#i do not like dark souls it is not fun. however i have to beat it. on principle.

[lesbianlenas]

lost 22000 souls again in dark souls today i fr wish if u died in the game u died for real living like this is too hard….

[sorceresssundries]

Gale sketches by @orangekittyenergy <3

CHAPTER 2 (of 2)

Link to chapter 1 here

Pairing: Gale x Fem Tav

Summary: Set post-game where Tav did not feature in Gale's troubles in Baldur's Gate. A whip-cracking, fedora wearing, Indiana Jones inspired mini-adventure - where Professor Dekarios is tempted out of the classroom, and on yet another perilous quest.

Warnings: THIS IS NSFW! *blares smut horn* Plot with smut. But, you have been warned.

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: Just a bit of a fun based on the Gale as Indiana comparisons. Also, he looks like a young Harrison Ford, how could I not? This is not the stuff I'm used to writing! But it's been enjoyable and nice to try something new.

Elltavia’s senses were prickling again, whatever was buried in the remains of this temple was beating like a rotted heart, pulsing decay and corruption outwards through the forest. They were close to the cause, she could feel it. She just hoped whatever was the cause of the infection didn’t get to her before she could save her home.

Along the far wall of the room were four murals that stood out in a line. The once clean, carved scenes were eroded and time-beaten, but just about decipherable. 

The four images depicted monks in various states of torment. The first monk strained under the weight of a massive rock, muscles taut with effort as it pressed down upon him. The second monk, blood dripping from his hand and ears, was feverishly inscribing words upon a scroll, clearly in agony. In the third panel, a monk appeared submerged and drowning beneath a cascade of shimmering gold, his features twisted and bloated. 

The final tableau showed two figures, stripped bare, entwined in an act that should have been pleasurable. However, their expressions were ambiguous, dancing somewhere between ecstasy and agony. The knife suspended ominously above their heads left little doubt about their fate.

Underneath each carving was a word in an ancient language, which Gale was able to translate. 

STRENGTH. KNOWLEDGE. WEALTH. LUST

Hovering above the scenes of suffering was a much larger image of a monk in resplendent robes, his hands covering his eyes as he sat before a closed book as if to shield himself from an unbearable truth. The book sat on a carved pedestal, and shimmered with golden light. The lines of the monk’s robes flowed gracefully, dancing in a breeze that no longer existed. The expression of the hidden face was left to the imagination, but Gale’s imagination didn’t have to work very hard. The monk was shielding himself from whatever was written in that book. 

Gale‘s chest suddenly went tight, as though the orb that had once branded his skin and burned an aching, insatiable hunger within him was back. The ghost of a pain which would never truly leave him.  He couldn’t help but see himself in the image, as though it was a mocking interpretation of his great folly. 

Unlike this monk, when he was tempted, he had not been strong enough to cover his eyes. He had suffered the same torment as the other tortured souls. It wouldn't have seemed out of place to see a carving of a wizard with a dark orb branded upon his chest, bent over and crippled by unending pain and sharp regret. His hand once again absentmindedly moved to his chest.

“What is in that book, do you think?” Elltavia was started to get concerned by the faraway look in Gale’s eyes. She had not known him long, but she knew it was unlike him to be this quiet. Whether in a classroom, or on an adventure - he was a born teacher. He had the engaging, adaptable, patient, rare soul of someone who had collected knowledge like precious treasure, and all he seemed to ever want to do is share it. He was not made to be silent, and it worried her.

"Fortune and glory, Kidd." Gale continued to read the fragile inscriptions—warnings, death sentences, holy scriptures, and gold-tinted promises of doom for the unworthy. Yet, for those with the resolve to grasp it, an ultimate blessing. "Fortune and glory."

After more studying, Gale pressed his hand against an indent in the wall, and a rumbling echoed around them.

"I think we've found where the ritual would take place," he murmured.

The carved, ancient pedestal holding the book shown in the mural rose from the ground in the room’s centre, a half-decayed corpse resting against it, its mouldering hand still holding the book open, as if in a final, desperate grasp for whatever it contained. 

"That book should not be open." Gale could feel the power emanating from it, warping and stretching the weave of magic around it. This was no ordinary spellcraft; it was far beyond his capabilities. Once, he would have been desperate to grasp it, to drink the forbidden magic until it drowned him. A long time ago, It almost had.

The source of the blight was finally clear. The book had to be closed, or the rot would continue to spread, cursing the forest and luring as many as it could to this place. The book was a lure, a power to draw people here to be tested, indifferent to the fate it bestowed upon them. The burning ache of the sussur, which had been simmering under his skin, began to flare and bubble. His magic tingled in his bones, demanding to be used, to cast protection over him. His mind was flooded with the weave, and the agony of not being able to use it was overwhelming.

“Close the book!” He hissed through clenched teeth, doubled over in pain. 

Elltavia approached the book tentatively, with ranger’s care. The closer she got, the more Gale’s words became a far-away song, trailing distantly away from the fluttering pages. Each turn caused a soft rustle; leaves whispering secrets in a forest grove. It was the sound of her home, and it was calling to her. The book cast a gentle glow, soft as yellow moonlight. And with every intake of breath, she could swear the scent of pine mingled with the earthy perfume of petrichor sank deep, holding and soothing her. 

Surely within its pages lay the answers they were looking for. It called out to her with a sweetness that stirred her soul, a siren's song promising sanctuary. The glowing page was right there in front of her, she just had to read the inscription…

I am the lure in darkest gloom, A whispered hope, a flick'ring bloom. In greed-drenched shade, I bide my time, Thy greatest urge will feed my shrine.

What am I? A tempter, sly, In every soul, doth ever lie. Resist the call for but one hour, Prevail, and gain the worthy’s power

“Elltavia, NO!” 

And she burned.

It felt as though tendrils of flame were invading her through her nose, her mouth, sinking through her skin, licking the very bones of her. It was tugging at her, calling to her, scalding all the way through her. She was a woman aflame, and there was only one way to extinguish the fire. She needed Gale, and she needed him now. 

He rushed over, and managed to close the book - but not before catching a glimpse of the inscription within. As soon as he had read the words, the book and pedestal began to descend ominously back into the ground.

“Gale..” Elltavia’s voice was suddenly breathy and skin clammy as Gale grabbed hold of her and started to check her over. 

“It’s the test, Kidd.” He appraised her pupils to see that they were blown wide, her breathing heavy. The spell was undeniably affecting her, not just emotionally but physically too. Her skin glimmered with a light sheen of sweat. Were her lips fuller, even more inviting than before? Surely it was a trick of the light? The urge to press his own against them, to run his tongue along her bottom lip, was all-consuming.

He pulled away abruptly, almost harshly, startled by the intensity of his desire. He had anticipated challenges to his resolve, but not in this way. He had mentally prepared himself for his ambition, his hubris, his self-worth to be cut out and dissected in front of him, to once again have to pull himself back from the brink of his unending desperation to prove himself. It was his tragic flaw, it always would be. He had not prepared himself for this.

The atmosphere crackled with a potent mix of heat and something deeper, something elemental. Lust. It hung thick in the air, dense and suffocating. It wrapped around him like a lover’s embrace, seeping into the marrow of his bones. He was suddenly starving, and she was ripe and ready to be savoured. He remembered when she had bitten the apple from his desk. How her eyes had met his as she bit down, how the juice had trailed down from the side of her lips to her chin…

“It sai..said.” Elltavia had her arms wrapped around herself, as though trying to hold herself back, and Gale desperately wanted to unfurl them and spread her out on the ground like a map. There was priceless treasure to be discovered. He ached from not touching her.

“It said something about lure.. Temptation..” Her breathing was heavy and lust-soaked. “Resist for an hour.. And we’ll pass the test.”

An hour of this, he thought bleakly, he did not know how he would stop himself from devouring her.

“I have rope” she panted “In my pack. You should tie me up.”

His response to that was a low, feral groan which seemed to rumble from deep within his chest. “I don’t think bondage will help me out here, Kidd.”

Struggling against this overwhelming desire was futile; he was a weary child resisting the pull of the receding tide, or a final leaf clinging to its branch before the onslaught of autumn's chill. He was no match for her; he was a raft-bound castaway - and she was the oncoming tempest. 

Together they melted into a pool of tongue and hands, rushed and heavy. There was no softness or words of delicacy, no declarations or promises of what would come after. There was only urgency. There was only her and him and now. At the meet of their lips and the ripping of her shirt underneath his strong, tanned hands there was a rumbling noise which ripped around them and caused loose stone and dust to fall from the ceiling. The shock of it managed to distract them long enough to prise themselves away from each other. The second they pulled apart, the noise stopped. 

“An earthquake?” He questioned through rough panting, speaking out loud rather than to her in particular. He quickly moved to one of the far walls and ran his hands over it, feeling for any structural damage and waiting silently for an aftershock.

As soon as his fingers stroked the grooves in the stone, Elltavia was behind him. She pushed him against the wall, and pressed herself against his back, standing on her tiptoes to lick and bite at the nape of his neck. 

“Who cares?” She whined. Her hands made their way up the back of his shirt and she dragged her nails down his skin. The sound he made was sinful, and as soon as her tongue licked at the sweat trailing down his spine, the rumbling started again. This time they were both knocked backwards by the wall Gale was pressed against, as it started to straighten out and move towards them. 

“Fuck.” He groaned, on his back. He could barely think straight, all his focus and all his blood was currently gathered in hard desperation between his legs. Urging to be sank into the ranger panting on the floor next to him. 

She swung her leg round to mount herself on top of him, pinning him to the ground under her hips.

“Wait” he hissed through gritted teeth. She managed to stop herself from sucking on his bottom lip long enough to hear what he wanted to say, she desperately hoped it would be something filthy. Her restraint in her longing for his mouth didn’t stop her grinding her hips down against him. She gasped at how hard he was underneath her. To her shock, he grabbed her upper arms and managed, with difficulty, to push her off him and he sprang up and backed away from her with his arms out. 

“Listen, Kidd, when we give into our temptation, to our urge, it sets off the trap.” 

She tried to take in what he was saying, and she used her sharp, predator’s focus to survey the room. She had not previously noticed the heavy layer of dust which had settled on the holy ground. Bonedust. The bleak realisation sank in. This was all that was left of others who had been tested. The book was an incendiary, designed to spark simmering desire into a roaring flame. Resist it, or be crushed.

“I am your temptation?” She rasped. “Gale, of all the fucking things to desire?!” 

“You’re one to talk!” He snapped. The cord that felt wrapped around him was tightening in frustration. This woman was literally going to be the death of him. This stubborn, infuriating, smart-ass was how he was going to die. He wanted to take his whip out and coil the leather around her… 

“Fuck!” He said, turning around so he could no longer see her pouring out of her sweaty, ripped shirt. 

“The temptation is each other… right?” She breathed.

“Obviously.” 

“Then… then we can still.. Touch ourselves, can’t we?”

It was like pouring oil on a bonfire, the thought of her unbound and lost in her own touch, bringing herself to the brink of pleasure and plunging over a cliff of her own making was unbearable. He wanted to palm himself right there in front of her just from the thought of it. 

She didn’t wait for him to answer, her hand quickly found its way into her underwear and to where she needed it most. She was a writhing mess on the floor - but the walls did not move. 

He sank and crawled to her, and positioned himself over her, resting his forearms on the ground next to her shoulders, clenching his fists in frustration and caging her beneath him, but not touching her. He allowed one of his knees to push her thigh upwards, splaying her further apart. But he did not give her any further contact. He just held himself over her as she moaned and bucked her hips into her own hand. His gaze was as desperate and intense as any touch could be. Beads of sweat traced paths down his temple, falling onto her skin like liquid fire. Every inch of her felt alive, every nerve alight with anticipation. As he lowered his head, his breath danced against her neck, tantalisingly close yet never touching. His lips hovered, a mere whisper away, and she teetered on the edge of combustion.

“I’ve wanted you since you flashed your thigh at my desk.” His voice was almost unrecognisable, dark as sin itself. The lilt of his words caressing her skin. “I wanted to be that fruit on your tongue. The flesh on your lips.”  She gasped, but could not respond. Her eyes fluttered shut as she imagined how he would taste as he spilled herself down her throat in ecstasy. 

“Don’t you dare stop looking at me.” He growled.

Her eyes flashed open again to meet his, and his command would have sent her spiralling, but something was wrong. 

“I can’t.. It won’t…” She removed her hand in desperation, and it took every ounce of resilience he had not to grab hold of her wrist and drag her lust-soaked fingers between his teeth and roll his tongue against them. “It just makes it worse.” 

The walls were still at each end of the room, they had barely moved. The two of them were safe, maybe there was time to…

“Fuck it.” He said, and he lifted her robe and tore her underwear off her. Gods, the scent of her. He wanted to spend a whole day with his nose buried at the source of her divine, needy musk.

 He did not have a whole day, he had minutes at most. 

“Is this what you want?” He asked, shaking with the resolve it took to show her the decency she deserved.

“No” She responded, but before he could even attempt to pull himself away from her, she wrapped her powerful warrior's thighs around him and flipped them so he was beneath her. 

“This is what I want.” 

She turned round above him so her cunt was hovering over his face, just out of reach. This position gave her the chance to unbuckle his belt and finally get her hands where she wanted them. There was no time to undress him, to peel him out of his tight trousers the way she wanted to. This would have to do. He moaned beneath her as she finally freed him from his confinement, and without grace or hesitation - took the whole of him into her mouth. 

In response, he grabbed hold of her hips and pulled her down against his lips. Locking her tight against him, he groaned and pushed his tongue into her. The taste of her was technicolour.  He worked as quickly as he could to relieve the tight, coiling need which was squeezing the life out of them, but not quickly enough. 

The walls had pushed towards them quicker than he anticipated, and it wasn’t long until he felt the hard force of it suddenly pressing against his feet. 

Elltavia must have become aware at the same time he did, because her mouth was suddenly off him and she rolled away, completely disentangling them and stopping the movement of the walls. 

They were both slick with sweat, and with each other. 

“Get over to the far end. Now.” He snapped at her. The narrowing of the walls had now turned the large, circular room into a slim corridor. It would only take a couple more metres of movement and they would be crushed to dust. 

“Do not bark orders at me!” She retorted with a hiss. “That is really not helping the situation!” She retreated as far away as him as possible, pressed her thighs together, and put her hands over her ears so she couldn’t hear his heavy, laboured breathing.

