature and his unique powers. Strategy, cunning and an overwhelming drive to be strong allowed him to rise above the ranks. Any challenge he faces he knows has a solution - it is a difficult task to actually perturb him to the point of nerves. 

It’s specifically because of his lifetime of difficulties that he taught all his students to eradicate their foes so thoroughly. Too many times his mercy let to more foes than needed. Crush a foe and all they hold dear, and no one will ever come to avenge their broken ashes. 

Zik views himself as a father figure turned advisor to the group. In his heart of hearts, they are his pride and joy. He could not leave them. Bedridden and frail he’s still drag his way alongside them to keep these youngsters of his on the right path. 

Zomom (First Disciple)

Zomom is the eldest of Master Zik’s student, being the first welcomed into Zik’s inner circle. This is a matter of great pride for him and makes him very protective of the others as a result. Zavok holds the title of leader but it is no secret that the eldest of the students holds his fellow disciples close to his heart much how an older brother might view his siblings. 

Zomom knows a lot about the other members of the team. They feel comfortable around him one-on-one, often using him as a quiet listener to talk through their thoughts. 

Zomom is a strange Zeti. By height and strength he should have been a popular choice amongst his people. Yet his lack of common sense and social norms made it difficult to fit into society’s definition of a good warrior. The perceived lack of discipline in terms of food also earned him backlash from others. Emotional manipulation is an effective way of ensuring they didn’t have to fight the giant warrior physically. 

It was his sincerity, his genuine sense of being and wanting to learn, that made Master Zik bring him in as a student, then disciple. Zomom is genuine, true person who could not tell a life to save his life but still tries so hard to survive in a world where lying is viewed as not just acceptable but required in some social circles. Zik saw his food abilities and build, before tailoring his training to include more food intake and improve speed. 

Most affable of the Deadly 6, Zomom may be the butt of the joke at some times but they would all be furious should any harm befall him. Zomom’s willingness to shrug off insults does not sit well with any of them and they will gladly take the place of his vengeful fury to ensure it does not happen again. 

Seeing one or two of the Deadly 6 relaxing with Zomom when they are burned out or want to slow down is common. 

Zazz (The Second Disciple)

This is a case of a master forcibly adopting a feral child than a student asking a master to teach them. Zomom who was there the day Zazz was brought in to be taught is the only one besides Zik who knows why the Master took such a shining to Zazz, though the most he ever says on the matter is “It was like looking at a silly mirror.”

Zazz is almost the perfect Zeti. Intensely strong, with an immense battle-hunger. You’d be hard-pressed to find a more terrifying opponent. The issue lies with that same battle hunger that would make them popular in other circumstances. The whole point of the Zeti’s competitiveness is that it is, somehow, disciplined and the result of self-control/personal growth. Zazz’s entire motivation can be summed up as “because I want to.”

Zazz is very much a wild child turned wild adult with a lot of energy to burn. The ideas of the Zeti bore them a lot - why should they spend time proving himself when everyone’s so much weaker than them? They’d rather be seeking out good opponents or filling theirs time doing things that feed his ever-flickering attention. 

Despite their very intense personality, Zazz is fiercely protective of the clan. They’re the only ones to really indulge Zazz’s wide range of interests and teach them a few of their own. One day they may be with Zeena learning new techniques to make their appearance fiercer, the next they’re in the shadows with Zor learning a shadow technique that will absolutely scare the shit out of Master Zik, this time for sure!

Picks up skills like a dog gets fleas. They’re not a master at any of them but the way they’re able to combine them makes them a fearsome opponent, a lethal prankster and find something to connect over with anyone. 

Zeena (The Third Disciple)

Female-identifying Zeti are held to the same standard as any other Zeti so her presence in the Clan isn’t entirely unexpected. However, many Zeti tend to prefer Clans of their own gender out of comfort or outright preference.

Youngster Zeena, known for her cold intensity, had her pick of the litter in terms of Masters - her tethering abilities made her a powerful long-distance opponent, and her technology skills make her a verifiable weapon powerhouse. Her choice to go for Master Zik was a surprise, but Zik accepted her. 

In truth, she went for Master Zik because she didn’t want to just be a long-distance specialist. She wanted a Master who could hone her abilities to be used in more creative ways. Zomom and Zazz’s successes got her attention.  

With Zik she learned to use her tethering abilities to completely control the field. Able to move quickly, redirect her opponents and load the battle field with her varied arsenal, facing off against Zeena is incredibly difficult. 

Always looking to perfect her abilities as the “Perfect Zeti Fighter” Zeena spends a lot of time perfecting her body to make it superior to other Zeti. Outside of that in her lab she’s developing new weapons with distinct abilities to use in combat. Bouncy bombs, whips with unique charges - she’s offered to create some for the rest of the team, but they’ve only accepted limited help. 

Zeena views herself as the pinnacle of Zeti power, with the ability to do more. She holds the rest of the Deadly 6 to the same standard and is not above offering weapons advice or ways to improve their appearance to terrify their enemies into a stupor. 

Zor (The Fourth Disciple)

Zor was not expected to succeed. There are many ways to be considered a successful Zeti - strength, speed, smarts. Lurking in the shadows is not traditionally viewed as particularly impressive. Zor’s inclination to the shadows made him unpopular in the society.

In turn, this made Zor dislike society as a whole and develop a severe nihilistic attitude that continues to plague him to this day. Why should he trust a system that failed him so badly anyway? It is ultimately pointless. 

Zor didn’t so much as join the Clan as he was chased into the clan. Lurking in his shadows he didn’t know of the tall Zeti whose attention has zeroed in on the very interestingly-moving shadow until Zazz had already begun to give chase. Master Zik hadn’t a clue what to make of the huffy Zeti his Second Disciple had under his arm, but if Zazz saw talent in this one, it was worth exploring. 

Zor’s abilities as a spymaster make him a vital part of the group. His abilities contribute to that but it is his powers of observation and deduction that really lend themselves to this role. Having been a spectator to his society for most of his life, he has developed powerful strategies to collect information at a mass scale - needless to say, trying to keep a secret from him is difficult. 

The main introvert of the group, Zor struggles to be with them all at once. While he likes each one of them just fine (good luck getting him to say that) their overall energy can be overwhelming. He prefers to be with one-three people at a time to preserve his social energy.

Zavok (The Final Disciple)

Societies have ideal standards people strive towards. Often impossible to achieve, they’re viewed more as a lifetime goal than a realistic achievement. Those who do manage to hit it are considered to be above others as they command respect. Amongst the Zeti, that impossible person is Zavok. 

Zavok himself comes from an impressive lineage - all the Zeti before him have been great warriors, commanders, people filling leadership roles. Each generation of greatness placed more expectations upon the next and as an only child, Zavok had no one to share these burdens with. He exceled at them, but it was not the glory he sought. He wanted to great his own reputation free of his past. 

The announcement of Zavok’s self-imposed expulsion from his lineage shook Zeti society to its core. His subsequent request to become Zik’s pupil further shook everyone, but Master Zik did have a penchant for collecting odd students. What was one more lost warrior seeking purpose?

Zavok evolved far beyond anyone could have guessed under Master Zik’s tutelage. Part of this was due to his own upbringing, but it truly was Zavok’s own determination and fast mind that let him adapt to Zik’s unusual forms of training. He wanted to become indomitable and he would do whatever it took to do so.... 

...But, he wasn’t quite perfect.  Zavok is a brilliant minded individual, but upon reaching the inner circle, he realized that he was incredibly unused to working in a group. It took a great deal of time, self-reflection and humbling for him to become the leader he is to do, due in part to his own hang-ups he thought he had left behind with his family. 

With time, he grows to respect each team member and view them as close family. Upon Zik’s retirement and Zavok’s ascension to the head of the Clan, Zavok was the undisputed respected and admired leader of the Clan, holding each of them in high regard and daring anyone to try and take what they had built. 

[the-river-person]

Mistral Sans is now Community Shared

To echo the words of @undertaleauoc, Mistral is "open for use" without the need to request permission from the creator (me) though I’d like to be tagged and credited still. Mistral Formerly named: Sans Age: 10 to the power of 100 years (technically a little more than that by now, but the number is so huge that it's no longer relevant.) Gender: Male Appearance: Appears much like Classic Sans, except for the silvery-white crystalline formations growing all over his body. These can get quite large if he hasn’t removed them in a while, and are often quite sharp to anyone with flesh instead of bone. He makes an effort to keep the Kenón from growing up over his head and face, or from completely encasing his body, but it's difficult to keep up with since it grows faster whenever he happens to be in the Void itself. He wears a long brown overcoat, gloves, and long black trousers, mostly in effort to hide the Kenón as much as possible or keep the sharp points from cutting people by accident. He also keeps a red bandana around his neck, something given to him by Papyrus. His eyes never went back to their original state after the Void-Sickness. Instead of dark hollows with a white iris, they seem to be a pale grey, like a well of deep nothingness. Backstory: Mistral’s Universe is based upon the question “What would happen if the Human just never stopped the Resets, but went on forever?” And the resulting Tale that followed was one of mindless repetitions for time out of mind as the Human would Reset in order to prevent the Underground from being destroyed. Eventually the human, who was no longer human, stopped when Sans suggested a different means to preserve their Universe without killing. This Underground has a deep history of worship and lore that surrounds their Angel, and Sans played the role of Judge, a historical job where someone representing the Angel’s Justice would be called upon to make an absolute Judgement upon anyone or anything. The King called upon him to bring his judgement upon the entire Underground for their part in everything. Formerly a scientist under his Uncle Gaster, he helped come up with the “Solution” which the entire Underground was inoculated with to help them remember beyond Resets. He himself was a victim of the Void poisoning like that which affected Gaster’s Followers and was only saved from being wiped to a blank slate by Gaster’s efforts. A fragment of Kenón (Void-stone) and determination was placed in his soul, causing the crystals to spread from it. In later years as the Underground thrived despite the Resets, he pushed himself to get another degree, this time in psychology, and eventually became a practicing therapist/psychologist (as well as the Underground’s willing delivery boy. He liked being able to see and talk to people all the time, and get to know things.) Upon the destruction of his Universe he was thrown into the Void with his Uncle Gaster, where they were rescued by the mysterious River Person. They met with Ink!Sans who explained the Multiverse and gave them the means to travel it. Now they travel from Universe to Universe, or sometimes wander the Void itself, or the Anti-Void. Gaster (now named Majuscule) is searching for his children, and Sans (now named Mistral) is helping while searching for the Ship his brother escaped with and whatever survivors of his people there might still be. Personality: Mistral is old. Though he was in a mindless forgetful repetitive state for much of the Resets, and has few memories of his own childhood beyond what Papyrus reminded him of, he is significantly mentally older than most of the other Monsters from his Universe. The determination in his soul (along with the Kenón) makes him very strong willed and much more powerful than he was before. It also gives him a minor energy boost. His years as a scientist specializing in studies of the Soul and Physics, as well as his later degree in psychology and practice as a therapist, make him a fairly discerning person who is easily approachable and can talk about a number of different subjects with ease. Despite his actions during the Genocide Routes, he is a much more mentally stable person (possibly one of the most stable Sanses out there from what I see) and is very much a pacifist, refusing violence altogether and choosing to let his words and mind guide him out of trouble, or his teleportation to let him escape danger. Because of his refusal to consider physical violence, even in his own defense, his skill in using fighting magic has atrophied. He can no longer summon the blasters at all, and his bone attacks are weaker. His teleportation on the other hand is much stronger and he can do it more often without tiring too much. The other effects of his refusal to fight means that he must proactively avoid confrontation whenever possible. Mistral uses his knowledge of how people think and act to guide his interactions with others, putting even Monsters from the Fell Universes at ease with well timed and thought out humorous comments, as well as just generally being willing to listen and try to see from the point of view of other people. He can tell puns, but they usually sound a bit forced, like he memorized them somewhere and was just waiting for a point to use them. Very rarely he’ll come up with the perfect one on the spot and be absolutely thrilled with himself. More often he uses dry humor, throwaway lines, or Hyperbole.

His willingness to try and defuse the tension caused by aggressive Monsters he’s dealing with can sometimes backfire on him and serves to make the Monster even angrier and more violent. Mistral will then flee, not wanting to fight them, but often marking himself as guilty or suspicious in the process when this happens with an authority figure who has confronted him for his presence.

The Kenón crystal growing all over his body tends to freak people out as well, which is why he hides it as much as he can beneath the overcoat, gloves, and bandana.

Like all skeletons of his Universe, Mistral has a great knowledge of fonts and writing systems, punctuation marks, ciphers, and typography. It is a very important subject to them as it very closely ties with how they see themselves, their identity as a person. This may be rather strange to skeletons from other Universes who do not share this background. A similar problem comes when skeletons from other Universes find out how strongly he and the Monsters of his world believe in the mythical Angel of Mount Ebbot and often pray to them or swear by them (or use “Angel” as a swear).

He’s also very interested in the concept of Identity and how it can change over time or be altered by events in your life, and how names connect to the concept of identity.

Can I use Mistral in my comic/story/animation/etc?: Sure. He’s a wandering type character, so it's likely he’ll show up in countless Universes and places all over while searching for his brother and his missing cousins. Sometimes he’ll be with Gaster and sometimes not.

One thing to note is that his story will have a continuation, so if in your story you detail events that involve him beyond just a brief meeting, chat, or background character… Just be aware that it's probably not going to be canon to the story I’m planning for him (though if we take other Multiverses into account it could be canon elsewhere).

I would like to insist that you tag and credit me on his use (Credit is good. Tagging me makes it so I can come see your wonderful creations).

Can I ship Mistral with this other character/characters?: Yeah, why not?. Canonically he’s aesexual and only very passingly interested in the idea of romantic relationships. But sure, ship him with whoever you like. Just know that it's not canon to this Multiverse.

While I would still like to be tagged in stuff that involves him. I know I can’t stop nsfw art/writing and other things of that nature from happening, much as I might like to. But be warned, If I see it or am tagged with that, or am sent asks of that... I will block you. Fontcest, Incest ships, child ships, or smut in general will all get you blocked instantly.

Canon height and weight: 4-5 feet high (same as Classic Sans). Weight was trickier. He’s a skeleton. A human skeleton is only about 15% of your body weight. So classic is probably somewhere around 16 or so pounds. But Mistral is covered by continually growing crystalline structures of Kenón. Since the crystal is heavy but spread out and somewhat kept under control, it probably only doubles his weight, making him 32 pounds.

Canon strength: Mistral isn’t a fighter. His attacks are weak because his desire to actually fight is nonexistent, even if he has to defend himself or others. But his actual physical strength, as opposed to his magical attacks, sees a significant increase to that of your normal Sans. The Kenón crystals actually increase his defense by making his bones stronger and more crack resistant, and his self healing is well equipped to deal with most breaks, though they’re still quite painful.

He also has increased endurance for longer physical or magical activities so long as combat or confrontation isn’t part of it.

Since he weighs more, he can’t jump as high as a Sans who weighs less (not that it's a huge difference. He’s only 32 pounds. Plus his strength can mostly make up for it by pushing himself off harder when jumping.)

Is it okay if I draw him with another gender, age, height, or sexuality?: Go for it. Have fun. Tag and credit me. But remember that it’s not canon to THIS Multiverse that I’m working in.

Canon Birthday?: September 16th (though he hasn’t celebrated in a LONG time. He probably doesn’t remember his last actual birthday party. Papyrus might though…)

Font?: Used to be Comic Sans. But now it's Mistral (upper and lowercase).

Original AU: Aeontale by

a_river_is_a_liminal_space

(or the-river-person. basically… me)

Can I send Asks for more details if I need or want them?: Yes. My askbox is open. I’ll answer what I can. I’ve put everything I can think of on here, but inevitably there’s always something missed in things like this. So ask away.

[obligatorynasty]

Pathways, Chapter 2: Rage Against the Self

Part: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] | Read on: AO3 | WC: ~4k | Please excuse any typos.

Main Tags: Mafia AU, Starker, WinterSpider, Guns, Violence, Blood and Injury, Fear, Knives, Minor Character Death, Past Rape/Non-con, Abuse, [Read all tags on AO3]

*~*~*

Mornings were rough – rougher after a night of running, shooting, and sleeping like the dead on a secondhand couch. The sun was barely up but the smell of coffee and toaster pastries wafted through the air, waking Peter up much like a beam of sun would if it weren’t so overcast outside. He sat up, stretching and yawning in tandem before standing up slow. His muscles were on fire, screaming at him for over-exerting himself the night before. He winced with each step towards the kitchen, leaning in the archway, eyes settling on his two friends, whose words were laced with laughter as they sipped coffee by the toaster. It was the kind of serenity Peter needed to soothe his jumbled mind.

