#for now it's a treat for those who scrolled far enough

[jichanxo]

how different is your creative process between writing and drawing (and in which areas)? do you have a different approach in each artform? if you have an idea, you first think how you'd write it or draw it?

This is definitely going to be long so. Cut.

Just to preface, obviously both writing and drawing are a form of art, but I tend to use the word “art” when I mean illustration or drawing, so that’s what I’m going to do here. And of course a disclaimer that I’m only speaking to my subjective experience.

Tbh I don’t think my approach to both is that different from each other, which is odd, because I’m used to thinking of them as very different processes. Probably because the mediums themselves are so different. But like with my writing, I tend to improvise. Feel it out, see how things go, throw ideas at the wall. I would probably say that I’m more willing to experiment with/scrap my art than my writing. Probably because I’m more confident with my art than my writing, so I find it easier to make judgments like that, or because I’ve made so much that throwing stuff away when it isn’t working is very easy. I get a bit more precious about my writing. I always want to keep it or at least try to adapt it into something less bad, lmao. I’m also just not as confident in my ability to judge what writing is worth keeping or worth permanently deleting. I just haven’t polished that skill for writing as much as I have for art.

With regards to planning my art – I definitely do sometimes, because I consider art my Serious Hobby, which means I do like to have a go at more serious projects as opposed to just improvising all the time (a contrast to my writing where my only “serious project” is senseific, and I fell into that by accident). The things I plan out are the idea/s I want to convey, and what imagery would express that. (like this IW art, and the second one in this umineko post) Or sometimes the imagery gets stuck in my head and I work from that. (yagami’s hair clinging to his neck here)

I actually find that planning too much can be detrimental to my art process. That is to say, not in terms of figuring out ideas/themes, but doing too much drafting. I find it very difficult to do things like clean lineart unless I’m having a Weirdly Good Art Moment, so I just don’t. Hence a lot of my art is very sketchy. I’m just not good at capturing the same looseness with “proper” lineart than with my sketches, so I keep them. Not worth fussing over. This is what works for me.

(even in this, and the first image here, you can see a lot of breaks and incomplete looking lines. not to say necessarily that this is a bad thing of course, but you can see that even in what I consider my “polished” work, I won’t use “proper” linework, but instead a high quality/detailed sketch. I imagine some other artists would have their proper linework stage after these sketches, but i choose to stop here)

this probably reads like I’m talking myself down, but that’s not really what I’m meaning to say – my point is that I don’t figure out details even for my bigger pieces, and that with drawn art I have a better time judging where my time is best spent. I don’t think I have a strong understanding of my writing by comparison, so I can’t decide how to play to my strengths or anything like that, I just have to see how i go.

For writing, either it’s “i’m in the mood for it” or “i’m not in the mood for it”. For art, it’s “today is a good day/bad day”, “today’s a painting day”, “today feels like masking”, “today I just want to sketch”, “today I’m too loose for what I want to work on”, “today I’m too stiff”. You can see the difference in my ability to judge, yeah? So a big difference is to do with just my own (relative) inexperience with writing as opposed to drawing.

I think the other major factor is the differences in the mediums themselves. A fanfic is sequential. There’s a change in time. Illustrations are by nature a single moment in time. Big difference there. Of course, there are comics and animatics and other art that’s both drawn and sequential, but since I don’t do a lot of that, just count that as exceptions for now (and in a way, those are kind of like a combination of writing and illustration, aren’t they?) I find there are some ideas that are conveyed easier or better through writing, and others where the better option is art.

So to answer your last question, often ideas come to me pre-packaged as a “writing idea” or an “art idea”, rather than having to decide that separately. In the case that a sequence is better conveyed with a visual element, that’s when it’s comic time. The gorillashipping comic is a great example of this. The punchline is at its best when it’s not explained in words, and the expression of the final panel does all the heavy lifting. I pitched this idea initially in words (as a joke on discord), but the comic version has more punch.

Comics are also great for when you want to avoid explaining context, and for when you want to force the reader to take a specific pace. Here’s the example I’m thinking of.

The visual space dedicated to the fighting forces you to take time to process, and that time is important for the buildup to the punchline. This wouldn’t work as well if we cut this down to, say, the four panels of the last example. So yeah, timing. And then my other point – context – why are these two fighting? I don’t know. Where are they? I don’t know. It’s not necessary for the joke. The same is true of the gorillashipping joke. How did the relationship between kiryu and kaito happen to make this even remotely possible? I don’t know. But I don’t need to explain it in a joke comic. With writing I find that it feels more necessary to make context clear to the reader so they understand what’s happening, but with illustrations, it’s a lot easier to skip over that. Obviously this isn’t impossible in a written format, but that’s just my personal opinion.

Admittedly I think this second example is doable with just pure writing (replace all the panels with descriptions of the fight that take long enough to simulate the time it takes for the reader to digest the build up, then make the punchline a wham line, yknow), but it varies on a case to case basis. Also I would not want to write fighting. Lmao. I’m not… any good at that. So I guess it is also just in part about playing to strengths.

Anyway, enough comic side tangent. I’ve already started talking about it there, but was going to do a comparison between writing and art as mediums. The main thing, I find, is that they have different strengths. More than strengths/weaknesses though, the mediums themselves convey some things with ambiguity, and other things with detail.

Like I first mentioned, time: it’s easier to convey the passage of time with writing than with illustration. And like I said before with comics – conveying context – because an illustration captures a single moment in time, it’s a lot easier to avoid context entirely, while it’s harder to avoid in writing. I’ve drawn kuwagami cuddles before, and there’s no background, nothing discernable as to the lead up or any other detail. And that’s great! I don’t want to have to invent a plausible reason for them to end up hugging. I can just do it, right? But sometimes it’s the context that makes things significant, so you do want it there. A better job for writing. Writing allows you to be detailed with your context, while illustration leaves it ambiguous. Different strengths. You just pick which best fits the situation.

It’s a similar case for a lot of different factors – they're conveyed differently through both mediums, and depending on your idea, some results are more desirable than others. Rather than explaining, it’s probably better to do a direct comparison. (If it makes any difference to your curiosity, I did the drawing first then the writing. You’ve caught me on a good art day, what a nice sketch…)

I’ll try not to talk too much because I think the comparison and table say enough, but you can see how, despite depicting basically the same thing, these two things feel pretty different from each other. The mediums do different things. The mood of both is similar, but not quite the same. It’s these differences that inform the choice of mediums instinctually. (but again. points at disclaimer. as is true with all “rules” about art, none of these are absolute. you can make an illustration that conveys a strong context. you can write fic that favours describing facial expressions and leaves the intended emotion ambiguous. i’m generalising to make a point here.)

I guess the other thing is that it’s pretty easy to do writing in bed on my phone compared to my art setup, lmao. Convenience and timing also play into it probably.

[kiztae]

hi! if ur not too busy do u think u could come up with something for size kink w soobin? pls & thank you ! 💛

SIZE KINK — c.soobin

genre: afab!reader, very suggestive, brothers bestfriend!soobin, bulge kink, size kink (duh), making out, dry humping, dirty talk? that's probably it. wc: 1.8k [requested]

a/n: might be a bit short. hope you enjoy anon!

just like any other saturday, soobin came over to visit your older brother beomgyu and spend the rest of it playing games in his room. it wasn't new to find soobin in the living room, sitting in the couch and scrolling through his phone mindlessly.

it was only natural, considering he almost lived there with you guys with how often he’d come by. so when you crossed his path, you didn't really mind it and conformed to uttering a soft 'hi soobin' before stepping into the kitchen.

"hi y/n" he looks up with a raise of his eyebrows in acknowledgment, shutting off his phone and standing up slightly to move towards the kitchen island. "how's today treating you?" he inquires with a playful smile as he leans over the counter with his elbows.

“it’s treating me fine, soobin. what about you?” you say between yawns while pouring yourself a glass of water.

you had just woken up a few minutes ago, whenever it was sunday you allowed yourself to sleep in as much as you’d like. which is why you were currently standing in the kitchen, wearing your small pajama shorts and a loose t-shirt you found in your brothers room, at noon.

“so far, so good. but i have to say, it’s even better now that you’re here.” he adds boldly, looking down at the marble and then back up at you.

you could see his eyes glimmer mischievously as he ended his sentence, the two orbs dropping lower and trailing down your exposed collarbones, your chest that was exposing just about enough cleavage to help his imagination, and finally, your hands. everything about you looked so dainty and small, soobin couldn’t help but think about how adorable and weirdly hot he found it.

hell, he knew it was wrong to think about his best friend's little sister under this lewd light but it was just so hard not to.

“you really have a way with words don’t you? save them for the girls on your campus.” you grin in response, emptying the glass of cold water in your mouth and feeling the new energy flowing through your body.

if you had to be honest, it’s not like you hadn’t thought about soobin like that before. you were aware of how attractive he was and especially how close to your ideal type he proved to be. soobin was tall, handsome and a literal giant in proportions but also adorable and cute at times.

nevertheless, you pushed those thoughts away quickly whenever you remembered who he was to you. he was your brother’s best friend, he was older than you, he had many other things he could care about other than you… so why bother?

sure, it wouldn't be awful to have some fun with him, especially after not having any form of sexual activity in the past months (not even a kiss), but you were sure it was all not going to happen anyway. so, you tried your best to stay unfazed by his comments and approaches, figuring he was just teasing you.

“i’m not sweet talking you y/n. i’m—“ before he could continue, beomgyu walked into the room with a loud “you can use the shower now!”, signaling that you could start your morning routine and that he could get back to hanging out with his best friend.

“what are you doing here? you could’ve waited in my room man.” he says with an awkward laugh as he taps his friend’s back.

“well, see you around.” you bid your goodbye and go off to continue with your day, not bothering to finish the earlier conversation.

-

why was getting up suddenly so hard? some sort of heavy weight was placed on top of you, not letting you move up or even around in the room of your mattress. this was not like any other sunday morning. were you still dreaming? after squirming in place for a little more you opened your eyes slowly and looked around despite the hazy vision of your only recent wake up call.

moving around (if you could even call it that) helped you figure out two things: 1. whatever it was that was stopping you was laying half on top of you and pressing your side 2. it was breathing. as soon as you realized the second, you started kicking your feet up and turning around in a hurry like crazy.

"woah—! what the—!" the lump under the other blanket started to blurt out in panic, until it moved up and revealed itself. that's when you were met with a confused soobin with the biggest case of bed hair you've seen.

before you could process it, he swiftly took your wrists into his hands and pushed them against the mattress effortlessly, shifting completely on top of you to keep your legs caged between both of his on your sides with ease. finally, if he got kicked once more he was sure he would get bruises.

"hey—!" you shout against his defense before his right palm comes up to cover your mouth clumsily. it was ridiculous how much of your face his hand covered then, all of your jaw and part of your neck being hidden behind it.

"shhh. don't you realize it's super early in the morning?" he whisper-shouts back, frowning and staring into your eyes, finally.

you relaxed and twisted your head around to take in the room, noticing that it was indeed still dark and that the sunset hadn't even happened yet. once you took it in, you took in the sight of soobin, at last. he was breathing loudly, his hair messy, his shirt hanging low on his chest and his eyes waving around as he looked into yours.

"why are you in my bed?" you murmur with a confused frown once he removed his hand, your breathing starting to speed up when you realize the position you're in right now. god, you hoped he was still sleepy enough to not notice the pink blooming in your cheeks.

"i— i don't know. i thought i went into beomgyu's room after i woke up to drink some water... but i guess not." he trails off, his eyes dipping lower from your eyes to your neck, your disheveled hair, your shirt that bunched up and exposed your waist, until he came back up to stare at your mouth for longer.

"i guess not..." you imitate quietly when your gaze also lays on his pouty lips and then back to his eyes.

"i'm sorry y/n" he states in a more deep voice, his tone sounding hushed as he leaned in closer to you, the hand holding your wrist pushing further up and the other dipping the mattress on your side.

"huh? for what?" you mutter out in surprisement at the sudden apology, your voice breaking softly once you feel him get closer.

"for not holding myself back." he whispers back, his hand interlacing with yours and pinning it deeper into the sheets as he catches your breath in a swift kiss. the action earned a small gasp from you, your form stiffening under his hold briefly, unsure of what was happening, until you sighed into his mouth and leaned in.

he softly groaned in satisfaction once he felt you relax and open your mouth more for him, granting him permission to kiss you deeper. "i'm such a shit best friend aren't i? i just couldn't hold it in anymore." he comments as he leaves your lips for a second, the loss of contact already making you disappointed.

but he doesn't stop. his free hand grazes your side softly and grasps your waist roughly, another gasp coming from you that's quickly swallowed by soobin's lips on yours. his kisses are desperate, hungry even. it's like he doesn't want to waste a single second when he's kissing you.

his tongue dips into your bottom lip and then brushes against yours, the wet sound of it starting to get more noticeable as his mouth melts with yours. you weren't sure you expected soobin to get messy like this, saliva mixing with yours, kisses sloppy and needy, you were loving it.

soobin was heavy on top of you, he was making sure he didn't lay his whole body weight, knowing for sure he would crush you, but he was letting himself press against you just enough for you to be trapped below him. if he wanted to, he could do anything he wanted to you, easily. he could make you his personal ragdoll, move you around however he wanted, take you however he wanted.

as his mouth detached from yours to dip lower and start biting and nipping at your neck, the hand on your waist trailed up and stopped right before your breast. "can i? please.." he says in a hushed voice as he licks a small stripe on the bites he left, his breathing ragged already. following your nod he takes your breast in his hand, his grasp being enough to cover it whole. once he gets permission his hands start roaming around your body more and more, grabbing whatever he can. his palms kneading your ass, then playing with your nipples, grasping your hip tightly as he groans into your mouth between kisses.

"you're so small— i could break you if i'm too rough, couldn't i?" he purrs into your ear, biting your earlobe gently and grinning. he didn't know what got into him but seeing you so weak and helpless in his hold was driving him crazy, he never knew he was so big until now.

"you're just— too big." the whiny tone in your voice as you replied was what did it for him. how could you say that to him and expect him not to go insane?

"fuck, don't do that to me." he blurts out as he lets his head fall on your chest, his hands tightening around your hips. "i won't be able to stop." he warns before his fingers dig into your sides and he pushes himself against you, his giant bulge rubbing on your underwear harshly.