The hour may as well have been a day. They faced away from each other, breaths heavy and skin slick with sweat. They had both tried to cover themselves back up with what little material had not been ripped. At this moment the threat of being crushed by the weight of an ancient temple wall seemed inconsequential compared to the overwhelming intensity of this moment. Gale thought that If this were to be his end, he would welcome it with open arms. At one point in his life, he had resigned himself to the fact he would die alone at the order of a pitiless Goddess. What a privilege it would be then, to die in the arms of a merciful one. In the arms of Elltavia Kidd’Alka. 

He thought of her as he faced the wall. He thought of her in every way except the one which had pushed its way to the front of his mind and coursed its way through his blood. He thought of her fierce loyalty to her home, how she had travelled far and risked her life. How she was blunt and forthcoming and how she refused to dull any of her bladed wit. He thought of the shimmering seasons of her eyes, of how long it must take her to braid her hair, how she has the wisdom of an elder and the bright laugh of a child. He thought of how much he wanted her to live, and how much he wanted to see her again. And suddenly, the urge simmered - it was there, but it no longer suffocated him. He could breathe. His lust had been mixed with something else, and the sweet combination had strengthened his resolve. He could do this. 

Elltavia thought of the forest. Of her home. Of the children who fell out of trees and laughed in the dirt that caught them. Of the people who had spent their lives telling stories and weaving tradition through play and prayer. Of the mothers who had fletched arrows with babes at their breast. She remembered the first time she summoned an animal, and how the swift spring bird had flitted between branches and sunbeams to settle upon her shoulder. She remembered the poor autumn fox which she had found dead from the spreading curse. She would beat this. She would return home, and she would show Gale the place they had saved together. Her blood cooled, her resolve steeled. She could do this. 

An hour passed in silence. The two of them focused and determined. Two people who ached enough to not touch each other. And it worked.

Suddenly, it was as though they had emerged from holding their breath in ice water. The walls rumbled and slowly retreated back to their stations. 

“Is it over?” Elltavia spoke quietly, too nervous to turn round or remove her hands from her ears. Her answer came when a strong, comforting hand placed itself on her shoulder and she didn’t burn from the touch. She let Gale turn her, and take the hands from her ears to kiss them. 

“Not for me'' He said gently, stroking her cheek and tucking a braid behind her ear.  Before he could kiss her properly, without magical kindling feeding his flame for her, the book reappeared. It fluttered once more, and settled on its final page.

“Is it safe?”

“I think so” He said, more calmly than he felt. “We passed the test.”

He made his way to where the soft glow welcomed him to read, and spoke the book’s final inscription aloud…

Behold, two souls of spirit true Live long - old magic rests in you. 

“If this is some bullshit about how the power was inside us all along, I'm going to be really annoyed.” Elltavia was still breathless, but relieved.

“Maybe…” He said thoughtfully, but from the book and the murals and tenacity of the ancient magic, Gale didn’t believe that was the case. There must be the mentioned ‘reward’ somewhere… But, he was not interested. Godly gifts he could live without. There were other things more worthy of his attention now. Other desires to fulfill. 

“What do we do about the book?” she asked, closing it and running her finger over the cover. “Will you take it to the Academy?”

“No. This belongs here. It’s as much a part of the forest as you are.” He turned to look at her, her bright eyes fierce, “You know what lies here now, you can tell your community - you can spread the story and let them become guardians of magic and knowledge. And this can stay here… closed.”

He bent down and kissed her, soft but purposeful. Full of the promise of things to come.

“You know, Kidd. Before you dropped by my lecture I was reading about this amulet…”

She entwined her fingers with his as they made their way back into the lush greenery of her vibrant forest home. “Sounds interesting professor, I take it the next adventure would also require you to bring along your whip?” 

“Oh, most definitely. I could give you another demonstration now if you’d like?”

Her bright laugh echoed through the trees as they walked into the distance, unaware of the ancient gift bestowed upon them by the temple in the forest. Perhaps one day, Gale would notice his hair wasn't greying as quickly, or that the furrows between his eyes no longer deepened despite the endless days of laughter shared with Elltavia. Maybe then, they would realise they had been chosen as timeless protectors: the wizard destined to safeguard the magic he once sought to consume, and the ranger courageous enough to save her homeland.

[shmowder]

Your blog is making me want to replay Patho 2 again... I did play once on the intended difficulty, and then I replayed it afterwards on the easiest settings, doing everything and saving everyone and I'm ngl, that was some of the most fun I've ever had even though it wasn't quite in the spirit of the game haha

The so-called spirit of the game is this senior citizen wirh an overgrown 2000s anime boy haircut who shakes his cane at you sassily when you choose to only swallow a handful of razors as opposed to the razor muckbang the game offers.

I finished the game on the hardest difficulty

This was my first time playing the game ever. I straight up went to the intended difficulty, saved everyone, did everything, and never starved for a single day. I had 20+ Shmowders by the end. I was fully stocked on meat, I was fully stocked on homemade antibiotics and maxed the hospital shift each day.

All of that with only 3 Deaths

WHERE IS MY FUCKING CELEBRATION HUH? WHERE IS MY MEDAL? NO ONE THEW ME A PARTY, NO ONE INVITED BELLA HADID >:( MARK WASN'T IMPRESSED.

Fuck you Mark! ONE OF THOSE DEATHS WAS BULLSHIT YOU DUMB SLUT. YOU SPAWNED A GUY ON TOP OF ME WHILE I WAS PICKING UP HERBS, HOW THE FUCK DID HE ONE SHOT ME WITH FULL HEALTH HUH? YOU WHORE.

What I'm saying is. Look, we both finished the game on complete opposite extremes, yet we're both here. In a pathologic x reader blog on tumblr. We both had fun and shared a good understanding of the plot and characters. That's what matters. Everything else is just people patting themselves on the shoulder. You're the only one who will be impressed with the fact you beat the game flawlessly, and you're the only one who will be bothered by the fact you picked an easier difficulty

Because it's really not that different. To me, I have the kind of autism that makes games like pathologic smoother than water for me, I thrived on the ruthlessness of dark soul and did a no death run in darkest dungeon. But also. I absolutely suck at casual games, I can't play Stardew Valley unless I'm fully cheating, I can't for the life of me beat a single platforming game because I have a slow reaction speed.

Play Pathologic however you want! Ice-pick Joe isn't gonna pop from under your bed at 3am to beat you up with hammers. This is coming from the most tryhard difficulty elitism person there is in games.

Buttttt. I do recommend giving Pathologic classic HD a try. I promise anyone who beat Pathologic 2 on ANY difficultly will cuck tf out of the first game. There is no thirst! The vendors have unlimited money, and you can sell all of your trash to them! THE ECONOMY IS THRIVING I BOUGHT FOOD ON THE DAYS THE PRICES WERE SKYROCKETING BC I COULD AFFORD IT. I would've never financially recovered from buying food in P2 on any day that's not the first one. In P1, I rarely slept because I was deepthroating lemons and snorting coffee beans day and night since I could easily afford the health/hunger penalty.

Meanwhile, in P2, I'd save coffee beans to sell to get enough money to save up for army clothes.

The combat is so forgiving, the houses with good loot aren't the infected ones like in P2 but the burned ones! The AI in that game is so stupid you can trick plague clouds into disappearing if you stand still! You can glitch and jump over fences to take shortcuts through the town! YOU CAN SCAM THAT CUNT ANDREY STAMATIN FOR ENDLESS SHOTGUNS.

Lastly don't forget that 90% of the Pathologic fandom haven't even played any of the games at all. 70% probably never watched a single playthrough either and just video essays instead.

In the steam version of Pathologic 2, Only 10% of players who bought the game have ever reached the end.

10% !!! That's us there! Me and You! It doesn't matter how what matters is that we both did it while 90% of people gave up.

And the situation in the classic game is even more dire tbh-

Only 6% ever opened the game and made it through the first day. Only 3% ever made it to the last day.

So, really good on you for finishing the game! Good on me for finishing the game! WE DID IT! YAY! Someone really should give Bella Hadid a call.

Also, please do yourself a favour and ignore whatever the video essayist says about the difficulty of the games. They're good storytellers for building an interesting narrative to watch, but they're not good at videogames assessment. Each of their reasons is very personalised by their own experience and doesn't necessarily mean other people will struggle with the same issues. Don't listen to anyone who tells you picking an easy difficulty ruins the game either, Pathologic doesn't relay on its brutal gameplay to shine, it can more stand on its own as a narrative story walking game. If anything, it would probably shine better on easier difficulties when you have time to dig for context clues and plot without starvation breathing down your neck. I missed some flavour text quests because I was too stressed about balancing different objectives to do them or pay attention when something important was said.

[lych33dragoncookie]

alright so the main reason i wanted to make this blog; those new Wind Archer trailers.

I already had a lot to say about the first one, for... One big reason.

The fact we're going to the laboratorium is pretty exciting, but I did not expect for us to already catch a glimpse of the Ultimate Cookie. In fact, I had almost forgotten about that; I thought Matcha making MyCookie was more of a byproduct of the Beast cookies needing bodies to inhabit, but...

Well, I guess Dark Enchantress's original ambitions haven't left her. And she's really, really close to realizing her dreams; the dreams she carries on from White Lily Cookie.

It really makes me wonder how White Lily would react to these developments. To see her dreams realized, every bit as horrifying as she most likely knew they'd be, carried on by a part of herself. I really, really wanna see where they go with this.

On another note...

sorry, i just much prefer his Japanese VA HE'S BAAAAAAAACKKKKK~

You have... No idea how frustrated I was to see that the first Beast cookie to release was Mystic Flour and not him. And while it's not guaranteed we'll get him this time, either (even if i really hope we do)... Come on, it's just nice to have him back. He's a really, really fun antagonist. Sometimes, when all your antagonists have complex motives, believing that despite everything they've done, ultimately they're the ones in the right (with even Dark Enchantress only committing as much harm as she has as a response to the revelation that the world, on a fundamental level, was seemingly much more cruel, uncaring and pointless than she had ever thought; a desperate need to make a difference, no matter how many lives and pain it takes), it's incredibly nice to have that one villain, that one villain who doesn't try to find an excuse for what they do, having fun, not believing that they're doing everything that they do for some greater motive, but just to have fun, to make the entire world one big, brightly burning play area for them to toy with as long as they want, however they want. I love Shadow Milk, because he perfectly offsets the usual monologuing, self-righteous villainy we tend to see (And often enjoy, don't get me wrong, both Dark Enchantress and Mystic Flour have grown one me) with just pure, uncaring, show-stopping villainy for the sake of villainy.

He's manipulative, playful, silly, over the top, more concerned with putting on a show first and foremost than actually accomplishing his objectives; because you and I both know that he knows that he could probably just brute force his way into getting his soul jam back, into taking down the heroes without any opportunity for them to do anything about it. If he wanted to, he could very, very easily create an unwinnable scenario. But he doesn't. Because that's no fun.

And I absolutely adore him for it. Every single scene he's in is an absolute delight.

... Right, uh. Wind Archer.

I'm excited for him! It's been a while since we've gotten any Ovenbreak legendaries, and with Wind Archer in the game, it means we're likely very close to seeing Fire Spirit and Millennial Tree (Both pretty big faves for me, though Millie is the one that does unholy things to my brain just from looking at him). And honestly, this feels like a really, really good use for him! No beating around the bush, no overcomplicating anything, just going straight to the point and trying to stop the current threat at its root. He's going to fail, obviously. Even if he takes out the ultimate cookie, chances are it can just be rebuilt, and the beasts on an individual level would be way too much for him to handle. And with Shadow Milk having awoken... Yeah, he stands just about no chance. But, it will be very fun to see, methinks. It's also just a pretty natural fit; a protector of nature that hunts down anything that may disturb or corrupt said nature being sent to strike down what's pretty much a threat that's entirely artificial, unnatural, bodies made through forbidden, arcane magic and ethically dubious means, stumbling upon the culmination of someone's ambitions to create perfect life by artificial means. It works out really, really well, methinks.

But yeah that's my thoughts so far on the 2 Wind Archer update trailers, I'm actually really excited for where they're gonna take this, we've actually got some good plot progression going on and a lot of interesting writing ideas that while I don't fully trust the devs to execute perfectly, I do still really like and feel pretty hopeful for!

... Now just give me Shadow Milk and Millennial Tree and my life is yours. And Lychee, maybe. That one might take a bit. how are they even gonna do Longan in Kingdom. that's... quite a lot to try to adapt without either rehashing content or completely hijacking the plot. god i hope this doesn't mean they'll just stop at Lotus. I miss my dragons. Except not really because OB has been doing some good stuff with them.

Sorry for the really long post, but I wanted to dump some thoughts and have a sort of primer for the kinda stuff I wanna make for this blog.

Oh, and expect some shitposts along the way, too.

[echantedtoon]

Nightfall Lovers

You are greeted by a nightly lover who is cloaked in sins.

The votes won so here's a something for Lower Moon Two that deserves more recognition. Might be ooc but screw it! I'll make the content myself. Warnings for mentioning of cannibalism and killing. 

@hantenguclonesimp-minuszoha

@hantenguclonesimp-minuszoha

@trancylovecraft

@lavenderdrxp

@paintoreos

@jjamsbangtan

Come get y'all's food.

The darkness of night was always dangerous to those whom did not heed the warnings of the monsters whom lurked within the abyss and shadows.

The woman knew that more than anyone else very well. Often finding herself confined within it's hold. Innocence ensnared like a bird within it's cage. Singing it's innocent melodies despite being condemned to be surrounded by cold iron bars. Forever ongoing. Swirling, swirling around 

The sun sank beneath the horizon to make way for his sister the moon to take her rightful place upon her throne of darkness surrounded by her army men of stars and commets. 'Cone out!' She cried out to her dark children that hid from the light. 'My brother and his infernal light is gone. Once more come out to greet your mother and wreck discord upon thine earth. Have your fun dancing in my gentle glow and bask in the darkness that I reign upon as I watch over you.' The monsters woul answer their mother's cries. Dancing. Reigning havoc over the darkness. Bringing entropy to every household they manage to invade. 

A fire warmed up the skin as your lazy eyes watched the dancing flames in the pit. The flickering lights casted dancing shadows the lonely still walls. They frolicked in tune with their own rythme in their own universe. However the warmth of the fire kept your body warm and toasted from the cold outside. No doubt crawling with monsters and demons of the abyss walking forth towards you with every step they took. In tune with every breath you took. But you didn't mind. Infact within the darkness the maiden embraced their outstretched embrace. 

Step. Step. Step.

Closer and closer.