“Morning Pete,” MJ spoke, moving to pour her tired friend a cup of coffee. “Do you want milk? We have almond and cow.”

Peter smiled, attempting to fix his bed head as he gave MJ a nod, “Cow is fine, thanks.”

“How’d you sleep?” Shuri asked, gesturing toward the old couch with a scrunched face. “I know that monstrosity isn’t really comfortable.”

“I slept fine, I guess,” Peter shrugged, thanking MJ for the coffee before taking a sip and sighing like he had tasted heaven. “To be honest, the nicest bed in the world wouldn’t have helped me sleep well last night.”

“Fair point,” MJ nodded, commiserating with her friend’s worries. “Most important thing is that you’ve made it to today. Focus on that for now.”

“Right,” Shuri echoed with a pointed finger. “You’re all good. No cops. No gang members. So far, everything’s looking up.”

Peter shook his head, snorting at the prospect as if he had been jinxed. “She says just before they raid the house and take Peter into custody. He’s charged with murder and gets prison for life. The end.” Peter joked, ending his dramatics with a somber smile. “That’s it. That’s my story.”

“Or–” Shuri interjected, an optimistic grin carrying her words. “—maybe your story is more heroic than that. Beck was – is – a fucking asshole. I’ve heard enough from you to know that much.” She stepped forward, placing her hand on Peter’s shoulder. “You just gave him a taste of his own medicine.”

Peter understood that. He understood that Quentin was not all sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows. At his core, Quentin was a good-for-nothing abuser. Someone who had left Peter bawling his eyes out on more than one occasion. Shooting that asshole was not the thing keeping Peter teetering on edge. What was eating away at Peter’s core was deeper than that. It was something he still could not bring himself to acknowledge, let alone tell his best friends.

“You’re right,” Peter nodded, staring into his cup of coffee and breathing a heavy sigh. “I shouldn’t be so worried. Everything will be just fi–”

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Peter dropped his mug, stunned still by the sound of someone at the door, his mind wondering if cops and gangsters knocked on the door in the same way. The hot coffee splashed against his shins but he barely felt anything. It was like his body was buffering; a reactionary delay as the ceramic shards shattered against the tile, skirting passed his feet. A tense silence fell over the kitchen as Peter looked to MJ, who looked to Shuri, who looked to Peter. A litany of flickering gazes inundated with panic – utter pain.

“I’ll get the door,” Shuri cut through the tense atmosphere with a forced calm, her lips pressed into a hard line and her arms stick-straight at her sides.  “Don’t worry, maybe it’s just my brother.”

“This early?” MJ whispered, only adding to the sweat beading on Peter’s forehead. “He said he would be here in like an hour.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?” Shuri argued beneath her breath, “Should I not answer the door? Do you want to?”

“Should I leave?” Peter mumbled as he finally came down from the shock, his eyes falling to the coffee pooling into the grout of the kitchen tile. “The mug, fuck, I'm sorry, I need to-” He bent down, picking up the shards with quaking hands.

“Forget the mug, Peter, I’ll get it,” MJ grabbed his forearm, pulling him upright. “Just,” She paused, frustration and worry boiling up from her sporadic hand gestures. “Go get your stuff, alright?" She said, pointing towards the staircase with one hand and gently patting Peter’s back with the other, trying to get him to focus. "And then go out my window, down the fire escape.”

“And go where?” Peter breathed out, running a stressed hand through his curls. “I can’t just go back to campus, what if they’re looking for me there? I don’t know what t-”

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“I’m going to open it,” Shuri exited the kitchen, walking to the door faster than Peter could register his next moves. “It’s probably just my brother-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Peter frantically whispered, abandoning his reservations and once again, relying on instincts. He darted towards the staircase, grabbing his sneakers on the way, nearly losing his footing and practically tripping up each step. 

At the top of the stairs, he rushed into MJ’s room, pulling his blood-splattered clothes from the laundry bag. They had been washed but the blood remained in the form of light brown splotches permanently staining the fabric. In other words, Peter would have to pay MJ back for the t-shirt and sweatpants later. He balled up the clothes and tucked them under his arm, managing to simultaneously slip on his sneakers as he awkwardly hopped towards the window. And before he could even hear who entered the front door, he was on the fire escape.  

Peter was never one to believe in luck; things either went right or they didn’t. As he made his descent down the rickety black metal, it never crossed his mind that luck played any part in his recent misfortunes. However, as he slid down that final ladder, even he cursed at himself for being so fucking unlucky. Standing beneath the fire escape, at no more than an arm's length away, was someone he wished that he never had to see again. 

“You!” Said Killmonger, dropping the cigarette that had been perched between his lips as his eyes fell onto Peter, who was staring at him like a deer in headlights that knew tumbling over the hood was non-negotiable.

“Shit–!” Peter breathed out as his body started to move, like his brain had set his legs on autopilot. He was running again. This time, however, was significantly slower than the previous night. His muscles didn’t just ache, they were an inferno. Each step hit the pavement weaker than the last, even the surge of adrenaline fell short.

This chase was different; this time Peter had fear but not because Erik’s footsteps seemed much closer than Quentin’s ever were. Not because his t-shirt was being pulled backward, making him stumble and drop his guilt-stained clothes. Not because he was pulled into a headlock so tight that he swore his vision blurred with purple spots. No, this chase was different because of the reason he ran. He was not running from Erik, or Tony, per se. He was running from the rush of excitement that boiled in his gut as Erik pinned him. The glee that worked its way through his entire being at the powerful possibilities that being taken to Tony could grant. 

“Stop elbowing me, god damn-!” Erik snapped, using his free hand to stop Peter’s futile jabs. “The fuck were you comin’ out of my cousin’s house for?!”

Peter froze, halting his flailing, relagating every ounce of brain power to understanding what the fuck Erik had said. “Cousin?” He repeated, considering for a moment that maybe Erik was confused.

“Yeah, Shuri.” He wasn’t confused.

“Shuri’s your cousin!?” Peter screamed but it came out breathy from the chokehold. 

“Who the fuck is she to you?” Erik asked, his tone dripping confusion.

Peter didn’t know if answering truthfully was the correct move, but he did, hoping that a mutual connection would be enough to get him out of this mess. “She’s my friend from school.”

“Shit–!” Erik breathed out, much like Peter had earlier. “This complicates things.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sorry, kid, I’mma need you to shut up for a sec,” Erik mumbled and before Peter could respond, a sudden pain had him falling limp against the concrete. 

*~*~*

As Peter’s world came into focus, so did the pain throbbing at the back of his neck. Getting his bearings was as simple as letting his eyes squint open. He was laying across the backseat of a car, arms and legs bound with heavy duty zip tie cuffs. His first impulse was escaping – not that he had a plan – but, upon hearing voices outside of the car, he remained still and listened. 

“What do you mean he’s friends with your cousin?!” Voice one was definitely Steve. Peter wouldn’t forget that authoritative bark so soon.

“I don’t know, he came down the fucking fire escape so I just grabbed him.” Voice two was the captor himself; Killmonger. 

Steve sighed, leaning against the back door, causing the small car to shift on its axles. “Do you know if he told them anything?”

“No, I didn’t get a chance to go in there yet, man. T’Challa is blowin’ up my phone.”

“Well, I’ll see what the Boss says,” Steve spoke with a hint of frustration. “That may complicate things.”

“Exactly,” Erik quickly agreed, his tone more hostile and unsettled than it was before. “I don’t know how much he told them but y’all not touchin’ my fuckin’ family.”

“Drop the sentiments, Erik. You just figured out that you even had one of those.”

“Watch yourself, Rogers.”

“And you remember where your loyalties lie, Killmonger.”

“Ain’t nobody loyal, I work for money, not men,” Erik fired back. “And I can get that anywhere so you better stay the fuck away from my blood.”

It was quiet for a moment and Peter could only imagine the tension on their faces before Steve broke the silence. “For now, I’ll head back and I will be sure to remind the Boss that you were the one that caught the kid.”

“And you’ll say that my family don’t know shit.”

“Maybe I will,” Steve laughed, “I’ll be sure to let him know you told me what to say.”

“Nah, Steve, I don’t think you understand,” Erik threatened. “You ain’t the Boss’s favorite. Who you think he put in charge of Barnes?”

There was another pause, a long one that ended in overconfident laughter from Erik, that undoubtedly sparked from whatever face Steve was making.

“What?” Erik taunted as his laughter fizzled out. “It’s not my fault your boyfriend can’t follow orders.”

“Quiet,” Steve huffed, banging his fist against the car door. “You’ll get what you want. This conversation didn’t happen.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

With that, Steve slid into the front seat, starting the ignition and pulling away from the curb. Peter didn’t know whether he should pretend to be asleep or make his consciousness known. He had no idea where he was. His point of reference was MJ and Shuri’s house but after being knocked out, that was gone. He couldn’t even keep up with the number of turns and the merges as they exited the city. From his vantage point, he could see the city’s tall buildings become scarce. It was infuriating.

 So after the smooth road became bumpy like gravel, Peter impatiently broke the silence. “Where are you taking me?” The question felt right in the moment, but the way the car pulled to the side of the road and slowed to a stop instantly filled him with regret.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Steve said as he exited the front door, yanking the back door open in the same motion. “Let’s fix that.”

Peter’s eyes went wide, staring up at Steve – or rather, Steve’s hands, which were gripping a small syringe that Peter wanted absolutely nothing to do with. “Wait!” He screamed, jolting upright and recoiling to the other side of the backseat, desperately trying to reach the door handle with his bound hands.

“Relax, kid,” Steve’s calm was eerie as he leaned into the car, one knee against the seats, reaching for Peter’s upper arm. “This won’t even hurt.”

“No!” Peter screamed again, giving up on the door handle and, instead, opting to fall against the door and kick out his bound ankles. As his desperate kicks connected with Steve’s torso, he yelled with each impact, “Get away from me! Get away!” 

Steve gripped his side, his furrowed brow giving away his frustration as he took a deep breath. “Guess we’re playing this game,” He muttered under his exhale as he took Peter’s calf into a vice grip and yanked his body forward. 

The sudden pull forced the air out of Peter’s lungs but, through his gasping, Peter continued to thrash, engaging every available muscle that wasn’t already spent. “Fuck you!”

Steve let out an aggravated groan, using his knee to pin the kid’s squirming legs. “You finished?” Steve leaned forward, hovering over Peter’s immobile body, posing the question with a raised brow.

Peter was panting from the adrenaline, his eyes frantically bouncing between Steve’s eyes and the syringe in his right hand. The inevitability of the situation quickly setting in and, much like before, he found himself laughing. Giggling with tears welling at the corners of his eyes and running towards his ears with every blink. “I’m scared of you,” He spoke between a few breathy laughs. “You’re so fucking scary. Fuck.”

“You’re scarier,” Steve smiled as he primed the syringe and pushed the needle into the side of Peter’s neck, watching as Peter’s laughs waned and his eyelids drooped closed. 

*~*~*

When Peter came to for the second time, his hands shot up, clutching at his temples where the throbbing was already starting to ease. His vision was blurry but with a few slow blinks, the world shifted into focus. His first sight was expected – excitingly expected, in a morbid way – the imposing presence of a powerful man that lived in his mind rent-free; the Boss himself, Tony. Who else could it have been that had him dragged here? To this modern mansion, in the middle of god-knows-where, in this windowless room with nothing but the sound of their breaths cutting through the tension.

“You’re awake,” Tony spoke, one leg tossed over the other, his arms on either rest of the throne-like chair, donned in a suit not unlike the one he wore when they first met. “I heard you were quite a handful. How are you feeling?”

Peter rolled his eyes and stood, fighting against the tilted world his dizzy brain presented to him. “How am I feeling?” He repeated, staring incredulously, all but gawking at the gall of the question. “You fucking kidnapped me!”

“I had someone kidnap you. There’s a difference.” Tony pointedly stated, flashing a grin so smug that Peter felt his blood boil.

“You threw me into the back of a car and drugged me! I was unconscious! Twice!” Peter snapped, unsure of where this fire was coming from. His mind kept screaming at him, saying that Tony was dangerous – and, of course, his mind was correct but he didn’t dwell – the seal was already broken so he would do as he pleased.

“Again, sweetheart, there’s a bit of nuance to what I specifically did,” Tony breathed a short laugh. “Besides, that has nothing to do with how you feel.”

“How I feel?!” Peter groaned, a smile of disbelief tugging on the corners of his mouth as he ran a frustrated hand through his curls. “Violated!” He yelled, stiffly gesturing with each syllable. “Infuriated! Taken against my fucking will! Pissed-!”

“I have a gift for you, sweetheart.” Tony interrupted, seemingly disregarding every word that formed in Peter’s rage. In fact, Tony didn’t even flinch. Peter was so angry that his palms felt hot and his throat was sore from all the yelling. He was exploding, but Tony just sat there with an amused smirk and a devilish calm; the power of which was akin to both the unstoppable force and the immovable object.

“Whatever it is, I don’t want it,” Peter immediately refused and, instead, he set his stride towards the door. “I want to leave.” “Can’t let you do that,” Tony stood, stepping in Peter’s path, grabbing him by the wrist and shoving him against the armchair.

“Fuck you!” Peter’s words were venomous as he shot back up, yanking his wrist free and darting towards the door. This time he managed to evade Tony’s grasp. A small victory that was swiftly quelled as he gripped the handle and realized that it was a locked door – and it was locked from the outside. 

The realization made Peter take in more of his surroundings. The room was like an underground studio apartment. It had everything – a bed, kitchen, bathroom, wall-mounted flatscreen – it was decorated in a way that made Peter’s stomach do a flip. How he always managed to get caught up on the wrong path, he didn’t know.

Peter broke into laughter – a reaction to fear that he was starting to get comfortable with the more he did it.  “How long do you plan on keeping me here?” He asked, strolling toward the fridge with the carelessness of someone confined. He flung open the fridge door, laughing harder to see it fully stocked. “That long, huh?” He slammed the fridge door before sauntering back to the chair he started in, dejectedly dropping against the cushion.

“Have you calmed down?” Tony asked as he sat back down as well, adjusting his tie as he did.

Peter took a deep breath. He was here now, he thought, no sense in burning a bridge when it seemed to be his only escape route. “Yes,” He nodded, flashing a sweet smile and bright eyes, a trick he picked up while escorting. “Thank you for the room, Tony. I really love it.”

“Wow,” Tony grinned, biting his lip and staring at Peter with a hunger in his eyes. “You really know how to turn that on and off.” 

“I was just a bit disoriented, sir,” Peter turned the charm up to eleven, desperately ignoring the twinge of excitement in his gut, trying to focus on being disgusted. After all, disgust seemed like a more appropriate reaction to his situation. “I didn’t exactly have the best experience on the way here. I’m sorry for being so angry.”

Tony tsked, crossing his arms like Peter’s discomfort meant something to him. “If I had a choice, I would’ve sent Barnes after you. He knows restraint, even when it’s against his best interests.”

“Barnes?” Peter repeated, immediately recalling the name. “Bucky, right?”

“That’s right,” Tony nodded. “He’s one of my best men. He just needed some adjusting.”

Peter understood it as a threat; a reminder that he was only alive because Bucky was suffering. “What are you doing to him?” He asked, his tone skirting somewhere between playfully and morbidly curious.

“Would you like to see?” Tony asked, pulling a phone from his pocket and beckoning Peter with his free hand.

And as Peter shortened the distance, staring at Tony’s outstretched hand, he wondered if Tony would hear his heart pounding. He wondered if, in this closeness, he would notice how hot his body burned. “Yes,” Peter answered, taking Tony’s hand with a smile and sliding into his lap. The motion was free of hesitation; purely second nature – again, he found himself thanking his previous work – letting the older man’s arm snake around his torso as they watched the phone screen.

It was a live feed from a small room; completely concrete and illuminated by a singular spotlight. It was difficult to see the details but Peter could see Bucky. He was slumped over, unmoving, tied to a chair and, from what Peter could see, he was bleeding from his hand.

“See?” Tony spoke with an uncaring tone. “He’s fine.”

“He’s not moving,” Peter shook his head and stood, mentally kicking himself for feeling that same morbid excitement.

“And that bothers you?” Tony questioned, a look of intrigue in his eyes.

Peter smiled, shrugging like it wasn’t eating away at him, “Not at all.”