"oh my god— soobin, you're huge" you moan out as the shocks of pleasure hit you, your hips instantly jolting forwards to meet his. at this, he starts thrusting his hips harder and faster against you, rocking the bed carelessly.

"yeah? bet that if i fucked you, you'd have a bulge right here. wouldn't you baby?" he questions while rubbing your tummy right above where his dick was pushing into you. "i'd fuck you so deep, you'd feel it in your stomach." he adds with a smirk, looking right into your eyes as if to taunt you. he never once stopped rocking his hips against you, the tip of his cock starting to leak through his boxers and onto your panties, hitting you right with each thrust.

"then do it." you plead in between whines, taking his cheek in your hand and staring into his eyes desperately. "fuck me until you break me."

-

© kiztae, 2023

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Pletonic yandere king and queen of hearts?

^Source

Platonic Yandere Queen and King of Hearts

“Have some more tea.”

“Uh thank you, your majesty.”

You gave a thankful nod to the servant, biting back the urge to repeat the sentiment. Shifting your attention to the cup of tea, you held your cup to your lips with practiced care. With a tentative glance directed at her, the Queen gave you a nod to which you continued to sip.

“You’ve only had a few crumpets, love. Here have some more.”

The King unceremoniously poured the plate of biscuits onto your tiny platter, smiling as he poured the entirety of the honey bail onto it. You gave him a nod before indulging, careful not to smudge your makeup. 

Things had been truly bizarre since you had fallen into the rabbit hole behind your dear friend. Able to traverse the land together it seemed that for as mad as this world seemed there were set rules. Specifically, one that made your dearest friend be called Alice. It was grating to hear others call your friend a name that was not their own; even worse you were hardly acknowledged. Many would straight-up ignore you or tilt their heads at you and ask your name. It was oddly alienating for this world to encourage your friend to commit to this role claiming a prophecy be fulfilled. And then simply sighing when it came to you, being just as clueless as you.

In a way it gave you the freedom to do as you pleased able to travel all around Wonderland, getting to know those who were capable of acknowledging your existence. Some of which had been those in the Heart’s kingdom. 

“Now that is settled with we can begin talks of this Alice-character. I believe it’d be best if we capture her and behead her as soon as we have them! ”

She waved her own tea cup around, haphazardly spilling her tea all about her. Making you wonder why she spent energy lecturing you at all. Her husband sighed, hands on his round rosy cheeks watching you eat the honey-covered crumpet. 

“Mmmm, that’s nice dear.”

You dabbed at your mouth, running your tongue over your teeth in hopes of clearing any remains of the sticky treat. Wouldn’t want to have any distractions while you fought your point.

“Perhaps there can be another way…a more peaceful option?” 

Focusing on your cup of tea, you looked into the reflection of the organ-shaped teapot. Watching as the queen’s face seemed to scrunch before she turned to you. With her crimson-painted nails, she held your face, turning your head to the left then to the right. 

“Of course not dear, violence is the only option. Now, King, they’re looking a bit gaunt, yes?”

“Of course dear.”

Once again you’re plea was ignored by the two of them who were now conversing intensely about how much more you needed to be eating. After all a proper royal heir was plump and well fed, they couldn’t have others of the court thinking you weren’t being fed properly. Huffing through your nose you dismissed yourself hardly waiting for the Queen’s release before making your way out of the hearts maze. Being sure you were far enough for your angry mumbles and stomping was out of their earshot. So caught up in your huffy exit you nearly ran over the rabbit frantically calling your name.

“Oh! W.B. I’m so sorry I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“I-it it is just fine, your majesty.”

“Your majesty, W.B. are you…have you been drinking hatter’s tea.”

“What?! No-well th-this might have s-something to do with just that.” 

He shuffled through his pockets, ears twitching along with his nose. The poor creature was really worked up. With a shaky hand(?) (or foot?) he gave you a scroll, an unstamped document that rolled over your feet when you opened it. You read through the first lines of cursive before double-taking running your thumb over the dried ink. 

“I, the Queen and King of Hearts, hereby declare that whosoever be appointed as the royal heir by their decree must adhere to the following rules and regulations—oh my gosh! I think I’m going to be sick.”

You haphazardly dropped the scroll to the ground, running past the rabbit who fumbled with the policy. The ‘rules and regulations’  that were spoken of told of horrible and gruesome punishments for those that so much as thought of slighting you. Being called ‘majesty’ or ‘young highness’ was one of them. Punishment for the accused was the equivalent of a scorched or ‘beheaded’ tongue, it was appalling to imagine. 

Torn by rage and helplessness you ran–out of the maze past the unpainted roses and idle card soldiers. You couldn’t stand to be here any further from your dearest friend, your dearest Alice while your company plotted to kill them. 

You were done.

Done with the absurdity of this world.

It was time to put a stop to it all. 

As you should’ve from the beginning.

Before they were wooed by Wonderland’s love for Alice.

Before they threatened their safety.

Before the others threatened you.

It was time to go.

Running with abandon you tore through the vegetation, uncaring of the way it stuck to your heart and card-patterned garments. Tearing at the seams of posh confinement you discarded different articles as the tearing branches demanded. Forging on you spied the bushel you had left your dearest compatriot to hide inside. Worry bubbled in your tummy as you noted the crumbs of a soft pastry caking your hands as you kneeled to the ground; forcing your eyes to roam through the blades of grass. 

“There you are!” 

You scooped them up, supporting their small form as you sat on your heels.

“Where on Earth did you find another shrinking cake!?”

They shrugged their shoulders and nervously dragged their foot along your palm as they continued to pout. You had to listen carefully but you could hear them. Fully used to their illogical desire for any available food—starved or full it must be eaten–you scolded them lightly. 

“Look, we don’t have time to fight about this…we have to leave the Queen is determined to have your head. I have a sneaking suspicion she’d not going to care whether your head’s the size of a sugar cube.” 

You patted yourself down, searching for the perfect place to tuck your miniature companion away. Finding the only space was the loose fabric around a makeshift pocket near your chest. With a little protest, your tiny friend climbed in, prepared for the jostling journey ahead. 

“Hey it’ll be okay, by this time tomorrow we’ll finally be away from this horrid place.”

“You’re right this is a horrid place, so far from the castle grounds! Guards! I want this patch of weed burned to the ground!”

You slowly rose to your feet hiding your friend with crossed arms. Dressed in battle wear: a spiny red armor the queen over a tightly fitted dress; the crimson wisps of her makeup were harsher and more violent than before, coupled with the dark eyeliner of a smoky eye. She sat on the back of some tortured creature that seemed to sport a glare at you of its own. skin–a pulsing pink, littered with pus-filled wounds, and stray wisps of hair and feather. 

“Your high–”

“Hush!”

Her red claws nails touched and you sealed your lips. She sent a glare to the ground below her beast only shifting her seat before sending her narrowed gaze. 

“Only an hour in the jungle and you’ve adapted their savage ways? Where are your manners, (Y/n)?!”

“Uhm your maje-”

“HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN?!”

You could only helplessly flutter your lips at her screaming. Nearly shaking as you fought tears you held your ground. 

“I-I don’t understand what it is you want.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “So you have forgotten. You are still a child; misguided and ill-remembering.”

“What?! Wait hold on–”

“Now listen well child, you are to call me your mother and your father–your father. Do you understand?”

“But you’re not my–”

“GUARDS! Take the child back to the palace, the war that is to come is one I’d prefer you watch with lunch on the side.”

“Wh-agh!” 

Four card guards took your limbs and held you high. Ignoring your wriggling and protests, you nearly forgot about your hidden companion. No doubt clinging to the fabric of your clothes in the midst of your sudden struggle. You stilled only bobbing at the marching pace of the soldiers looking at the twisted perspective of the Queen ordering her troupes to move. She turned to you barely looking over her shoulder as her pointed teeth showed from behind her crimson lips.

“I’ll return when I’ve rid you of the parasite Alice! In the meantime brush up on the rules you silly child. No longer will you deny your right as my young heir. Ta-ta!”

With a wave of her hand and the crack of a whip, she moved with the procession. 

Out to behead your dearest Alice and all of those who stood in her way.

Who was safely tucked within the fabric of your dressings.

[kakushino]

The Fanboy

Tumblr writer fanboy! Tomioka Giyuu x isekai! fem! Reader

He was not ready.

Tags: fluff, Giyuu being a silly fanboy, suggestive (1 filth mention), minor KNY spoilers from manga, isekai Word count: 1,1k

Masterlist

AN: The blog mentioned is purely fictional. Reader is Giyuu's blorbo uwu

Giyuu was used to being disliked by his coworkers. He kept to himself and didn’t attend any of the group events, the only one who liked him was the janitor, Urokodaki-san. Urokodaki Sakonji and Giyuu shared many lunches together, in silence or talking - it didn’t matter. 

It was thanks to those lunches that Giyuu found out their shared passion - Kimetsu no Yaiba manga. The mangaka was a mystery, working under an alias, and the series was nearly finished, the infinity castle arc coming to an end. He was excited to read the last volume - an extra long one - which was rumored to feature his favorite character, [Name].

Oh [Name]... he’d been treated with an entire volume about her background and daily duties as a kakushi before the last arc, though she’d appeared in glimpses throughout the series. He had an embarrassing memory of spilling his admiration to Urokodaki-san at one time - years ago - but it was fate, for the volume about her came out three months afterwards. 

It was also fate that he discovered tumblr not long after. He’d been scrolling through [Name]’s wiki page when something caught his eye - a trivia about her that he hadn’t noticed. Of course he had to try to find the truth on the deep dark web. Instead, he found a treasure trove full of fanfictions of characters from Kimetsu no Yaiba being shipped with readers. 

Giyuu devoured the total number of three fanfictions about [Name] that evening. Only three… because there weren’t any more. It wasn’t right… She should have been appreciated more. Sure, she was not a fighter, but she was a part of crucial infrastructure, often taking on unpleasant roles to support the protagonists of the series - the demon slayers. Perhaps it reminded him of himself and Urokodaki, but the fact stood he absolutely adored [Name], and she deserved more love.

So he would give her that love.

That was two years ago. 

Now, he had a blog of his own, blue-depresso, which he centered around his fav - he had posted various moodboards and headcanons he had about her at the start, but soon moved onto writing ‘x reader’ fanfictions of his own. It was a challenge to put his hidden artistic bone to work, but it was worth it. At times, Giyuu felt like a cult leader, his following quickly growing once he started to post those fanfics.

The few filthy fics he posted had him going long into the night, thinking how [Name] would feel under his hands, how he would take care of all her needs, and fuck her senseless. 

Giyuu kept the blog and his dirty thoughts far away from Urokodaki-san.

He didn’t want the old man to know just how much of a loser he was.

The last volume came out on one (un)remarkable Friday. Giyuu had pre-ordered it, making him excited to rush to the designated pick-up manga store.

The end of the school day could not come soon enough. He raced through his duties, the usual neat stacks of sport equipment haphazard piles when he locked the equipment room; his rush made him leave the school before Kyojuro, who was usually one of the first teachers to leave due to Friday sales at his favorite bakery. The blonde sent him a bewildered look as Giyuu passed him at the gates.

Once home, he put the sacred item (the manga) on the table gently before he yanked his tracksuit off, quickly getting into shower. He wanted to get comfortable before he read it.

Less than ten minutes later, he was ready.

…he wasn’t ready.

But he needed to read it! He had to know what would happen to his [Name]! (And to the protagonists as well-)

Okay, okay, no. Giyuu took a deep breath and opened the book.

He had to put it down halfway through. His dearest [Name]... died. She’d driven a car at the main antagonist to stop him from moving, and she died in the line of duty. Her death was honorable, and she would have wanted that.

Why did he feel so empty then?

Before he knew it, he’d opened the tumblr app on his phone and started typing.

blue-depresso She isn’t dead. She is not dead. #kny spoilers #kny spoiler #[Name] #what the fuck is this @ G.K.???? 

blue-depresso This just did not happen. I refuse to accept this. #kny spoilers #kny spoiler #[Name] #dying rn #[Name] is alive

blue-depresso Someone give me G.K.’s location rq because I’m ready to fight #kny spoilers #kny spoiler #[Name] #fight me G.K.

blue-depresso Okay but maybe it wasn’t her in the car. Hear me out, maybe she jumped out before the car got destroyed??? #kny spoilers #kny spoiler #[Name] #[Name] is alive

blue-depresso What is even the point of living on if she isn’t alive? What is the point??? #kny spoilers #kny spoiler #[Name] #im crying #send help

blue-depresso Okay but in my heart, she lives on. You bet your asses I will write that [Name] lives AU once I’m done devouring this volume #kny spoilers #kny spoiler #[Name] #I won’t abandon my girl in her time of need #she’s my wife #she will live

blue-depresso I’m okay (I’m not). I need to finish this manga.  #kny spoilers #kny spoiler #[Name] #ran out of tissues #i need a drink

Wiping the one tear that left his eye - the tissue tag an exaggeration of the truth, though his throat did get clogged up - he got to reading the rest of the story. 

It felt like he was afloat. What was he gonna do with himself now? His mind wandered to the singular bottle of beer in the fridge his sister gave him - some fancy brand he couldn’t care less about, as he wasn’t a drinker. His body acted before his brain caught up and he drank it, the bitterness a companion to the one in his heart. 

He would write that ‘[Name] lives AU’ tomorrow. Today, he had to bury himself in comfort. There was a fluffy blanket he received from his sister last birthday. Perhaps he should give her a call. It wasn’t that late yet.

In the end he’d fallen asleep on his futon, the blankets under him and his phone laying next to his face. His face flushed, realizing his sister must have talked him to sleep. He would have to make it up to her later.

Giyuu rolled over on his other side to check the time on his clock hanging on the wall, but came face-to-face with a woman instead. 

What the fu-

He scrambled back, trying to create distance from this stranger. Who was it? What was she doing in his flat? What was-?!

Hold on a moment…

His mind ran circles, trying to rationalize what he was seeing. I couldn’t be, could it? But how? This had to be a prank…

The woman stirred, kakushi mask shifting a little. Then, her eyes opened, and it was confirmed.

It was [Name].

dividers made by the amazing @benkeibear

AN: Will this be an one-shot series? IDK but it was fun to write hehe

[ladyryukyo]

outtake: kyoben flirt prompt

this is the first outtake i have which was written for the flirt prompt i did uhh more than three years ago now?? omg time flies DSLGHAGAD i was really struggling with how to enter into the scene i had in mind and wrote multiple beginnings for it. this is the longest one (and also probably the longest outtake i have rn)

“Have you ever been in love?” Demure asks, apropos of absolutely nothing at all.