Breaths of sins clawed their way from a maw that swallowed more innocent lives than the mind cared to remember. Smiling at a wicked whom remembered or a sinful coppery taste that it could still taste on the malicious tongue. Running the muscle along fangs sharp and destined to rip flesh from mere bond. However the sins of that life would be forgotten in exchange for the comfort of innocence that the night allowed him to have once every moon.  Footsteps soft yet loud enough to echo through the darkness and approaching fast the house with remaining light. Light that offered warm and comfort but not protection 

F/c eyes opened slightly and turned. A door normally provided comfort and protection was no match for the class that ensnared it and pushed it open allowing the night and shadows to spill inside. The sinful, wicked smile was delighted to see the one of innocent happiness smiling back to her.

"Well now. Hello, Beautiful.~ Do you mind if I come in and warm myself by your fire?"

A giggle all too sincere made the monster's undead heart beat against his own ribcage in anticipation of her answer.

"Come right in, Sir. Heaven knows how cold the night must be for you."

The monster did not hesitate given the permission. Coming inside to receive his reward for the sinful deeds he had done in the form of an embrace of the warmth she gave. The embodiment of darkness was enticing to say the least. Especially with herself entangled within his grip. It felt…

c o l d.

So cold, so frightening. Yet so familiar. The blood ran cold yet so warm upon the strong arms around her. Eyes deeply staring through the soul wriggling, squirming in its hold. Gleaming  teeth beside the eyes in a smile that was promising sin yet a love no one else gave. There for her, the one caught up into the grip of the night. the only thing they could do for them was finish them off — even if it was they who would have to suffer then.

“Hell... It's been so long. You have no idea what you do to me. Making me feel things a sinner like me has no right being happy to have."

Neither spoke for a long moment just staring into each other's eyes before a cold hand reached out to run his knuckles along her chin causing her to shiver before leaning into that hand that switched to caressing the soft warm flesh. A strong arm pulled her forward until they were chest to chest. His sinful freeze and her innocent warm glow. A sturdy arm held her close, the other cracked the back of her head gently as worlds apart connected in the ultimate declaration of affection between two partners.

Lines were blurring. Obsession with love. Madness within clarity. Starvation of touch with longing of burning loneliness. Passion and poison. Breaths were warm despite his cold body. Eyes soft despite their own desire filled look. Grip firm but restrained so much it hurts him how cautious he was being to not harm. Her soft skin burnt him! It burnt, it burnt-

It lit up his soul with unresolved longing he was never able to fulfill like this with anything else in his life.

He pulled her closer deepening the connection for a blissful moment before slowly pulling away just a smidge. Their lips still touching as warm breath gently caressed his face as his dark eyes looked back in narrowing into possessive slits. Words whispered against lips as he spoke.

"You really shouldn't really be letting me come back over and over. It's addicting... Intoxicating to me to not have you right where I need you. My mind clears when you are the only thing it can think about."

A shiver ran over her body so close and it sent a smile against her lips from him. It pleased him so.

"Maybe I like it when you only think about me though. Would you really leave me even if I were to dismiss you?"

Whispered murmurs against lips. Close as lovers could ever be. Arms around each other's bodies like a whirlwind would pull them away. Eyes closing with one last murmur against her lips.

"No. But I sure as hell don't mind if you took my body and soul because you already have my sanity. Now love me. Love me like I'm going to die."

[definitelynotafurinasimp]

Hello! I'd like to request Eula, Hu Tao, and Rosaria's s/o getting super shy/flustered about asking to hold their hand

Even tho its super cheesey i have an absolute soft spot for the trope or whatever you call that tbh

I can't believe this is what I'm using my education for...

Eula and Hu Tao with a reader that get's shy when asking to hold their hand

Characters: Hu Tao / Eula x gn!reader (separate)

warnings: none

a/n: I have to admit that I have absolutely no idea how to write for Rosaria. I came up with something, but it would have literally been something like 2 sentences. So I'm really sorry.

I'm just happy that I got to write for my two favourite's again. it's been so long

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Hu Tao 

Hu Tao never had, isn’t currently in the possession of, and never will grow a sense of shame, so while that meant that getting her to be embarrassed by something she did was almost an impossibility, it didn’t need a genius detective to notice that the people she surrounded herself with, with the exception of Zhongli and Xingqiu, although she was sure she’d get to him someday, didn’t exactly fit the same criteria.

So while her heart did skip a beat whenever you asked her anything that made your face turn red, she couldn’t help but use the chance to get a bit of fun out of your nervousness.

You should have known that no good was going to come out of agreeing to Hu Tao’s request to go somewhere together, but your stupid brain couldn’t help but accept when she asked, too excited when she took the word “date” in her mouth.

Unluckily for you however, the funeral parlor’s director’s definition of a date was taking a trip to wuwang hill and hunting for any lost souls.

“I… don’t know if it's such a good idea to go there. It seems pretty dark”, you voiced your concerns upon seeing where she was going to take you, only for Hu Tao to turn around quickly enough for you to nearly get a heart attack when you were suddenly greeted with her face mere inches away from yours, and summoning her weapon before triumphantly showing it off.

“If it’s too dark for you, I can light my weapon. We might start a small wildfire, but it’s not like the ghosts will care too much”, she suggested with her typical smile, making sure to pronounce the word “ghosts” in as unsettling of a voice she could muster.

It didn’t do much, but coupled with the already sinistre energy the hills gave off and the small, transparent children you could swear you saw running around from the corner of your eyes, only for them to vanish once you took a closer look, made the king of all shivers run down your spine.

“...or”, she began talking once again, causing you to look up at her, anticipating her next words, “you could hold my hand if you’re scared.”

It didn’t take you long to shake your head and stutter out a responce as your face turned hot, only for Hu Tao to laugh and turn back around, ready to lead you farther into the forest. Or at least she would have, if the sound of something stepping on a branch behind a nearby bush hadn’t caused you to nearly fall over dead. And while she wouldn’t complain about receiving a new customer, business could wait for a little longer.

“Y- you know what? I- is the offer still available?”, you asked slowly, the shame and nervousness openly displayed in your voice, as you looked to the ground, too scared of what you might see if you looked up at her..

“Sure, if you buy a casket from me? They’re surprisingly affordable… most of them at least”, Hu Tao joked, only to shut up for a second when she realized you were too occupied with fearing for your life to notice her genius joke.

In one quick motion, she grabbed your hand before moving to your side so the two of you stood shoulder to shoulder, before suddenly intertwining her fingers with yours.

“But since it’s you this should suffice.”

And while you spent the rest of the trip too embarrassed and deafened by the internal screaming to feel frightened by the dark hills that made you nervous from just thinking about them not long ago, Hu Tao happily skipped by your side while humming her favorite tunes.

Eula

Eula, being born and raised as an aristocrat, had been taught how to do anything with elegance and dignity, from chuckling, to getting out of what would otherwise become an awkward scene. All of which was to say that something like holding another person’s hand was no problem to her either, having to have done so at many balls and other events in her past. So as long as you remained at least somewhat calm when asking to hold her hand, it should be no problem at all.

…so why was asking this difficult?

With every minute that your date drew nearer to a close, you became less and less talkative, eventually coming to a point where you silently sat and ate your food while remaining completely silent. If it hadn’t been for the hundreds of quick glances you took at her, only to immediately look back down when your eyes crossed, Eula would have simply assumed you were getting tired. It was pretty late after all and as she knew you, you’d probably spent most of last night awake, overthinking what you would do the next day. But now, she couldn’t help but worry about other motives.

Was there something on her face? Eula quickly wiped the corners of her mouth with ner napkin, trying to play it off as casual as possible.

There it was again! You were still glancing at her, somehow seeming even more nervous than before. If it wasn’t any food, what was it? Was there someone behind her you didn’t exactly have fond memories of? Would it be weird to take a look? Or was it her after all that caused you to act this way? Did she say something hurtful before? No wait, did you take her joke too literally? Maybe she should work on her communication skills after all?

“caniholdyourhand?”, the words shot out of your mouth, as you nervously looked around, your cheeks having turned a deep shade of red.

“What?” Eula asked, more in confusion than in anything else. Was this what you were acting all nervous about? A part of her felt relief wash over her, and yet your shyness began rubbing off on her more than she’d like.

“Can I- you know… uhm. Hold your hand?”, you asked once again, a lot slower this time but in turn much more quiet than before.

Before long, Eula reached out her hand for yours before grabbing it. There was no need to act all shy about something like hand holding, afterall, especially for an aristocrat like her. But then again, you had never been too confident about things like this, so she might as well give you a hand and help you out a bit.

Or so she’d like to, if her face wasn’t in the process of matching yours in the color department.

…Why was this so much more difficult with you?

[and-justice-for-zoisite]

𝒞𝑜𝓈𝓂𝒾𝒸 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 (Fujin x Tsung! Reader)

Official Masterlist   -   Part 2

Summary: As the daughter of Shang Tsung, you have an expectation which was set to you since birth: to become the next champion in Mortal Kombat. Naturally, you were supposed to represent Outworld, however, when you come into contact with someone who saved you when you were a child, you realise your perception of good or bad is skewed, and he makes you reconsider your position entirely. 

Word Count: 8.4k words

This story was written with the song Cosmic Love By Florence and the Machine as the inspiration!

-

I hardly remember it happening. I was only but a small belle with a raging fire in her heart. I was so young. Adventurous.

Stupid.

I don't remember much of it. Of the accident.

Father said it looked like I fell in the river by the palace, during the harsh unforgiving winter, and would've surely perished had I not washed upon shore about twenty feet down the river.

But I don't think I could've washed up to the shallow bed of the river on my own. Someone was there. He saved me. He glowed in my blurred vision as I tried to blink the water out of my eyes and cough it out of my lungs. My body was cold, shivering, and my throat felt like it was freezing.

When I thought I was going to die there, father and his servants came to rescue me, one of them having seen me from a window and alerting everyone in close proximity that I had fallen into the river.

Father told me he'd never felt closer to death than that day. Losing me would've been the last of it, not after my mother passed. Ever since then, he's never taken me back to Earthrealm, my birthplace. I've resided in Outworld since age six, and never had any plans to go back.

Not until I met him.

-

"(Y/n)?"

…

"(Y/n)!"

…

sigh

"Where could that girl be?"

It wasn't unusual that Shang Tsung would find himself searching hopelessly for his dear and only daughter, within the walls off his grand palace that was due to serve as a venue for the upcoming Mortal Kombat he hosted every generation. Outworld had long claimed this right, and he was prepared for another victory. That would be ten consecutive victories, and he would finally be able to invade and claim Earthrealm with no consequences or backlash by the elder gods. He'd been waiting years for the event, and was eager to have his daughter participate as his champion.

Speaking of...

As the man came closer and closer to the east side of the palace, the sound of loud, familiar thumps became more audible as he walked further. He now knew where his daughter was.

With another sigh, he closed his eyes and abruptly teleported himself to his desired location - that was, just outside, by a scrub of trees, one of which his dear daughter was beating the ever living life out of.

"You know, if you keep neglecting to wear protective bandages, you'll damage your hands far beyond repair," Shang lectured her, noting the bloody state of her hands.

She stopped a moment to look at them, huffing and puffing as she pushed her sweat drenched hair out of her face.

"Damage is what makes me stronger, father," she huffed, wiping the blood on her top as she took fighting stance once again, "you want me prepared for kombat, don't you?" "Yes, of course," he smiled, watching as she continued to punch the tree, "but you don't need to focus primarily on your physical strength. You are a sorceress, after all." "But physically hitting something is what gives me satisfaction," she groaned, focused entirely on her training, "it's no fun if I do something as minimalistic as consuming my opponent's soul or setting a fiery serpent upon them." "But it is getting dark, my dear," Shang pointed out, "won't you come inside?" "I'll come inside when I'm done," she huffed between hits, "when it hurts." "Very well," Shang sighed as he turned to go inside, "just be careful."

She didn't say another word to him as he returned to his palace and she continued her make believe battle with this tree as though they'd been enemies for life.

(Y/n) couldn't feel the cold due to how much sweat she had produced from her, even though it was the dead middle of winter in that realm. She would only feel an occasional bite if she stopped momentarily for a breather, but would always continue non stop for longer periods of time.

She was never scared of the dark, not since she was small, nor was she scared of whatever may inhabit it.

But that night truly did make her forever cautious of it from that moment forward.

From behind the tree was a sudden burst of light, one that would've blinded her had the tree been a little more narrow. For the first time in a long time, she felt that pinch of fear in her chest as she stepped back with uncertainty in her eyes. That was when a man appeared from behind it, levitating and glowing. She could feel a cold breeze come off of him, and was at a complete loss of words as she watched him lower himself to the ground.

"Who..." (Y/n) began in a meek voice, mustering up the courage to put more power into it, "...who are you??" "I, (Y/n) Tsung, am Fujin," he introduced himself, "God of wind." "A god?" she asked, sceptically though his appearance did add up.

He nodded, gesturing a hand toward her.

"I have selected you as my champion," he disclosed, "to defend your birthplace of Earthrealm in mortal kombat." "Wait, wait...hold on," she said, flustered as she ran a hand through her hair, "my father has already selected me as his champion. And I may have been born in Earthrealm, but I represent Outworld." "Oh (Y/n)..." Fujin chuckled, approaching her further so he was within touching distance of her, "you've been my desired champion long before your father selected you."

His hands came to cup her face, and before she could protest, she felt his fingers on her temples and a vision suddenly overcame her. She went limp as she watched her memories. It was that day. The day she fell into the river. She could see it all happen from a neutral perspective. Her body sunk to the bottom of the river and she was caught on a log.

Then her perspective changed. She was herself once again, now at the bottom of the river. She felt herself freezing, when a pair of warm arms grabbed her wrists and pulled her out of the river, laying her in the shallows of it. Finally, after all these years, she could make out the face of her saviour. It was him. Fujin. She had been saved by the God of wind.

When she came back to, she gasped as though her lungs were full of water again, her knees buckling as Fujin helped soften her fall.

"I-it..." she looked up at him, "it was you."

He smiled at her and nodded.

"I've watched you grow, from when you were but an infant all the way up until now," he explained, kneeling down in front of her, his hands still grasping hers, "my brother told me you were a lost cause, but I've known since the moment I saved you that you'd become something amazing." "I..." (Y/n) whispered, shaking her head, "...I don't know what to say. I-I mean I'm so very grateful to have been saved by you, but I already have a place in the tournament." "No place is set in stone," Fujin informed her, "you may switch sides at any time you wish."

He let go of her and stood up.

"I'll tell you what, why don't you come and train with me?" he asked, the girl tilting her head slightly, "perhaps you can decide based off of that whether or not you wish to accept my invitation. It can take from a day, to the day before the tournament, and we can train for as long as you'd like each day."

He offered a hand to her.