“You’re so convincing,” Tony marveled, shaking his head with a grin. “Not many people can make me second guess myself.” 

Peter returned to the opposing chair, purposefully leaning back, letting the hem of his t-shirt ride up a couple of inches, letting his knees part ever-so-slightly. “Does that mean I’m special to you, sir?”

“You’re something,” Tony admitted, his eyes momentarily flickering to Peter’s exposed skin. “I’m sorry you had a bad experience coming here. It wasn’t my intention to hurt you.”

“Then why come after me?” Peter implored, tapping his fingers against his knee. “You let me go yesterday.”

“Don’t be so full of yourself, kid,” Tony gave a belittling laugh, momentarily averting his gaze. “I had more important business at the time and I knew getting you back was a given.”

Peter squinted, “You sound sure of yourself.”

“Well, either you would come willingly or you would pretend that you didn’t want to come willingly – I should’ve guessed it would be the latter – you and Erik running into each other was simply the catalyst.” Tony spoke with a confidence that poked at Peter’s sanity. “Your denial is the most crystal clear part of you, sweetheart.”

“My denial?” Peter echoed, scoffing in an attempt to save face, but silently judging himself for how weak it sounded. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Do you know how quickly a bullet leaves the chamber of a gun, Peter?” Tony posed the question like it wasn’t meant to be answered. “Most people close their eyes when a gun is fired. They cower from it, flinching as the trigger is pulled, anticipating the carnage with fear. But you—”

“What’s the point of this?” Peter hated where this was going. Everything Tony said made him want to smile.

“—you didn’t flinch.” Tony continued. “You were beaming, Peter. You were savoring it.”

And Peter suddenly remembered – or rather, he suddenly let his mind have enough real estate to recall those feelings that he wanted so badly to repress. The burning eroticism of wielding power; the cool metal of control; the reverberation of utter pleasure when shooting that gun. It terrified him to be so thrilled by it.

“I wasn’t,” Peter’s tone was even weaker that time. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Is that right?” Tony challenged, speaking in that same sultry tone that sat at the beginning of Peter’s dangerous infatuation with him. “In time, I think you’ll find that I know everything.”

Peter felt a chill tremble down his back and a heat in his cheeks that he wished would disappear. Tony’s presence was imposing and infuriating and desirable all at once like some kind of sick joke. Why did a man like this send shivers down Peter's spine in such a dichotomous way? 

“What do you want from me, Tony?”

Tony sighed, sliding his phone back into his pocket as he stood. “Isn’t that the million dollar question?”

“What do you mean?” Peter asked, understanding exactly what Tony meant but too nervous to speak it into existence.

“You’re more intriguing than you think, Peter Parker,” Tony began. “I wanted you so I took you. I haven’t decided what I’m doing with you just yet.”

“So I’m just supposed to be a prisoner until you feel up to making a decision?” Peter breathed slow, furrowing and unfurrowing his brow, trying to maintain his composure. “You don’t want anything?”

“Not yet,” Tony admitted, “But you’re not a prisoner.”

“Tell that to the locked door and the stocked fridge,” Peter quipped, his leg restlessly bouncing as anxiety crept up his back. He really did not want to be stuck in here.

“This is only temporary,” Tony assured. “I need to know if I can trust you before letting you roam the property.” He grinned, crooked and dauntless. “I can’t have my things running away now, can I?”

Peter clenched his teeth at the notion. “Can’t you just fuck me and toss me out? I would honestly prefer if we just got it over with.”

Tony laughed, “I’m not a monster, Peter.”

“You had me fooled.”

“While you’re here, you can have anything you want,” Tony offered, adding stipulations before Peter could get a word in. “Within reason, of course. No, you cannot leave this room right now and, no, you cannot have your phone.”

“Right,” Peter nodded, smiling with disbelief. “And you’re leaving me here alone?”

“For now, yes,” Tony stepped toward Peter, reaching a hand up to cup the side of his face. “Is there anything you want before I go?”

Peter would like to think that he forced himself to lean into the touch, “Please don’t leave me here.”

Tony breathed a short laugh, “Drop the act, kid. It’s pathetic.”

“It’s survival,” Peter challenged, pulling his face away from Tony’s hand. “You wouldn’t understand because you’re on the other side of it.”

“You could be on the other side of it too, you know,” Tony placed a hand atop Peter’s shoulder. “On the side where you let yourself do whatever you want,” He hummed. “Killing that guy for instance – what was his name again? – Beck?”

“Quentin,” Peter inhaled. “Is he-?”

“Dead?” Tony offered. “No, not yet anyways. I’m saving him just for you. So whenever you accept who you truly are, he’ll be there for target practice.”

“You’re sick.”

“And you love it,” Tony grinned before turning on his heel and heading towards the door. “Now I hate to cut this short but I have some business to take care of.”

Peter paused, the reality of being alone suddenly suffocating him again. “Wait,” He called out, pulling Tony’s attention. “You said I could have anything I wanted?”

“Yes.”

“Then I want Bucky.”

*~*~*

[inkribbon796]

It’s Not Rabies, It’s . . . Ch. 3

Summary: Lunky gets to meet some more of the family.

A/N: This was a suggestion-request from the anon Nightfall on AO3. Which resulted in this story and since this one was getting a bit long it inspired a bit for the Visitation Day on Sunday which will be a lot less angsty.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

Chapter 3: Meet the Family

Bim was on stage when, apparently, Dark had contacted Wilford, saying to come to the Manor when they both finished up at the studio.

Which Dark tended not to do unless it was something serious. Usually he ordered Illinois and Yan to jump at his command.

But Wil took him home and they found Dark’s office empty. Which was strange because all his important meetings with them were in there.

There was talking in the living room and Wil quickly poked his head out of the room and let out a delighted gasp.

“Now who is this delightful little configuration of being?” Wilford threw open the door and Bim followed more hesitantly.

Bim stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Dark with a child in his arms. He looked at that kid and he could feel his hackles rising.

“Hello,” Wil leaned in close to the child, bracing his hands on his knees. “Are you lucky number seven?”

The spawnling screeched at Wil.

Wilford chuckled, absolutely delighted. “Is that so?”

The madman looked up at Dark with a huge smile, “Their hiss sounds a bit like your echo, Darky.”

“They’re Kay’s child,” Dark told Wil. “Their name is Lunky.”

“Really?” Wil’s enthusiasm didn’t dampen, he clapped his hands on his knees and stood up to look around. “Where is that boy?”

“Hey dad,” King smiled and waved at Wil from where he was sitting in an armchair.

“Congratulations my boy,” Wil moved to his side to clap his hand on King’s shoulder. “Who’s the lucky partner I’ve never met?”

“No one,” King told him. “I got stabbed by a soul splitter and almost died. It gave me a kid instead.”

“That sounds fake as shit,” Bim told him.

Lunky made a little screech.

Wilford roared with laughter, “Learn quick, don’t you?”

King surged up, “Are you teaching my kid to curse, I have to deal with that later.”

“Kid’ll learn sooner rather than later when Anti shows up,” Bim defended with a huge smile on his face as King stomped over to him.

Before King could shake or punch his younger brother, Dark spoke up, “Let’s not Kay.”

The animal magnet threw his arms up in the air, and glared at Bim, “Next time I get you alone you insufferable brat.”

Bim gave him a sharp toothy smile, “Try it Dolittle.”

“Bim, if you keep antagonizing him, you might not win,” Dark warned.

“So to clear the air, this is my nephew?” Bim asked, walking over to the spawnling who maintained eye contact with Bim and both of them began a low warning growl as Bim approached.

“Bim,” Dark warned, shielding Lunky with his aura. “They’re not competition, leave them alone.”

“That’s not why I’m growling,” Bim growled defensively.

“Then why are you growling?” Wil chuckled, leaning his elbows on the back of the couch and resting his chin on the palm of his hands.

Bim glared at Wil before huffing in frustration at Lunky.

“To answer your earlier question, no Lunky is not your brother. You were, to quote Beauregard, a “creation of pure science” and since I killed the other scientists it’s not happening again anytime soon. Besides there are already six of you, and you are all grown adults. Having another child would serve no purpose.”

“I could get a sister,” Yan called as she ran from upstairs with a binder of colored squares and started holding the colors up next to Lunky’s face. “What’s a girl gotta do to get some quality girl time around here?”

“I don’t control that,” Dark reminded her, neither he nor King moving Lunky away from her.

“Come now Darky, we’d get to have another angel running around the house,” Wil pouted.

“That’s what grandchildren are for,” Dark reminded.

“Yes but we have to give them back,” Wilford frowned sadly. Then he seemed to think about that. “We could not give them back.”

“Dad, I am right here,” King reminded. “We don’t live here.”

“A shame,” Wil commented, then he held his hands out. “May I hold them, pretty please?”

“Just don’t kidnap them,” King allowed.

Dark passed Lunky over to Wil, Lunky made an unhappy screeching cry and tried to hold onto Dark’s coat.

Wil chuckled, “Don’t worry, I’ll give you back to him.”

Lunky was suddenly very quiet, going completely limp, their eyes large dark orbs as they started devouring Wil’s aura.

“What a little delight,” Wil smiled. “Can they talk to animals too?”

“No, it’d be so much easier if they could,” King sighed.

Dark walked over and lessened the spells keeping Lunky 3-D and they popped back into their actual form. Wil almost dropped them but Dark caught the spawnling.

Lunky quickly stretched onto the wall and started investigating the room.

“Huh,” Bim commented, “weird gift, do they sleep on a drawing of a bed or an actual bed.”

King let out a bubbling, uncomfortable laugh, “They don’t.”

“What? Sleep?” Bim asked.

“Yes,” King answered. “I’ve barely been sleeping.”

Dark pulled a scroll from the Void and passed it over to King, “This is what I used to use on all of you.”

Looking Dark dead in the eye, King said, “You are the best, if this even works half as well as it did on me.”

Dark smirked at him.

The conversation kept going and Bim went off to hunt again and Wil raced off to the attic with Yan to find something. Leaving Dark, the Host, and King alone with Lunky in the living room. The spawnling seemed to be resting but King knew it wouldn’t last and he would actually go to sleep.

Lunky was resting against Dark’s shoulder, still a flat image, and Dark was just sitting in one of the armchairs, watching them rest.

“You know,” King commented. “When they’re like this, I kinda forget they can be an absolute nightmare.”

“Hopefully that spell works for you,” Dark replied.

“How long did it take Bim to start talking?” King asked. “We came in when he was already talking and walking.”

“We got Bim when he was eight months old, he was walking before he started talking. Wil accidentally said the word “fuck” and that was his first word. I was furious. He started talking when he was almost two. Lunky is a little bit more developed than Bim was. However, Bim was completely artificial.”

King made a face that showed that he wasn’t too reassured by those words. “Okay so should I be doing something?”

“The Host should suggest that there is a strong possibility that Lunky could never be able to fully speak,” the Host warned.

The room went quiet.

“Is that caused by something in their aura?” Dark asked.

“It is something within Lunky’s nature,” the Host reported. “There is a possibility that the Host is wrong, but the Host doubts that.”

“Okay,” King said.

Dark frowned, “A large portion of the heroes can sign, you and Illinois can sign, so can I, Wilford seemed to be able to read his mind. Communication shouldn’t be an issue. It would be a shame if we wasted their time and sanity trying to push them to communicate in a way that makes them uncomfortable.”

“Yeah,” King was very quick to agree, taking in a huge breath and nodding, looking more resolute by the second. “I can talk to birds and dogs. Humans are just another animal, right?”

“Some more so than others,” Dark offered as a barbed comment.

King looked nervous as he looked at Lunky, “I just don’t want to hurt them. I want them to be happy and safe.”

“You’ll do fine,” Dark reassured.

“Because you raised six kids?” King tried to smile.

“Well experience certainly helps,” Dark smiled. “But I meant to say that you won’t be trying to raise this one in secret like I did with all of you.”

“How did you manage that, anyways?” King asked. “We went to Disneyland one year. Dad broke an entire rollercoaster and killed fifteen people.”

“I used the Anomaly to perfectly replicate areas we wished to take you,” Dark answered. “I even replicated police involvement to keep your father entertained.”

“You absolute ass,” King cursed. “You took us to bootleg Disneyland?”

The Host chuckled at that.

“I will have you know it took a full year to investigate the entire park, including how character actors and crowds reacted,” Dark defended. “Did you expect me to bring Wil, Bim, and Arthur to an actual theme park and have nothing happen?”

“Fair,” King grumbled, and then groaned as he checked his phone. “Alright let’s get back to the base.”

“Before you leave,” Dark held up his hand and a necklace with an eye design on it. It swirled with a myriad of colors. “Something I had to learn the hard way. Spawnlings require aura to survive and grow. Like physical activity for a human. Their own will not feed them. So you have a choice: human or demonic aura.”

“To eat?” A pit formed in King’s heart.

“Yes, a new spawnling can strip all the aura from a human and render them a hollow, dry husk, matured demons have more control over it,” Dark warned. “What would you like to feed your child?”

“Uh, how do I get demon aura?” King asked apprehensively.

“Well now that depends, either an older, more experienced demon can donate their aura to a younger one, helping that spawnling grow stronger,” Dark explained. “Or you could kill a lesser, weaker demon and take all their aura to make oneself more powerful.”

That alarmed King instantly. “Demons can actually die?”

“Not from a single hit or even a volley of hits, killing a demon is a drawn out process but if the lesser is significantly weaker and the other demon is significantly stronger the fight is almost not fair. I have to kill some upstart every couple of months who tries to wander into Egoton thinking they can just take over. Typically I can just run them out and if they’re smart they won’t come back, other demons not so much. Why not put all that energy to good use?”

“O-Okay,” King allowed.

“I figured you would side with the humans so I took the time to mix my own aura with another demon’s that I recently subdued,” Dark told him. “At Lunky’s current appetite this should last him a couple months.”

King moved to put on the necklace but Dark stopped him. “Try to avoid putting it on, we wouldn’t want Lunky to associate you with food, now would we? You have far less aura than I do.”

“Right,” King pocketed the necklace and King took Lunky back who was upset to leave Dark’s arms and aura, but was quieted when they were given the necklace to chew on. Wil and Dark said their goodbyes. The Host took Lunky and King back to the base.

A calm settling back over the city.

[simpingforthisonedeer]

Chapter 3: A Reprise

Summary: Whiskey, flirting, crack, talk about magic, more whiskey and then, a loooot of frisky 😏😏😏

Notes: This is just a fun chapter at a whopping 7102 words but every detail is important so keep that in mind...

oh and there’s NSFW at the end ;)

Aika spent hours until evening helping Raymond and the rest of the captains to come up with formations for every thinkable scenario while enjoying food and drinks brought in by the servants. And then she happily spent the last hour with Julius to come up with contingencies for specific scenarios while the captains and the Magic Emperor either tried to relax, or took a power nap while the two laboured through.

It was early evening when they finished, and all the captains packed up their papers, maps, notes and the official plan. Aika took off her heels and sat down in the nearest empty chair with a groan. Captains walked by and patted her on the back sympathetically and in ‘goodbye’ as they dragged their feet out the door. All except one.

Aika laid her chin on the heel of her palm as she watched Julius decant what she assumed was whiskey, with half-closed eyes. A warm hand on her shoulder drew her out of her drowsy state.

“Aika.”

“Yes, uncle?” she looked drunkenly over her shoulder. He looked as tired as she felt. Raymond’s eyes flickered to Julius before he looked at her reprimandingly. She shrugged imperceptibly and rolled her eyes and shook her head, telling him not to worry.

“Captain Julius wanted to speak with you for a moment.”

She yawned as she nodded. She assumed he would. She told him she was a traveling mage then she turned up at his meeting saying she was also a tactical strategist. Raymond squeezed her shoulder and laid a hand on her head.

“You did a really good job today.”

Aika gave him a toothy smile. “Thank you,” she murmured. 

He patted her head gently and nodded at Julius, who nodded back. Raymond silently made his way to the door and gave Aika one last, fond look and closed the door.

“Would you like some whiskey?” Julius asked sedately.

“Yes, please,” she took the Old Fashioned from him and smiled when her fingers brushed his. He took the seat opposite to her with his own glass, which was a significantly smaller portion than hers, and appraised on another.

Tall, short, blond hair, a killer jawline and deep, violet eyes twinkling at her in mild amusement. Aika stared hungrily at his bow-shaped lips as she bit her own.

“Is this what you meant by very soon?” Her eyes flicked up to Julius’ as she took a sip. Then it became clear. Her uncle was supposed to organize a meeting between Aika and Julius to let him know about her services but he called her in during a key, strategic meeting for her to show off her skills instead.