Kyoya looks up from where he has been sprawled on the couch for the last hour, scrolling mindlessly through his phone. Nile, in a similar position as Kyoya but with a thick book, about gardening of all things, in his hands, slowly lowers the book in his lap and closes it. They exchange a puzzled look.

“Of course,” Benkei chimes from the kitchen.

He walks into the living room with a full tray of still steaming cookies, big oven mitts on his equally big hands. As soon as he puts the tray down on the coffee table, Nile, Demure and Kyoya simultaneously reach for a cookie but hiss and pull their hands back when they burn themselves on the treats.

“Careful, it’s hot,” Benkei says cheerfully, and evidently too late.

Demure is cradling his burnt hand against his chest but his gaze is fixed on Benkei and his expression is expectant and curious. He is obviously thinking about Benkei’s confirmation to the question Demure just blurted out to their group.

Kyoya can’t say that he isn’t intrigued as well. He has known Benkei the longest out of all of them and he doesn’t remember Benkei ever talking about someone he liked. Granted, during their earlier days, Kyoya wasn’t exactly the most approachable person and even Benkei had a hard time getting close to him but after that? After the Face Hunters, after the Dark Nebula, after they joined Gingka and his whole friendship is magic schtick? He is surprised to feel a twinge of hurt at the thought that Benkei’s silence on this topic might stem from a lack of trust.

Or maybe he is surprised about how not suprising his reaction is. They have come far, the two of them, from the boys they once were. The leader of the most dangerous gang in Metal City and his lackey, a bully. To partners, companions, friends.

Equals.

“I didn’t know you were in love with someone,” Kyoya says.

Everyone turns to look at him, the surprise on Nile and Demure’s faces openly displayed. Benkei stares at him for a second too long to casually brush off, then grins sheepishly and looks away from Kyoya.

“Oh, it was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter.” 

Kyoya frowns. “Was it someone in the gang?”

Benkei hesitates which is as good as confirmation.

Kyoya knew there were a few boys in the Face Hunters that Benkei was close with. He just didn't know that they were close enough for those kinds of feelings to develop between them. Maybe he doesn’t know Benkei as well as he thought he did. Maybe he misinterpreted how they stood to one another. It’s not like Kyoya is an expert on friendships. 

“Where is this even coming from?”

Nile breaks the tension by questioning Demure. Demure shrugs and scratches his cheek absent-mindedly. 

“I don’t know. Just curious, I guess,” he explains. “I wanted to know if you guys have ever been in love and how you handled it. It’s interesting.” 

Nile throws Demure a skeptical look. Demure returns that look with raised eyebrows and a meaningful glint in his eyes, obviously trying to convey something to Nile. Kyoya furrows his brows in confusion. Demure may not be the most subtle person in the world but whatever his reasoning for this nonsense is, it won’t reveal itself to Kyoya. 

Finally, Nile breaks the tense stare-off and nods slowly. “Right,” he says although he looks like not anything is right. “Okay. So, Benkei. What did you do after you realized you were in love?” 

Kyoya looks at Nile in disbelief, then at Benkei, who also looks at Nile in disbelief. It feels like they just witnessed Demure do some voodoo magic on Nile to get him to pursue his line of questioning. It feels a little bit illegal. It definitely feels illegal. 

“Well?” Nile prompts him when Benkei doesn’t answer. 

“I didn’t really do anything. What do you two want from me?” Benkei complains, a bewildered expression on his face. 

“What do you mean, you didn’t really do anything?” 

“You should have tried to flirt with the person you loved,” Demure suggests. 

Benkei turns red. The blush fills his cheeks instantly, one moment he looks like always, then Kyoya blinks and the Benkei he knows is a stuttering mess. 

“I could never, uh. I don’t know how, uh, how to f—flirt.” 

It doesn’t slip Kyoya’s attention how Nile’s eyes light up with sudden understanding and how he indiscreetly throws a thumbs up at Demure.

Then something weird happens. Well. Something even weirder. 

Demure takes his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans and stares hard at the display. Then he declares loudly: 

“Oh no. I didn’t realize how late it was. Me and Nile have to go. But don’t worry, Benkei, I’m sure Kyoya can teach you about flirting.” 

Benkei’s eyes are wide and his mouth half open in betrayal. Kyoya is beginning to feel like someone told a joke and Kyoya is the only one not in on the punchline because Benkei definitely realized something in the last few seconds, if the way he is staring at Nile and Demure’s quickly retreating backs is any indication.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Feet on the Ground

Sweet Treats AU Masterlist

Girls being girls and getting out.

Please let me know what you think <3

🥧🥧🥧

You huddle down as you stand between the shelves, Coco watching over your shoulder as you try not to tremble into a puddle. Every now and then, she squeezes your arm to assure you it’s okay. She doesn’t really know that, you see it in her eyes, but it’s nice to have someone who cares.

She stands straighter suddenly and sucks in her breath sharply. She squints as you look at her face and she whispers, barely moving her lips, “she’s here. Don’t hurry.”

She turns and leads you down to the far end of the aisle, stopping to browse the books before continuing down the other side. You mimic her, slowly making your way across the library with her. Finally she stops beside one of the catalogue computers. You glance over at the figure standing at it, a grey hoodie pulled up over their head.

“You came,” Coco keeps her voice low.

“In a heartbeat,” Candy scoffs as she scrolls through a page of results, “what the fuck are you wearing?”

Coco lets out a soft chuckle. You shift on your feet and tuck your hands into the pockets of your too big jeans. “We got them out of a Goodwill bin,” you fill in.

Candy turns and looks at you. She smiles. “Let’s get out of here first.”

Coco nods and shuffles to the lead as she heads towards the doors. You follow behind Candy, trying not to seem too obvious. You head out to the street and they walk shoulder to shoulder as you tail them closely.

“They showed up at Sam’s. They’re already looking. Don’t know how long it took them to notice I booted.”

“Shit,” Coco huffs.

“I got money, clothes, a few other things. Not much but doesn’t look like have more than that.”

“No, got out with the clothes on our backs. We dumped those in the bin and traded them out,” Coco explains, “don’t know where to go now.”

“There’s nowhere we can go,” you chime in, “they’re gonna be so mad.”

“They already were, Birdy. What do you think was gonna if we stayed? What was going to keep happening? I should’ve left years ago. Fuck those men. Fuck the family, the friends who let us fall into their clutches. We’ll find somewhere.”

“Can’t be obvious,” Candy says, “the first place they’ll look is our pasts. No parents, no friends, can’t even hit up one of my old sugar daddies.”

“So where?” Coco asks.

“Need an ID for a hotel. And shelters won’t be safe enough. AirBnB? Or we hide somewhere, just until we figure this out. Not everything about us is trackable. It can’t be. We just have to think.”

You chew your lip and your head pulses as you dig. Deep. You didn’t have much before Steve, he knew that, he used it against you. By making himself the only one and he didn’t even want you. Your tears startle you, seeping down hotly before you can notice.

“We should take a train. Not stop,” you offer, “or a bus. Then find somewhere to sort it out.”

They’re quiet as you blend into the hustle of the New York rush. Hiding in plain sight. Not a second glance.

“Fair,” Candy accepts, “and the others? Do we try?”

“I don’t know,” Coco rasps, “Muffin and Darling, they’re not in the city anyways. I’m sure they’re gone by now. Kitty? Maybe but we really can’t risk waiting around any longer. If we try to get to her through a stream, that’s dangerous but it’s the only way.”

“Princess?” You wonder, recalling the young girl who reminded you of yourself.

“Yeah, with Stark surveillance?” Coco clicks her tongue, “I don’t want to just leave them to it but we have no chance now. Maybe later, but not now.”

“You’re right,” Candy agrees, “and I think I have an idea. Where we can hide out.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Little trick from my college days. Bit illegal but what does that matter?”

“Let’s do it,” you say, your heart in your throat, “I want to be free. Just for a little longer.”

[cadere-art]

jdifksbfurkdbi hi hello :3 just found ur blog and i love ur commission art and the funny fellows which, if i managed to correctly absorb the lore, r the uanlikri ppl. those r cool and nice and amazing and i love em. i noticed that when u post abt them u (i assume) write the name of the individual culture with their native script of their native language? since thats my shit can i ask u to linguistically infodump abt that? thanks for ur attention and have a good [insert time of day] :)))

So the Peoples of Uanlikri is a project of mine where I aim to do at least one drawing of every cultural group* on Uanlikri, the continent depicted in the bottom corner of the little people infographics. There are other continents in this world but for my sanity I'm (mostly) not touching them.

The script besides the title is not a native script in the sense that for most of these cultures, they've borrowed it from someone else! It is the Ghøwout Script, which you may or may not have scrolled down far enough to find this little infographic I did on it.

Unfortunately for the more linguistically inclined, I haven't really dug deep into conlanging (at least not with this script) and I cannot tell you much about the Ghøwout languages, other languages which use the Ghøwout script, and how they work. I think if / when I decide to work on it more, I'll take my decisions about who uses diacritics and how much as a jumping point to decide on features of the language.

Someday I'd love to make a map of language families on Uanlikri. For now I'm treating it as though it mostly matches the cultural groups I'm drawing (which is innacurate, but must suffice).

*I've got a masters of Anthropology so I'm constantly annoyed that I'm not being granular enough, but I'm mostly managing to talk sense into myself about it, for the sake of my sanity and hopefully finishing the project someday.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Breathing Room

Hello again!!! :D The last Fic you did with my prompt on Leon from BBC's Merlin was AMAZING so I thought I might send in another one. (But of course you don't have to write it.) Could you write one where Leon feels like he is never seen properly, like if he's down and under the weather, no-one will notice and he's left in a sort of bubble; feeling detached and emotional far away from everyone. Even if they are standing shoulder to shoulder. And nobody would notice even if he started quietly breaking down at the Round Table or in Council Meetings. But then, when he's perfectly fine, THAT's when people ask him if he's alright and he's tired of it. Especially as he's become fairly decent at analysing his friends' emotions so they don't have to go through the same feeling. Could the Fic (If you do decide to go with this) also go into how Leon might feel weighed down by certain jobs (paperwork and general mothering) but trudges through them because he knows that if he stops, no-one else will do them so he might as well. If you wanted, it could end happy with someone finally seeing him, but I think it should be someone who you think might be feeling the exact same way so it feels more natural. Anyway, thank you so much. Hope you had a great Christmas, or a Happy Holidays, and that the New Year holds good luck and joy for you. :D- IntenseDreamer1 :D

Read on Ao3

Pairings: gwen/leon? I guess?

Warnings: none?

Word Count: 3006

A man who had been raised as a noble, as a knight, might have a different opinion of the rigor of paperwork than a common man, but the reality of it is that work is work. Regarding it as anything but does a disservice to the one who does it and the people who will benefit if it is done properly.

Leon picks up his quill and corrects another figure, sliding the paper further up his desk as the end of it trails to the floor. He glances at the window—the sun has moved three degrees on the side post since last he looked—and then at the scrolls of paper he has yet to examine. He stifles a sigh. The ink glistens where it has yet to dry. The numbers swim and blur in front of him until he could be staring at anything but properly written characters and be none the wiser.

Such is the life he has chosen to lead.

As he readies himself to refocus, his gaze catches on the training sword propped against the end table. The sight of it is enough to give him pause once more, his quill falling slightly from his fingers as the phantom clanging and yelling ring in his ears. That’s right: he has a training session with the young squires this afternoon. The King had wanted them to see what a fully-trained knight could do, and Leon remained the most senior knight in his service.

He really should refocus.

One of the perilous truths of doing paperwork for so long, however, was that once one got into the ‘flow,’ as the steward described it, that left a part of one’s mind free to wander. Even as he reorients himself to check the numbers for the annual reports, part of him lingers in the dark alcove before he steps foot onto the training grounds.

In an odd twist of fate, how a man behaves in that one spot of darkness informs how Leon chooses to train them. Some men race through it as though it were a physical wall, brandishing their weapons and grinning in triumph. Others linger for a moment longer, like a child still afraid of the dark before pressing through. Others still treat it as what it is: a patch of shadow to be walked through in order to progress. He himself has been all three of those knights; when he was first a squire, still a brash and arrogant boy, he dashed through eager to prove himself. When he’d weathered his first battle, shaken by the blood on his face, he’d hesitated. Now, after the years have forged him as much as they forged his sword, he passes through it without a falter in his step.

On very rare occasions, he lingers in it.

He stops and stands completely still before he sets foot in the glaring sun. The slightly cooler air acts as a balm on the edges of his armor where the padding gives way to unyielding metal. The knights in the field have yet to see him.

Perhaps that is truly what it is, that they cannot see him yet.

Leon stifles a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. Perhaps he has taken too long on this one task if his mind is truly so willing to wander. He sets the still-damp paper aside, standing to retrieve the polish from the end table. Several other knights have asked why he doesn’t keep a manservant to do such tasks for him.

Given the scope of your other duties, they say, would it not be better to take the little things off your plate?

A humorless chuckle leaves him as he settles down with the rag and polish. He’s seen what having a manservant is like, thank you. He’s not interested.

Not Merlin—Merlin and Arthur are beasts of their own. But the other servants that speak with an implied gratitude for their mere existence, as though it is by the grace of their liege lord that they may do something so small as draw breath, those he has no need for. He became a knight to serve his people, not to have them grovel for so much as a word of praise. No, he has no need for a manservant.

The sting of the polish interrupts the worst of the mists obscuring the higher function of his mind. He moves the rag in short, even strokes to polish the blade evenly, stopping to add more polish when necessary. The repetitive motion soothes some lingering tension in his shoulders, bleeding down his arms into the blade.

Now, if only the rest of his duties were so easily washed away.

If only the rest of you were as perceptive as Leon, one of the Council members had scoffed at a recent meeting, we’d get twice as much done in half the time!

You needn’t be as perceptive as me, Leon had thought, you just have to be willing to work.

He has tried, over the years, to imbue his training with some of his own particular work ethic, but how has that turned out? Fewer and fewer knights choosing to train under him, despite his prowess, despite his experience. And oh, since he had fewer squires, would he mind picking up on the other things that need to be done while the others train?