"What say you, (Y/n) Tsung?"

That was how she ended up face first to the ground, eating dirt after Fujin had deceived her yet again in kombat for the fifth week she had known him.

"You are reckless, (Y/n)," Fujin told her from his place across from her, "you make predictions that you are far too confident of."

With a groan, she pushed herself up off the ground and wiped the dirt off of her face, finding blood in that mix which she then began to taste in her mouth.

"Any advice, oh mighty all-knowing god?" she mocked him, taking fighting stance once again as she prepared herself. "Expect the unexpected, my feather," he instructed, watching as she ran at him with determination in her eyes.

She went to punch him, and as he blocked it, she instead changed the attack while he was vulnerable and swung her leg to swipe him from his feet. While he admitted internally that she was clever for that, he was still able to dodge it with ease, hopping over her leg.

With one swift movement, he brought his firm straight hand down on her back. She cried out and fell once again, coughing violently at the way the attack winded her. Fujin stood patiently, waiting for her to catch her breath again, and once she had, she turned onto her back and breathed the air back into her lungs.

"How...how do you do it, Fujin?" she breathed out her question, the god smiling sweetly as he offered her a hand.

She took it and he helped her up, though placing a hand either side of her waist.

"Have you ever danced the waltz before?" he asked, though a flustered (Y/n) took a moment to answer. "N-no," she answered in a huff, crossing her arms against her chest, "why does that matter?" "I find kombat very alike to dance," he explained, grabbing her arms and gently unfolding them, "it requires much grace and agility to be effective."

He placed one hand on his shoulder, and the other kept in his own, while he let his remaining hand rest on her waist once again.

"Just follow my lead," he instructed, the woman nodding timidly as he only smiled, "to begin, step back on your right foot."

She did as instructed, and as she did, Fujin stepped forward on his left foot.

"Alright, now take a step to the left."

Again, she did as she was asked, and Fujin did the opposite to her.

She could hardly focus with the feeling of his hands on her body and the way his gentle breath would tickle her face. He smelled like a fresh spring morning, like mist and dewdrops and sunlight.

"Very good," he praised her, "now step forward on your left foot."

For all of this dance, she had been staring down at her own feet, shakily ensuring she made every step correctly. As many would know, it is proper etiquette to look your partner in the eyes while dancing with them, and while he understood why she would struggle with this, he'd still encourage it.

"(Y/n)," he began, his hand moving from her waist to pinch her chin as he drew her face upward so he could look into her eyes, "a dancer always looks their partner in the eyes when conducting a dance."

Staring into his glowing orbs like that, her words got caught in her throat, so she only gulped them back down and nodded. His hand fell away from her face and back down to her waist, and they continued with this lesson.

He tried to hide a giggle at how red her face was, not only from the mix of blood and dirt that she had neglected to properly wipe off before, but also from the blood that was in her face that told him she was flustered. He could almost feel the heat radiating off her face, but he started to think that maybe that was the heat from his own face he was feeling. Not nearly as intensely as she would've been feeling it, but he couldn't help but feel that maybe there was more to their relationship than sensei and student. He wouldn't jump to labels though, he'd merely explore this sensation with her, and whether she reciprocated these feelings or not was entirely out of his hands.

Fujin was snapped out of his thoughts when she stepped on his foot, though obviously by accident she was still very apologetic.

"Oh- I'm so sorry," she gasped softly, attempting to move away from him. "No, no, it's alright," he insisted, keeping a tight hold on her so she couldn't escape his grip, "you're doing very well."

It was from that point that (Y/n) actually began to consider switching sides. This bond she shared with Fujin ran deeper than she ever cared to consider, and she was yet to figure out just what she was destined to do.

-

"Are you alright, my dear?"

(Y/n) hadn't realised that she had been vacantly staring into her plate of food until the moment she heard her father's voice, looking up at the old man with a dazed look in her eyes.

"Huh?" she hummed, obviously having zoned out. "You've hardly touched your food," Shang pointed out, tilting his head ever so slightly, "is there something the matter?" "I-uh," she stuttered, shaking her head and rubbing her eyes, "no, I'm just...tired is all. Been training non stop for weeks and it's starting to catch up to me."

He smiled endearingly at her and pushed her plate of food closer to her.

"A champion needs their meals to produce energy," he encouraged her, "after all, you'll be fighting in the tournament in a few weeks. You will be my champion."

That horrid sensation of guilt filled her stomach once again, ruining her appetite and putting her entirely off of the meal once more. She loved her father, like any paternally nurtured child would, but after the time she had spent training with Fujin, she realised that her concept of what was good and what was bad wasn't taught correctly.

She was heavily conflicted, so much so that she couldn't even think anymore. And because she couldn't think, she could no longer sleep either.

-

(Y/n) didn't even want to raise her head when she heard the tapping on her window. She had hardly seen a blink of sleep since her conflicting thoughts began, and her face was far too comfortable nuzzled in her red velvet pillow. At first, she tried to convince herself that it was nothing more than a tree branch or an animal. But of course, what animal would tap repetitively like that?

With a huff, she lifted her head, slowly and painfully turning to see who it was that bothered her in this evening. She didn't know why she was even surprised, she always saw Fujin at this time of the afternoon, it was only natural he came looking for her after she remained loyal for every other day.

Deciding it was only right, she got up from her place on her oh so comfortable bed, leaving it's safety to open the window and see her friend.

"I'm sorry Fujin, I forgot," she sighed apologetically, Fujin shaking his head as a worried look carved itself into his features. "Don't apologise," he demurred, "are you alright?" "Y-yeah," she stuttered, rubbing her forehead, "I'm fine."

The man cocked his brow and tilted his head ever so slightly, and that was all she needed to see to know that he wasn't convinced.

“Fujin, I’m...” she began, closing her eyes as an attempt to stop them from tearing up, “...I’m conflicted.” He didn’t say anything, he only looked down briefly, and she could see that he understood what she was saying. When he looked up again, there was no particular emotion on his face, though it was comforting to her as he held his hand out. 

“Would you like to come with me, just for a while?” 

(Y/n) truly didn’t want to go anywhere right then, she was tired and upset and feeling more emotions than she ever had in her life. But something in her chest told her that she needed this, she needed to get away from her cave and feel something other than upset for a bit.

She didn’t say anything, she only nodded and took his hand and he helped her out of her window and to the ground. Though they had met the ground, he didn’t let go of her hand, he held it the whole time the two of them walked together in the dark, the forest only illuminated by his ethereal, godly glow which provided (Y/n) with a sense of security. He was warm, he always was. 

Shortly, the two of them had arrived at a small little lake/rockpool type thing that had the most beautiful little waterfall that fell into it. What set it aside from any regular little lake was it’s iridescent blue glow that emitted from the stones in the water, and the cute little fireflies that also glowed a gorgeous sapphire in colour. (Y/n) had never known such a place could exist in Outworld, she’d only thought it misery and evil. But she supposed that every world had it’s beautiful secrets. 

She’d spent so much time simply admiring it that she hadn’t noticed Fujin removing his shirt, and when (Y/n) did finally notice her face blew up in red and heat. 

“W-what are you doing??” she asked, flustered though unable to keep her eyes off of his muscular figure. “I’m going for a swim,” he explained nonchalantly, throwing his shirt over to a large stone so it wouldn’t get wet as he stepped into the shallow part of the water, “you should join me.”

She stood there a moment, shy and bashful, not really knowing what she was doing or where this was going. But why on earth would she pass up this opportunity?

With a huff, she began to disrobe yourself, having considered leaving her pants on but figuring that they would become too heavy in the water due to their baggy nature, so she removed them too. (Y/n) was left in her delicate unders - a white tube top and a matching pair of underwear. They were light and thin for a reason, but it turns out they wouldn’t serve her dignity well in water.

Timidly, (Y/n) approached the water, letting it surround her ankles as it was not freezing, but cold enough to be fresh and crisp to her skin.

“Come on, Feather,” Fujin called from further into the pool, “the water’s nice.”

She hesitantly heeded his call, subtly covering her chest out of embarrassment from the exposure, her skin covered in goose bumps as she didn’t dare look Fujin in the eyes. 

Since she had been looking down so long, she was startled when she was splashed with water - water which drenched her chest and even got to her face. (Y/n) looked up in annoyance, only to find Fujin floating there in the water with a cheeky smile adorning his lips.

“You were taking too long,” he teased, all annoyance on her side fading away as she matched his mischievous manner with an evil smirk. 

From under the water, she brought up a pair of glowing hands. Fujin knew (Y/n) rarely used her powers, so he was aware that she wasn’t just playing around. From behind him, she summoned a decent wave which drenched him completely, ruining his perfectly done up hair which he decided to undo. 

She’d never seen him with his hair down, and needless to say she was glad she drenched him like that for the sake of seeing just how long his hair really was. He just ended up rubbing the salt into the wound by flicking it back and forth, and by then she was sure her face was burning bright red. 

“Is that what we’re gonna do?” he asked, pushing his wet hair out of his face as you shrugged. “you started it,” (Y/n) said cheekily, slowly letting herself sink a little further into the water. “alright, if that’s how you’d like to play,” he began, drawing water from the lake with his wind abilities, “then we’ll play.”

(Y/n) shrieked as he splashed her with water once again, though that being one of joy as she had a smile on her face so big that it ached. She had completely abandoned the idea of timidity and embarrassment as she drew more water herself and battled with her mentor. Though when water had it’s limits, the two of them engaged in some light-hearted kombat. At first it remained traditional, with ordinary attacks that involved ordinary blocking and countering, though over time it became more of a playful wrestle, the two of them trying to overpower each other with more extended forms of physical contact, like grabbing each other by the arms and trying to push the other over. Laughter echoed in the rockpools, along with the splashing of water and occasional shrieks. Though when (Y/n) was about to overpower Fujin, he disappeared into the water. She knew what was happening, he was trying to sneak up on her. So she waited, listening carefully, feeling any vibration she could as she remained still in the water. her eyes were closed as she knew vision would be of no use to her in this stealth attack, only sound and touch were necessary. 

She could feel him, but perhaps a moment too late as he shot up from the water, engulfing her in his arms from behind as she tried to wrestle herself out of his grip in hysterical laughter. Though as she did, the two of them ended up wandering closer to the shore, and in all of their excitement, the two of them tripped on a larger stone and toppled to the ground. 

Fujin was careful to not allow all of his weight to crush her, since he ended up being the one cushioned by her falling first onto her back. All went silent as (Y/n) realised Fujin was hovering over her, a knee between her legs and his hands either side her head. Neither of them spoke, they only stared at each other, unmoving. She was absolutely fixated on him, not a single thought it her mind as he was the same. 

Though not a moment later did her thoughts sync, and she understood what exactly was happening. (Y/n) didn’t breathe when Fujin leaned down and captured her in a passionate kiss, only letting the air escape her lungs in a dreamy sigh when she returned his gesture in a fit of hunger and infatuation for him and only him. Her finger laced in his wet hair, and she felt a hand of his caress her waist so innocently yet so obviously out of sexual frustration. 

And in those waters he took her. 

She knew where she wanted to stand now. 

-

On the day of the tournament, (Y/n) woke up with not another emotion other than pure dread. She felt sick to her stomach from anxiety alone, and she had no idea how she was going to pull this manoeuvre off.  Though she knew she had to confront her father about it eventually, she wanted to put it off for as long as she could so she could organise her thoughts, be sure that this was the decision she wanted to make before she did something she regretted. 

She was already dressed in her lightest yet most extravagant clothing, the clothing she knew would provide her with the most flexibility and agility, that wouldn’t weigh her down or hinder her performance, because tournament wasn’t something to take lightly. And as she stared at herself in the mirror, adjusting her hair in a way that would keep it out of her face, a loud knock came to her door.

It was her dad, she knew that because he called her name. (Y/n) had no time to think, so she panicked and escaped through her window, running as fast as she could away from that place. 

In all of her anxious exhaustion, she found herself at the waterfall Fujin had taken her to that one evening - it was the only place she could think to go. She sat on the rocks, and it was there she began into uncontrollable sobs involuntarily. (Y/n) didn’t know what else to do, so she just cried and cried and cried. 

She were startled when she felt a cold hand come to her back, flinching as she looked back to see who it was. Even in her teary vision she could make out Fujin in all his beauty. At first he didn’t even say anything, he only scooped her up and sat with her in his arms, holding her like a child as he let her cry. He held her close enough so that his shirt could catch her tears, and his smell was of some solace to her, so in time she calmed down to a few stray tears and sniffles.

He adjusted her in his lap in a way that allowed him to see her face and cup it, affectionately wiping her tears away with his thumbs.

“You’ll be perfect today, my feather,” he whispered softly, “and no matter what happens, I’ll be here to ensure you have a warm home to fall back onto.”

He pressed his forehead to hers, and she gripped his hands like they were her lifeline, feeling more tears well up in her eyes as she simply started crying again. Fujin just kissed her face and held her tight, waiting patiently for her to be ready. 

-

Fujin entered the walls of Shang Tsung’s palace, his champion at his side as his allies stared in horror and shock. 

“What are you doing with that snakes’ offspring??” his brother, Raiden asked in disgust as his own champions mumbled amongst each other. “(Y/n) Tsung is my champion,” Fujin stated confidently, placing a hand on her shoulder, “she is on our side now.” “Are you crazy Fujin??” Raiden fumed, “you’ve recruited the enemy! You may very well have killed us all at that point!” “You don’t see humans like I do, brother,” Fujin nodded toward the woman, “Unlike her father, she is only young and has had the time and opportunity to see the light,” he looked back toward his brother, “have faith in myself and (Y/n), Raiden. I would never have recruited someone who would jeopardise us in Kombat.”

Raiden stared at (Y/n), analysing her and reading her character, reluctant to believe that she would be of any benefit to Earthrealm and it’s survival. But if he trusted anyone, it was his brother - someone like Fujin couldn’t be bewitched by even Shang Tsung’s own flesh and blood. With a sigh of defeat, he looked down and looked back up at her, placing a firm hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t let us down, Tsung sorceress,” he instructed her, the woman nodding confidently as she straightened up. “You have my word, Lord Raiden,” she vowed, a delicate hand over her chest.

Raiden gave her a single nod, and left her side, instructing her as well as his own champions to follow suit. 

For the most part, (Y/n) recognised Raiden’s group of champions. Lui Kang, and his good friend Kung Lao, descendant of the great Kung Lao. Edenian allies Princess Kitana and her friend Jade. Though there were some military personnel from Earthrealm who she didn’t recognise. That wasn’t of her biggest concerns, at that moment she was more worried about how she would face her father. 