Aika nodded and gave him a lazy smile. She stood up with her heels in one hand and walked over to her backpack next to the window. She swiped the fake plans she needed to pass on to Jayce so he could deliver them to the Diamond Kingdom. Then, she paused abruptly when she noticed the trees she planted earlier. 

It was getting dark out and the wisteria trees shone brighter than she had ever expected. They lit up the whole area. Some guards, a maid and the Coral Peacocks and Praying Mantis Captains stood around and admired the trees and its flowers.

“What’s wrong?” Julius came up next to her in a flash. “Oh.” He noticed the trees

“They’re beautiful…” she whispered.

“They haven’t been there before…”

Aika turned to him with a coy smile.

“I planted them this afternoon for Master Raymond,” she put her sunhat, heels and papers into her backpack and shrugged it on. “Him and my father loved to relax in the gardens together when they were younger,” Aika opened the windows, swung her legs over the windowsill and perched herself comfortably on it.

“Master Raymond’s your Uncle,” He plopped down next to her, his starry eyes still on the bright, purple trees. “Why’d you reveal that to me?” He looked at her from the corner of his eye. “Sharing classified information with family members can get you and most likely Master Raymond arrested if you don’t work for him in official capacity.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

Aika took a sip and sighed in satisfaction. This whiskey burned real good, and it soothed the nervousness in her gut. She turned to Julius and answered,

“I wanted to be candid with you and continue to be so because I want to leave you with no doubt that I’ve never lied.”

“It’s alright. Your work needs a cover so I understand any ‘lies’ about that.”

“Oh.” She expected the absolute opposite of that reaction.

Julius laughed when her face fell.

“And don’t worry, nobody is arresting anyone. You proved yourself to be quite skilled today. All the Captains were impressed and you got them all to agree on a plan which is nearly impossible,” A wry scoff escaped his lips as he shook his head. “Every rule has an exception and you were exceptional today,” he winked at her. She averted her eyes with a blush and a small smile.

The pair continued to admire the wisteria trees in comfortable silence as they took an occasional sip. While it was nice, Aika hated the silence because the ringing in ears got louder so she decided to continue speaking.

“You remember the night we met?” Julius nodded as he took another sip to hide a smirk.

“Felt like a dream, to be honest.” 

She turned to him with a perplexed look.

“A dream? What do you mean?”

He let out a wry chuckle.

“See, this one night, I just wanted to see some magic,” he began in an amused voice, “but then I got caught in this beautiful woman’s bear trap in the middle of the woods, got called delicious and instead of being devoured like I was hoping,” Aika’s mouth went dry at his intense gaze. “I discover she’s the only other Time Mage around. Then I get verbally thrashed and then we’re all friendly,” He threw back the last sip and sighed with a thoughtful look. “In fact, it never felt like we were strangers. We talked about Magic for hours. Turns out, the woman is not only really pretty but also super smart. It seemed like we had a lot in common,” he set his glass on the floor inside the room behind him and leaned forward on his knees with his eyebrows furrowed and a pensive look.

“We parted ways with a vague promise of seeing each other again and then the next day, I was told about a woman who’s been working with Master Raymond named ‘Aika Tolliver,’ someone who would possibly have to work with me after the war is over and I’m Magic Emperor,” he said, looking pointedly at her. Aika shrugged helplessly with a crooked smile.

She turned and stared at her glass as she swirled her drink. It was obvious he had been thinking about that night a lot and is absolutely shameless about it. She would be lying if she said she didn’t think of it often too. She had read up on all the files about him, his achievements, character profiles and open cases after that night. It was actually quite surprising that he wasn’t badgering her to show her more magic if the description of his quirks were true. 

It was an open secret, apparently, that Captain Julius Novachrono was often child-like and easily distracted by magic. He loved nothing more than to wander around the kingdom to witness more variety of magic than do his work. As far as they both knew, they were the only two arcane stage Time Mages. The Freese family had also used a form of Time Magic but it was a much weaker version. 

But he wasn’t exactly like the character profile stated. Yes, he was fascinated by magic, in fact they discussed Magic for hours the first night they met, but he wasn’t badgering her like it was the only thing he ever did like the reports implied. She was actually really flattered because he seemed more interested in her than her magic.

Aika knew that she shouldn’t court Julius while still wanting to maintain a professional relationship but she couldn’t really help it. He was so damn tempting.

“You sir, are,” she began as she bit her lip. “quite bold, I must say,” she said, addressing his beginning remarks. She shivered and hugged herself as a cold gust of wind swept by. Julius moved to take his cloak off and offer it to her but Aika took the edge of his cloak with a mischievous grin and wrapped it around her as she pressed herself into his side.

“Another thing we share in common,” she whispered as she nearly brushed her nose against his. Maybe a whole glass of whiskey was a bad idea. She was a little tipsy and a little too comfortable.

Julius parted his lips in shock. That was not expected. He knew he should be talking to her about what Master Raymond discussed with him: about her providing information about Clover’s neighbors, the underground, and covert missions. He was just being his flirtatious self to maybe bring her guard down but damn, two can play this game too. He recovered with a grin and wrapped an arm around her waist and held her close.

“I guess it is.”

She flashed a satisfied smile and turned to look back at the trees. She laid her head against his collar and took in a deep breath. The familiar, sweet smell of ozone came wafting from the man next to her. It was kind of like how her younger brother’s magic used to smell mixed with something that was purely Julius so she couldn’t help but smile at that. But as far she knew, Julius didn’t have any lightning magic like her brother, so she turned and pressed her nose to his collarbone to investigate the smell.

“Hey, that tickles!”

She pulled back with a laugh at his affronted look.

“Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s alright,” He assured her as he gave her one of those smiles where his eyes went soft and Aika felt like melting right then and there. She looked away before she did something stupid like kiss him silly.

There was another comfortable silence except for a shiver here and there from Aika which made Julius tighten his fingers on her hip. She controlled her breathing as she got warmer and pressed closer into his side. She had absolutely no shame.

“Hey,” he began as they both watched the sun set over the glistening trees. “I have a question about what Captain Leonardo said earlier.”

Aika looked up at him.

“About The Innkeeper?”

“Sort of,” he furrowed his brows again. “Why would The Innkeepers ask you for a favor if they had to face the two brigades? How would you help them?”

She tensed at his questions.

“I don’t mean to pry. Master Raymond has explained what you do for him in very vague terms, and your dossier was very bare. So, I want to slowly get to know you, either for work,” he looked at her shyly. “Or for just you.”

She was ready to get aggressively cagey and defensive again but she couldn’t help but melt again at his words. This man has been nothing but nice and cordial to her and she really needed to rein in her anger. Aika had also basically promised that she won’t lie to him, so she needed to tell him. And besides, she was a hatchet man for her Uncle and if she needed to continue being one when Julius was promoted, he needed to know.

She took his other hand with a fortifying breath. She brushed the back of it with her thumb in silent apology for her oversensitive reaction that he had no doubt noticed. But he was quick to reassure her nonetheless. He was patient and kind… 

Does he want her to work for him or does he want to seduce her? In the direction he was going, it seemed like both to Aika.

She squared her shoulders, excited about the possibilities and answered his question.

“If they called me for a favor because two brigades rolled up in their tunnels,” she looked at him blankly. “I would take care of it.”

An intrigued smile crept onto Julius’ face.

“Really?” He turned his nose up with a taunting look. “And how would you do that?”

“I will try to be diplomatic first.”

“Good idea,” he nodded approvingly. “And if that doesn’t work?”

She bit her lip and looked away.

“Then, I would bring the private army to settle things.”

“Wow, you’re really The Dagger?! I would love to see you fight one day! How—”

“Uncle Ray calls me ‘The Dagger?’ That’s—”

“A badass title, Aika? Yes, it is.”

Aika pinched Julius’ side with a laugh, drawing out an undignified yelp out of him.

“That’s a cringey name, Julius!”

“Okay, okay! But I’m not the one who said it!”

She looked away with an exaggerated ‘hmph.’

“He calls me that because he thinks it’s funny that I always carry a dagger,” she scoffed as she shook her head. “And besides, ‘Wizard King’ is away better title,” she said childishly. She fiddled with the edge of her skirt for a moment before she noticed that Julius went quiet.

“What’s wrong?”

“You want to be the Wizard King?”

A beat.

Aika gaped as her lips twitched in suppressed laughter.

“Wh-What?! No!” She couldn’t hold it anymore and burst out laughing.

“I’m so sorry I’m laughing,” she wheezed as Julius looked over at her in concern. “I have not wanted to be Wizard King since I was 8, and, and,” she breathed deeply before she continued laughing again. She apologized profusely as she tried to catch her breath.

“I don’t know why that’s funny to you,” Julius grumbled with a small smile. 

“No, no, it’s the way you asked. Like the sheer disbelief in your voice was hilarious. I’m so sorry, I don’t know why that’s so funny.” She wiped a stray tear. He had no idea.

“It’s just,” she took a deep breath. “I’ve given up on becoming Wizard King when my little brother said he wanted to be one too. Actually, I don’t even know why I wanted to be Wizard King in the first place. I was just a peasant in the Forsaken Realm who didn’t even know her attribute.”

“You were a peasant?” Julius blurted. “But isn’t your uncle a noble?”

Aika laughed. “My Uncle was a commoner who married into nobility and my father went to the Forsaken Realm to paint landscapes but fell in love and settled down there. So, I’m technically peasant-born...” she finished quietly, expecting Julius to maybe move away or be disgusted.

“Ohhh, that makes sense,” he nodded thoughtfully. He loosened his hold and turned to look at her with a starry look. “Will I get to see you on the battlefield though? I’ve heard so many great things about The Dagger and I want to see how you fight with Time Magic!”

“You’re not going to see me fight for a long while, Julius.” Aika was done fighting, especially other’s battles. It was why she left the Diamond Kingdom in the first place. She only ever saw her daughter during the weekends and the stress of her work, fighting and planning was getting to her mental health. She wasn’t going to fight again unless someone forced her hand.

“Aw, come on! Not even as part of an overwatch unit?”

“That’s a solid maybe,” she objected as she put her glass away. She wasn’t really the type to stand by and watch so she may change her mind after this weekend. But, after her ordeal with the Diamond Kingdom and their resistance movement, she was a lot more reluctant to pick up her swords again.

“Hmm,” he touched his chin. “Maybe,” Julius regarded her with a suggestive look. “I can change your mind.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow in interest. He moves really fast. “And how do you pl—”

He quickly attacked her sides with his fingers causing her to squirm as she pursed her lips shut and stopped any laughs or screams from escaping. Tickling her? Aika hoped for something way more different. She composed herself as she shook her head when he began to try harder.

“I think,” she began in a shaky voice. “That you’re just looking for an excuse touch me.”

She nearly slipped off her perch but Julius quickly caught her and looked at her with a pout.

“Can you blame me?”

“Not as long as I get to return the favor!”

And before Aika’s hands could reach his sides, Julius launched himself off the windowsill, towards the gardens as he threw a grin over his shoulder. 

He wasn’t childish, he was just a mess of gorgeous chaos, and she could see it in the ever-present twinkle in his eyes that threatened to shine like the stars.

“Julius!” She leapt after him.

He landed gracefully on his feet and made a big show of running in the direction of the brightly lit wisteria grove as he laughed.

“Only if you can catch me!”

Aika landed behind him and ran after him with a wild smile. She ran past the guards, captains and the maid admiring the grove and followed Julius into the center where she created a clearing earlier that day. Aika blinked and he disappeared.

She situated herself in the center of the grassy area and spun on her heel as she scanned the area for an ambush. She was a Time Mage too so speed wasn’t really an advantage if he wanted to sneak upon her but she was too tired to properly use Mana Zone without accidentally suffocating someone so she avoided using her magic. She had to trick him instead.

She pretended to look in a direction longer than she did before and as predicted, a blond blur moved at her eight o’clock and she sidestepped him. 

Aika grabbed Julius’ arm and twisted it behind his back and tackled him to the ground. He fell with an ‘oomph’ and groaned when she straddled his back. He leaned on his left side to avoid aggravating the bandaged wound on his right with considerable strain as she pressed down on him. Aika watched with a pleased smile and a blush as Julius breathed hard below her.

“You really thought you could just get away with it?”

He turned his head to the side with a cheeky grin.

“I don’t know anyone as fast as me so yes, I did.”

She retaliated by folding her legs underneath her like a pretzel and put all her weight on him.

“Don’t sit on my back!” He exclaimed as he struggled to buck her off. She pressed his arm harder with one hand and forced his head down with the other. Then an idea struck him and his grin grew wider. “Sit on my lap instead,” he suggested lowly.

Julius expected to catch her off guard and give him an opening to free himself, but he didn’t expect her to lean down to his ear and whisper,

“If you don’t behave, that is exactly what I’ll do and more.”

He inhaled sharply as all blood rushed to his cock. 

Fuck. Not expected, but certainly not unwelcome either. Aika smirked as he stopped resisting and flushed redder.

“Are you threatening me with a good time?”

“And if I am?”

“Hey, Miss Tolliver!” Marcus, the Praying Mantis’ captain, called out as he entered the clearing with Leah, the Coral Peacock’s captain, at his side. Aika quickly masked her face with a playful smile and waved ‘hello’ at him.

“I didn’t know you were such good friends with Julius already. What did he do?” He asked with a laugh.

“Miss Aika!” Evan exclaimed in worry as he came running into the clearing, his hands ablaze with fire. Aika waved his concerned, mother-henning self off as she slid off of Julius’ back.

“I’ve known this man for less than 24 hours,” she addressed Captain Marcus as she made herself comfortable on the grass. “and he had already tried to push me out the window!”

Julius discreetly moved his cloak to cover his not-so-little problem as he quickly sat up next to her.

“Push you?! I didn’t push you and it wasn’t on purpose!” Aika crossed her arms and raised one sardonic brow. That was a lie to cover for him but if he wanted to blow it, he was welcome to do so.

“Oh, would you like to tell them what exactly you were doing then?” she motioned to Evan, Captains Leah and Marcus, who were becoming more invested in this conversation by the second. If he wanted to tell everyone that they were flirting, that was fine by her.

She turned in surprise when Jayce, her other guard, and Ellie, her maid walked into the clearing with cautious expressions. Perfect! Now, she could hand off the fake plans for the Diamond Kingdom. Aika waved them over with a happy grin as Julius stammered next to her.

She looked at him smugly, silently daring him to tell what he was doing that made her nearly fall off. He wiped the dirt off his face as he looked at her pleadingly. She hid a smile at his puppy-dog eyes and conceded.

“The window was opened and I was standing by it and he accidentally bumped into me. He didn’t say sorry so I chased him and he jumped out the window and I followed,” Aika lied. Evan looked between her and Julius in suspicion while Ellie and Jayce hid a snicker. 

“That sounds like Julius alright,” Marcus chuckled as Leah shook her head.

“Lovely trees, aren’t they?” Julius asked a little forcefully. Aika looked around and nodded at his remark, letting him change the subject. It was completely dark out and the flowers shone brightly with a purple tint, completely lighting up the area. Aika would’ve made some flower crowns with the Wisteria if they didn’t sting her so much. 

“Let’s continue speaking in the meeting room,” Julius addressed Aika as he stood up with a groan. He nodded at the Captains and the guards and offered a hand to Aika to get up. She nodded and took out the fake battle plans from her backpack and handed them to Jayce as the rest watched curiously.

“I was brought in today by Master Raymond, so they know,” Aika quickly explained when Jayce and Ellie threw panicked looks at the Captains. She took Julius’ hand and stood up next to him. “Give them directly to Generals Allard and Hennequin, okay?”

Jayce nodded seriously and tucked the papers inside his robe. The Captains turned to Aika in surprise.

“Are they your spies?” Leah asked in disbelief.

“Yep, the three of them are my assets. I trust you all can keep this little secret?” she pressed a finger to her lip with an enigmatic smile. “Master Raymond is already aware of them.” Aika let out huff when Julius gave them starry looks.

“What kind of magic do you guys use? Does it help you guys in spy work? Well, magic is too flashy so do you have transformation magic or something? I would think that would be the most usef—”

“Julius,” Aika pulled him back by his fur cape as he got all up in their space. “The answers to your questions are classified. Please don’t make them uncomfortable.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, haha!” He rubbed the back of his head with a sheepish smile. Sometimes, he just forgets himself when it comes to magic. He turned to Aika with a small smile.