The rag slips harshly against the edge of the blade.

Would he mind going over the patrol routes? Would he mind taking care of the maps? Would he mind looking through the ledgers? Would he mind taking on the duties of an entire kingdom, just this once, just this one time, just once more, just forever?

He has half a mind to tell them no once, just to see what they would do.

The smell of the polish irritates the point between his eyebrows, a slight dull ache from the strength of it forming as he works. Without looks, he reaches over and takes a swig of ale, setting the goblet down with a thunk. He flips the blade over. The scratch from Gwaine’s helmet has yet to be repaired fully.

His hand twitches on the pommel.

It is an honor to serve amongst the Knights of the Round Table. They are closer than brothers, closer than family. He would give his life for any of them, just as he knows they would give their lives for him. They are formidable warriors in their own right, and he has not yet known a day where something has truly bested them in a fair fight.

That being said, if any of those men could die, Leon would have killed them already.

He’s not one to deny the right to horseplay—he himself knows the benefits of fooling around every once in a while—but if he catches them using their swords to slice bits of fruit and armor from the air again, he’ll draw blood over it. He swears that some of them might not even know what paperwork is, much less how to do it—and the rest only aggravate him more because he knows they can do it themselves. But it will be a dark day in Camelot when they willingly pick up a quill.

The edge of his finger skips along the sharp edge of the blade.

He sighs, setting aside the rag and polish—it was a good distraction while it lasted—to put the sword back where it belongs. His fingers brush over the scabbard, engraved with the Pendragon crest, and he huffs.

He would never truly wish harm upon any of them, he knows, not even in the sanctity of his own mind. He loves them far too much for it. Perhaps it is that fact itself that keeps him awake long hours into the night with his candle and quill, for he remembers Gwaine jerking awake with a half-choked scream and Elyan’s cheeks wet with tears in the pale moonlight. He sees the way Percival shifts whenever someone looks at him a little too long, or how Lancelot bows his head to hide his face when the knights are addressed as a whole. The armor that they all must wear only gets them so far in the perilous world of courtly proceedings, and what sort of knight could he claim to be if he did not defend his brothers?

But for all his accolades, he is still only a man, and one man is not an army.

Does he resent the others for not noticing his struggle? In large part, no. He understands, truly, he does, the role that he plays in their group. He is the fixed point, the counterbalance to the King’s lionheart. The last line of defense, the First Knight. As the others care for and protect the kingdom, so must he care for and protect them. He shoulders such responsibility with honor, for it is a rare thing indeed to be trusted so entirely with another’s care. But oh, on the nights where he is the only one awake, where there is no other bulk to bear the brunt of the whistling winds, nor the soft easy reminder of companionship, when he alone is left to brace against the storms, then does the man inside the armor long for someone else to just be there.

Leon looks down at his hands. Wrinkled skin and calluses greet him. One of his knuckles has yet to fully heal where he split it fighting a bandit. A bit of ink splashed onto his palm. As he watches, his left hand starts to tremble ever so slightly.

A sudden surge of anger seizes him and he grabs his hand, squeezing hard enough to make the skin whiten. His breath catches in his throat—when did he start panting? His fingers are still twitching. He squeezes harder, hard enough that if he let go, it would take several long seconds for the blood flow to be restored.

He forces himself to close his eyes and take several long, slow breaths. When he’s finished, he eases his hand from his own grip, flexing his fingers.

If this had happened in front of someone else, he doubts they would have noticed how close he had come to breaking his own hand. Why would they? Why would they think that Sir Leon, First Knight of Camelot, would do something so idiotic? Some hysterical part of him wants to try it, wants to sit at the King’s side in the Council meeting and shatter, just to see, just to see. Would they worry? Would they demand Gaius be summoned immediately? Would they ask him if he was alright?

Another mirthless chuckle leaves him as he turns his back on his sword.

If he were a crueler man, he would ask if they only asked when they knew he was alright to avoid confronting the reality that he was not. If he were a kinder man, he would take comfort in the fact that they had thought to ask at all. But he is only himself, as cruel or as kind as that may be, and so he ponders in solitude.

…shit, he really has been doing paperwork for too long, hasn’t he?

A polite knock on his door draws his attention and he opens it, blinking in slight surprise when he sees Gwen standing outside.

“Gwen,” he greets, bowing slightly, “what is it that I can do for you?”

“I was wondering if you’d be willing to accompany me on an errand,” she says after a short curtsy, “there is a delivery that needs to be picked up in the lower town.”

A twinge of annoyance at the base of his spine but he nods. “If you’ll give me a moment to collect myself, I would be happy to.”

Gwen smiles, tucking her hands behind her back as he dons his cloak and sword, shutting the door behind himself as they begin to walk down the hall. Her steps are measured, swift enough to signal that they are not to be stopped, but not too quick as to arouse suspicions. He walks a tad slower only to keep pace, blinking slightly as they move into the sunlight.

The courtyard bustles around them; carts and wagons dash to and fro as the horses are taken to the stables or hitched up to the front. Guards and knights alike nod to him as they pass. Other servants wave to Gwen and she waves back. The sun has done a remarkable job of warming the aftermath of the rainstorm yesterday as they move beyond the walls of the citadel. The scent of freshly bloomed flowers hangs in the air, mixing with the smells of bread and meats from the market. As they pass the baker’s, one of the children runs out to greet them.

“Gwen! Sir!” They come to a stop in front of them, holding out two still-steaming rolls. “Freshly made, still hot!”

“Thank you, Peter,” Gwen says, taking one of them, “that’s very kind of you. How is your sister doing?”

“Still working with the jeweler. She made three necklaces last week.”

“That’s very impressive. Tell her I send her my best, will you?”

“I will!” Peter holds out the other roll and Leon takes it, bowing his head. “Thank you, sir.”

”Thank you, my friend. Run along, now.”

The boy rushes back inside as they keep going. The bread is, well, it’s perfect. The crust has a delightful crunch and the inside is soft and fluffy. He wonders for a moment if he should eat it as the knights do at feasts: by breaking one piece off at a time. But when he sees Gwen take a massive bite and smile with crumbs still falling from her face, he laughs and does the same. He can’t find it in himself to regret it.

As they continue to walk, he finds more and more of the tension bleeding from his shoulders. A few more of the merchants greet the two of them, offering everything from polish for his leather to flowers for Gwen. They greet each and everyone with smiles. Each one feels a little more genuine. They turn another corner and a group of children dart past them, almost running into Gwen. On instinct, he pulls her out of the way, holding her snugly against him.

The older child who must be in charge of them runs past, shouting apologies. Leon chuckles, helping Gwen get herself together.

“Thank you.”

“Of course. Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” She looks in the direction the children had run and shakes her head. “I swear they’re trying to be sheepdogs sometimes.”

”They certainly howl like it.”

They laugh and Gwen nods toward the end of the street. “It’s not much farther.”

“Lead the way.”

“Thank you,” she says quietly as they continue to walk, “for accompanying me.”

He inclines his head—truly, it has been far from the bother he would have had himself believe. “Forgive my impertinence, but is there a reason you asked for me? I’m sure one of the others would have been better suited to help you.”

Gwen laughs again, but with not nearly the humor she had before. “Oh, Merlin and I have been talking about how you’ve looked like you want to murder Gwaine a little more than usual.”

He looks at her in surprise. She shakes her head. “I suppose I wanted thought perhaps it might be a nice change of pace.”

With that, she looks up to catch his gaze. Though her smile remains as polite as ever, there is an odd twist to it that reads…oddly rueful?

Oh.

Oh.

“Thank you,” he says, hoping the softness of his tone communicates the depth of gratitude, “for your consideration.”

“It’s no less than you do for us,” she says back, just as devastating.

“Well, if you ever need the favor returned, know I will do my best to see it through.” He allows his own smile to slip through. “Perhaps if one of the other knights or nobles is particularly taxing?”

“Oh, I will absolutely take you up on that.”

“And I will be more than happy to oblige.” After scarcely a moment’s hesitation, he offers his arm. She takes it with a blinding grin and he gestures forward. “Come, let us enjoy the walk.”

“That would please me greatly.”

The paperwork can wait for a little while longer. He has an afternoon to enjoy.

[dindjarinandlysakane]

The Sweetest Taste | Chapter 45 - I was never yours to lose

When Din Djarin meets a beautiful cake seller from Nevarro, do you think he’s just going to stand back and let her suffer at the hands of her abusive boyfriend? After a lifetime of heartache and pain, Lysa Kane realises she’s not on her own any more and finds an unlikely friend in the Mandalorian. And Din Djarin does not like men who treat women like that, not one tiny bit. Friendship/comfort and maybe something more…

Masterlist

Chapter 45 - I was never yours to lose

-----

Din had been to Nar Shaddaa more times than he could count.

It was a dark and dismal moon, and only the worst of the worst remained there long. The rest going for what they came for, and getting out as soon as they could.

Din had only been here perhaps an hour, and already he could feel the thick toxic smog settling over his lungs, despite having switched the seal on his helmet only ten minutes after arriving.

The tall Mandalorian stood now in a dingy little control room in the top of a tall black tower, which stood in the centre of the imports district, which welcomed thousands of shipments of all kinds of illegal goods a day. But Din was not here to cast judgement on how the criminals here made their money. Not today at least.

Right now Din was here for one thing and one thing alone.

“I shouldn't be doing this, y’know-” came the voice of an old acquaintance of Din’s.

Ghonda was a Mon Calamari who certainly owed Din more than one favour for sparing his life almost a decade ago, and then again three years later. Din had heard that Ghonda was working here a while back, and yet now after all this time, much to Ghonda���s surprise and dismay, Din needed to call in that favour.

“You owe me, Ghonda,” said Din in a low voice. “I could have killed you all those years ago…”

He disengaged the safety on the blaster in his hand with an audible click.

“...and I still can.”

Ghonda gave a visible gulp now, shaking his head. “Ok, ok, keep your beskar on, Mando. Let me just look see.”

Din Djarin was not in the mood to be messed with. He feared he had already delayed too long in getting here and finding wherever Crix may have taken Lysa. And so, with urgent adrenaline pumping through his veins, Din felt twitchy and keen to get out there and start searching for her.

Ghonda, who worked in the imports and cargo control tower, tapped ferociously on the terminal before him, before pausing.

“Ok, I’ve only got three ships on our list that arrived from Nevarro in the last twelve hours,” he said, sitting back a little in his seat, as Din leaned forward to look at them.

Placing his hands to the scroll button he looked at the ships one by one.

The first was a small modified gunner that Din knew would only have fitted a pilot inside, far too small for any men plus Lysa. And the second was a cargo vessel. This time too large to have fitted anywhere near to Jawa territory back on Naboo without being noticed by them.

But the third, which Din paused on, one hand on the dial, was a small-sized freight vessel. It was nothing special at all, but certainly large enough to fit several people inside.

“This one,” said Din in a husky voice. “Do you know where it docked?”

Ghonda tapped the terminal again before he brought up a set of coordinates.

“It’s a hanger bridge on the south-side of Nar Shaddaa,” he said promptly. “I’ll transfer them over to your wrist comm.”

The strap on Din’s wrist dinged a second later.

“So…we even then?” said Ghondu, swivelling in his chair and peering up at Mando.

But Din, eyeing the orange coordinate holo that streamed from his wrist, turned on his heel, not even giving Ghondu a final backwards glance.

“For now…” he murmured in a dark voice, as Ghonda gave a hard sigh, watching the Mandalorian as he left the control room.

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

“Where is he?” hissed Xi’an standing at the entrance to the hanger base, peering up at the cloudy night sky above illuminated with an orange light from various advertisement-holos that circled some of the surrounding buildings.

“He’ll be here,” said Ran smoothly. “He ain’t stupid. He’ll have tracked us by now. We left an easy enough trail.”

“I’m going to cut his throat for what he did to my brother,” the Twi’lek snarled.

“An’ my base,” said Ran with a huff. “Don’ you worry. Mando will get what’s comin’ to him.”

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

Lysa sat on the floor in a cold, damp side-room of the hanger. Nothing else inside but a thick black slime that seemed to coat the walls, and a high window, far too small for Lysa to have any chance of escaping through, which looked out onto the bridge they had arrived on. 

The ship they had landed in had been swiftly piloted away by the droid soon after Lysa had been taken inside.

Around the corner, Lysa could just about hear the distant voices of the crew that had brought her here. The man known as Ran and the Twi’lek Xi’an. But with the wind howling at this height, she had no chance of hearing what they were saying.

Xi’an, who had thrown her into this makeshift cell, had given a cackle and slammed the door tightly shut behind her, leaving Lysa alone, where she had been for the past hour.

It was cold up here, and Lysa cursed herself for deciding to wear just a long tunic dress this morning after she had left for work. The dress itself was now coated in blood from her blaster wound.

Lysa’s head still throbbed, as did her shoulder now, which had started to ache painfully once more and bleed a little, as the course of bacta spray began to wear off. 

“Come on, you son of a bantha!” Lysa muttered to herself in a desperate voice, as she struggled to free her hands from the wire tie that bound her wrists together.

She knew that escaping would be a fruitless task, being so far away from the safety of Nevarro. But if somehow she could just find her way to a comlink…

Lysa could feel the razor sharp wire cutting painfully into her skin, but she knew just an inch more and-

She gave a cry, gritting her teeth against the pain, but stopped suddenly as she heard the clunk of the door being unlocked, gazing up hurriedly as it slid open before her.

Crix strolled inside the room, a vile smirk plastered over his features. His outfit was all black, with a leather tunic buttoned up to his neck. His salt and pepper hair slicked back from his long tanned features.

“That bacta spray wearing off yet?” he said, rattling a canister in one hand, circling around her, as Lysa shuffled back, watching his every move with tired green eyes. But she didn't reply.

She hated Crix and feared him in equal measure. Only wishing that she hadn't missed when that blaster had been in her hand, all those weeks ago in Din’s cabin.

“Come on now, Lys’,” grinned Crix, crouching down in front of her and tugging her forwards sharply by her bonds. “No hard feelings, huh?”

Lysa before she could stop herself, bared her teeth at him. “I wish I’d killed you when I had the chance-”

But she was cut off by Crix grabbing her chin, and squeezing both cheeks hard with his fingers.

“Yeah but you didn't,” he said with a harsh laugh. “And now look where you are. Tied up and as useless as ever. We’re only keeping you alive long enough for him to watch you die. Like I said, none of this is even about you anymore. You’re just bait.”