“Lady (Y/n) Tsung!”

Perhaps her father shouldn’t have been her top concern at that time. 

(Y/n) was startled when she felt a strong hand grip her wrist and spin her around, finding it was the emperor to this very realm, Shao Kahn, with his Naknadan debt collector goon, Kollector at his side as always. Obviously he hadn’t noticed the group she were with, assuming she had only gotten lost in the crowd as he was good friends of her fathers’ and would never think her to betray the man. The group unknowingly left her behind as she entertained the emperors greeting.

“Shao Kahn, e-excellent to see you as always!” she beamed nervously, trying not to sound too suspicious as the man placed his hands on his hips confidently. “I am keen on seeing you in kombat today,” he declared in his powerful voice, “I’m sure your father will be very proud.” “Uh, speaking of my father,” she began, scratching the back of her neck, “you haven’t seen him around yet, have you?” “I had just spoken with him, he was at the buffet greeting other guests and kombatants,” Shao Kahn answered, the woman nodding. “Okay, great, thank you. Be seeing you, Shao Kahn!” she thanked him briefly, rushing off before he could ask her why she went in the opposite direction to where he had directed her. 

(Y/n) wanted to find the group before she found anymore of her father’s friends who would no doubt stop her to talk to her about the tournament. But they, as well as herself, were lost in the crowd of mixed races from across the realms, though predominantly Earthrealmers, Outworlders and Edenians. 

Though despite her great efforts to avoid her father, (Y/n) felt his presence behind her and she was all too late to get away.

“(Y/n)!” her father called for her from behind, grabbing her wrist like Shao Kahn did but in a much gentler way, “where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.” “Father...” she tried to speak, though choking on her own guilt, “...I...”

He stared at her intently, waiting patiently for her to speak. But the words never came, and she simply hugged him. She figured that if she was becoming allies with his enemy, this would be the last chance she’d get to hug him again. Momentarily the man was confused, but didn’t make questioning affection a habit as he closed his arms around her and gave her a tender hug within the crowd. (Y/n) felt her eyes tear up, but she didn’t dare cry, she only savoured the moment, before he pulled back and gave her a proud smile that tore her heart in two. 

“Now come along, you’re to be presented alongside Emperor Shao Kahn and his daughter,” her father instructed.

Before (Y/n) could protest, he was dragging her along through the crowd, eventually coming to the thrones that centred what would classically be a ballroom, though in this case was a kombat ring. Though she had just interacted with him, Shao Kahn had quickly gone to claim his place on the centred throne, his daughter Mileena - a long time friend of (Y/n)’s - at his side in her own place. Being at the centre stage, she was much too afraid to begin confrontation then and there, so she obeyed her father’s orders of taking her own seat, beside her fathers which was next to Shao Kahn’s throne. Mileena looked across at (Y/n) and chucked her a playful glance, though not reciprocating her mood as she gave her a polite nod before looking back over the crowd. 

Shang Tsung captured the attention of eager kombatants as he stood up and clapped once, silencing the crowd. 

“In the beginning, were the elder gods. In their wisdom, they created a tournament to safeguard each realm from the threat of invasion,” he began as standard protocol, “once a generation, the finest warriors must battle to decide the fate of their realm. The winner will be granted long life and great power. If one realm wins the tournament ten times consecutively, they will gain the right to merge with the opposing realm, and rule as they see fit.”

His hands came to rest in one another before his chest, as he smiled ever so slightly.

“I, Shang Tsung, emissary of the great Shao Kahn - emperor of Outworld, winner of the last nine tournaments against Earthrealm - welcome you to Mortal Kombat.”

There was a surge of excitement and cheering within the crowd below, those of every race impatient to draw some blood and break some bones not only for the sake of their realm, but the sake of causing pain and suffering to others. Earthrealmers weren’t as keen on the idea of having fun here - only surviving and ensuring that this tournament wasn’t won by Shao Kahn at any cost. 

(Y/n) would fight by her father until duty called for her to switch sides - and such an event was inevitable. Her father turned around to look at her, stepping over to her side as he held a hand out for her.

“My champion, and only child, (Y/n) Tsung,” he announced as she took his hand and stood up, hearing the crowd cheer at her name, particularly those of Outworld as they knew her to put up a decent fight, “will be fighting on behalf of the Outworld tonight.”

Guilty, she looked over toward Fujin and his brother Raiden. The thunder god was glaring at her with hatred and a sense of betrayal, however when she cast her sight over to Fujin she felt a sense of relief wash over her, his eyes filled with nothing but love and patience as he knew she would not betray them that night. 

(Y/n) was met with her first opponent, an arrogant man who didn���t seem the slightest bit intimidated by her, most likely because she was only a girl to him, and where he came from, most girls didn’t really fight. That was okay, she wasn’t offended, in fact, his underestimation would give her an advantage.

The fight began, and (Y/n) unleashed her agility and skill, surprising her opponent with her speed and precision. She dodged his attacks effortlessly, countering with swift and calculated strikes. Each move she made showcased her mastery of combat techniques inherited from her father, combined with her own unique style. The crowd watched in awe as she gracefully evaded her opponent's every move.

As the battle intensified, (Y/n) could feel the eyes of her father and Fujin on her. When she remembered her father, she felt anxious. But whenever she remembered Fujin’s presence, she felt it working hard to wash away her anxieties, strengthening her resolve and giving her the power to continue. She tapped into her inner strength, focusing her energy and unleashing a powerful combination of strikes that left her opponent staggering.

With a final decisive blow, (Y/n) emerged victorious, and the crowd erupted in cheers and applause. There, the man lay on the ground, a groaning blood covered mess, and (Y/n) could feel the guilt intensely as she looked across at him, knowing exactly what was to come next.

“Finish him,” Shao Kahn commanded of her.

She glanced at her father, who nodded solemnly, reminding her of the stakes they were playing for. This was it - if she finished this man, there was no way she could represent Earthrealm, like a contract, binding her to this land.

(Y/n) approached him, slowly, as everyone around them watched with anticipation, ready to see her tear him a part. At first, she was thinking of ditching this whole idea of joining the good guys and killing him, to save herself the pain of having to betray her father. But, when he looked up at her, outwardly unafraid though she could see a glint of fear in his eyes, she felt her breath hitch in her throat.

“...I...I can’t.”

There was a few gasps followed by a surge of chatter amongst the crowd at the shocking announcement. (Y/n) sighed as she extended a hand for the man. At first, he eyed it suspiciously, afraid that this was some sort of sick joke or set up which would lead to a humiliating death. She understood why he would think such a thing, but remained patient, tilting her head and giving him a sincere smile. 

Reluctantly, he reached out and grabbed her hand, surprised when all she did was help pull him onto his feet. She let go of his hand and took a step back, giving him a moment to collect himself. The crowd fell into a stunned silence, unsure of how to react to this unexpected turn of events. (Y/n) could feel the weight of everyone's eyes on her, but she could no longer hide from what was rightfully her fate.

“Father, I do not represent Outworld in kombat,” she began, turning to face Shang Tsung, “I don’t stand for these cruel things you promote within this land. I have seen the suffering caused by the tournaments - by Outworld, the pain and loss inflicted upon innocent lives. I cannot be a part of it any longer. Now, I fight for Earthrealm."

Shang Tsung's expression turned cold and furious. He couldn't believe what he was hearing from his own daughter. 

"You dare defy me, (Y/n)? After all I've done for you? I raised you to be a powerful sorceress, the next champion of Outworld!" 

(Y/n) stood tall, her voice unwavering. 

"You raised me to be more than just a weapon, Father. I have learned compassion and empathy. I cannot turn a blind eye to the suffering caused by these battles. Earthrealm and its people deserve a chance at peace."

Shang Tsung stared at his daughter in disbelief, as a piercing silence towered over the kombat hall. He was stunned, hurt, heartbroken, this couldn’t be true.

“You are bewitched, daughter!” he accused, pointing a finger at her.

(Y/n) shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes.

"No, Father, I am not bewitched. I have made a choice, a choice to stand against the cruelty and violence. I want to fight for a better world, a world where all realms can coexist in peace."

Shang Tsung's anger turned into a mix of disappointment and sadness. He struggled to find the words to respond, his voice barely a whisper.

"I thought I raised you better than this, (Y/n). But it seems I have failed as a father."

(Y/n) stepped closer to him, her voice filled with emotion.

"No, Father, you didn't fail. You gave me the skills and knowledge, but I have chosen a different path. I can no longer follow the path of darkness."

Shang Tsung looked into his daughter's eyes, searching for any trace of doubt or hesitation. But all he found was determination and resolve.

"Very well, (Y/n). If this is the path you have chosen, then I cannot stand in your way. But know this, you are no longer my daughter. From this moment on, you are my enemy - Outworld’s enemy."

Tears streamed down (Y/n)'s face as she nodded, her heart heavy with the weight of her decision. She didn’t say anything else - she couldn’t. The consequences of her decision had finally come crashing down upon her, but she knew she couldn’t fold to this guilt trip. She had to remain strong, for Earthrealm’s sake.

“Should anything have happened to you, I have prepared a second champion to use at my disposal,” Shang Tsung began, cutting through the silence once again and piquing everyone’s interest, “I suppose he will be of great use at this time.”

Shang Tsung clicked his fingers once, as if he were summoning someone.

“Prince Goro.”

(Y/n) felt her heart sink at the name which her father had called, hearing earth shaking footsteps which echoed within the halls of her former home as the warrior summoned came to the kombat hall.

The shokan prince stood tall and confident at Shang Tsung’s side, towering menacingly over everyone in the room with the staggering height difference and his sheer body mass. His four massive arms were a clear display of his formidable strength. Goro's eyes locked with (Y/n)'s, and there was a mix of curiosity and recognition in his gaze. They had crossed paths before, in training sessions and sparring matches when she was still under her father's tutelage.

But, like most Outworld fighters, he was merciless. 

“The tournament shall now continue.”

(Y/n) turned into the crowd, joining them with the man she had just fought following her as the next kombatants were prepared for the next fight. They approached the group which (Y/n) had entered with, and the tension that had been there before regarding her presence had diminished, which she assumed was from her display of loyalty. 

Fujin approached her, wiping the residual tears from her face as Raiden stared.

“I am sorry for ever doubting you, (Y/n) Tsung,” he apologised, though his voice was still firm and assertive, “I understand that it must’ve been hard to part with your father in that way.” "It was one of the hardest decisions I've ever made," she replied, her voice filled with a mix of sadness and determination. "But I couldn't continue to stand by and watch the suffering. Earthrealm needs us now more than ever."

Now, most Outworld fighters seemed more arrogant than they were skilled, and now that (Y/n) had switched onto her rightful side, she was able to give her now fellow kombatants tips when fighting various opponents, and most importantly, pinpoint all of their weaknesses for her allies to use at their disposal. 

The tournament progressed nicely, and so far, no one who represented Earthrealm had lost a match yet, save for you defeating the man you had come to know as Johnny Cage at the beginning of it all. You guys were almost through with it all, having defeated most of Outworld’s opponents. All who was left now, was Prince Goro.

A member of the special forces, Jax Briggs, had volunteered to take on Goro, considering he was quite large and burly himself. (Y/n) wasn’t entirely confident in his ability to battle the shokan warrior, though she wouldn’t say anything out of fear of being criticised by her peers who were already weary of her. 

As Jax stepped into the ring, he prepared himself for the fight, stretching as his face displayed not even a hint of fear. After a moment, they were set to kombat. The battle between Jax and Goro commenced, the two combatants circling each other, measuring their opponent's strength. Jax relied on his immense physical power and combat training, while Goro unleashed his brute force and four deadly arms. 

With every strike, Jax's muscles bulged, and he displayed remarkable agility for his size. He aimed powerful punches and bone-crushing kicks at Goro, determined to bring the shokan prince down. 

The crowd held their breath, their eyes fixated on the intense fight unfolding before them. (Y/n) watched anxiously, her heart pounding in her chest. 

While the man did put up a good fight, it was only inevitable that he would become tired. 

Jax seemed to slip up, and Goro seized the opportunity and grabbed onto the smaller man’s arms. You bit your lip as you saw exactly what was to come from this.

Agonisingly, everyone watched as Goro began stretching the man, holding onto his body with his two lower arms while his two upper arms had a tight grasps on Jax’s arms. Jax began screaming as he realised what was happening, and soon enough, both of his arms had been torn clean off. 

There was an audible gasp within the audience, and it was clear who the victor was. 

Despite all the blood he was losing, Jax seemed to still be alive, as his special forces partner Sonya Blade dragged him out of the ring, allowing Raiden to seal his wounds over with his powers to stop the bleeding. 

(Y/n) looked between everyone, guilt pooling in her gut, and she knew in that moment that she could no longer hold her silence.

“I must face him,” she announced, causing the frantic chatter to cease as everyone within her group looked at her, “I’m the only one here who has the knowledge that I do about Prince Goro. And regardless, if anyone should die at his hands, it should be me - not anyone else.”

No one argued with her, they were all simply stunned at the announcement. Fujin approached her, placing a firm yet affectionate hand on her shoulder.

“I believe in you, my feather,” he assured her, his eyes fixated on hers, “you will not fail us today, you have my faith.”

She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the imminent battle that awaited her. With her heart heavy and her determination unwavering, she approached the ring where Goro stood, his gaze fixed upon her.

As (Y/n) stepped into the ring, the air was thick with tension. The crowd fell into a hushed silence, their eyes locked on the sorceress about to face the monstrous shokan prince. She could feel the weight of their expectations and the weight of her own conviction.

Goro's four arms flexed, his eyes narrowing with anticipation. He towered over (Y/n), his towering presence seemingly insurmountable. But she refused to let fear consume her.

Their starting cue was called, and the kombat was instant. Compared to Goro, (Y/n) was obviously much more agile, so every reckless punch and kick he threw at her, she was able to dodge with ease, counterattacking swiftly with precise strikes. He was yet to lay a hit on her, and to him that was torture.

(Y/n) had studied Goro's fighting style extensively and knew that his size and brute strength were his greatest assets. She focused on exploiting his vulnerabilities, targeting the joints in his arms and legs, aiming to immobilize him and diminish his advantage.

Though, getting too close was a great risk, and it seems that not even she could evade his close contact attacks.

As she aimed to kick in the back of his leg while she presumed he was not focused, he spun around, his fist connecting with her face as she was sent flying backward, to the edge of the ring. 

There was a slight pause as (Y/n) regained her senses. That was the first hit he had made on her, and that may well have been enough to doom her for the rest of the match. She reached up to touch her face, finding that when she pulled her hand away, that there was blood, most likely pouring out of her nose though she couldn’t be sure.