“I suppose we should continue speaking in the conference room?” He offered an arm to her. She nodded and took his arm graciously. Any excuse to touch him was fine by her. They both waved ‘bye’ to the slightly perplexed crowd and walked back towards the tower as they threw secret looks at each other.

Ellie waved back in confusion. Jayce wound an arm around her shoulder as he leaned heavily on her, his eyes still on Aika. Evan hummed thoughtfully next to them.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” he asked. Aika and Julius flew up together to the window and back into the conference room, linking hands as they did.

“I believe it’s about the Captains’ retirements,” Leah piped up. “and Julius’ ascension to the throne.”

“The throne?” Jayce asked as he reluctantly turned to her disbelief. “He’s just going to be the Wizard King, right?”

“King Augustus enjoys a stress-free lifestyle,” Marcus said as he shook his head. “He may resent Master Raymond for having equal power to the king during wartime but he certainly takes advantage of it and passes all his paperwork to the Wizard King.”

They all nodded in understanding as a smirk crossed Evan’s face. The others might not have seen it in the dark, but he had certainly noticed how they linked hands when they were further away. The way his boss looked at the young Captain...Things might get interesting around here depending on how tonight goes…

  Aika made herself comfortable on one end of the couch as Julius poured her a smidge of whiskey and settled down on the other end. She tucked one leg underneath her as she turned to face him. 

“Am I going to have to drink by myself?” she asked cheekily as he put the decanter away. He patted his chest lightly.

“I have a slow-acting rotting curse on my liver. It’s going to be a while before that goes away so I can’t drink.”

Aika’s demeanor turned serious almost instantaneously.

“I heard there was a hired gang of curse mages in the last battle. Was it from one of them?”

He nodded slowly.

“Couldn’t you just rewind to the time when the curse didn’t exist?”

“Ah, no. Immediately after getting hit with the curse, they tied a mana resistance spell and its duration to it so I can’t dispel it yet. The healer mage said another week or two before I could begin to heal.”

“Ooh, that’s a rare curse combination. Combining a curse and a reinforcement spell is difficult,” Aika said, nodding as she fished through her backpack. “And even then, a mana resistance is a gamble unless you are very specific with your spell, or else your target is completely impervious to all attacks.” 

She pulled out a vial of clear liquid and waved it at him.

“Here, catch!”

Julius caught it and examined it. It had a unique smell that he couldn’t name. He thought it smelled kind of like thyme and rain.

“Mana resistance is a good spell so there wasn’t a potion to remove it,” she motioned at the vial in his hand. “until recently.” 

He examined it more thoroughly as he understood what this little potion meant. Mana resistance was actually annoying when it lasted longer than it should but no one had really developed a potion to counter it.

“Was it developed because soldiers aren’t able to heal themselves in battle because of resistance?”

“Among many other reasons.”

“Wow, so cool! I haven’t been keeping up with potion-making and I don’t think my healer did either!” He moved to uncork the vial but Aika stopped him with one hand. She didn’t realize she had even moved. They both looked at where their hands touched with a jolt and blushed.

“Sorry, I was just-”

“It’s okay,” Julius grinned at her, a blush still present on his face. “I don’t mind.”

Aika lips twitched with a shaky smile. She cleared her throat and focused on the vial.

“You need to fill it up with your mana first before you drink it. You can only dispel it-”

“With my own mana because I can only overwhelm a mana resistance spell from the inside out.”

“Hey, you know your stuff! An unrivaled magic nerd like they say I see.”

He grinned proudly and did as she told him. Aika watched as the vial glowed in his hands as he poured his mana into it. He uncorked it and raised it in cheers before throwing it back.

He handed the vial back to her and hovered a hand over his liver. Accelerating time wasn’t an option because that would leave him with a damaged liver. Rewinding time would mean the mana resistance would be back.

“What are you waiting for?”

Julius looked up at her big, expectant eyes and he forgot to breathe for a second. The moonlight from the window illuminated half of her face in the dimly-lit room and lashes fanned her cheeks when she blinked at him with an innocence he knew she didn’t possess.

“Um,” He motioned vaguely at his chest as it rose unsteadily. “I can’t rewind or the mana resistance would be back.”

“And accelerating would leave your liver damaged,” she finished with a thoughtful look on her face. Julius’ mind went blank when his eyes focused on her mouth. They spoke about magic with the same passion as his, lips that turned pink for a moment whenever she bit her lip flirtatiously, lips that would look wonderful wrapped around him— 

“Hey, Julius?” she asked lowly. Gooseflesh rose at the nape of his neck when she leaned closer. He prayed that his trousers were covered in shadows.

“Yes?”

“You kind of spaced out. You okay?”

“Yes!” Julius shook his head to clear his thoughts and looked at her properly with a shining smile. “Yes, I’m feeling fine.”

“Okay, good,” Aika’s shoulders fell slightly as she gave him a relieved look. “I got an idea on how to rewind and step over the mana resistance. Well, it’s a theory. We would have to use combination magic though,” she said with a mischievous smile. That caught Julius’ attention. He had never used combination magic before! People with arcane magics often can’t.

“Aren’t our rewind spells the same?”

“Not necessarily. Your rewind spell is actually very different from mine.”

“Oh? In what way?” 

She grew more excited as her idea became more coherent.

“My rewind spell undos the effects but your rewind spell, it’s resurrection something, uh,” Aika snapped her fingers and lit up when she remembered. “Chrono Anastasis, right? In the description on your grimoire page, it said that it undos events and keeps using the rune ‘event’ over and over again, compared to mine where it says ‘effect.’”

Julius furrowed his brow as he absorbed that information.

“How are ‘effects’ and ‘events’ different?” Aika settled down closer to his side, her knee pressingly eagerly against his leg and bit her lip with a smirk.

“Say for example, I tore your shirt off and threw it to the side,” she began casually, willing her face to stay still when Julius’ eyes nearly bugged out. “If I used my rewind spell on the shirt, the tear would repair itself but that’s it. If you used your rewind spell, the tear would repair itself as the shirt makes its way back on you.”

He swallowed thickly as he processed the information.

“So you’re saying that my spell, er, has a bigger sphere of influence at the base than yours.”

“A bigger diametral place, yes. And I’ve experimented with my Time Magic and I’ve learned to use it in pieces rather than letting the spell run its course. I’ve skipped over certain effects when rewinding but it's really hard. But, if I combined it with your magic where it distinguishes events specifically, I can differentiate the dispelling of mana resistance, get to the rotting curse, and rewind it!”

Julius gaped as Aika gave him a sunny look. He willed himself to breathe properly when her eyes flickered down to his lips.

“Do you get it?” He nodded as he gathered his wits and squared his shoulders. He lifted his hand, palm facing her as he let his giddiness take over. He was going to do combination magic for the first time! He’ll concentrate on that for now.

“Let’s do it then.”

Aika pressed her palm against his and nearly drew back when she realized how cold he was.

“Your hands are really cold,” she murmured. He smiled as a rush of cockiness overtook him.

“Maybe, you should keep them warm for me.” 

Aika paused a beat and stared as he raised an eyebrow. Oh, she wasn’t going to back down from a challenge.

She twisted her wrist and took his hand, brought it up to her lips and placed a slow, open-mouthed kiss on his knuckles. The bold move short-circuited Julius and his erection pressed almost painfully against the front of his trousers. He stared at her in mild surprise as she looked at him from beneath her lashes.

“It would be my pleasure,” she said softly. She laced her fingers with his and nodded in the general area of his chest.

“Should we get to it then?”

“Uh,” he blinked and slowly pressed his legs together, not that it was going to hide much. “Yes. How do we do this?”

“Lend me some of your magic and I’ll rewind the wound,” Aika explained as her eyes stayed resolutely on his face for the sake of his dignity.

He nodded and closed his eyes and let his mana seep into her. He began hesitantly but relaxed when she squeezed his hand comfortingly.

Aika’s hand hovered over his liver and she watched in fascination as a blueish clock, very different from her own, spun counterclockwise. It kept spinning and accelerating until she knew she went back two weeks. 

This was much more effortless than doing it with her own magic where she had to calculate the exact moment she needed to skip and actually perform the spell. It was kind of amazing to feel a different kind of time magic slide against her own mana. She expected to have some issues because combination magic that wasn’t spur of the moment required a certain amount of trust, and the proof that he trusted her even a little bit set her heart racing.

Julius took a deep breath and exhaled in relief when it didn’t hurt.

“Wow, it feels so much easier to breathe!” He exclaimed as he touched his chest. He gave her a big smile. “Thank you!”

“Your welcome, and now you can finally join me.” Aika let go of his hand and handed her glass to him. She stood up with a wink and instead of bringing the nearly empty decanter, she walked back to the sofa with a bottle of whiskey and another glass in her hands.

He raised an eyebrow. She shrugged shamelessly.

“I hope you’re not a lightweight for both our sakes,” he jibbed as he took a sip.

“A full glass couldn’t get me tipsy, Julius. Another glass wouldn’t make too much of a difference,” she plopped down next to him and reclined as she crossed her legs.

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Aika.”

“Mm, if I want to wake up, brain all sore, among other things,” Julius choked. “who are you to stop me?” She patted his back as he recuperated. He cleared his throat and turned to her with a deadpan face as if to ask if that was really necessary. She giggled.

“So Time Magic,” Julius gritted out in an effort to change the topic. “What else do you think we could do with our combined magics?”

“Well…”

They talked about time, space, the end, and the beginning, till their glasses nearly emptied.

“Your teleportation spell is not a time-space spell! It’s literally spatial magic! How-” “Nonono, if I’ve been somewhere before, it’s a moment in time. I can’t really go back in time, but I can go back in space.”

Aika snorted derisively as she threw back the last sip in from the bottle.

“Yeah, whatever you say, space boy.” Julius huffed in mock anger. “I would’ve asked if you were for hire if you weren’t so busy trying to become king—I mean, Wizard King.”

“Speaking of hiring,” Julius began suddenly as he looked into his glass with uncharacteristic solemnity. “Would work for me? This meeting was supposed to be about me convincing you—”

“I thought it was the other way around,” Aika blurted. “I thought I had to convince you?”

“Oh...”

They burst out laughing.

“I think we were too busy talking magic to be convincing each other of anything,” Julius wheezed out between laughs.

Aika breathed deeply in a futile attempt to catch her breath.

“Well, I at least know that you would be fun to work with,” she giggled as she tried to get the last drops out of the whiskey bottle. She looked up when he spoke.

“But you still didn’t answer my question,” Julius took a sip as he crossed his legs. “Would you work for me?”

Aika barely registered what he said. Her eyes were only on the drop of whiskey on his lip. His tongue darted out to lick it and it set her blood on fire. She resisted the urge to squirm and instead focused on the glass in his hand.

“Yes, of course, I’ll work for you.”

He grinned.

“Great! Three ‘yeses!’”

She hummed as her hand slowly inched towards the glass on his hand.

“Can I have the rest of it?”

“What?!” He looked at his glass and swiftly raised his arm above him and out of her reach. “No!”

“Please?” She pouted. Julius’ face flushed redder.

“You’re already six sheets to the wind. Any more and we’re looking at alcohol poi—”

Aika plucked it out of his hand with a smirk.

“Hey!”

She clambered backwards to the opposite end of the sofa as he leapt after her. She kept him at bay with her legs as she attempted to drink from the glass but he pinned one leg down with his hip and stretched his arm out to grab it from her. Aika quickly shifted up and arched her back over the armrest and kept it out of his reach.

He grunted when she tried to tickle him with her other hand. Julius looked down to scowl at her as she gave him a shit-eating grin but their faces fell when they realized what position they were in.

Julius was straddling one of her legs as he hovered a few inches from her face. Aika’s hair was fanned out in a halo around her as her breathing grew heavier. 

Julius smiled drunkenly as his eyes flickered down to Aika’s lips. She pulled him gently by his cape and carefully brushed her lips against his, testing the waters, asking permission.

Suddenly, she was drowning in whiskey, lightning and the heady sensation of his insistent lips on hers.

Aika haphazardly set the glass down and threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with equal frenzy. He hummed appreciatively and pressed his weight on her but kept his hips at a respectable distance.

He brushed the hair out of her face with featherlight touches and cupped her cheek tenderly. She knotted her fingers in his hair, lightly pulling as she went. She had been longing for him since that night a week ago and now her body ached to have all of him, feel him, surround him.

Aika brought up the leg he straddled and pressed it against his straining erection. Julius made a keening noise against her lips as he ground down against her thigh. She traced the arch of his spine appreciatively as he wantonly rode her thigh, making needy noises at the back of his throat as he did.

She ran her hands up the back of his thighs and squeezed his firm ass. He stiffened in her arms and sat up immediately, his eyes, sober and aghast. Aika’s heart stopped, thinking it was rejection.

“I’m so sorry,” he exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to kiss you so suddenly! I was just reaching for the glass and I didn’t really think. I don’t know if you were just flirting for fun or if it was serious and I shouldn’t assume like that.”

She gaped as he apologized profusely. Was this man serious? He was about to get fucked within an inch of his life and he’s sorry?

“Julius,” Aika called out, stopping him mid-rant. She stared pointedly at his straining cock and raised an impressed eyebrow. “You’re not sorry and I’m not either.” He flushed redder, if that was even possible, as her eyes roved over his debauched form. She grinned when an idea crossed her mind.

She planted her feet on the couch and flipped them over. He grabbed onto her hips at the sudden movement and grit his teeth to hold back any noises as she ground her thigh into his cock. Aika licked the sliver of skin high up his neck and bit his earlobe.

“You don’t get to flirt with me, touch me, kiss me and ride my thigh,” She ran her fingers down his chest “and be sorry about it.”

She wrapped her fingers around his clothed length and latched her teeth on the fluttering pulse of his neck. She gasped and tightened her hold when he whimpered in her ear.

Aika pulled back, her face pleasantly surprised. Julius panted through swollen lips and hooded eyes as he stared back at her, unabashed and eager.

A smirk crept up onto her face and she licked her lips. Perhaps she should move on to the next phase.

“I will tie you to my bed and wring every ounce of pleasure out of you,” she brushed her lips against his jaw. “if you promise to keep making those pretty, little noises.” 

Julius let out a shuddery gasp when invisible hands began to stroke and caress every straining nerve on his body, any place that could elicit pleasure. Hands he couldn’t see touched his inner thighs, raked down his sides and stroked his chest.

“Yeah, just like that,” she cooed.

“Wh-what is that,” he gasped out.

“Mana Control: Mana Hands,” she explained. “Magic gets you excited,” she giggled as she continued “So I wondered just how excited it would make you to know that magic could also be used for pleasure.”

He bit his lip and moaned quietly at her words.

And suddenly, a knock sounded on the doors.

“Aika?”

Julius and Aika looked at each other in horror.

Oh, shit.

Notes: I hope you horny bastards enjoyed that ;)))

[ouyangzizhensdad]

Maybe it's just me but somethings they left for the novel fandom to fill in the blanks, they never expected the drama to hit it big as it did... the why he got punished is one of those things. Something that makes me confused is the difference between how western fans perceive the novel/show and how eastern fans do, for example lqr gets hate in western fandom and most asian fandom doest really like jc. Lqr was afraid for his nephew and he accepts his nephew even when he messed up, wht did jc do

It is fine and swell to leave little Easter eggs for fans of the original work, but if the CQL production team deliberately chose to leave things unexplained and excused it by thinking that people would just “fill the gaps” with book canon, they failed at doing their jobs. An adaptation needs to be able to exist on its own as a separate piece of fiction, and should not rely on the viewership having read another text to be intelligible. I personally find it more damning to suggest that the CQL production willingly decided to leave gaps in their storytelling to be explained by novel canon than to suggest that they were not able to reconcile what needed to be taken out for censorship reasons, what they decided to take out by reworking the timeline and the narrative (in other words, due to them taking creative liberties) and what they choose to add to connect it all back together. Failure in the execution is a lot more excusable than not understanding the brief you’ve been given. 

I think also that even trying to fill the “gaps” with the novel canon ends up creating more puzzles. You mention the punishment: trying to make sense of why LWJ gets punished in CQL by invoking the novel canon only brings up more confusion, because in the novel he’s no so much punished for protecting WWX but for harming 33 of his elders in the process--which is why he receives 33 strikes in spite of the fact that this is an unusually cruel punishment that could have left him at death’s door if his cultivation level had been weaker. Trying to apply that same logic to CQL does not work: are we supposed to understand that LWJ harmed 300 of his fellow sect members? But why would he have done so, if WWX was already dead? Were there 300 Lan cultivators killed/hurt because of the YLLZ, and LWJ is forced to bear the burden of responsibility for them because he associated with evil? It’s like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. 