He let go of her face, shaving her back a little as Lysa felt her lip tremble but she held it together. As Crix sprayed the bacta spray over Lysa’s blaster wound, sealing it over once more.

“You know when you an’ him left me for dead, I was in that kriffing desert for a day hiding from those Peacekeepers before I sneaked my way back into the city,” he uttered. “I stowed away onto the nearest ship bound for Corulag, and just happened to run into a couple of old friends of mine, who were mightily intrigued to hear about the Mandalorian. Turns out they were old pals of his who he’d double crossed a couple of years back.”

Lysa swallowed as she listened.

“Small world, huh?” continued Crix. “And well that's when we realised we all wanted the same thing. We all want to see the Mandalorian dead. Because of him, Ran lost his base, Xi’an lost her brother. And I lost you.”

Lysa scowled. “I was never yours to lose,” she snarled at him. “Real men don’t treat the women they love like you did-”

But Crix’s eyes seemed to flash at her words as he grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head back as she let out a cry of pain. And Lysa could only watch as he bared his teeth close to her face, feeling his hot and foul breath on her cheek.

“I never loved you,” he spat. “You hear me? Why would anyone in their right mind love you, Lysa. Cause’ y’know what? A gal like you ain’t worth loving. And at the end of all this…my smilin’  face is the last thing you’re going to see when the light leaves your eyes.”

And with that, he gave her a hard shove backwards, as Lysa whimpered out involuntarily, watching as he rose to his feet and left the room…

…the door sliding shut behind him as he went.

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

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[my-favourite-zhent]

New Tricks - Chapter 10

Status: Work In Progress

Version: 1.01

Pairing: Rugan x AFAB!OC

Rating: NC-17 (This chapter R)

Genre: Adventure/Romance

Summary: Misadventures of Rugan and the original Zhentarim Gate's crew before and during the year of three sailing ships.

Table of Contents

Below the cut or on AO3

New Tricks - Chapter Ten

They were the first out of the city that day, clearing the gates just as Amaunator crested the hill heralding the dawn.

“Hurry up you bloody bastards, are you lot still asleep?” Zarys shouted from the front of the wagon.

“What’s the rush Zarys? Homesick?” Rugan teased.

“That job we did.” Her voice was quieter now.

“That poncy lord’s party? What of it?”

“According to the local broadsheets he’s turned up dead, and not just regular dead. Murdered rather savagely. A few of his staff too.”

“Guess he served the wrong type of wine to his guests, and someone took issue.” Rugan was ever trying to keep the mood light. “Got nothing to do with us.” He added.

“He was killed in his office, supposedly the safe was ransacked.”

“Oh? Good thing we didn’t go as Zhents then, city guard might be trying to pin it on us.” Though he tried to keep his tone cheerful Rugan could feel the colour drain from his face. Those runes were more important than the buyer had let on.

“And even better that you didn’t actually take the damn things.” Zarys spoke low enough so that only Rugan could hear.

Under better circumstances he would’ve teased Zarys about the almost compliment, but it felt like a cold hand was wrapped around his heart and he couldn’t summon the humour for it.

“Suppose I don't have to tell you to make sure the boys keep mum.” Zarys continued.

“Aye, I'll handle it.”

‘Izzy will be out of the city by now.’ He tried to reassure himself.

At the next rest stop he had cornered Sal and inquired about the cost of a scroll of sending.

“Hah, there’s a reason only Zarys is allowed to use those. Just one will set you back four hundred weeping wolves.”

“Four hundred?! To send one bloody message?!” Rugan struggled to keep the anxiety out of his voice. They were already a half day’s travel out of Waterdeep and the whole ride down the painful knot in his chest had only gotten worse.

“Look, I could cast it for you myself, do it for say fifty tarenths. But I’d have to know who I’m sending it to. Doesn’t work if the caster isn’t familiar with the receiver.” Rugan felt his hopes crest then dash themselves against Salazon’s words. Fifty tarenths he could’ve parted with but Sal had never met Izzy.

“You wouldn’t know them.” He remarked bitterly.

“Ah cheer up mate, we may pass another caravan before long. If you know what inn or temple they’re staying at, you could send a letter with one. Any reply would probably beat us to Baldur’s Gate.”

Rugan shook his head ruefully, Izzy had been vague on the specifics.

The ride after that had been a solemn affair. He did his best to put his mind off it. She was likely far from Waterdeep now, and if she wasn’t they hadn’t left any evidence behind, and if they had… well he was never going to see her again either way so what did it matter?

By the end of the tenday he had almost convinced himself of this last point. They had arrived at Daggerford without incident and were put up in rather nice accommodations. Lady Morwen of Daggerford had brokered a deal with Zhentarim leadership about a year prior and they were well treated in town even if not well liked.

Rugan had just slipped out of his boots and armour when a rap came at the door of his room. Slipping a dagger in the back of his belt he opened it tentatively. It was Olly.

“Letter for you.” 

“From who?” Rugan took the envelope and eyed it suspiciously, his name was scrawled on it in an unfamiliar hand.

Olly shrugged. “Innkeeper just asked if we had a Rugan in our crew, apparently another caravan dropped it off this morning.”

Rugan nodded. “My thanks, lad.”

He shut the door and carefully cracked open the seal. Inside he found a piece of parchment and a folded broadsheet.

Zhent

Saw this on my way out of the city, thought you might want to know.

I know you lot can look after yourselves but stay safe all the same.

Izzy

There was a smear of rouge at the bottom where she had pressed her lips to the page.

Relief washed over him like a tidal wave, and he found himself laughing despite himself. She was safe.

He took a moment to examine the broadsheet and sure enough it was an article on the duke's violent death. Might have even been the same article Zarys had read.

Rugan turned his attention back to Izzy's note, ghosting his thumb over the imprint of her lips. He laid in bed for a while longer, rereading her letter, committing her large looping scrawl to memory. At length he touched the red mark once more before folding the letter and tucking it into his shirt.

+++++

He was in good spirits that night, so much so that he didn't even mind spending the coin on a couple of rounds at the Lady Luck. 

Rugan had sat down at their table with a pair of fresh pints in hand, when Olly piped up.

“I think Bellar is homesick.”

“I'm not homesick, I'm just sick of this town, is all.”

Rugan looked Bellar over, his friend looked annoyed sure but more than that he just looked glum. He found himself agreeing with Olly's assessment but made sure not to say so.

“Cheer up Bel’, we’ll be on the road again soon.”

“Too bad we didn’t see more sights in Waterdeep.” Olly sighed.

“That gang war will have destroyed ‘em all in the next ten day anyways.” Bellar muttered.

“Bellar, are you trying to make the boy feel worse?”

Bellar glanced over to Olly who looked absolutely stricken. He at least had the decency to wince with guilt.

“Don’t worry Olly, they’ll have built something new by next time you return this far north.” Bellar tried to mollify the boy.

“We won't be doing a job up here again though, will we?”

“Not likely, no.” Rugan sighed bitterly. “But you'll have some time to yourself in the winter. Less work to be had and you can take a ship. Which is sure as shite faster than ambling up the Tradeway for three months.”

“So you won't be seeing Izzy again?” Olly's tone was compassionate. He was a kind lad but in this instance it got on Rugan's nerves, he didn't enjoy being pitied.

“Plenty other girls all along the Sword Coast, no sense pining over one.” He worked to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

“But you never introduce us to any of the others.”

It was Rugan's turn to wince. He had been particularly soft on her hadn't he? No wonder Bellar was concerned if even Olly had noticed that Rugan was slipping.

“If I introduced you to all of them I wouldn’t have any time to swive them now would I?”

Olly gave him a measured look but remained silent, seeming to have picked up on the touchiness of the subject. Rugan wasn’t sure if that was worse than the prying.

“Besides,” He added. “I’ve plenty of regular girls.”

“Regular girls?” Olly furrowed his brow.

“Don't you know? Rugan here has a girl in every city along the Sword Coast.” Bellar tirreni interjected.

“Used to in my heyday, all the way to Luskan.” Rugan said jokingly.

“What happened?”

“Well I don't go that far north anymore, now do I?” Rugan laughed and Bellar rolled his eyes.

“In all seriousness lad,” Rugan continued. “you'd be hard pressed to find a caravan guard that doesn't have at least a couple of lovers scattered about.”

“I've got two myself in Elturel.” Bellar said rather proudly.

“Now, why would you get two in the same city? The point is to spread them out.” Rugan sighed in exasperation.

“We're in Elturel all the time, and besides I like variety.” 

“Why not have one in the Gate and one in Elturel?” Olly piped up.

“One in the Gate?!” “No, no, no, Olly.” They interjected at the same time. The pair locked eyes before Rugan gestured for Bellar to go first.

“You don't want a steady lover in your home city Olly, they could find out where you live.”

“Might try to talk to your parents even.”

“These are bad things?”

“You’d never have any peace to yourself.” Bellar replied.

“And you're not looking to marry them, now are you?”  

“Never have any coin left then neither.” Bellar added.

“But Jarg's got a man in the Gate.” Olly argued.

“Well that's a bit different.” Rugan raised his cup to his lips.

“Yeah, Jarg does actually want to marry that one. S’not the same as a bedwarmer.”

“And besides, he's right useful.” Rugan took a long drink.

“Useful how?”

Bellar and Rugan exchanged a look, before Rugan replied.

“You didn't hear this from us lad. In fact you didn't hear this, period. But Jarg's man is in the Fist.”

“The Flaming Fist?!” The shock written clear on Olly's face.

“Keep your voice down Olly.” Bellar chastised. “We might be in Daggerford but you never know who you'll run into.”

“Sorry.” Then in a whisper. “Does Zarys know?”

“Aye, she does. Jarg's man is how she gets a heads up about stings half the time.”

“But Roah does not know,” Bellar added. “and we try to keep it that way.”

“Why? If Zarys is fine with it?”

“Because she'd kill them both, Olly.” Rugan sighed. “Look, I know I give Zarys a hard time about being irascible as she is, but she's only doing her job. Usually. Zarys is proper family, she looks out for us so far as she can. Roah on the other hand…”

“Roah is management,” Bellar finished for him. “straight from Darkhold, and management doesn't give a shit about us.”

Olly looked at his mug as he contemplated this new information.

‘Good.’ Thought Rugan. ‘Lad’s taking it seriously.’

Rugan hoped perhaps that the reminder of just how cutthroat the Zhentarim could be might help Olly make some smart decisions going forward.

+++++

The rest of the trip was relatively uneventful. They dealt with a few bandits here and there but it was better going than on their trip up. No Harpers to be seen this time around either.

Late at night Rugan sometimes thought of Izzy but pushed all thoughts of her away during the bright hours of the day. Just a distraction till they got to Boareskyr. 

When they did finally reach the bridge they had two days of rest. He spent most of that whoring with Bellar, Brem and Garias. They had invited Olly but he had only stuttered out a refusal.

“Still a bit green that one.” Garias had remarked one night on the walk back to the tavern.

“That was you not so long ago, little brother.” Brem had cackled and the two started into a round of bickering while Bellar and Rugan trailed behind.

“Developed a bit of a type recently, have you Rugan?” Bellar's voice low enough that they weren't overheard.

“Don't know what you mean by that.” He stared resolutely ahead, jaw set.

“You like the dark-haired ones lately, I noticed.” There was an accusation there that Rugan ignored.

“I like whoever's cheap and available, only so many coins in my pocket.”

“That so?”

“Not developing a crush on me now are you Bellar? Trying to suss out my preferences?”

“Soft bastard like you? No I like em with a little more attitude.” Bellar flashed a smile that bordered on predatory. Like a wolf who’s scented blood. Rugan took his meaning.

“Just the flavour of the month Bellar, it's nothing more than that. So kindly drop it.” He smiled back and the threat there was clear. Bellar said no more on the subject.

He continued going out with Brem and Garias when the caravan arrived in Elturel. Bellar was busy alternating between his two lovers and so wasn't able to observe and comment on Rugan's continued predilections.

Rugan had a regular girl in Elturel himself, but he had neglected to visit her till their last day in the city. When she commented on his short stay he had only replied.

“Rush job this one, you know how my boss is, always cracking the whip.”

Something about the way she looked made him think she doubted his story. But if she disbelieved him she didn't say so.

It was another month till they made the Gate, and by then he was free of his affliction. He had not spared a thought to Izzy or Waterdeep for the two tenday they were back in the city. 

There was good news to be had as well. Their next delivery would be down to Amn along the coast. A nice change of pace from the constant to and fro between the Gate and Elturel.

He had been in good spirits then as he prepared his kit and packed his bag. So Rugan had been totally unprepared when the letter had fallen out of his pack. Instantly he recognized it: his name on the envelope in that large looping script. He opened it to find the broadsheet still intact, as well as Izzy's letter with the red imprint of her lips. Lips he has crushed against his own, lips that she had pressed eagerly between his thighs, lips that he had dreamed about. Suddenly he felt as a man dying of thirst, but Izzy was not here to slake it. 

Angrily he crumpled the papers and threw them in the fire. He resisted the impulse to fish them back out and instead gripped his desk with white knuckles as he watched the flames lick up each page.

When at last each sheet was blackened and fell to ash he gave a sigh of relief. It was over now and he was free.

[comandersprings]

A Sweet Gesture

Note: This piece is a commission for my friend Doe. She wanted an one shot about her Trainer OC Juna giving Kieran a small present as a way to apologize for what happened back in Kitakami. Working on this was a blast, Juna is fun to write about ^^

Commissions will be open until January 20th, although I go back to class on the 8th. Keep in mind that anything requested around or after that date will take more time.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,522

• • • • • • •

Juna had just arrived at her room after spending the morning strolling around the Coastal Biome accompanied by her Pokémon. They all earned a restful day after all of their hard work. 

To the girl, challenging Blueberry Academy’s Elite Four had been a fun trial so far. She took on Lacey and Amarys first and, despite their initial opposition, they had no issue accepting her challenge and even ended up getting along. With two members crossed off the list, Juna was now halfway there. She only had to defeat Crispin and Drayton and then, she’d be able to challenge the Champion: her friend, Kieran.

It was a topic that refused to leave her mind. Juna had to do a double take when she first saw Kieran at the Academy. Not only did he look much different from the last time they met, but the disdain and impatience Kieran was treating that poor boy with were something Juna didn’t know he had in him. Had no one told her the maroon-haired boy was Kieran, she would have gotten involved to tell him a thing or two. 