Her eyes drew upward toward her opponent, and suddenly, they began glowing green as she conjured magic in her hands. This was an indicator that, should she win, she would not spare the Prince’s life. It was becoming all too real, and even the crowd was stunned by this revelation. 

Their fight continued, considerably more violent than it had been beforehand. The green magic which circled (Y/n)’s fists proved a worthy advantage, as her hits now seemed to pack a little more punch than before and had visible effects on her opponent. Goro could easily match this energy, and naturally his movements became more erratic, each hit he threw with the intention to kill. 

(Y/n) threaded in and out of his space, weaving through each hit he threw as she tried to get close enough once again to place a hit that would wind him enough that she could hit him with a final blow. However, in doing this, in her concussed state, she would find herself coat-hangered by the shokan prince, catching her on his elbow as he drew her in and began choking her out. 

Clawing at his arms, she spluttered desperately trying to free herself though at this point it was useless. Her face was becoming bright red as she suffocated, searching her mind for any answer at all which could help her out of this situation.

Her Earthrealm allies watched with anxiety, and Fujin’s patience had worn thin as he prayed for her to do something - anything, to defeat this beast and return safely to him. 

(Y/n) could slowly feel herself losing consciousness, as old memories played back in her mind. It was true - your life did flash before you when you were about to die. 

In her mind, she saw her earliest memories - her mother’s death, her near death experience, being raised by her father. 

Then, her most recent memories, and her encounters with her father before this moment.

"Damage is what makes me stronger, father," she huffed, wiping the blood on her top as she took fighting stance once again, "you want me prepared for kombat, don't you?" "Yes, of course," he smiled, watching as she continued to punch the tree, "but you don't need to focus primarily on your physical strength. You are a sorceress, after all."

(Y/n) felt a rush of adrenaline force it’s way through her body, and she felt herself react in a blanked out state of mind. Before she knew it, the Shokan prince was dead. 

Everyone observed in quiet shock.

Shoved through Goro’s face was the blade of a glowing green gauntlet which (Y/n) had summoned in her fist. As it retracted, Goro took a few mindless steps back before he fell to the ground. 

Goro, the Shokan Prince, was dead. 

Her father was right about one thing, she definitely could rely on her sorceress powers more often. 

There was an uproar of cheering and celebration, namely amongst her Earthrealm allies. 

Exhausted, (Y/n) collapsed, falling onto her back as she breathed heavily. In her blurred and muffled senses, she could still easily make out the face which hung over her - Fujin, of course, who was knelt down beside her.

Fujin's expression was a mixture of relief and concern as he gently cradled (Y/n)'s head in his hands. He could see the exhaustion etched on her face and the toll the battle had taken on her.

"You did it, my feather," he said softly, his voice filled with admiration. “You’ve saved Earthrealm for another generation. I’m so very proud of you, (Y/n).”

(Y/n) managed a weak smile as she gazed up at him. Even as she coughed up a little more blood, Fujin still couldn’t help but have an affectionate eye for her. 

As the adrenaline began to wear off, the pain from her injuries intensified, and her body protested against the strain it had endured. But she couldn't help feeling a sense of fulfilment and accomplishment.

Earthrealm was safe for another generation, and (Y/n) was safe with her lover in a new home. 

Though, these events would weigh on her for the rest of her life, and naturally, the consequences of her betrayal would come back to haunt her. 

-

Part 2 boys??? T-T

-

[eldritch-spouse]

[Part 4 of Gifted. Fem reader.]

Previous poll winner: " I think I'll... Thank the chef, yes. " (37.1%)

TW: Violence; Descriptions of cannibalism; Slight gore; Knife play; Extremely dubious consent.

New choice! [VOTE]

" I think I'll... Thank the chef, yes. "

Do you really have a choice anyway?

You recall him, his voice mostly. A southern drawl that sounded almost goofy, but imposing. Which is fitting, you suppose, he's an intimidating cinder block of a monster. A mushroom monster, you've seen one or two of those before, they're generally quite pretty in your opinion. The chef in particular struck you, the dotted patterns on his arms glowing faintly in the cavernous dark of Sybastian's mouth when he reached in for you.

In truth, you're not too sure how to feel about him. And that insecurity manifests when you purse your lips, possibly regretting your cooperation regarding these two's lascivious suggestions.

" My my, she really is tame. " Vesper fans himself. " Oh how I regret handing her over! You and I would have had so much fun back in Lust, honey. "

You shudder, believing every word he says. Maybe a bit of fear here is healthy, you can only imagine what kind of animal you'd become in his hands.

" Well then, go! " The Icon urges, facing away from you and Santi dramatically. " I won't let myself stare a second longer, lest I ruin this game. " This guy is such a theater dork, you can't believe you sucked him off. And so happily too.

Nevertheless, Santi takes the warning to heart, ushering you up as soon as you have a couple more forkfuls, not enough to last you long. It's a waste of perfect cuisine, frankly. The incubus walks you through the crowd, hand locked with yours, ever determined to soothe you via gentle touches. You appreciate that about him, this demon's been very kind to you so far, for whatever reason. Maybe because you chose him... Well, it was a good choice, you reckon.

Speaking of choices, you're still not too sure about this last one. Every step through the crowd makes your heart beat a bit harder, a bit faster. Will things work out here too?

" You're so tense, love. Is it butterflies? " Santi teases. " Don't worry, keep up this precious attitude and everything will be fine. "

Encouraging...? Not really.

The doors to the kitchen are tall, a brilliant white, and although there's supposed to be windows in each one of them, the glass there is obscured, meaning the inside is a mystery to you. You can hear the sounds however. Nothing too suspicious, chatter and clinking, mostly.

When the two of you reach those doors, your back is basically glued to Santi's front, fear and dread keeping you stock still. The demon is unbothered, simply pushing the large doors apart and edging you inwards.

Now this... This is what you call a real kitchen.

It's absolutely massive. Then again, that's a theme here. You do understand why things need to be larger in general, after all, many of the monsters here are bigger than humans by a considerable amount, their comfort must be catered to- However, this place tends to exaggerate in the dimensions of its overall floors. This entire kitchen is like a house, it's furnished with all sorts of equipment, reminding you of a world-renowned establishment. The brightness hurts your eyes a little, but you suppose it's necessary. How come you've never even once heard of this location?

The first thing your adrenaline-sharpened mind notes is the blood.

On what you very clearly recognize to be some modernized chopping block. On the ground, like something bleeding and squirming was dragged from said block to another huge set of doors, leading lord knows where. A large scarlet handprint you can only guess belongs to the chef on one of those doors. Then there's that cleaver, a scary-looking thing, embedded in the cutting block, some form of viscera and tissue still clinging to it. So he's not just a chef, yes, he's definitely also a butcher. And yet... You know, deep in your soul, whatever creature possibly lost its life here was likely human.

God help you.

That's not all though. As soon as your gradually panicking mind looks at anything but the trails of red present, it quickly finds ambulating creatures. Small. Smaller than the waiter, totally black but reflecting some sort of pigment, their heads floating as they work, each one clad in white kitchen garbs with varying designs. The first thing that crosses your mind nearly makes you vomit. Children?! You blink several times. No. No, they can't be, just because they're small doesn't mean they're infants, you haven't seen a single child here. Besides, you're fairly certain these aren't monsters, whatever the Hell they could be, they all look the same physically speaking, only their color accents and facial expressions distinguish them. This is some sort of clone fest. What are you looking at?! What is this?!

" S- Santi?... " Are you going insane?

" Oh right, you've never seen one of those before. " The demon reminds himself, chuckling at his own antics. You don't question why he's okay with the shady blood stains. " Those things are called bobbles. They're made here, sweetie, think of them as extra helpers. "

Things... They're things. Uhuh.

You watch silently for a couple of seconds. Most of them appear to be absorbed in their own tasks, moving efficiently between each other. Cutting vegetables, passing utensils, cleaning dishes, shouting for ingredients. Some of them occasionally glance at you two, the gray-colored ones completely neutral, the blue ones with a hint of trepidation. They're a bit cute, you'll admit, if you don't question the logic of their mere existence too much. You wouldn't mind having one of these. After a minute or two of watching these "bobbles" work in fast-paced harmony, you relax enough to detach from Santi, standing by his side warily.

Soon, one of the things, with a tall hat and slightly ripped garb, stomps over to you two. Its eyes narrow over pink-freckled cheeks, and he frowns at Santi specifically. A wooden spoon is slapped onto the demon's stomach.

" Ya hav'ta knock! Sir doesn't like it when people don' knock! " It drawls at the snickering incubus, who merely takes the hits without flinching.

" Whoopsie... Can you find it in you to forgive me? "

You muffle an amused noise as well, watching the small critter's face puff in annoyance for a couple of tense seconds. How can anyone take them seriously, with that adorable look? Finally, it gives Santi a bright smile.

" Okay! " Big pink eyes settle on you, after a concerning pause- Like it genuinely hadn't seen you all this time. " Ooh! Ya brought a piggy, sir's gonna like her! "

The bobble grabs your hand with its four-fingered one and starts trying to lead you somewhere, but you stand your ground. Santi's eyes widen and he flicks that intrusive limb away.

" Hey-! "

" No no Turnip, this one's not for the warehouse. " The look on his pale face is serious, making the bobble tilt its perfectly round head. " This one's for sir. He knows her. "

" Ooooohh... " The pink and black bobble waves its hands excitedly. " Special piggy! "

Wait, hold on- It's name is literally Turnip? What.

" Yes, exactly, I need you to get Morell for me, okay? "

" Yessir! "

Funny, didn't Grimbly say that too? Irregardless, the small being trots away, pushing past those heavy-looking doors with great effort and disappearing from sight entirely. You couldn't get a good look at what lies beyond, which is disconcerting.

The incubus begins looking around, and though you can't really tell what he's after, you don't struggle too much when he beckons you over to an empty marbled counter, and sits you atop it. O-Okay. Satisfied, he goes back to waiting, some form of excitement in his gaze, although it mixes with something else, dampening it.

" Am I... " You start quietly, some of the adrenaline crashing, permeated by uncertainty. " Going to be alright? "

The demon faces you, reading into your expression with a carefully neutral one as he ponders. You don't like that he hesitates, that he's thinking about his answer. That in itself should be telling enough. When you look away, defeated, he grabs your hand, a much smoother smile on those handsome features.

" You're tough. " He begins. " I can tell. Trust in your sixth sense and keep it up. "

He meant to be motivating, but truth of the matter is that was neither a confirmation nor a denial. You can see through it, he doesn't know, but the probably doesn't want to scare you either. Fuck.

The humdrum of the kitchen workers chattering to each other and utensils clinking around becomes an indistinct buzz while you recess into the confines of your mind, adrenaline diminishing in the face of relative inactivity. What is the world outside these walls up to, right now? With you missing, your responsibilities unaccounted for, has your family noticed your absence? Is anyone coming for you? Do they even know how you got here? Will you ever see th-

A sudden woosh snaps you back into alertness, the bloodstained doors leading to who knows where parting smoothly. And he powers in. Him being, of course, the chef.

While not nearly as large as monsters like Vesper, he's towering in his own right. You've never been one to realize how much body language matters, but looking at... Santi called him "Morell", you think- You feel more on edge than you ever did around the massive demonic lord. It's his stance. Shoulders always squared, always flexed and tense, he constantly looks as if moments away from lunging towards something or someone. The few minutes of indirect interaction you've had with this monster were enough to transmit an idea of volatility, as if violence is always just one blink too late away.

The white garb he dons can no longer be called white by any stretch of the imagination, coated in splatters featuring varying shades of red. He looks mildly tired, and angry. You're not sure if he's shining from sweat or some differing condensation- The breeze you felt as soon as those doors parted suggests what lies beyond is cold. Like a fridge room.

A crimson-stained towel hanging from his shoulder is used to wipe bloodied hands rather poorly, before the thing is tossed away, a bobble catching it before it can hit the floor.

" This better be worth mah fuckin' time demon, ah'm two seconds away from- "

As soon as those curious cyan hues bounce up to regard the demon, they instantly dart to you, and he stills. Oh yes, he definitely recognizes you. You're being stared down.

" Well then... " The way bold bright teeth poke above that chunky scarf doesn't bode well with you.

" I take it this is worth your 'fuckin' time'? " Santi jabs.

The large mushroom crosses his arms over his chest, not moving from his spot. " Wha's this all 'bout? " Although he makes an effort to glare at the incubus, he keeps looking back to your figure on his counter. You wonder if he might be mad that you're sitting on it.

" Oh relax, I just brought the minx here to see you. " Santi does a placating gesture with his palms, though you feel a slight sting of betrayal when he opens his mouth again. " See, we just had dinner. Our present here loved your work sooo much she said she'd like to personally give her regards to the chef, and who am I to stop her, hm? "

Morell looks straight at you. Nerves force you to gulp, scratching at your arm and face lightly, better to stay silent than say something even more embarrassing.

Eventually, he relaxes slightly. It's a minuscule change is demeanor, but you don't miss it. " ... That so? "

When the demon doesn't reply, you realize it's a cue. What are you supposed to say here? You did agree to it. Besides, if not him, then they'll just toss you at someone else. There's no easy win, might as well do what's kept you alive thus far- Being polite.

" Y- Yes. " You look him in those cyan eyes, oddly shrunk pupils swimming in a sea of black. He seems like the type of guy that values eye contact.

Slow, evaluating seconds pass.

" Aight... Tha piggy can stay with me. " He says it with a chuckle, looking a lot brighter than he did not even a minute ago.

Santi nods, then quickly turns to you, rubbing a clawed hand on your cheek. His face betrays sadness, a little bit of resignation, disappointment. " Sweetness, it looks as if this is where we part. " He leans down, nibbling softly at your bottom lip, before brushing through your hair and taking several steps away. As if forcing himself. " For now, of course. " You can't really tell if that's good or bad.

" Ya done? " A decidedly not amused voice rings. For such a large man, Morell moved quietly, having closed some of the distance between you. " Git tha fuck out already. "

Santi only chuckles, making his way out to the main restaurant area. " Have a great time, love. " One last cheeky wink is all you get, before the demon is out of your sight.

For the first time in a while today, you feel truly alone. Santi had given you a sense of security up until now, even if said sense was erroneous. Here however, you're entirely on your own, feeling hunted, feeling cornered. There's no telling what this monster might want from you.

Keep calm. Breathe. Smile a little.

You'll make it through this.

Morell stares at you intently.