It is unavoidable that fans from different parts of the world would interpret the text differently. CQL and MDZS, ultimately, were written with a specific audience in mind, and the storytelling short-hands and cultural short-hands they use are leveraged with a specific cultural knowledge in mind. Texts are always in dialogue with other texts (intertextuality), which is how concepts like “genres” and “conventions” and “tropes” and “clichés” can emerge. However, even when the process of interpretation is disrupted due to a lack of relevant knowledge, we still construct meaning out of the text, although in this case it is likely to diverge more significantly from what had been intended. 

As well, audiences come to a text with different understandings of morality, or what constitutes right or wrong behaviours, which often comes into play wrt whether people like or do not like a character. In the West, and especially on EN-language tumblr imo, people seem to hold a very rigid and idealistic visions of what is a good parent or caretaker (ie. all those posts saying people who complain about having to take care of their kids 24/7 during a pandemic were bad parents who should have never have had kids in the first plce for daring to complain, with no understanding of or empathy for the toll it takes to not only care for children whose lives have been disrupted and who have been deprived of their other opportunities to socialise at a stage where it is so incredibly crucial for their development, but the toll of caring for children while having to work and/or juggle the stresses and unknowns of a global pandemic, massive job losses, possible evictions, etc.). 

Now, though, I’m interested in knowing why the Asian fandom is less likely to like JC than the western fandom. Any thoughts on this?

[eujazmine]

⟨ RYAN DESTINY. CIS FEMALE. SHE/HER. ⟩ though the mist might prevent some from seeing it, JAZMINE HARPER is actually a descendent of H E C A T E. it’s still a question of whether or not the 23 year old BUSINESS MAJOR from HOUSTON, USA has taken after their godly parent completely, but the demigod is still known to be quite PASSIONATE & MISCHIEVOUS.

hi everyone it’s rae #2 again 😔 but allow me to introduce you all to my darling jazmine, who is a revamping of a couple muses i’ve played in the past. as always, like this post and i’ll hit your dms!

History (death tw)

claimed at birth in houston, texas since her father could see through the mist. her father started physically training around the age of three. it wasn’t anything too crazy at first, since she was only a toddler when they began, but her father wanted her to have a head-start athletically. on her 6th birthday, hecate gifted her a spell book and required that she started her magical training.

she started attended camp elektra in california during the summers when she was seven years old. at some point, her father got married and started having more children. when she was twelve, he announced that they would be moving to new york for her new step-mother’s job. that summer, she attended camp half-blood, and leaving for camp was the last time she had seen her texan home.

it was around that time that her and her father’s strong personalities truly began to clash. they had different visions for jazmine’s future, and she started to resent being under his control. it also frustrated her that she couldn’t alter his perception via mist, which led to even more complications whenever she was caught doing so to her step-mother.

she spent nearly two years with her family in new york. after nearly getting expelled from school and having too many issues at home, her father sent her away to year-round camp in greece by the time she was 14.

due to extensive training, she was among the top-ranked during her time at camp athens. she devoted much of her free time, including summer breaks, to questing and rigorous training, and was often recruited through the school for selective quests.

once she graduated, she tried staying with her father in new york again to work and save money, but this only lasted about six months. she went back to europe to travel and she fulfilled quests for money to support this new lifestyle.

at 20, jazmine had another terrible fight with her father. she left and hasn’t seen him since. after this, she started to take questing seriously again. she went on more dangerous and complex quests, knowing there was no one really out there waiting for her safe return.

then came 2019: the zeus incident. she, celeste (daughter of zeus) and adelphie (daughter of apollo) teamed up to retrieve poseidon’s trident from zeus. these three had quested in the past, and were a notoriously powerful trio, but they had never gone against celeste’s own father.

by the time they had defeated the guard monsters and reached the trident, zeus had become aware of what they were up to. he killed adelphie on sight. as jazmine futilely tried to heal adelphie’s lifeless body, celeste used this moment to carry the trident back to the ocean via the wind. soon enough, zeus zapped celeste off the mountain. whether the god of thunder hadn’t seen her hiding in the darkness or he just didn’t care, she’ll never know, but he spared jazmine and left.

after carrying adelphie back down the mountain and presuming that celeste was also dead, she came across rostam, who had prophesied that something would happen at the mountain. he helped her bring her friends back to eonia, where she was allowed to rest and enroll for the following semester.

now, she’s at eonia studying business because 1) she has nowhere else to go and 2) she doesn’t think she wants to fight her whole life anymore. 

Personality

being able to manipulate mortals as a child has made her view people more as vessels of entertainment or stimulation, and it shows. her sense of humor primarily revolves around teasing others, such as mocking them or playing tricks on them, and her blunt remarks can often be perceived as quite insensitive. she is very observant and has no problem using this trait for blackmail or manipulation, but she uses this to provide frank judgment or advice when asked. “0 to 100″ is a pretty accurate way to describe jazmine -- meaning for the most part, she has a calm, cool vibe, but her hot-temperedness can quickly get her in trouble. she can be impatient, vengeful, and petty, refusing to be the bigger person or the “loser” when crossed. stubborn and prideful, she could hold a grudge forever until she serves her own sense of justice or receives external mediation.

her bluntness and outbursts might give off the impression of her being mean, which she kinda is sometimes, but she isn’t that mean. she’s a compassionate person, and she’ll often help others if she feels sorry for them, despite trying to brush off their problems as beneath her. this is especially true when it comes to her friends. although she can be particularly harsh with them, her fierceness also comes with extra love and protection.

Powers

her most powerful ability is mystiokinesis, but it didn’t come easily. like other children of hecate, her magic is strongest at nighttime and very limited during the day. she was given a spellbook once claimed and has been perfecting her craft since. her magic gives her a limited grasp of all kinds of abilities, but she is most skilled in the areas of magic that have helped her the most on quests, such as vitakinesis, offensive spells/curses, and magical tracking. she works hard to improve her mystiokinesis through camps and personal training, but she is prone to overdoing it and negatively affecting her own health.

mist control is her secondary ability. it was the first of her powers to develop. as a child, her suggestions seemed to be a little too convincing to mortals. although it wasn’t fool-proof, she found herself manipulating people’s perceptions in her favor, possibly to get herself out of trouble or solely for entertainment purposes. she mostly uses it to her advantage around mortals or on quests. at eonia, and hasn’t found much use for this skill at eonia.

umbrakinesis is definitely her weakest power, but she would love to be more skilled in it. it has been the most difficult for her to develop, so she can only sometimes use the shadows as a shield or as a method of travel during the night. however, she has been able to levitate since she was a kid, which has been pretty convenient ever since she learned how to control it.

Extras

tl;dr: retired adrenaline junkie prone to moodiness

she has been at eonia since summer/fall 2019. you can get some more details about that last quest on celeste’s intro and self-para, if you haven’t already! feel free to assume that your muse had heard something about it.

she’s very hard-working and puts 110% into the things she cares about. the number of hours she has devoted to magic and academics is endless. neither of these areas come super naturally to her, so she has to work extra hard to develop them to reach her standards.

those 2 years she spent traveling europe and questing for cash?? she was living her best life. she used mist control and mystiokinesis a lot during this time to do things like avoid getting arrested, sneak into fancy masquerade balls, crash weddings, and waive any extra fees she couldn’t afford. she’ll bring up a wild memory from time to time if the conversation calls for it, but it’s rare for her to give out too many other details.

character inspo: think michelle jones (1), jessica huang (1, 2), hotaru imai (1, 2), fallon carrington (1, 2, 3), mal (1), daoming si (meteor garden), jennifer pierce (1, 2, 3), sam puckett (1), rosa diaz (1, 2, 3, 4)

works at the dining hall. she doesn’t care about this job and therefore puts no effort into it, so don’t expect a smile or cheery tone from her when you walk in.

involvements: black student union, gamer’s guild, football (soccer)

a skilled fighter, she is well-versed in swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat, but she prefers using magic since it comes from her godly lineage.

she’s been playing soccer since she was a child, a sport her dad forced encouraged all of her siblings to partake in. although her and her father had many other issues, this actually wasn’t one of them, seeing as they both shared a genuine love for the sport. she’s known for being overly aggressive and instigative on the field, so she's at risk of losing her position if she starts any more fights.

Potential Connections

ex: there was probably never any official title tbh so she might even claim that they weren’t exes. jazmine’s a very private person and finds this kind of stuff too vulnerable, so maybe your muse got tired of being treated like a secret.

quest mates: could’ve been for anything tbh, but if your muse was significantly weaker than jazmine, she would’ve for sure let them know.

tutor: she works hard to maintain her grades, but sometimes she needs the extra help. 

people she protects: for whatever reason, jazmine has a soft spot for your muse, so she’ll take care of them when they’re sick, bring them home from a party, put a curse on their ex, you name it.

past hookup: she never called. consider yourself blocked.

friends: self-explanatory! unlikely friends, friends who bond over mutual hatred, frenemies., etc.

enemies: her moral ambiguity and rude remarks probably rub some people the wrong way, so enemies wouldn’t be too surprising.

clients?: i’d imagine that some people have paid her in the past to bring misfortune to their enemies. they probably paid her some money to put a lil curse on them. it’s never anything permanent. if they paid her extra, maybe she did some research and brought them something to blackmail them with.

targets: the people that her clients have paid her to curse. she’s just a third party trying to chase the bag, so no hard feelings, really -- but if your muse somehow found out they got cursed by her, she’d be willing to reverse it for a price.

pawns: maybe she views them as weak. maybe she just finds them funny. either way, she has little respect for your muse and will mess with them for her own entertainment. it’s all in good fun!

people she met while exploring europe: she was up to a lot of shenanigans during those two years, so the possibilities are endless.

[letmewritemylife]

The Creator

If you can hold the stars in place…                                                                                                     - Skillet

A/N Here we are again, posting a new “fix-it but not really ‘cause babies still suffer but at least I have the excuse of being an idiot for this being ooc” fic TRIGGER WARNINGS None?

From the moment Scott first explained his plan to bring everyone back to life, Tony had a feeling it would have not worked. He knew it deep in his bones, some sort of sixth sense telling him not to waste time trying. After all, what could one expect from an idea that was based on “Back To The Future”?

Now, as he moves his gaze over the walls covered in shiny crystals and dark stones, Tony is sure that he should have never listened to him. Scott narrows his eyes, staring at a particularly big blue crystal in front of him. “I’m quite sure the quantum realm didn't look like this last time.”

A soft laugh comes from behind them and a man, unusually average-looking compared to the place he’s in, walks up to them. A pair of purplish eyes sets on them, studying each man meticulously as a genuine smile paints on his pale lips. “I’m sorry, Mr Lang, but this is not the quantum realm.”

Steve throws a glance at his surroundings, trying - and failing - to understand where the man came from. “And where are we then?” he asks.

The man walks past them, rubbing his palms against each other, eyes glued to the floor and its myriad of stones. “Dimension Z, as some human once called it.” He turns to them, still not abandoning his welcoming expression that, for some reason, can’t help scaring Tony. “The actual name is another, but it is quite complicated and you would forget it easily.”

“Whatever, who are you and why are we here?” Tony cuts short, eager to get the infinity stones as soon as possible and, hopefully, go back to his family.

“Oh, I forgot to present myself, I apologise. My name… well, a friend of yours tried ‘Jesus’, but it is not very appropriate. On most planets, I am known as ‘The Creator’.” He snaps his fingers and the ground deforms, a table and a set of chairs forming. He gestures at the shining seats with a smile, only continuing his explanation once his guests have sat down.

“I noticed that you Avengers thought about travelling between realities in order to collect the infinity stones and reverse Thanos' snap.” Tony nods, suddenly interested in what the man is saying. “Unfortunately, I cannot allow that, ergo I blocked you and brought you here.” His eyes follow for a moment a lonely butterfly dancing in the air. “Do not worry, your friends are already back on Earth.”

“Listen sir,” Scott attempts, still confused by all he sees around himself. “We have to do this, it’s our only chance to bring everyone back.”

Steve crosses his arms on the table, eyes traveling over the man’s features. “We’ll bring all the stones back, we promise.”

The man lets out a laugh, leaning back against his seat. “Oh, I do not doubt that,” he says, shaking his head. “Trust me, I am the first who wants everything to go back to normal, as normal as it could be in the first place, but the universe is already going through enough.”

Tony looks confused at him, tapping his fingers on the blue surface before him. “What do you mean? It’s been five years, I thought everything had kind of fixed itself, more or less…”

“Absolutely no, Mr Stark. In fact, the universe has never been so tired and damaged like now.” He opens his palm and a flat surface forms in his hands. After cleaning the slab with the back of a hand, he places it in the middle of the table.

Tony’s eyes open wide as pictures appear in front of them. “My duty is merely formal, there are others burdened with the task of protecting realities,” the Creator explains, a soft smile painting his face as the images of two women appear on the screen.

The first woman is meditating, legs crossed in a lotus position. Purple magic dancing around her dark skin, her face writhes into a pained grimace. The Creator’s face darkens, as if sharing that woman’s feelings. “Among the few that survived Thanos, I can still count on the three Enchantresses.”

Scott looks puzzled at the witch, slowly moving his gaze to the other woman beside her. Slightly taller than her colleague and with eyes so green to seem fake, she adjusts a voluminous book on her lap before snapping her fingers, moving a chair right before her friend can hit it when waking from her trance.

“Even though they are among the most powerful magic users in the multiverse,” the man continues, “holding the universe in place with little to no help from others is taking a toll on them.” He turns back to his interlocutors. “If I let you move through realities, you would surely create confusion among timelines. Even if you fixed everything, at least a few beings would escape, giving unnecessary work to those you are seeing.”

Steve nods, eyes glued to the two Enchantresses. He seems convinced, but Tony still has one lingering question. “You said ‘three’, but I only see two women here.”

Every trace of happiness leaves the Creator’s face and he sighs. A movement of his fingers changes the images on the blue tablet.

Now the three Avengers are looking at a white cell, plaster cracking in the corners of the ceiling and the dim light of the LEDs flashing. A lonely figure is curled up in a corner of the room, a mane of messy brown hair sprawled on her white uniform.

The unnatural silence is broken out of the blue,  the woman screaming in pain as her whole body shakes and contorts, tears gathering in her eyes. It takes Tony a moment to recognize her, her pale skin covered in red, deep scars that he didn’t remember being there just a few years before.

“There you have it, your third Enchantress,” the Creator comments, fists clenched and a hint of resentment in his voice.

Scott swallows heavily, unable to move his eyes from the bleeping monitor on Lara’s neck. “Why is she there?”

The man laughs bitterly. “I should be the one asking you that.”

“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me about Lara!” Tony throws his hands up in the air, screaming right at Steve’s face.

The super soldier sighs, crossing his arms and sharing a quick glance with Natasha. “I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“Mister Stark, Miss Romanoff, Mister Rogers,” Hayward’s confident voice interrupts them. After nodding in greeting at the three Avengers, the man gestures at his secretary to leave the room. “How may I help you?” he asks. The fake polite smile on his face makes Tony want to punch him.

“Where is Johnson?” Natasha goes straight to the point.

Hayward’s grin widens. “Safely locked in our best cell, you don’t need to worry.”

Tony puts away his sunglasses, sending him the coldest look he can make. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Completely missing the point of the other’s comment, Hayward adjusts the sleeve of his jacket and smirks. “Trust me, she’s not getting out anytime soon. Right after her brother and she surrendered-”

“Wait, her brother?” Steve asks.

“Enhanced human too, significantly weaker than her, one year older. He’s been collocated in a common cell beside his sister.” Hayward looks back at Tony, who’s now trying to hide his shaking hands in the pockets of his pants. “However, while he wasn’t almost touched, the witch had to have her powers restrained. For safety, of course.”

A middle aged man in a lab coat coughs behind him. A small badge on his coat shows his name, Doctor Rolland, written in bold characters. “Director,” he says once he’s drawn everyone’s attention, “I’ve completed my examinations. Would you like to see the results right now or…?”

Hayward smirks proudly. “Oh yes, sum them up for our guests, we were just talking about her.” He turns at the Avengers before him. “You won’t mind, right?”

Rolland clears his voice and opens the grey folder he was carrying. After adjusting his thick glasses, he starts reading. “No illness diagnosed, no relevant anomaly in her conditions. The cause of her deteriorated health hasn’t been found. She won’t talk either. The examinations gave no result. I suggest we reduce her energy income to two percent and proceed with more invasive tests.”