The girl couldn’t help but be worried. Kieran didn’t hide how eager he was to battle her, but it didn’t look like his disposition came from a friendly place. That’s all the boy talked to her about on the three occasions they had met since her arrival at the Academy, two of them being right after her Elite Four battles. 

Deep down, Juna had a feeling that the reason behind Kieran’s new attitude was Ogerpon choosing her instead of him. Although she loved the little ogre very much, Juna was sorry things turned out like that because she knew how much the Pokémon meant to him. Maybe, had he come out to see her before she departed from Kitakami, they could have sorted things out. 

At the moment, Juna was lying down on her bed as she scrolled through her SmartRotom, browsing her always active social media feed. From posts by up-and-coming musicians to video compilations of cute Pokémon, there was always something to see. There also was the occasional short demonstrating an (allegedly) fast and easy recipe. Chance wanted that kind of video to be the next one Juna stumbled across.

It was a recipe for chocolate chip cookies with a twist: they also had colorful, sugar-coated chocolate confectionery on them. The girl watched the sped-up video with interest. In it, the person preparing the cookies only used basic ingredients such as all-purpose flour, baking soda, and butter—as well as the aforementioned chocolatey additions.

As someone who loved baking, Juna happened to have all those ingredients in her cupboard. Since she wasn’t really doing anything, the girl decided to give that recipe a go, and, aided by her Pokémon, she got to work.

For someone experienced in the field of baking as Juna was, making those cookies wasn’t hard at all: they came looking picture-perfect and had an appetizing aroma. That was good because, in the middle of preparing those cookies, Juna decided she was going to look for Kieran and give him the sweets both as a gift and as a peace offering. Now she only needed to get lucky enough to spot the boy.

After buying a small box in the school store, Juna neatly placed the cookies inside and headed for the League Club room in hopes of seeing Kieran there. Unsurprisingly, he was nowhere to be seen and none of the people in the room had seen him either. Juna thought of calling him, but she soon realized that’d be pointless. As soon as Kieran saw it was her calling, he’d let it ring off.

She then headed to the school’s entrance and wandered around the area, the small box never leaving her hands. Some people glanced at her after noticing she had been walking around there for a while, but no one questioned her about it. As for Juna, she joked to herself that if she kept that up, she’d take more steps in the lobby than on the Coastal Biome.

After a while, Juna finally determined it’d be best to sit down at the bleachers and wait there. Placing the box with the cookies next to her, the girl took out her phone once again and put on the first video she saw on her PokéTube. Of course, she looked up from time to time to check if her friend finally showed up or not. In the fifteen minutes that video lasted, Juna must have raised her eyes at least ten times. She didn’t see Kieran either of those times, not even when a couple of girls passed her talking about how the boy was “so full of himself” lately.

Four videos and over half an hour later, Juna finally caught sight of Kieran. He came from the walkway that led to the outside of the Academy, avoiding eye contact with every single person he came across. In return, people went silent as Kieran passed them by, his presence being a Mute button of sorts. Conversations resumed as soon as the boy was a few good meters away.

Juna didn’t wait until Kieran got near where she was. After grabbing the box with the cookies, the girl got up and went to meet him, calling out his name and waving at the boy. Not that she needed to do that; with her almost holographic white hair, Kieran would have spotted her regardless.

Hearing his name called, Kieran looked in the voice’s direction and froze in place upon seeing it was Juna calling for him. This made him want to either turn back and leave again or pretend he heard nothing and go on his way. Unfortunately for him, the latter option was now impossible. Juna took that establishment of eye contact as an invitation to approach him.

“Kieran!” she beamed. “I haven’t seen you since I defeated Amarys. How have you been?”

“What are you doing here?” he dodged the question, his posture becoming rigid.

“As I said, I haven’t seen you in a bit and I was wondering what you were up to.”

He shook his head. “Nothing I should be talking to you about,” he grumbled. “I hope you’re not wasting your time. You know I’m waiting to battle you.”

“I know, I know,” Juna waved a hand in front of her. “Everything in its own time. For now, I just want to give you something and…apologize for what happened.”

“Apologize?” Kieran snarled. “Keep that apology to yourself. It won’t be worth anything unless what you’re trying to give me is Ogerpon’s Poké Ball.”

“You know I can’t do that.” Juna held his stare. “But I can assure you that I’m sorry for what happened in Kitakami.”

Kieran eyed her in silence. How could she say that? What was she sorry about, anyway? Was it for Ogerpon choosing her over him? Or was she sorry for her very conscious decision to throw a Poké Ball at the Legend and make her an addition to her team?

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” he said finally.

“By taking this box and looking inside it.” Juna offered him the container.

Kieran groaned and tapped his thigh with his fist. He didn’t want anything to do with that box, but Juna kept her arm extended and it was clear she’d stay that way until he took the small package. Avoiding eye contact with the girl, Kieran took the box and opened it. The scent and sight of the cookies greeted him, making Kieran’s eyes widen.

“A-are these cookies…for me?” he asked.

“You bet they are!” Juna had a confident smile on her face.

“I just…I don’t understand. Why did you make them?”

“Because I wanted to show you that I still think of you as a friend and that I’m worried about you.” The girl looked Kieran directly in the eyes. “I understand that you’re mad at me, but you shouldn’t take it out on everyone else.”

The boy swallowed hard. “You have some nerve saying that, you know?”

“That’s how things are.” Juna shrugged. “I don’t expect you to forgive me right away, but now, at least, you know where I stand.”

Kieran stared down at the box and then looked back at Juna. “I’ll take them, but don’t get me wrong: I’m not forgiving you. It’s only because I’m…a little hungry.” The boy blushed slightly.

Juna chuckled. “Then, I hope you enjoy them. I’m willing to make more if you ask me to.”

Ignoring the last sentence, Kieran began walking past Juna. His destination was his dorm room, where he’d be eating those cookies the girl had prepared him without worrying about being seen by anyone. He didn’t want to admit it, but Juna’s gesture made him feel slightly warm and fuzzy inside. How could that be after what she had done? Now, Kieran would have to avoid her so he could put his thoughts in order…and shut down the little voice trying to tell him that maybe he shouldn’t resent the girl for something so stupid.

[madamefluffnstuff]

Long Distance

Fandom: Elder Scrolls Online

Pairing: Naryu Virian x GN!Reader

Rating: T

Warning(s): Mentions of assassins, political assassination in a medieval-esque fantasy setting, long distance relationships, overall fluff.

Words: 700

AN: I noticed our favorite Morag Tong assassin doesn't get much love on here. I wanted to fix that.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Naryu stretched herself out on the inn bed, sighing in relief. Another contract finished- quite cleanly too, she thought to herself. Varon would be pleased. This particular "victim" managed to weasel their way to the top of the Morag Tong's hit list while simultaneously being extremely difficult to track. But Naryu Virian is nothing if not resourceful, and a few discreetly slipped coins (along with a cheap bottle of wine) soon got her the answer she was looking for.

However she couldn't leave town just yet; she entered under the guise of a pilgrim on a journey to honor the Ancestors. Luckily for her there was, in fact, a shrine not too far from the little hamlet. To leave so suddenly would raise alarms, and the guild would be quite cross with her if there were suspicions of their involvement.

No, another day or two should suffice. It would give the assassin enough time to solidify an alibi, gather some supplies for the trip back, and make her escape.

If everything went as planned she'd be gone before they found the body.

Suddenly the sound of running water filling a wash basin filled her ears. A thought came: a hot bath sounds delightful right about now. Not only as a treat for a successful mission, but also to make sure she got all the blood off. As she stood up to request a private bath, her foot bumped her knapsack and a small envelope slipped out of the opening.

Her eyes widened a bit, how did she forget about that? After all, it was hand delivered by a courier just this morning. For a brief moment she had thought her cover had been blown until she saw the handwriting. The Dunmer woman knew that handwriting from intimate experience. Many surreptitious notes passed back and forth from the owner, along with many maybe-not-so-discreet glances across crowded rooms. One of those notes and glances even lead to a late night meeting behind some stables for a heated and passionate kiss.

Naryu snatched up the letter and plopped back on the bed as she very carefully broke the seal.

"N,

I hope this letter finds you well. Not getting into too much trouble, right? Though knowing you, my sweet, you're getting into all kinds of trouble.

Things are relatively well. I'm back in Vvardenfell helping the Mages Guild recover some old tomes. It's a bit dull, but the coin is good. Right now I'm in Seyda Neen, where I will then make my way to Vivec City. We'll see what happens after that.

I miss you terribly. Things just aren't the same without you, especially when I don't get to hear your voice. I'd like to swap stories with you again when we meet up. Mine are not nearly as exciting as yours but I know you like to hear them anyway.

You're probably on a mission right now, so just make sure to stay safe and be careful. Write back whenever you can, my dear.

All my love,

V.

P.S. Come visit soon. The dogs miss you."

A dreamy sigh escaped her lips. "V" for Vestige. Most people knew them as a war hero, a savior, maybe even a walking good luck charm, depending on who you asked. But Naryu knew them as someone else- they trusted her enough to tell her their story, of Mannimarco's betrayal, Coldharbor, and losing their soul to the God of Despair and Domination... it was crazy to hear.

Even crazier to think they'd trust her, an assassin, with such a secret.

Those in her line of work were discouraged from having romantic relationships, so Naryu was definitely pushing some boundaries by having this long-distance one. However what Varon didn't know wouldn't hurt him. As much as she wanted to keep the letter she knew it would be best to get rid of it. The fireplace downstairs would work nicely...

But that could wait until tomorrow. For now she was going to read it over and over again and hear their voice in her head until the sun rose for a new dawn.

It would suffice until she could hear it again with her own two ears.

[spacenintendogs]

😈 Trick or Treat!! 🌔🦇✨

TREAT!!!!! :)

have a big ol' chunk from my snotstrid fic (a later chapter)

It's quiet in Astrid's room. Her parents are out for the day and the rest of their friends are either working or have another engagement. No need for her and Snotlout to put on a show like they usually do.

They can simply exist.

These days are her favorite. She won't admit it, and neither will Snotlout. She knows they're his favorite, too.

They're sitting on her bed. Snotlout is quietly scrolling on his phone while Astrid reads a book Fishlegs let her borrow. It's alright. It's a mystery novel, one that's as predictable as the rest of the ones Astrid has read but the characters are good enough. They at least have personalities. She pauses in her reading at the feeling of Snotlout laying his head down on her lap. Astrid folds the corner of the page she's on and shuts the book. The slap of the book closing startles Snotlout.

"Sorry," Astrid says blandly. Snotlout hums as an acknowledgment of her apology and goes back to scrolling. He's got his phone tilted enough so she can see. It's nothing special. He'll stop to watch a video he finds funny and snort at it. Sends it to one of the twins. Keeps scrolling. Shares a post. Keeps scrolling. Replies to an argument that doesn't matter and never involves him. Keeps scrolling. Blocks the person he'd responded to because they responded back. Keeps scrolling.

Astrid smiles as she watches him make a post, scrolling through his camera roll to find the best photos of Hookfang he has saved. He's switched to the sanctuary's account. When Hiccup initially gave everyone access to the account, Astrid had been so sure it would be a mistake. Nothing has happened except maybe a small battle in who could get the coolest or cutest photo of their dragons. The current one Snotlout has chosen is pretty cute. Hookfang is rolled up in a tangled ball with a small part of his tongue sticking out. Astrid gently runs her fingers through Snotlout's hair as he makes a ridiculous caption and uploads the post. Snotlout sighs and locks his phone, setting it down next to him on the bed.

Astrid continues to run her fingers through his hair as he dozes off. She likes how long his hair has gotten. It's much thicker now, and when he doesn't have it sticking up from the ridiculous gel he uses, it rests nicely on his shoulders. He's recently washed it, probably because he knew he'd be coming over today. It feels soft and looks very fluffy. He also has those matching dark, thick eyebrows. Snotlout claims he doesn't do his eyebrows, but with how shaped they are, and the tweezers she's found in his bathroom after seeing the area around his eyebrows being bright red, he definitely does. Not that she's complaining. He does a nice job.

Her eyes move to the rest of his face. Snotlout's eyes are closed, making it easy to see his long, dark lashes. She swears, men always seem to have the prettier eyelashes. His cheeks are red from sunburn, and the rest of his face is tanned from previous sunburns. Freckles and blemishes are abundant across his face. He loves the sun. He likes being warm.

The dark scraggles of facial hair above his lips and on his chin aren't impressive. He claims he's growing facial hair for her, but somehow his hair grows everywhere else on his body. She doesn't want him to shave his face, though. He looks far too clean when he does.

Astrid's eyes wander down to his strong chest and arms. Summer means tank tops for him. Shirtless whenever he can. His tan lines are nearly non-existent on his upper body. The tank top he's wearing now is loose enough that it hangs low and the sides are open to show his side boob. Astrid snorts to herself at referring to his side boob as side boob.

"What?" Snotlout asks, not amused in the slightest. He hasn't bothered to open his eyes, which is fine. He doesn't need to know she's ogling him. It'd make his ego far too big if that is possible.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep."

"I'm not sleeping," Snotlout mumbles as he shifts himself a little bit and resettles.

"Sure, Lout. Now go back to sleep."

[sea-owl]

Spring's Rebirth Chapter 4

“Felicity did your sister tell you where she was going?” Portia asked her youngest when she got back to the meadow. 

Felicity bit her lip. Did she make Penelope leave? Despite her promise to Mama to stay in the meadow? Felicity knew she shouldn’t have said what she said, hell she felt regret forming the moment the words left her mouth. But she was so angry and tired of Penelope trying to scare her away from her best friend. Even Hyacinth began noticing it, if her asking why Penelope was more distant from her now was anything to go by. 

It’s also not like Felicity doesn’t understand where her sister is coming from either. Penelope doesn’t know this, but Felicity saw what happened that day the older six came to collect Gregory and Hyacinth. She saw how cold Kate and Penelope were treated. She saw a realization hit Penelope’s face. When Kate was about to chase after demanding proper decency for protecting and taking care of the younger Bridgertons during the war Felicity saw Penelope stop her.

“They won’t listen no matter what you say Kate,” Penelope said. “Believe me it is not worth wasting your breath.” 