You seem to be faring well for someone who got thrown to the wolves, all things considered. No longer encased in lace, sporting clothes he swears he's seen before, not trembling in fear with your tail tucked between your legs like earlier. Tsk, Santi's been treating you too well, you ought to have some fear if you're staying here for a while. Fear keeps you alive, keeps you sharp.

Point being, you're clearly the clever type, you wouldn't have made it this far in such an intact condition if you pushed the wrong buttons with the demon. Sure, the shroom's certain you had to pay some sort of price to acquire these accommodations, but you probably knew that prior. He can tell you're not like most of the pigs he gets here, the kind that squeal and kick as soon as he nears them. No, it's in your eyes, you're so much smarter than that.

Doesn't matter, you're about to sing to a different tune with Morell now.

The monster moves once Santi leaves the premises, to the sink only a small distance away from the counter you're perched on. Though his back is mostly turned to you, Morell is confident you wouldn't try to bolt out. You know that you can't, know that without the staff's protection you're just mince meat for the crowd. His hands are rinsed and the towel atop his shoulder is wrung dry of the last pig's blood. He's glad to be rid of that one, they were troublemakers since the time they got dragged in to the very last breath- But you gotta appreciate the consistency, at least. If it was a calmer day, he'd play around with them some more before bringing down the hatchet, so to speak.

Ridiculous, here he is saying he's so busy, about to damn it all just so he can fuck with you. But how can he not? Look at you, just politely sitting on his counter with that fat fucking ass. Looking around, occasionally smiling briefly at his bobbles' antics. It's like you fit here already.

" Well pumpkin- " He starts, giddy that your spine straightens immediately. " 'S a pleasure ta have ya 'ere in mah lil' kitchen. "

The mushroom turns then, wiping his hands, cracking his knuckles. " Ya like tha food? "

You study his face for a moment, confused by the hint of mirth there, but eventually deem it correct to nod. Morell doesn't really care, he knows his food is good. Though he's a little upset you didn't get to try the best parts. When Grimbly dashed into the kitchen, the waiter told him everything. You, tangled between Vesper and Santi- To think that you've gotten an Icon of Hell's attention this soon! What kind of honey is up your ass?! Santi specifically requested something without human, and now he knows why.

Out of genuine fondness. Because really, you don't know what human tastes like. His dishes can oftentimes make that meat blend into other types, visually. If he arranges it well enough, you'd deem it a regular old steak, eat it, and call it delicious. All the incubus had to do is stay quiet. But he went the extra length to make sure you didn't obliviously consume your own kind, the sap.

" Good... Tha's good. " He says, after a pause. " Stop by whenever yer hungry. Ah'll get'cha somethin'. " Something worth eating.

" O- Okay. " Yeah, you're starting to click some things together by now, aren't you?

" Y'know, I'm real hurt, piglet. "

You blink, likely wondering if "piglet" was meant to address you -It was- Unsure where he's taking this. The chef paces several steps your way, ending up looming by your side, enjoying the way you immediately cast your gaze to your lap. He twirls locks of your hair idly.

" Mah memory's blankin', who got ya outta that mimic's jaws again? "

Looking up, searching his face for clues you won't find, you answer hesitantly but truthfully. " It was you? "

Morell snickers. " Yeah, sounds right. After all, who knows what could'a been o' you by now if ah hadn't? "

A sour expression crosses over your smooth features. Yes, think about it. Linger.

" An' still, ya pick the fuckin' demon. " The chef shakes his head, ruffling your hair. You shiver beneath him, likely realizing, just as most others do, that there's a great deal of strength behind his spongy-looking hide. " Ya can't make this shit up. "

" ... But- " What could've been an attempt to defend your incorrect choice is swiftly ignored.

" But what, sweetie? I was tha only one who could'a freed ya there! " The shroom points to himself, as if it was obvious.

Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't, you don't need to know that. Morell stands and watches a myriad of expression race on your complexion. Fear, confusion, dread. " I'm... I'm sorry? "

Hah, oh that's so cute!

His guffawing nearly shakes the kitchen walls, rocking his chest. You're adorable, he'll give you that much. Is this your attempt at placating him?

" 'S not a big deal anymore. " He waves, eventually stopping his fit of laughter. " C'mere. "

You hesitate a healthy amount, he can understand it. Though eventually, when Morell makes it clear he's not going to drop it, and that his patience isn't limitless, you plop down from the counter, taking careful steps his way.

" Closer. " He beckons when you refuse to stand in front of him. " Ya spooked? " Of course you are, he's been around your kind for so long, you're all like mindless gazelles, deers in headlights, pigs squealing to the skies and running around in circles.

It's when the chef places a heavy palm on the counter, and it rattles, that you zing to action and get just as suffocatingly close to the monster as he was hoping. " There we are, was it hard? " It was rhetorical, but he's delighted that you shake your head anyway. " Thought so. "

Morell takes a moment to appreciate the sight of you.

All humans are petite, and although there's something dainty about your demeanor right now, he can see your muscles tense like coiled springs, ready to snap, ready to run. Fight or flight is a beautiful look on you. You have a good amount of meat on your bones, he can tell with a couple of hearty gropes to those bare thighs. Hmm yes, fine cuts, good stuff. His fingers knead at you like dough, and Morell feels a sick little twitch in his pants when you start trembling.

" S- What are- "

" Sshh, quiet naw. " He warns, letting full hands roam around. The chef thrills himself with your obedience, going from calves to back of the thighs, gripping your ass firmly and snickering at your choked noise.

You're a lovely little thing, the kind he feels sorry for when he butchers, because they could last so much longer. Demand here is crazy, which is good for his pockets, but also saddening at times. Morell doesn't get to fool around with the pigs as much as he'd like to anymore. Especially not tonight! When his hands move to your front, palping at your belly, he shakes his head, clicking his tongue.

Practically empty. As he suspected. You haven't eaten anything properly yet, certainly not with those sluts, they probably think feeding you jizz will work out just fine, typical. They don't know how to care for a piglet at all! And to think you willingly chose him, how dim are you? You wince when he grabs at you more firmly, and it's enough for Morell to give it a rest.

" You don' look so full, piggy. " The chef tuts, patting your abdomen. " Knowin' them types, you prolly didn' get ta eat much since ye got here. "

He watches you squirm briefly, either tickled by the softer touch or wanting to stop it. " I'm... It's okay, I'm not that hungry. "

Liar. You're small and weak, you should be eating anything you can in this environment. So dumb, so naïve, it's a wonder luck has been on your side thus far. " Ya sure? " He squints.

" Y-Yep, thank you. "

Cute.

" Welp, in that case- " Morell lets some of his anticipation show, shrugging and moving to be mere inches away from your form. " We can skip right to tha good stuff. "

The whites of your eyes widen and you give him this puzzled, anxious look. Oh come now, don't play dumb. " Ya wanted ta thank me, right? " The shroom grabs your tiny hand in his and puts it to his chest, a lidded, much more playful and relaxed expression on his face. " Don' lemme stop ya, sweetie. "

Oh, the gradually rising panic in your face is just precious. He's a lot, not to toot his own horn, but Morell gets your nervousness. He's been called "an absolute unit" a couple of times and it strokes his ego. Speaking of, you need to be stroking something else right now. He's been pent up these last couple of days, preparing for this event hasn't been kind to Mori's libido.

The chef is starting to think he's going to have to do things the hard way until you finally move. While your palm shakily slides down his chest, feeling slightly excited breathing, he busies himself with untying the long sash around his waist. Much to his disappointment, you don't grope, not that he expected you to anyway. Chuckling, Morell corners you further against the counter, spotted arms on each side corralling your body. His cock jumps in his pants when you give him a doe-eyed look full of uncertainty. You're purposely lingering on his abdomen, avoiding what lies beneath. The chef responds to this by flexing slightly, allowing you to feel his well-built constitution. Yeah sure, he's showing off, let him have this.

You don't look him in the eyes when you eventually relent, fingers sliding down. He's impatient however, roughly grabbing your hand. He reaches for one of the torn sleeves of his white smock and parts it, shrugs off the other one, letting the outfit fall to the floor, kicked aside by heavy-looking boots. You're apparently fascinated, studying his upper body openly, visibly flustered. Morell smiles when you focus on a particularly dark mark on his arm, stare all you want. He rips you back into focus by firmly smoothing your hand over the raging hard-on tenting his black pants, unable to conceal his laughter when you audibly gasp. Aw, don't flatter him like that.

When Morell drops his grip, your fingers remain static, and he rolls his eyes. " C'mon, ya scared? " He parrots.

Scared is an understatement.

This guy puts you off. Plus, he's packing heat.

At the risk of sounding filthy, you'll admit he's not the biggest you've seen, that title now falls squarely onto Vesper. The Icon's size didn't strike you as something note-worthy- He's already gigantic in comparison to you, of course his junk would be appropriately huge as well. Not to mention your mind was a little clogged at the time. Morell is a whole other story, you might very well have to take him, and he's bigger than Santi for sure. It's cause for some alarm, but then again, this whole situation is.

He seems to have taken your shock as a compliment, though it's very clear the monster's patience is waning the longer you stall.

Shakily inhaling, you give the chef what he wants, stroking generously through the fabric and occasionally squeezing at him. It... It doesn't feel like he has anything on beneath these pants. Your efforts get the monster to sigh in pleasure, looming over you and adjusting, giving you more to work with. There's nothing left to the imagination, the shape imprinted on his clothes lets you know exactly what you're dealing with. And frankly, a part of you is oddly flattered by how much he appears to be getting into it, pressing back against your hand, throbbing, humming lowly.

He seems frustrated, stressed maybe. You don't know how much of a good idea it was to let those two basically nudge you into this.

" Mmf, they teach ya some or are you jus' excited fer me already? " Morell drawls.

Declining to answer, you merely keep going. Part of you was worried he'd call you out, as you're very clearly trying to rile him up so he'll settle for a sloppy clothed grind- As if.

The ring of a zipper coming down is predictable to you, a flushed blue cock already stained by its own precum bouncing free. Fuck, he's really not packing lightly. The look on the chef's face says you better resume, so you opt not to test his patience too much. He's heavy. To be fair, you don't doubt he's dense in general, but the warmth of his member on your hands has you gulping for what might come next. Nevertheless, you try not to look at your own motions while you work him, gaze scanning the kitchen instead.

It's incredible. All this time, the group of bobbles hastily working hasn't casted a single glance at you two. It's as if... This is normal to them. Like they know better than to gawk. You can only wonder what types of obscenities go down here.

You're still staring by the time Morell groans, reaching for your top. The surprise of slightly cold fingers edging up the hem of said cloth has your motions faltering, resigning yourself to letting the cook remove that oversized shirt. What's the alternative? Make him angry? You agreed to this, might as well try to get into it.

Nipples pebble in the cold air near immediately, and the chef laughs quietly to himself at the sight of your breasts, a discolored tongue wetting his teeth. " Everythin' about ya is jus' tha cutest, ain't it? " He grins. " Lookit 'em... "

Big palms frame your tits, and it's only now that the expression "baker hands" takes on a whole new meaning. Morell kneads at your chest in a confident and strong manner that has your breath catching. You're ashamed to admit no one's given your tits this type of attention before, feeling goosebumps rise in the wake of your unexpected pleasure. A high-pitched noise escapes when he plucks at one bud, and you realize your hand has been merely wrapped around him all this time when the monster thrusts impatiently.

" Oh? Did'ja like that? "

" N- No. " Yeah, super believable.

" Lyin' piglet. " The soft scolding is quickly followed by him bending to kiss and lick shamelessly around your tits. You can't help gulping when teeth glide and catch slightly on skin. Fuck's sake, if he actually- He nibbles slightly, spare hand forcing the one around his dripping shaft to work faster. When you look down, seeing a teal shade on his dark cheeks and most of your breast in his blunt-toothed maw, you almost panic.

" D- Don't-! " Did he just fucking throb in your hand? " Please- Don't bite! "

That bright flush intensifies, hot puffs of air wetting your skin as he all but steams, teeth flirting with your pain tolerance, forcing a frightened keen out of you, before he peels back, panting.

" Fuck yeah, yer a good catch. " Morell groans, zipping his pants back up in a vaguely uncomfortably manner. " Don' move a muscle, ya hear me piggy? "

When you don't answer immediately, he gives you an "are you testing me?" glance that installs the fear of meeting the maker into your bones.

" Y- Yes, Morell. "

Why did you say his name? You didn't need to that, you just added a personal touch into this. God damn it. Perhaps it's for the best, because the chef seems appreciative, smiling before hastily cramming himself through the bloodied doors he came from.

You have no idea what he's doing, what he'll return with. And frankly, part of you doesn't really want to know. When Morell's footsteps become distant, instincts beckon you to look towards the opposite direction, to the second pair of tall doors, the one you entered from. It's only a matter of putting on your shirt... Where is it? Who took it?! You look around frantically, but the thing has apparently vanished. Fuck's sake...

Regardless, you can just step outside the kitchen, maybe take your chances... It would be risky, but if you get in that fucking elevator! You know that's the ticket to leave this dump. You just have to figure out which floor leads to the ground level, it's that simple.

You don't even realize you're walking towards the exit.

One of the bobbles, a blue one with a shorter hat, stops next to you, some others giving you side-glances. Although she doesn't utter a word, you can see the silent warning in her face. A cautious shake of the head is all you're given, and then the doors part. Not the ones in front of you though.

" ... Where d'ya think yer going? "

It's as if your lungs collapse for a moment, air refusing to fill them. " No- Nowhere, nowhere, I- "

" And 'ere I thought ya'd behave. Tsk. "

When you zip around, you get to see the large mushroom power towards you, a sturdy-looking rope on his hands. Of course, the thing is adorned with aged red marks. There's a sadistic sort of glee on his dark face, making you take several steps back. His chest puffs, the monster bellowing out.

" Hah! Try it, piggy. " Morell taunts. " Ya take a single fuckin' step outta those doors an' ah'll hunt ya fer sport, pertty baby. "

You don't doubt him.

All you can do is gulp and hope for the best, feet rooted to the tiled ground in spite of the screaming voice that begs you to haul ass. The monster's still snickering to himself when he reaches you. You're no longer spared a hint of gentleness, as the chef grabs your arm tight and drags you to the center of the kitchen, towards one of the horrid, blood-stained chopping blocks.

You're flipped around and slammed face-first onto the wood, assaulted by the sensation of residual, cold viscera on your face. The metallic scent mingles with a woody aftertaste and you start to panic under his hand, very aware a huge cleaver lies only centimeters away from your person. Is this it? Is this the end? Is he going to cut your fucking head off?