Hayward nods. “Of course, go ahead, you’re the doctor.”

But once Doctor Rolland has walked outside, Hayward finds himself pressed against his desk, Tony grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket. “What the hell are you doing to her?” he asks between gritted teeth.

Hayward stutters, throwing worried looks at Natasha and Steve. “She- she never refused-”

“Of course she f*cking didn’t, you’re torturing her.” Tony’s neck reddens and he tightens his grip, his knuckles turning white.

It’s Natasha to intervene, gently moving Tony away. Hayward furrows his brows in offence. “What do you want from me?”

“Lara.” Tony’s voice doesn’t shake in the slightest, his eyes still glued to the other man.

Steve joins in, trying to be an intermediate. “It will be just for a few days and we will respect all protocols.”

Hayward nods, massaging his throat. “And what do you need her for?”

“Reversing Thanos’ snap.”

“I see, but it’s still a no.”

The director is about to walk out of the room, but Tony’s proposal makes him freeze on the spot. “And what if Stark Industries made a good donation to SWORD?”

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

Heather Cox Richardson

My house is blissfully quiet, but my ears are still ringing.

The first presidential debate of 2020 was unlike anything we have seen before. CNN’s Jake Tapper said: "That was a hot mess, inside a dumpster fire, inside a train wreck." "He was his own tweets come to life." “We’ll talk about who won the debate, who lost the debate ... One thing for sure, the American people lost.” Conservative pundit William Kristol called it “a spectacle… an embarrassment… a disgrace… because of the behavior of one man, Donald Trump. The interrupting and the bullying, the absence of both decency and dignity—those were Donald Trump’s distinctive contributions to the evening, and they gave the affair the rare and sickening character of a national humiliation.”

Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?

In a normal presidential debate, both candidates try to explain their policy proposals, jab at their opponent, and convince undecided voters to move in their direction. If this had been a normal presidential debate, its weight would have fallen on Trump, who is significantly behind Biden, to win voters. Biden’s goal would simply have been not to lose anyone.

If we were calling this like a normal presidential debate, Trump lost. He did not move the needle in his direction. Biden won; he did not lose anyone.

But this was not a normal presidential debate.

Trump long ago gave up the pretense that he wanted to win a majority of voters. For months now, he has made no effort to reach outside of his base. Instead he has focused on solidifying and radicalizing it. As his trade war with China and the coronavirus has weakened his support, he has given massive grants to farmers, promised checks to 33 million elderly to help pay for prescriptions, splashed transportation grants around, and recently even offered grants to lobstermen who have lost business because of the trade war.

Trump set out tonight not to convince undecided voters to support him, but rather to harden his supporters and encourage them to disrupt the election so he can contest the results until the solution goes to the Supreme Court where he hopes a majority will rule in his favor. He laid it all out tonight.

His performance was no accident. He came out determined to dominate the debate in much the same way as Fox News Channel personalities or talk radio hosts dominate their shows. He interrupted, argued, lied, and generally sucked the oxygen out of the room. He cheated, refusing to follow the rules that he had agreed to, thus demonstrating that he would not be bound by the rules everyone else had to live by. He bullied moderator Chris Wallace of the Fox News Channel into repeatedly appeasing him by saying, for example, “Mr. President you’re going to be very happy, because we’re going to talk about law and order,” and “Let me ask — sir, you’ll be happy, I’m about to pick up on one of your points to ask the vice president.” Trump was attempting to demonstrate his dominance.

He went on to echo the grievances and lies that his supporters have come to believe. Ignoring the more than 200,000 Americans dead of Covid-19, he insisted he was the victim of Democrats’ lies about the disease. When Wallace tried to rein him in, he attacked him for being unfair, although Wallace never once fact-checked Trump’s lies.

If Trump had a strategy at all that involved voters, it was to try to keep them from backing Biden. Trump kept yelling at him about “Law & Order,” as he likes to tweet, and kept trying to drive a wedge between Biden and the more progressive wing of the Democratic Party, finally saying to him: “You just lost the left.”

Trump tipped his hand, though, when Wallace asked: "Are you willing, tonight, to condemn white supremacists and militia groups and to say that they need to stand down?” Trump demanded names of such groups, and Wallace named, among others, the Proud Boys, the hate group that helped to organize the riot in Charlottesville, Virginia. After hedging, Trump finally answered: "Proud Boys, stand back and stand by! But I'll tell you what, somebody's got to do something about antifa and the left." "That's my president," the head of the Proud Boys posted on the social media chair that will still host them. Within an hour the group had new shoulder patches designed with the words “Stand Back and Stand By.”

Trump called for his supporters to act as poll watchers to prevent a fraudulent vote. He is losing badly in Pennsylvania, a state he needs, and tonight he lied that Philadelphia election officials refused to permit his poll watchers to observe voting. “Bad things happen in Philadelphia,” he said, “bad things.” The truth is that seven satellite offices where voters can register and apply to vote, complete, and drop off mail in ballots opened in Philadelphia. Poll watchers are not allowed because there is no polling taking place. Trump’s calls for poll watchers are pretty clearly calls for voter intimidation.

Tonight, again, Trump refused to commit to accepting a Biden victory, saying that he could not agree to fraudulent results. He suggested the election could take months to solve, and that he “definitely” wants the Supreme Court, including his new nominee Amy Coney Barrett, to “look at the ballots.” (Democrats have said Barrett should recuse herself from any election-related cases; Republicans say that is “absurd.”)

It was a performance designed to show a strong man who is calling out his armed supporters to enable him to seize an election he cannot win freely.

But Trump performed as he did because it’s all he’s got. He has no policies, no platform, no plans that he can sell to the American people, and no attention span either to govern or to explain how he wants to govern. So his only option is to dominate. Even he knows that ploy is a desperate one. Tonight’s tell was actually in his dominance play itself: overt bullying like he displayed tonight is actually a sign of weakness and abuse, not of true power.

The bar for Biden going into this debate was low: since he is so far ahead, he simply needed not to lose votes. But he did well. First of all, he managed to retain his train of thought, which was no easy thing with Trump interrupting and lying and yelling, clearly trying to derail him and, at the very least, bring out his stutter. He put to rest Trump’s insistence that he is failing mentally.

Despite Trump, Biden also managed to explain some of his policies, too, as well as pointing out that more than 200,000 Americans have died on Trump’s watch, and that he has done the economy no favors. Under Trump, he said, America has become “weaker, sicker, poorer, more divided and more violent.”

But Biden’s strongest moments were ones Trump teed up. When Biden defended our troops from Trump’s “losers” and “suckers” comments, citing his son, Beau, who died of cancer after his service in Iraq, Trump missed the opportunity to acknowledge Biden’s loss, and instead repeatedly attacked Biden’s son Hunter, who struggled with substance abuse. Trump insisted—incorrectly—that Hunter was dishonorably discharged from the Navy (in fact, he was administratively discharged), and tried to smear him. Biden looked directly at Trump to say that Hunter had a drug addiction he is managing, and Biden is proud of him. While Biden spoke as a father defending his son, his message will resonate with the 20 million Americans who are battling addiction.

Most important, though, Biden made the debate about the country and the American people, not about Trump. While Trump listed his own grievances, Biden spoke to the camera, asking Americans what they needed, what they think. He promised that we can accomplish anything if only we work together. He urged people to ignore the chaos and vote. “Vote whatever way is the best way for you,” he said. “Because he will not be able to stop you from determining the outcome of this election.”

Biden also refused to be scared off by Trump’s threats not to honor the election results. He brushed them off, saying “I will accept it, and he will, too. You know why? Because once the winner is declared once all the ballots are counted, that’ll be the end of it.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

Heather Cox Richardson

[onetwistedmiracle]

Heather Cox Richardson September 29, 2020 (Tuesday) My house is blissfully quiet, but my ears are still ringing. The first presidential debate of 2020 was unlike anything we have seen before. CNN’s Jake Tapper said: "That was a hot mess, inside a dumpster fire, inside a train wreck." "He was his own tweets come to life." “We’ll talk about who won the debate, who lost the debate ... One thing for sure, the American people lost.” Conservative pundit William Kristol called it “a spectacle… an embarrassment… a disgrace… because of the behavior of one man, Donald Trump. The interrupting and the bullying, the absence of both decency and dignity—those were Donald Trump’s distinctive contributions to the evening, and they gave the affair the rare and sickening character of a national humiliation.” Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play? In a normal presidential debate, both candidates try to explain their policy proposals, jab at their opponent, and convince undecided voters to move in their direction. If this had been a normal presidential debate, its weight would have fallen on Trump, who is significantly behind Biden, to win voters. Biden’s goal would simply have been not to lose anyone. If we were calling this like a normal presidential debate, Trump lost. He did not move the needle in his direction. Biden won; he did not lose anyone. But this was not a normal presidential debate. Trump long ago gave up the pretense that he wanted to win a majority of voters. For months now, he has made no effort to reach outside of his base. Instead he has focused on solidifying and radicalizing it. As his trade war with China and the coronavirus has weakened his support, he has given massive grants to farmers, promised checks to 33 million elderly to help pay for prescriptions, splashed transportation grants around, and recently even offered grants to lobstermen who have lost business because of the trade war. Trump set out tonight not to convince undecided voters to support him, but rather to harden his supporters and encourage them to disrupt the election so he can contest the results until the solution goes to the Supreme Court where he hopes a majority will rule in his favor. He laid it all out tonight. His performance was no accident. He came out determined to dominate the debate in much the same way as Fox News Channel personalities or talk radio hosts dominate their shows. He interrupted, argued, lied, and generally sucked the oxygen out of the room. He cheated, refusing to follow the rules that he had agreed to, thus demonstrating that he would not be bound by the rules everyone else had to live by. He bullied moderator Chris Wallace of the Fox News Channel into repeatedly appeasing him by saying, for example, “Mr. President you’re going to be very happy, because we’re going to talk about law and order,” and “Let me ask — sir, you’ll be happy, I’m about to pick up on one of your points to ask the vice president.” Trump was attempting to demonstrate his dominance. He went on to echo the grievances and lies that his supporters have come to believe. Ignoring the more than 200,000 Americans dead of Covid-19, he insisted he was the victim of Democrats' lies about the disease. When Wallace tried to rein him in, he attacked him for being unfair, although Wallace never once fact-checked Trump’s lies. If Trump had a strategy at all that involved voters, it was to try to keep them from backing Biden. Trump kept yelling at him about “Law & Order,” as he likes to tweet, and kept trying to drive a wedge between Biden and the more progressive wing of the Democratic Party, finally saying to him: “You just lost the left.” Trump tipped his hand, though, when Wallace asked: "Are you willing, tonight, to condemn white supremacists and militia groups and to say that they need to stand down?” Trump demanded names of such groups, and Wallace named, among others, the Proud Boys, the hate group that helped to organize the riot in Charlottesville, Virginia. After hedging, Trump finally answered: "Proud Boys, stand back and stand by! But I'll tell you what, somebody's got to do something about antifa and the left." "That's my president," the head of the Proud Boys posted on the social media chair that will still host them. Within an hour the group had new shoulder patches designed with the words “Stand Back and Stand By.” Trump called for his supporters to act as poll watchers to prevent a fraudulent vote. He is losing badly in Pennsylvania, a state he needs, and tonight he lied that Philadelphia election officials refused to permit his poll watchers to observe voting. “Bad things happen in Philadelphia,” he said, “bad things.” The truth is that seven satellite offices where voters can register and apply to vote, complete, and drop off mail in ballots opened in Philadelphia. Poll watchers are not allowed because there is no polling taking place. Trump’s calls for poll watchers are pretty clearly calls for voter intimidation. Tonight, again, Trump refused to commit to accepting a Biden victory, saying that he could not agree to fraudulent results. He suggested the election could take months to solve, and that he “definitely” wants the Supreme Court, including his new nominee Amy Coney Barrett, to “look at the ballots.” (Democrats have said Barrett should recuse herself from any election-related cases; Republicans say that is “absurd.”) It was a performance designed to show a strong man who is calling out his armed supporters to enable him to seize an election he cannot win freely. But Trump performed as he did because it’s all he’s got. He has no policies, no platform, no plans that he can sell to the American people, and no attention span either to govern or to explain how he wants to govern. So his only option is to dominate. Even he knows that ploy is a desperate one. Tonight’s tell was actually in his dominance play itself: overt bullying like he displayed tonight is actually a sign of weakness and abuse, not of true power. The bar for Biden going into this debate was low: since he is so far ahead, he simply needed not to lose votes. But he did well. First of all, he managed to retain his train of thought, which was no easy thing with Trump interrupting and lying and yelling, clearly trying to derail him and, at the very least, bring out his stutter. He put to rest Trump’s insistence that he is failing mentally. Despite Trump, Biden also managed to explain some of his policies, too, as well as pointing out that more than 200,000 Americans have died on Trump’s watch, and that he has done the economy no favors. Under Trump, he said, America has become “weaker, sicker, poorer, more divided and more violent.” But Biden’s strongest moments were ones Trump teed up. When Biden defended our troops from Trump’s “losers” and “suckers” comments, citing his son, Beau, who died of cancer after his service in Iraq, Trump missed the opportunity to acknowledge Biden’s loss, and instead repeatedly attacked Biden’s son Hunter, who struggled with substance abuse. Trump insisted—incorrectly—that Hunter was dishonorably discharged from the Navy (in fact, he was administratively discharged), and tried to smear him. Biden looked directly at Trump to say that Hunter had a drug addiction he is managing, and Biden is proud of him. While Biden spoke as a father defending his son, his message will resonate with the 20 million Americans who are battling addiction. Most important, though, Biden made the debate about the country and the American people, not about Trump. While Trump listed his own grievances, Biden spoke to the camera, asking Americans what they needed, what they think. He promised that we can accomplish anything if only we work together. He urged people to ignore the chaos and vote. “Vote whatever way is the best way for you,” he said. “Because he will not be able to stop you from determining the outcome of this election.” Biden also refused to be scared off by Trump’s threats not to honor the election results. He brushed them off, saying “I will accept it, and he will, too. You know why? Because once the winner is declared once all the ballots are counted, that’ll be the end of it.”

Heather Cox Richardson‘s facebook page

[cebinaruavin]

Survivors

((Co-written with @thefugitivemango / @brent-sunborn . @pariker​ / @nepenthea and @kaiekasunwhisper​ for character mention.))

~*~*~

Shortly after the events of Ny’alotha...

Crash!

The shadows sloppily deposited Brent into his tent in what remained of the Coterie’s camp. The lack of grace wasn’t from wounds or exhaustion… his power was waning. He’d felt it immediately as N’Zoth was destroyed. Ripples had surged through the shadows, wracking everyone linked in any way to the Old God at the moment of his demise; and they hadn’t been the same ever since. Like a wheel spinning off its axis, Ren’dorei could feel the shadows losing stability, falling out of the balanced alignment they once boasted. He brought himself to his feet, and set back the items knocked over by his rough landing; a jeweled vase and golden scarab statuette, both of which he’d uncovered with Nepen’thea in their archaeological days. This tent had been one they shared… and he couldn’t bring himself to change anything about it.

His ear flickered, eyes narrowing as he glanced to the tent’s entrance. He wasn’t alone, it seemed. He drew a dagger - the metal feeling heavier in his hand somehow - as he silently stepped towards the tent flaps. He couldn’t feel anything as clearly through the shadows anymore, unable to tell if it was a friend or enemy he heard in one of the adjacent tents. 

He knew it wasn’t Kai’eka, at the very least. For one, it was much too quiet a noise to be her. For another… he’d watched her die in Ny’alotha. Even without the runes connecting them, the pain he’d felt shoot through his body was paralytic. Intense. Sorrowful. Thinking of it now caused his heart to well up in his throat. He swallowed it down, refocusing on the imminent danger. Was someone ransacking the Coterie camp? Or…

“... Ceb?” he called out in a whisper, hoping it was her.

“Glad to see you haven’t lost your sharp senses, Sweetie,” the familiar melodious voice spoke up.

The shape of Cebina’s silhouette formed among the swirling shadows of the rift, before stepping out to meet Brent. She looked healthy and well. Clearly, she hadn’t been anywhere near the fighting in Ny’alotha… or perhaps she had and was just that good. It was hard to say which. It was rare to find the priestess on the front lines of any battle. Like Brent, she preferred to operate through deceit and choosing the perfect moment to strike. 