Her sister has been hurt, and now Felicity is best friends with someone who is from the same family. She understands her sister is trying to protect her, but sometimes Felicity wished Penelope would get angry at the ones who hurt her. 

“Felicity?” Portia called, gaining her youngest’s attention. 

“No mama,” Felicity answered. “She’s probably with Phillip though. I’ll go fetch her.”

Portia sighed. “Alright, see if Phillip can come too, I have something I would like to discuss with both of them.” 

Felicity nodded and started to make her way to the edge of the meadow. The nymph paused midway when her foot hit something that felt like parchment. 

“Penelope’s scroll?” Felicity said, picking up the reading material. “That’s weird.” Penelope was usually tidy with her things, either taking them with her or sending them away back to her room.

 Something crunches under Felicity’s foot, causing her to look down once more. Dead flowers, of all things, lined up in a row, leading to the edge of the meadow. Felicity blinked and looked closer. Yup, dead flowers. but these don’t look like any her mother has ever created. Was Penelope that mad that her powers started acting up? 

Felicity’s hands tightened on the scroll, a swoop going through her stomach. Her pace going faster and faster the closer to the edge she got. It will be okay Felicity tells herself. She’ll apologize to Penelope when she finds her with Phillip and then they’ll go back to mama so she can tell her whatever she needs to tell them. Maybe it will be good news like she found or spell or potion that help Penelope find her domain. Maybe its potential marriage talks? Maybe Phillip and Penelope decided to get married. Maybe Phillip will finally become Felicity’s brother in-law. 

“Felicity!” Something tugged her wrist. 

Oh, there’s Phillip. Wow, she got to his forest fast. Is that a cliff she’s five steps from? There’s something glowing red from the bottom. 

“Oh, Phillip,” Felicity said. “I was just looking for you and Penelope. Mama wants to see you both.” 

Phillip frowned. “Felicity, Penelope isn’t here.” 

Now it was Felicity’s turn to frown. “If Penelope isn’t here, then where is my sister?” 

-

The first thing Penelope thought when she started to gain consciousness was that she was gonna help Kate kill Michael, the god of wine, illusions, and insanity. He was the only one who could get her drunk enough to the point she doesn’t even remember when she started drinking, and her headache could match all those times she went to Mount Aubrey without taking feverfew.  Her whole body felt sore too, despite the very soft bed she was laying in. 

Gods whose spare room was she in? She hoped it was Michael’s so she didn’t have far to go when she and Kate would hunt him down. 

“How are you feeling?” A soft feminine voice whispered. “Shadow traveling for the first few times tends to wear people out, and Colin gave you no warning so I’m sure your body got hit hard.” 

That was not either Kate’s or Sophie’s voice.

Brown eyes met blue and Penelope realized the goddess in front of her was in fact Lady Francesca Bridgerton. 

“Lady Fran-” Gods her head. Penelope couldn’t even sit up to properly great the magic goddess.

“Here, drink this, it will help with the headache,” Lady Francesca said. In her hand was a small bottle filled with a glowing, milky purple liquid. 

Penelope leaned away. “My lady, I truly mean no offense but the last time I drank something with that color Michael decided it would be a good idea to mix hallucinate berries Phillip had created on a dare into his wine batch.” She thought her mother would actually succeed in killing Michael that day when Portia found her and the others high out of their minds. 

Lady Francesca coughed like she was trying to hold back a laugh. “Penelope, I promise you this potion does nothing more than help with your headache and body pains.” 

Well, it’s not like Phillip or her mother is here to grow some ginger. Penelope also did not want to be in this mysterious bed for who knows how long either. Despite the soreness everywhere in her body Penelope drinks the potion. It was sweet surprisingly, which must’ve shown on her face because Lady Francesca giggled. 

“Just a little bit of sugar to help the medicine go down,” Lady Francesca said. 

Well, whatever was in that potion definitely helped. Penelope’s headache, while not completely gone, had defiantly lessened to a buzz in the back of her head that she could ignore if she focused on something else. 

Penelope sat up. “My lady may I know where I am?” 

Now that she could take in the room around her Penelope was absolutely positive she has never been here before. For one the jewel greens and blues were a far cry from the earthy colors she had grown up with. Also, it was dark, and she’s not just saying that because the curtains are closed around the bed she was laying in. Even on the far side of the room where she could see light peaking in it was somewhat muted. 

Lady Francesca cocked her head. “I see shadow traveling took a lot more out of you than we thought. You're in the Underworld, my queen.” 

Penelope’s eyes widened, memories flooding back. 

A light sparked in his green eyes. “But there is something you can do for me. Allow me to take my wife and queen home?”

A kiss to her hand. “I had spoken to your father a day after the solstice, and he agreed to the match.”

Neither she nor her mother was informed of such a match. 

He was leading her away from the meadow. Away from her mother’s protective barrier. 

He wrapped her in his arms, the very same way she had done to Felicity earlier that day. “It’s just Colin, my beautiful and witty queen.”

“COLIN!”

They fell into the darkness. 

Penelope stood and threw open the curtains. 

A rocky gray landscape awaited her outside, like she was in a giant underground cave. A barren field sits right outside her window, then further is a field full of dead grass. Both circle the building she is standing in. Even further out is the river Styx, and the chasm that leads to Tartarus, the prison where the defeated giants are kept. The only thing giving off light is red poppies that seemed to form a trail going up and out. No wonder the light was so muted. She really was in the Underworld. 

She was married to King Colin. Penelope felt her cheeks flush. 

Penelope turned to Lady Francesca. “I am not fit to be queen of the Underworld. Why did he take me?” 

“That is something for Colin to tell you.”

-

Lady Mary walked into the weaving room of Lady Danbury, the goddess of Fate.

"Portia came to visit me today," Lady Mary said, taking a seat next to the older goddess. "She was looking for Penelope."

"Girl probably wanted a break," Lady Danbury snorted, not looking up from her work. "Can't say I blame her; Portia is so protective of those girls. I think she sometimes forgets Penelope is a goddess in her own right and not a nymph like her sisters."

Lady Mary studied her friend's face. Lady Danbury didn't look directly at her, keeping her gaze on the golden strings that make up the fabric of fate. She looked pensive as she picked up two strings and began braiding them together.

"I just find it odd," Lady Mary continued. "That Violet had hinted at her's and Portia's families coming together not a few days before and now Penelope is missing."

Lady Danbury said nothing but continued braiding the two strings.

"Lady Danbury, what are you not saying?"

Lady Danbury still continued to braid the two strings, but now Lady Mary studied the strings below the two being braided. So many strings, so many lives ending at the same time or close to one another. The numbers she saw were usually reserved for war time.

"For gods and mortals alike to grow into something new there must be an end to the old," Lady Danbury finally said. "Whatever happens Mary, know this must be done."

-

Colin had to stop his jaw from dropping when he saw Francesca lead Penelope into the throne room. 

Penelope was dressed in the color pallet of the Underworld. Her dress a deep jewel green that accentuated her already generous bosom. Her red curls plaited back into a bun with a few hanging loose to frame her face. A gold pin with a ruby poppy flower on the end helped hold the bun in place. Black sandals cover her feet, while black eyeliner darkened her beautiful brown eyes

[straightupsickfics]

a tiny self-indulgent modern au ed sickfic, as a midweek treat <3

****

Stede: Sorry gang! Going to have to take a raincheck on dinner, Ed's a bit under the weather I'm afraid :(

Lucius: Yikes, you're in for a treat

Stede: ???

Pete: Leave Ed alone, he's not that bad when he's sick!

Lucius: lmao don't lie to him, babe

Jim: Sounds good, keep those germs to yourselves

Jim: And Tell Ed feel better I guess

Stede: Thanks? I think...

****

"There, that wasn't hard," Stede says, setting his phone down at looking back up at Ed. In the short time Stede had been looking at his phone, Ed's eyes had gotten that far away, hazy look to them, and Stede knows what's coming. "Oh, go ahead," he encourages.

“Hh’iItssHHH! Uh’huUSHHEW!" The sneezes are strong, damp things that seem to shiver right through Ed, poor thing. Stede can't imagine how he'd gotten through the work day if he felt anywhere near as bad as he sounded when he got home.

"God bless you, Ed." Stede kisses his shoulder, smiling because Ed's wearing one of Stede's own sweaters, a soft, blue one that just makes him look soft. "Sounds like you needed that," he adds.

Ed gives his head a shake, then sneezes twice more, like an afterthought. "Hh'uHHtshh! Hh'Ushh'ue!"

"Bless you two more times," Stede presses a kiss to Ed's cheek this time, then cards a hand through Ed's short, salt and pepper curls. He loves this on a good day, Stede knows, but now, Ed seems to melt into the soft touch.

"Gonna get fuckin' tired of saying that," Ed says. His voice is low and rough, closer to a growl, and Stede thinks briefly about Lucius' message.

"Not a big fan of being sick, hm?"

Ed frowns at him. "Who is?"

"Fair point. But... ah, bless you?" Stede pauses when Ed inhales sharply, and sure enough he turns and sneezes into the sleeve of his sweater.

"EH’EeiiSHH! sNf!"

Stede leans over and kisses the muttered curse from Ed's lips, reveling a little in the way Ed continues to soften against him.

"Fucking cold," Ed says. "You're going to get this next if you keep that up. Fucking germs, fucking winter," he rants.

"Lucius might've mentioned you get a bit, ah... upset when you're ill," Stede says, biting back a laugh. He really does feel bad that Ed's so sick, but the outburst, combined with the way Ed seems set on snuggling right into Stede's side on the couch is... adorable. Not that he would say as much to Ed right this moment.

"Lucius is a dick," Ed says. "Fuck I-ihh! Not aga-hh!-again'd..." Ed trails off, gasping, and Stede takes the liberty of grabbing a handful of tissues from the near-empty box on the couch, and holding them up over Ed's nose and mouth.

The fit comes on too quickly for Ed to do anything but lean into them. "Hh’Dshh! Tshhh! Uh…Huh-UhhTSHH!”

Ed snuffles quietly into the tissues, clearly determined to regain some semblance of control over his cold, and Stede can't help but melt a little at how red-nosed and sniffly he looks, all worn out from his cold. He pulls Ed to him and kisses him again, slower and more deliberately this time.

"Bless you," Stede murmurs.

"D'you have a death wish, Stede Bonnet?" Ed asks, looking at Stede when they break apart.

"Mm, no, I don't think so, why?" Stede asks, picking up his phone and scrolling to their favorite Mexican place, finger hovering over the express reorder option. "I am thinking about dinner, though. Want to order in, since we were supposed to go out?"

Ed rolls his eyes but nods.

"Okay, yes, I know. But we do sleep in the same bed more often than not. Chances are I'm already catching your cold, so..." Stede shrugs, and, food ordered, sets his phone back down on the coffee table among the cough drops, water bottles, mugs, and balled up tissues.

"You're a lunatic," Ed says, though all the venom has gone out of his words, and he just sounds tired, like fighting his cold all day had taken everything in him.

"You like it," Stede says, smiling.

Ed rolls his eyes, but he's smiling, too. "Yeah, guess I do. C'mere," he says, and tucks himself back in against Stede's side, face nuzzling into the crook of Stede's neck.

Pete's right, Stede thinks distantly, Ed's not bad at all when he's sick.

[darkmasterofcupcakes]

Apparently Egypt Exists in Hell, Too

Chapter 2

Story Rating: M

Read on AO3: X

Loona stared down at her phone, focusing on scrolling through her Sinstagram account in order to try and ignore the eyes that she knew were focused on her. She wanted to snap at the other demons to mind their own fucking business, but that was only going to draw even more attention to her, which was the last thing she wanted to deal with right now.

So she just kept her attention on the screen, trying to ignore the comments of those around her, wondering what she was doing there alone – as the few other hellhounds in the waiting area were accompanied by other demons who they presumably worked for or were adopted by – and instead listened to the announcements that occasionally played from the overhead speakers.

A part of her couldn’t help but angrily wonder how few people went to the Sloth Ring that she’d been waiting almost forty minutes and she was pretty sure every other Ring had been announced at least twice, but she was still stuck waiting.

“Goddammit” Loona growled under her breath, gritting her teeth as she did her best to force down the wave of nausea that surged through her body. There was a restroom nearby, but considering her luck lately, if she left to use it, the elevator to Sloth would arrive when she was gone, and then she’d be stuck waiting at least another hour for the next one.

Thankfully, the feeling subsided fairly quickly, though there was still a faint sensation in her gut that warned the nausea would come back in full force with the smallest provocation; and if her sense of smell wasn’t already naturally heightened, her current situation wasn’t doing her any favors.

“How many horny fucks are there in this place?” she snapped as there was yet another announcement for a departure for Lust, after briefly becoming hopeful that she was finally going to actually leave. The longer she was waiting, the worse she felt, in every sense of the word. Every part of her was practically screaming at her to just walk away; why was she sitting here, waiting for almost an hour, to go somewhere she knew she hated?

But if she didn’t get this over with now, when her feeling that she needed to just deal with this as quickly as possible was overriding her hatred of hospitals (if just barely), she wasn’t likely to be able to do it at all.

A banner popped up at the top of her phone screen, indicating that she’d received a new text, but she didn’t open it. She already knew it was most likely from either Vortex or Bee…and Loona just couldn’t talk to them right now. And on the off-chance it was from Blitzo, responding from the text she’d sent him to cover up what she was actually doing; well, then she just didn’t want to deal with him right now. The only reason she’d even sent that message after she’d stuffed that damned test as far into the trash as possible and rushed out of the apartment building to get here was because she knew if she didn’t, Blitzo would go ballistic freaking out about her being “missing”; sometimes Loona secretly appreciated the concern, but right now, being treated like a kid was the last thing she needed.

Loona was pulled out of her thoughts when the voice overhead announced, “Sloth Ring. Now taking transfers to the Sloth Ring”.

“Fucking finally,” she exclaimed, immediately standing up (and trying not to wince at the way the sudden movement made her feel slightly lightheaded) and making her way toward the elevator.

At least now she knew it wasn’t going to be too much longer until she was actually going to be where she needed to go. Once she was actually in the Sloth Ring, she just needed to get to the damn hospital, and then she could just get this whole thing over with, and pretend it never happened.

A cramp went through her stomach, strong enough that Loona couldn’t keep herself from clutching at it, albeit briefly. Those few seconds were more than long enough for her to feel the slight, but still way to distinctly damning swelling in the area right below her navel.

The cramping itself was annoying familiar by this point; it was a combination of the fact that almost anything she smelled made her stomach turn and the frequent cramps, along with her noticing that she felt more bloated than normal in spite of her stomach’s constant rebellion that convinced her to take the test in the first place.

But the female hellhound had the feeling that these cramps were less just her body trying to make her feel even worse than she already did for being stupid enough to let her girlfriend and especially her boyfriend get near her when she was still in heat (and even worse, being unable to resist when her body screamed at her to allow Vortex and Bee to help her satisfy the overwhelming desire she’d been feeling for days, that hit its peak with the two of them in the same room).

No, this was more comparable to when Blitzo had dragged her in for her Hellbies appointment. As much as Loona hated to admit it, she was nervous about what she was about to do.

Well, of course she was fucking nervous; how could she not be, all things considered? It had been bad enough when she’d had to get jabbed with a single needle (“one little prick, you won’t feel it” Blitzo had said in the waiting room, and that was a big enough lie that she’d refused to talk to him or even acknowledge his presence for the rest of that night and good chunk of the next day), but this? This was literally going to involve having stuff ripped out from inside her, and while she had no idea how it was going to feel, she couldn’t imagine it was going to be particularly present; not to even consider the effect that her existing hatred of doctors and hospitals would have on the already unpleasant experience.

Part of her almost wondered if all the trouble (not to mention the money she needed to try and bribe the people at the hospital to even take her without an actual appointment) was even worth it…and she kept forcing that thought down, because even if it wasn’t worth it, she didn’t really have much of a choice, did she?

Yeah, she was happy with Bee and Tex, despite the fact that it took her months to fully accept they actually were both interested in her, and not just spending so much time hanging out with her, both at Bee’s parties and alone, out of some weird sense of pity. But the year that they’d officially been together were undoubtedly pretty high on the list of best years of Loona’s life; even if she was discounting the nearly eighteen years she spent in that shithole of a kennel in Sloth.

In fact, she was so happy with how her life had been going that she almost couldn’t help but just assume it was too good to really be true – there was just no way in Hell that life could just stay that great for someone like her; she just knew that something was going to happen to fuck it all up. And she was absolutely right about that.

Her first time going into heat after she’d started dating Vortex and Bee, probably the best sex she’d had in her life so far, and basically an entire paycheck thrown away for some morning after pills that were either expired or never fucking worked in the first place; and now she was dealing with possibly the biggest fuck-up of her life so far.

The three of them had never once brought up even the question of having kids. Why would they, when they’d only officially been together for just over a year now, and, in Loona’s case, still getting used to really being in a relationship like this to begin with? And, sure, maybe there was a chance her partners would be fine with what had happened, understand that Loona hadn’t meant to get herself knocked up from that night, and it’d all work out fine; but there was still the very real possibility of the exact opposite happening, and that was why the hellhound was currently walking through the streets of Sloth, ignoring everything outside of her goal.

If Vortex and Bee did get pissed and dump her for this fuck-up…well, these pups would be better off dead than having just her for a mom anyway, so this really was the best solution for everyone involved.

Loona sighed in relief as she finally stepped through the sliding doors of the hospital – just a few more minutes, then everything would be back to normal and nobody would ever have to know.

“Hey, I need to see someone,” Loona said as soon as she walked up to the receptionist’s desk, trying her best to ignore the way her fur was already starting to stand up from the tension building in her muscles.

The demon behind the desk didn’t even look up from the magazine she was lazily flipping through, so Loona growled and slammed her hand on the desktop, hard enough that she knew it couldn’t be ignored.

“Do you have an appointment?” the nurse questioned, still not looking up at the hellhound standing before her, though now her attention was on the appointment book rather than her now discarded magazine.

“No, I don’t have an appointment, but it doesn’t matter,” Loona replied, barely suppressing a growl from coming through. “I just need to get these little bastards out before it’s too late to even fucking try.”

She was already almost seven weeks into it, and one thing she knew about hellhound pregnancies was that they didn’t last that long, and even before birth, the pups could be shockingly durable; this really was her last chance to do this without having to make it even more complicated and having to worry about it not even working.

That finally seemed to get the older woman’s attention, and she actually looked up to face Loona for the first time since the hellhound had approached her desk.

“Oh, I remember you,” the nurse said, with very little emotion in either her tone or her expression. “You’re Blitzo’s hellhound.”

The nurse said her adoptive father’s name with the “O” pronounced, presumably out of an inability to care to remember the stressed reminder that it was silent, rather than true malice, considering Blitzo was nowhere near within earshot.

Loona felt her eye twitch slightly at being referred to as “Bitzo’s hellhound” – she knew how a lot of people in Hell viewed it when another demon adopted or hired a hellhound, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. But she tried to keep her cool; whatever it took to just get this damned procedure done and over with as quickly as possible.

“Yeah, sure,” she replied. “Can you just tell one of those assholes that I’m here so I can get out of here faster?”

The longer she stood in this waiting room, the more every muscle in her body was screaming at her to leave; something she was positive was apparent in her body language, although while the other demons waiting clearly noticed from their not-quite-whispered comments, the nurse-receptionist either didn’t notice or, more likely, didn’t care.

In what almost felt like an intentional attempt at making the hellhound even more on edge, the receptionist took a couple seconds longer than seemed necessary to respond to the request…and even then, only responded with a question of her own.

“Is Mr. O here with you?”

Loona had to be slightly thankful for that out of the blue question: the confusion it sparked within her made her forget how freaked she was, albeit briefly. Why would it matter if Blitzo was here with her? She voiced this question to the receptionist, who started clicking her tongue and shaking her head in response.

“I’m sorry, but we can’t allow hellhounds to get abortions without their owners giving us permission” the receptionist said, before picking her magazine back up and going back to flipping through the pages, as though Loona had never shown up in the first place.

“What the fuck?” Loona’s voice sounded way too calm for just how pissed she was after hearing that – maybe she was so angry that she just cycled all the way around or something. Either way, she let out a snarl as she reached over and dug her claws into the receptionist’s shirt, lifting the older woman up so that she was looking Loona in the eyes, which were now faintly glowing with barely contained rage.

“Blitzo isn’t my fucking owner, he’s my dad. So he doesn’t get to decide whether or not I have to go through with having these pups” Loona said coldly, her voice still in that weird “so angry it’s gone around to calm” tone, though now there was just a hint of a growl to it, showing that the rage was starting to break through again.

However, in spite of her currently being dangerously close to the teeth of an obvious pissed off hellhound, the receptionist did not seem to notice the danger she was in.

“I’m sorry, but our records have you registered as belonging to Mr. O, so there’s really nothing I can do. The hospital doesn’t want to get people asking for money to make up for what they could have gotten from the pups.”

Oh…fuck, that’s right. For as annoying as her adoptive father could be, the one thing Loona had to appreciate about Blitzo was that he always treated her like an actual person – even if she sometimes seemed to think she was about ten years younger than she actually was. But, she’d gotten so used to how Blitzo treated her that she had almost forgotten that for a lot of people in Hell, the hellhounds they adopted were basically just pets…and some weren’t even that.

She had also grown up knowing that some people literally sold hellhound pups as soon as they were born, if they seemed to be worth some money; otherwise they’d probably just be dumped in a kennel somewhere, like she had been when she was born.

Maybe it was being hit with this realization, maybe it was just the fact that she was so pissed that she’d come all this way for nothing, but Loona finally snapped and forcefully tossed the nurse across the small “office” causing her to slam hard enough into the wall behind her that there would probably be a decent-sized dent in the material (impressive, considering it seemed to be made of some kind of stone).

Whether or not someone called security after that, Loona had no idea, since she just stormed out of the hospital and started heading back to the Hellevators right after she’d done it.

She was about halfway there when the full weight of everything that had transpired in the past few minutes finally hit her.

What the fuck was she supposed to do now?

Technically, there were other hospitals she could go do – Sloth was the ring most known for medical care in Hell, but technically most of the rings had some kind of hospital or at least clinic that the denizens could go to – but she knew there’d either be the same issue of her not being “allowed” to get the abortion, or she’d be technically able to do it, but it’d cost so much that she’d probably be in debt to the damned hack of a doctor for the rest of her life. And outside of the hospitals, the only other ways to try and fix her goddamn stupid mistake were to either let herself get the shit kicked out of her (something that went fully against a lifetime of learning that if she wanted to survive, she needed to rip apart anyone who even tried to touch her if she didn’t want them to), or pretty much literally poison herself and hope it wouldn’t just end up killing her too; neither of which were even guaranteed to work, especially with how far along she already was.

She briefly considered just talking to Blitzo, since that would almost definitely solve the issue of why she couldn’t just get the abortion herself. However, not only was she still fuming over being flat out told that her father had more say in something that was going to impact her life more than she did, but if there was anyone she wanted to know she’d gotten knocked up less than her partners, it was Blitzo.

Loona hadn’t even told him that she was dating anyone, much less than she was dating Vortex and Bee. Considering how he’d literally accused Vortex of planning on giving her an STD the first time they’d even just talked, she knew from the moment the three of them started this whole relationship that she was going to try and keep Blitzo from knowing about it for as long as possible. The last thing she wanted to deal with was him bitching about how he didn’t trust her partners or whatever. And if he’d been overprotective upon just seeing Loona talk to Vortex, she knew he’d kill the male hellhound without asking a single question if he found out he’d gotten her pregnant.

So, talking to Blitzo about the whole thing was definitely not an option.

As she was thinking about all that, a small thought popped into her mind; one that had technically been there the whole time, but until this moment, was smothered by her determination to get rid of the pups she was currently carrying before her partners found out: she didn’t actually know how they’d feel about the news? She’d just kind of…assumed there was a good chance that they’d be angry and dump her over it, since they’d never talked about it…and her own history with a childhood defined by rejection just made her assume the worst.

But before she tried going through insane hoops to do something that might not even work to begin with…maybe she should find out for sure? If nothing else, if they did end up being pissed at her, she could at least see if Bee could loan her the money for it from one of the clinics that cared more about cash than “legality”; she’d rather be in some form of debt to her girlfriend than literal loan sharks that probably got their medical license from a knock-off cereal box.

“Okay…guess I’m doing this…” she muttered to herself as she started walking again.

Vortex was most likely working right now, so Loona decided to talk to Bee first. Neither discussion would have been fun, she knew, but at least with Beelzebub, it’d just be the two of them (for as much as the Ring Lord loved parties, she usually didn’t start any until the afternoon), whereas trying to talk to Vortex would likely involve an audience – including Verosika Mayday, and the young hellhound really did not want to have this conversation in front of the pop star she’d been a fan of for years.

Fortunately, the transfer from Sloth to Gluttony didn’t take anywhere near as long as the first trip, and it only took an hour of walking (she could have gotten a taxi, but she told herself she wanted to save the money – it wasn’t that she was still afraid of how Bee would react, and she was trying to put it off for even a few moments longer) to reach the hive-like palace that the Queen Bee of Gluttony called home.

Loona hesitated and took a deep breath before reaching for the door handle and opening the door; she had knocked for a while, before Bee had made it very clear that if anyone was absolutely welcome to just barge in without warning, it was either of her partners.

She had barely stepped into the main entrance when the tell-tale buzzing filled her ears, only seconds before she felt all four of Bee’s arms wrap tight around her body.

“Girl, where have you been? Me and Tex missed you,” Bee told her girlfriend, the tone playful despite the slightly accusatory words. As she spoke, she nuzzled her cheek against Loona’s, acting like it’d been months since they’d last seen each other, rather than the few days the hellhound had spent avoiding either of her partners between noticing her symptoms and finally deciding to take the test to confirm her fears.

“Yeah…sorry…I’ve just…It’s been…Stuff’s been happening, you know?” Loona responded, unsure of what to actually say. She felt her tail starting to wrap around her, almost subconsciously, a habit from when she was just a pup and still tried to hide from anything that put her on edge rather than lash out at it.

Whether it was because she noticed this, or simply due to her natural ability to read people’s emotions, Bee pulled away from the embrace to look Loona in the eye, her own face showing concern.

“Everything okay?” she asked, lowering her voice slightly and carefully reaching over to gently stroke just behind her girlfriend’s ear – a spot that over the year they’d been together, they’d both discovered could help her relax if touched in just the right way.

For a second, Loona wanted to lie – just saying she was fine and leave it at that; Bee probably wouldn’t believe her, but maybe she would and it’d be easier than actually talking about what happened.

But she steeled herself for whatever was going to happen next as she admitted, “Not really…or, maybe? I…actually have no idea if it’s okay or if I just fucked everything up royally.”

“Okay, you’re actually starting to get me worried now,” Bee said, and Loona felt a twinge of guilt cut through her. “Just…tell me what’s going on, alright? There’s no way it can be that bad, and even if it is…Nothing a little cuddle session can’t fix, especially if I call up Verosika and tell her we need Tex for a bit.”

Loona felt her face heat up slightly at the suggestion – even after a year of being with Bee, part of her could still get a little flustered at some of the things that came out of the fox-demon’s mouth, seemingly without her even thinking about it. Though, to be fair, she wouldn’t turn down the offer to just spend a bit of time in bed with Bee and Tex…even if that’s what got her into this situation to begin with.

Well, better to just get it over with, Loona told herself as she tried to force herself to relax, just a little.

“…You remember a few weeks ago, when you guys came over to see me and I was…in heat?” she asked, carefully watching Bee to see if there was any hint to what she was thinking.

Bee suddenly smirked, a small chuckle escaping from her lips as she seemed to briefly flash back to that day. “Oh, I definitely remember that – it was fucking amazing…in more ways than one,” she said, still smiling at the memory even as she shook her head slightly at the small attempt at a joke.

The smile slowly faded from her face, however, as what Loona had actually said – and more importantly, what it meant – seemed to fully sink in.

“Oh, Sweet Pup,” Bee said softly. She once again pulled Loona into an embrace, this one much gentler than the one she’d greeted her with. “You got nothing to worry about, okay?”

Loona wasn’t sure if she really believed what Bee was saying (she still had to worry about how Vortex was going to react, not to mention dreading telling Blitzo depending on where this ended up going), but she couldn’t help but feel comforted by her girlfriend’s words; allowing herself to just relax as Bee held her, gently stroking her face and hair in an admittedly successful attempt to soothe the hellhound’s nerves.