She could feel Brent drained through the shadow link they shared. They felt significantly weaker since she’d last seen him. It was understandable, given the events that had just transpired. Her own powers had weakened from N’Zoth’s destruction, but only slightly. The Priestess knew better than to draw all of her powers from a single source, and she’d been prepared for the eventual fall of the Old Gods. 

“You look terrible,” she said, walking past him and into the tent.

She sat on the bed, her robes opening up at her thighs as she crossed her legs. Her hand patted the spot next to her.

“Just the two of us left, then?” She asked, head tilting, “Haven’t been able to sense much of anything without the runes.”

The Ghostblade slipped his dagger away, as he exhaled a sigh of relief into his mask. He’d had enough fighting… and enough losing friends… for one day. He tugged his mask down, as he took Cebina’s invitation to sit down beside her on the bed.

“Kai’s dead.” he said, bluntly - though his tone conveyed well his sorrow at that fact.

He looked around the room, shoulders slumped and ears drooping. He’d known this was a possibility - a part of him had even hoped for it. But that didn’t take the sting out of this defeat. He’d failed Nepen’thea. And now, he’d failed Kai’eka. The loss took its toll on Brent, whether he cared for it or not.

“What’ll you do now?” he asked Cebina, eyes finally flickering over to her. “There’s nothing left worth rebuilding. The Twilights are done. You have a plan from here on out?”

Cebina remained quiet and attentive until that moment, keeping her hands respectively to herself. She’d noted that Brent hadn’t sought her out since Nepen’thia’s demise, so she left any physical initiative completely up to him. As expected, the ex-Blackened Blade didn’t take loss very well.

She leaned back a bit, as he asked the question, eyes staring at some unknown point as she thought it over. 

“Well, I still have my little business in Stormwind. That’s going well, so I’ll keep working at that for now. Might make the occasional visit to Silvermoon to play around with an old friend. Nothing much to do now except wait for the next opportunity, hmm?”

She wasn’t speaking of the cult, of course. The Old Gods had been a transitory thing for her. N’Zoth’s army had been good while it lasted, but their fall was inevitable. Even without them, there was still power and knowledge to be found.

“What about you?” she asked, turning her attention back to Brent.

“I…”

He trailed off, going silent. He stared for a moment at nothing, before looking back to Cebina. His gaze was telling; lost, uncertain… scared. 

“... I don’t know.”

His ear flickered. He’d expected it to feel all the worse to say aloud, but somehow he felt… liberated? A weight lifted from him. He didn’t know what to do now, for the first time in years. It was something he’d dreaded for a while, but now it felt… freeing. He didn’t know what to do because nothing was required of him, now. No one had any demands of him. No cosmic force held him in any expectations. 

He laughed. Suddenly, surprising even to him.

“I don’t know!” he repeated, smiling.

He shrugged, continuing to chuckle lightly as he looked at Cebina. Ears perked, shoulders back… completely different than just moments before. The possibilities were endless for him! By the nature of how he worked, he wasn’t tied at all to the Twilight Cult. No implications that would cause him any trouble with the law. None he was aware about, anyway. He’d be honestly surprised if anyone could tie him to the Old Gods. Especially now. 

“I can do… whatever I want, yeah?”

“Mhmm,” Cebina chimed in happily.

She shot him a smile as he finally understood. Brent had been a cultist for years, she’d seen it in his mind when he’d shared how important Nepen’thea had been to him. He’d loved her dearly… to the point where he’d put himself in a prison; two prisons. He was a slave to the cult all the while imprisoned by his love for Thea. Cebina hadn’t bothered to bring it up, knowing he would have never seen it her way; rose tinted glasses.

“Freedom,” she continued, “It’s a powerful feeling, isn’t it? Not having anyone to answer to. No one to hold you back from discovering who you were meant to be.”

“Yeah. It’s… it’s daunting, but…” he nodded. “I’m… excited about it. Is that weird?”

He chuckled again, as he thought more about it. What did he want to do? What should he choose as the next chapter of his life? He had some ideas… but none stood out among the others too strongly. But he liked it! It was a new sensation, such an uncertainty! It fed into his newly-discovered agency to decide for himself! For once, there was no wrong answer!

“I… I want to get back into archaeology.” he declared - of that, he was certain. “But first, I think I want to… interact with people. Somehow.”

He nodded again, firmly. This work had isolated him from all but a few people. And now, with the majority of those people gone from his life, he felt he’d need more. It’d been so long since he made a new connection. That Kal’dorei Death Knight was… possibly one. Before, Cebina was the only other. His eyes flickered to her, as he reached out his hand to take hold of hers. 

“I… want to interact with you more, too,” he told her, firmly, “This shouldn’t be the end of our friendship… right?”

Cebina giggled, laying back on the bed as she looked up at Brent.

“Of course not, silly! There’s no reason for the two of us to stop hanging out because of the cult’s fall. Our friendship goes beyond the will of some Old God, hm?”

Her shadows brushed gently against his, not in an attempt to entice him, but more for him to feel she was telling the truth. There was nothing to hide on the subject. Unless Brent specifically put himself in her way or attempted to hinder her work, there was no reason to terminate the relationship they’d cultivated up until now.

“You won’t be dragging me to any of those digs, though. The desert is TERRIBLE on my hair,” she smirked, “I’m much more comfortable in the city, getting spoiled while I gather up dirt and blackmail on all of  these foolish nobles.”

Brent smiled at that, and nodded. He felt Cebina’s sincerity, even without the shadowy affirmation. It was nice to be around her again; the latter parts of the Old One’s plans had kept him busy. Too busy to visit her casually. He’d see her in passing and give her a nod on occasion, but otherwise... At least, that’s what he told himself. The real reason was much more complicated. Nepen’thea’s death took more than just his professional drive. And while his libido had briefly sparked back with Kai’eka… her demise snuffed it back out. For… the most part.

But Cebina had an unmistakable allure. He felt it even now, just sitting beside her. In part, that’s why he kept himself too busy to seek her out, knowing she’d happily indulge him in a little release. Of course, he knew she got more than just sexual satisfaction out of their encounters, too. The allure, he suspected, was an accessory to her abilities. The bright lantern to draw in her prey… She was good at what she did, of that there was no doubt.

“The city suits you well.” he nodded. “I… won’t stray far at first. So if you need anything I can help you with, you need only ask.”

He brushed her back with his shadows-- or what remained of them, at least. While his sincerity was conveyed just as hers was, he couldn’t hide how broken, weak, and unfocused his shadows had become. He’d invested far too much in N’Zoth… and now he was paying the price.

Cebina took note of his weakened shadows. She would never show it, but she was glad for it. While their shadow connection had its uses, the priestess hated the idea that anyone was able to track her or read her. She kept her mind especially guarded, and having to tiptoe around the rogue as to not give away some of her true feelings and intentions was especially annoying. It had been one of the main reasons she’d kept her distance after Nepen’thea’s death. Had his shadows sought hers at all, any slight slip up would bring her whole ruse coming down. The idea of being able the sever that link once and for all was enticing; having her mind completely back to herself, free of visitors. Brent wouldn’t suspect a thing, assuming the link was lost due to N’Zoth’s fall.

“Well,” she said, sitting up to scoot over a bit closer to him, “You know I’m never opposed to pretty jewelry and trinkets.”

She brought a hand to rest on his lap. Giving him a playful smile.

“You have good taste. If you find anything you’d think I’d like, I’d be more than happy to take it off your hands.”

“Of course, happy to.” Brent nodded, placing his hand over top of Cebina’s. “And I hope you don’t mind if I drop in on occasion to visit. For healing, perhaps? And… maybe other reasons?”

This bout of familiarity was something the rogue needed, now. With so much up in the air, finding things he knew well helped keep him grounded. Feelings. People. Cebina. His hand clenched gently about hers in a light squeeze, as he leaned into the Priestess. She wouldn’t need to read any shadows to guess what he was thinking and feeling, now.

Cebina smiled, ears perking up at Brent’s suggestion. She leaned in with him, bringing her hand over to cup his cheek as their lips met. She pressed in, tongue dancing with his as her shadows swirled in delight. 

“Mmm… it’s been too long, Sweetie. I hope you’re ready for the ride,” she moaned against his lips.

[ethereousdelirious]

Ask and ye shall receive

Fandom: T.he G.reat G.atsby

Characters: N.ick C.arraway, T.om B.uchanan

Pairings: N/A

Tropes: hangovers, heat exhaustion

Summary: N.ick, battling a vicious hangover, goes to New York with T.om only to get heat exhaustion. (It’s honestly pitiful how bad I am at writing summaries but that’s what happens ghgdjhgdz)

Warnings/Notes: there’s actually no emeto in this one believe it or not

More notes under cut

Uh yeah so I wasn’t really feeling inspired by the prospect of writing yet another Natsby fic, so I decided to explore Nick’s relationship with Tom? I really like Tom as a character for lots of reasons but in this context because, while he’s genuinely awful and has no redeeming qualities, he’s never really antagonistic toward Nick (or Jordan, for that matter). You can tell he doesn’t think of himself as a bad guy and that’s fucking fascinating to me, especially in terms of his ability to form connections with people he doesn’t perceive as beneath him.

ALSO I was kinda exploring his toxic masculinity vs Nick’s gentler, less threatening masculinity and Tom’s ability to express affection within that hypermasculine framework.

God sorry anyway. You didn’t come here to read an English paper. Here’s the fic. it’s short.

--

In New York, surrounded by temptation at every turn, it was so hard to not overindulge. 

In weaker moments, Nick would reflect that at least his occasional night of drunkenness had far fewer negative consequences than a night spent in the arms of a strange woman, or under heroin's hazy spell.

Today, however, no such excuses filled Nick’s head, only an arrhythmic pounding that worsened significantly when he had to stand up to exit the cab he had taken over to East Egg.

The flat soles of his leather shoes crunched in the white gravel of the driveway, grinding against his eardrums.

It wasn't even the worst hangover he'd had, not by a longshot, but it was certainly enough to make him wish he was back in bed.

Oh, well. Nick sighed as he approached the door. There was nothing to be done about it now.

Tom was waiting for him just beyond the heavy, oak door of the Buchanan estate.

"There you are," he said, his booming voice filling the hall. He pushed past the butler and wrapped his arm around Nick's shoulders. "I was beginning to think you'd never make it."

"Oh, I thought I was on time," Nick said, struggling to check his watch, but Tom wasn't even listening.

"I want to introduce you to some people," Tom said as he steered Nick back down the driveway. "You need connections if you're going to get anywhere in life."

"Oh," Nick said flatly, his head buzzing. Still, he knew from experience it was pointless getting irritated with Tom. "Thanks," he added. His mouth was dry and still tasted vaguely of gin.

"No, no. No need to thank me, Nick," Tom replied loftily. "We look out for each other, don't we?" He gave Nick a long look, the kind that indicated this was not a rhetorical question.

"Of course we do." Nick tried to smile.

"Good." Tom patted him on the back and pushed him toward the passenger side of the coupé. "Now let's go."

The drive into the city was a welcome rest, a sort of calm before the inevitable storm of heat and light that was New York proper. Tom talked the whole way with Nick chiming in at the appropriate pauses, usually to agree. Tom Buchanan was not the sort of man you could argue with.

Nick didn't even bother to ask where they were going when they got out of the car, just followed along in Tom's wake and tried not to walk into people.

It was hot. Even with his hat and the light material of his suit, Nick could feel the sunlight pouring down on him, heating him inside and out.

The light alone would have been enough to exacerbate his headache to the point of agony, but the noise was almost unbearable. Dimly, he could make out Tom's hulking form beginning to disappear into the crowd and he tried to speed up again.

It was too much. He stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk and tried to catch his breath, to get the buzzing in his head to calm down.

"Nick?" Tom's voice was suddenly near. "What are you doing?"

"Sorry, I--"

"Do I have to lead you along like a dog? Come on." Tom put a hand between Nick's shoulders and all but shoved him forward. The crowd obligingly parted for them and Nick allowed Tom to march him forward. It was just easier.

Tom was a fast walker. Usually it was no trouble for Nick to match his pace but today even keeping himself upright felt like a struggle. His face was almost painfully hot and the throbbing in his head was starting to make him feel sick. The hot dryness of his breath irritated his cracked lips and he couldn't help but lick them, wincing at the taste of blood. Nausea rolled threateningly in his stomach and his vision wavered.

"Where're you taking me, New Jersey?" he tried to joke.

"Very funny. We're almost there, just a few more blocks."

Nick fought the urge to just let himself fall down on the sidewalk. He was starting to get dizzy, like he was stuck on one of Coney Island's thrill rides.

Without warning, Tom led him around a corner and Nick stumbled. The vertigo left him unable to right himself and fell heavily against Tom before hitting the wall of the building next to them.

"What's the matter with you?" Tom glanced around like Nick was embarrassing him.

"I..." It was so hard to think, let alone speak. Nick's head was swimming with the severity of the pain hammering at his temples and the base of his skull.

To his credit, Tom did look concerned. He pressed the back of his hand briefly to Nick's cheek, then looked him over. "Must be the heat. My fault, really. You always were delicate."

Nick's knees buckled as if on cue. He slumped half-conscious against Tom's chest, loathing that heat generated by their bodies' proximity but unable to move.

"Okay!" Tom hauled Nick to his feet and arranged his limbs so he could lean against Tom's shoulder. "Think you can make it back to the car without fainting on me?"

It took a long while for the word's to permeate the static buzzing in Nick's ears. They were a ways down the sidewalk when he mumbled an affirmative, more of a sound than a word.

"Good man."

Nick made it to the car without blacking out, but it was a near thing. The world was a blur of pain and noise, stimulus with no clear edges or details. He didn't even notice he was lying down in the backseat until they were halfway over the bridge, and then he only closed his eyes. If he could just sleep.

He couldn't. Even the slightest movement of the car jostled his aching head and brought him closer to the verge of vomiting. It was all he could to not cry out. He doubted Tom would appreciate it.

His breathing must have changed because Tom said, "Hold on, we're almost there," and accelerated.

Even through the feverish haze clouding his mind, Nick couldn't help but be surprised. Tom had always had a soft spot for him, but he would have expected his affections to fade by now. Nick had always lacked the commanding hypermasculinity that Tom always projected. Tom would certainly never allow himself to end up in this position.

Nick was still dwelling on this unhappy line of thought when the car came to a stop. He sat up slowly and stood up even slower.

Tom was waiting there by his shoulder, ready to catch him and give him a paternalistic pat on the shoulder.

"We'll get you sorted out inside, don't you worry."

Only then did Nick notice that they were back at the Buchanan's estate. His heart sank. "Oh, Tom, really, it's okay--"

"Nonsense. You're coming inside and you're not leaving until you're back on your feet again."

Nick was too tired for a proper protest, especially knowing that this was not an argument he could win. But desperation prevailed. "Really, I can just go--"

"I won't hear a word of it."

Tom continued to pull him along at a speed much faster than Nick could manage. His heart was pounding painfully in his chest, hard and rapid. He knew he ought to thank Tom, but he really didn't want to.

Still, he tried to move his lips to form the words and found them numb and tingling. The noise of the birds and the wind faded to radio static.

There was an odd pressure on Nick's stomach, preventing him from drawing a full breath. His feet weren't touching the ground.

And he still felt awful.

Confused, he opened his eyes.

Tom had him in a fireman's carry and was walking down one of the many hardwood halls of the Buchanan estate.

Nick sighed, his face burning with shame.

"I can walk," he croaked.

"Nonsense." Tom tried to glance at him, craving his neck awkwardly. He turned, maneuvering through a doorway, and deposited Nick onto a bed.

Nick arranged himself so he was on his back. He didn't have the energy to do much else but stare at the ceiling, although he did notice a pitcher of water on the bedside table.

"You're gonna be just fine," Tom said. He moved to Nick into a sitting position as easily as a child would move a doll, then poured out a glass of water. "Drink."

"Thank you," Nick said. He downed it without even passing for breath. The quickest way out of here would be to get better, and the quickest way to do that would be to drink. So he did. His head was still pounding and fuzzy, too much so for conversation. His eyes were starting to slide closed of their own accord.

Tom's blue gaze appraised Nick with the cool detachment of a predator assessing prey. "Get some rest," he said, reaching down to ruffle Nick's hair. "If you're not better by morning I'm sure Daisy will have a whole army of doctors in here, and I'd rather avoid the hassle." He gave a half-smile.

"I understand," Nick murmured, not able to bring himself to fake a laugh.

He sank back against the pillows and closed his eyes. Before drifting off, he could have sworn he felt Tom gently removing his shoes and bidding him a quiet "good night."