" I'm- I'm sorry, please God- "

Your flailing, although definitely amusing to the cook, is halted when he squeezes exceptionally hard on your arm. Your limb grows numb from the sheer force, he's cutting off blood flow. A little more and he'll break your humerus, you can feel it. Getting the message, you go entirely limp, near hyperventilating.

" Easy piggy, easy- " There's a condescending pat to your head. " I'mma jus' tie ya up, 'kay? Don' make me hurt ya. " You can feel the weight of him poised on your back for a moment. " 'Cause ah'll fuckin' love it if I hav'ta. "

You whimper.

" Gonna be good for me? " He tests, already nudging your arms onto your back. You can feel the rope being weaved between them in certain patterns, movements rushed but expertly practiced. You nod rapidly, full of fear, and he hums while tying knots behind your back. One. Two. Three?! Oh, you're not making it out of this one on your own. For sure.

When the chef lets go of your bound limbs, not too tight but not too lax, you give them a test, making the shroom chuckle. " Mm, fine work if ah do say so myself. Good ta know I still got it. "

When fat fingers tug at the hem of your shorts, you can only try to focus on your breathing, shivering when the fabric is dragged down to barely hang by your knees. You still ooze remnants of your slick from prior activities, and Morell doesn't seem to miss that either, because he uses it as lube to jam a digit into you. The insertion is sudden enough to have you jump, leg jerking.

" Ey naw, don' buck at me. " The monster snorts, curling his finger and testing the waters.

You don't know why, or how, but your body warms regardless of the circumstances, walls tightening around that sole digit as if to encourage the chef. And all you can say to yourself is that it's a result of Vesper and Santi's influence. Residual effects, probably. It must be! You wouldn't be into this otherwise, right? You wouldn't find it hot that you're helpless, being molested by a gross butcher on his own filthy chopping block. No... God please no, you don't think you can face yourself after this.

The mushroom monster, oblivious or uncaring of your inner turmoil, simply forces a second finger in, without much resistance. Fuck him and his deliciously thick hands, the familiar stretching sensation sends sparks flying behind your eyelids and you close them. You're not the only one enjoying themselves it seems.

" Damn piglet, lookit that, ya needy girl. " The chef starts eagerly fingerfucking you, giggling and moaning quietly to himself when you reflexively tighten. " The Hell were you tryin' ta run if ya needed me this bad, hm? Too much pride in that lil' noggin'... " He teases, panting.

Unfortunately, no matter how hard you may want to will it into reality, closing your eyes won't simply make this unrequited pleasure fade away. It won't make you any less wet and inviting for the chef, it won't quiet down the shlick of his lurid fingerfucking that somehow manages to ring louder than the humdrum of the constant cooking around you. All that effort is rendered moot when you let out a fevered moan and flex hard around the cook's hand, wanting more.

" Hhn- Fuck yeah. "

Far too jarringly, your cunt is emptied, there's some frantic rustling behind you, a ziiiiip, you know exactly what it is that slaps onto your ass. He doesn't seem very calm.

" M- Morell. " You hope using his name will sweeten your request. " Please be gentle, please. "

" Aww. " He chuckles, stray hand reaching to tickle under your chin, the tip of his member lines up perfectly against you. There's a gentle push, and you do your best to relax, glad he's at least doing that much for you.

Tickling becomes a solid hold of your neck.

" You'd like that, wouldn' ya? "

Morell slams home with a brute strength that not only knocks the wind out of your lungs, it feels like he's shoved your guts up to your throat. It's such an intense feeling that you believe you're sick for a moment, vision blurring as you sob out a mangled cry. For a couple of seconds, you just gasp, pussy spasming and legs shaking erratically, staring straight ahead at the grayish wall.

The chef grunts and sighs loudly, canting his hips to make sure he's fully sheathed inside you, his balls tighten and he shudders in total bliss. " Fuuck, ya wanna milk me dry, don'tcha piggy? "

You really don't care for his taunts, but it's hard not to squeal when a palm strikes across your left asscheek with the fury of a thousand suns. He amuses himself with this, it appears, stroking over the sore spot while he rocks back and forth inside your pulsing walls. He seems to struggle with your tightness, and you struggle with his girth as well, the two of you locked until he thinks to torture your poor clit. " Real fuckin' tight fer someone who's been foolin' 'round with demons. "

He won't let you squirm your way out of his hard rolls, continuing the torture until you're sufficiently relaxed for Morell to establish a slow back and forth, every thrust making you dig your nails into the flesh of your own arms. " Ya oughta stay 'ere fer a while longer. This cute an' this hot? Ah can't jus' let ya out. "

You're just trying to adapt to the cook's size, but he's far too eager, not giving you enough time to adjust before he's speeding up, jostling you. A tongue tries to wet dehydrated lips, tasting nothing but smeared blood while the scent of exotic spices clogs your nostrils and his lewd panting rattles your ears.

You're sure you must have paled like the cauliflower he has laying around when the monster stops to yank that gruesome cleaver out of its groove in the wood you currently lay on. You're not sure whether to cry, scream or simply accept things as they are. Morell grabs a firm handful of your hair, pulls your head back, and allows the blunt end of the blade to flirt with your throat.

" Naw then, do me a favor- " The blade flips, pressing dangerously against frail skin as Morell starts drilling into your small figure. " An' oink fer me, piglet! "

Oh you do.

Even if you wanted to be quiet, you couldn't.

It's everything at once. The absolutely merciless pounding into your pussy, reaching deeper than it should -Why doesn't it hurt?- Dragging hellish waves of bliss through your poor overworked brain, the terror of that cleaver possibly sinking into your body, slitting your throat open so you bleed out while he happily fucks you till your dying breath, becoming nothing more than yet another ambiguous red stain in this morbid kitchen. Nothing could ever prepare you for this, so you moan, whimper and squeal like the animal he wants you to be, doing your best to hang onto anything, tears and drool cascading down your face.

You can't tell left from right anymore, shivering at every bestial noise Morell makes above, feeling his balls slap against you with every hard piston, it's really no wonder your confused body couldn't keep up, and you truly screech in the wake of your jarring orgasm, seeing dots swimming in your vision.

" Atta girl! Nice an' sloppy... "

In spite of his confident tone, Morell's rhythm falters at your clenching. And, much to your relief, he lets the cleaver fall to your side, focusing instead on using both hands to frame your head while he bends to be flush against your back. It's a humiliating position, but you've long since stopped giving a shit about dignity here. In fact, you just want to make it out of this hellish kitchen mostly in one piece.

There's not much room for thinking when he grunts like a bull into your eardrums, gasps turning into silent gasps the second he starts slamming home deep and hard. One, two, three, four and-

His deep growl shakes you from head to toe, legs kicking instinctively as his cock flexes and he fills you like an obscene bucket. It's an uncomfortable sensation that applies too much pressure everywhere, and even if you can't be sure, you think you came again from it, very briefly. The sound of cum splattering to the floor rings in your mind while you simply wait for Morell to milk the last of his orgasm so you can come down.

" Hm, didn' have this much fun in a while, piggy. " He finally mutters, massaging your hips calmly as he rises. " Gotta say, I'm real glad ya chose ta gimme your 'regards'. "

You just groan senselessly. Your legs feel like melting jelly.

You're not sure what he's about to do next, and neither of you get to know anyway, because a group of short pitch black bodies scram in through the front doors.

" Sir! Sir please, you have to help! "

" It's serious! "

" The giant snake woman swallowed Alfredo!! "

... What?

Staring vapidly at the creatures, nothing happens for a couple of static seconds. Then the cook sighs, exasperated, before sliding out of you slowly. He shushes you when you wince, patting your sore thighs before fully laying you onto the large chopping block. You can't muster the energy to care, merely laying there and hissing at the increasing discomfort from having your arms tied this long.

" Ah'll be right back, pumpkin', promise. "

The last thing you hear is stressed murmuring, a zipper sliding up and boots stomping away, another woosh signaling the doors have closed and you're now mostly alone.

Yes, finally, some peace... A smile of relief almost makes its way to your lips before your consciousness fades entirely.

...

" So this is where she's been all this time... "

" Geez, can you believe it? I bet they just threw her in here to fend for herself. "

" In all honesty, I am appalled she has lived this long. "

" She's special, can't you tell Nebul? "

" You're much too prone to theatrics. "

Distant voices lull you back to reality, tired eyes blinking open, adjusting to the lights in the kitchen once more, before appraising the two studying your curled up form. One being the waiter, and the other that guy wearing a cloak, with the strange-looking head.

" Oh here she is, hi! " The smaller one waves, smiling bright.

" You cannot stay here for long. " The other warns. " If you intend to live, that is. This floor has fallen to total calamity. "

Yeah, you bet.

" I'll take care of this, you can go back up! " Grimbly hastily cuts in.

" You misunderstand, I'm not leaving without the human. " Although monotone, even you can sense the warning implied. Not that his coworker seems to care.

" Yeah right, like that's happening. Who knows what you'll do to this poor girl, you freak. "

" It would certainly be better than becoming an impulsive vampyre's bloodbag. "

The waiter's eye twitches. " ... How fucking dare you. "

Alright, back to square one it is. You need to leave before Morell comes back, and these two don't seem like they'll reach an agreement anytime soon.

You'll have to pick again.

Sighing, exasperated,

[dandelion-blues]

Humans are the Real Monsters

Intro:

Sally died, and Percy was left at the hands of the monster, Gabe Ugliano. Iruma Sukuki was forced to work since he could remember by his lazy parents. What do the two have in common? They were both sold to the demon Sullivan!

PJO x Mairimashita! Iruma-kun crossover

CW: Abuse and Violence

Chapter 1, Part 1: A Demon's Grandsons

Percy felt tears leaking from his eyes, his breaths coming out in stuttering gasps. Percy felt despair grip at his chest, a tight weight pressing on his chest. The 12 year old curled into a ball, trying to muffle his breaths. If he heard him, who knew what he would do.

That comforting black swirled around Percy, the shadowy horrors of his imagination reaching out to him. Percy whimpered, his breathing labored. He couldn't breathe. Every breath hurt, and his throat was raw from crying, and his mouth parched with thirst.

Still, Percy did his best to stay quiet because being in the dark was much better than being out in the light with him.

But then that stench reached Percy’s nose, like the rotting corpse of his mother moldy trash and sewer rats. Percy stopped breathing, his heart stopping in his chest.

And then, light flooded his eyes, and he was leering above Percy. A monster disguised in human flesh that grinned with rotted teeth, “Tryin’ to hide from me, brain boy. Yur lucky imma make a lot of money off of yous, and I'm in good mood in all.”

Percy shaked, not daring to speak or breathe. His throat and lungs hurt painfully from the strain.

The monster casted a gaze towards Percy, those eyes without a soul needle and little, and reached out with his meaty hands toward Percy.

Percy gasped and whimpered, trying to get away, but he hit the wall of the closet.

All Percy could see was the hand reaching out to him, and he was screaming in his heead for it to go away.

Please-nomore-stop-stopitplease-I'llbegoodjustgoaway-goaway-GOAWAY!!!

Except the hand reached around Percy’s already bruised throat and yanked him out of the closet, the monster breathing over him. Smelling like beer and cigarettes and rotting food.

Percy whimpered, and the monster laughed, “C'mon brat. I j’st wanna have som’ fun bef’re yous go is all.”

And the hand started tightening around Percy’s throat.

This is it! Smelly Gabe is finally going to kill him, just as he did his mom.

Still, Percy fought to live and clawed out the hand to get off his throat, his feet dangling and kicking in the air. Percy tried to scream, but all that came out was choked muffles.

Black spots dotted Percy’s vision. And Percy’s energy gained. Percy just hopes he sees his mom when he dies.

Except Gabe releases Percy, and the twelve year old crumbles like a puppet with cut strings on the dirty floor.

Percy takes in large gasping breaths, tears streaming down his face.

Percy, however, barely gets to acknowledge the fact that he lived when a jarring pain was felt on his side.

Percy curls up to himself, his body already knowing what is coming next, even as his brain is still trying to get more oxygen.

The monster kicks Percy, laughing at him as the boy whimpers in pain.

“Fucking pussy, can’ even take a lil beating!” The monster screams, but all Percy can hear is ringing in his ears.

Then, the monster crouches down and yanks Percy up from his hair. Percy’s body trembles from pain, but he still manages to glare at the monster.

The monster smiles, “Need more fur the lesson hasn’ stuck yet.”

And the monster slams Percy’s head onto the floor.

Percy blinks black spots out of his vision, his head and body throbbing from pain.

Percy doesn’t know how long the “lesson” continues on for. Everything just came down to pain.

Except, somehow, in the midst of all that pain. Percy heard screaming, and he knew it wasn’t him. Percy didn’t even have the energy to scream. And then everything became eerily silent.

There was no ratting of the ac, or the stomps from the upstairs neighbors, or the whirring of the fridge, or even the monster's sounds.

That couldn't be. The monster is never silent!

Still, Percy didn’t know how long it took him to notice, but eventually he did. When the pain finally subsided enough for him to form coherent thoughts.

Percy blinked through his hazy eyes, seeing an elderly man?

And Percy realized that he wasn’t on the floor anymore. He was being carried.

Percy tried to move, but searing pain swept through him, and he gasped in pain.

He heard someone speak, their words sounded deep and guttural, but somehow Percy found the noise comforting. Then, there was a soft touch on his forehead, and everything went away as Percy welcomed the night’s embrace.

*****

Sullivan couldn't believe that he wasn’t just getting one grandson, but two! To think that two parents (or in one case stepparent) sold their child’s soul for money and on the same day to boot!

And so Sullivan went to collect his first grandson. A fourteen year old named Iruma Suzuki, who was in a rather troublesome situation as he was on a tuna fish boat in the middle of a large storm, with the fish doing their best to crush the boy. And so, Sullivan carted his new grandson off.

He didn’t want to scare the poor boy, but well, he really wanted Iruma-kun to accept him as his grandfather. And so, he made sure to get the best, and only the best for him, pleading for the boy to accept him and maybe just threatening him a little. Not that Sullivan would go through with the threat. Not with his last order...

Still, Iruma accepted! And boy did that boy eat! It’s a good thing too, because the boy was really thin. Luckily, he didn’t seem to have a problem eating Underworld food, and he actually seemed to really like it!

Thus, Sullivan got so into dotting on his new grandson with gifts that he almost forgot to collect his other grandson.

And so Sullivan turned to his deviguard, Opera, and his new grandson, “Alright! I’ll be right back. I just need to grab my other grandson!”

The two sputtered in surprise, though Opera-chan did their best to not show their surprise.

Then, Sullivan just casually teleported quickly away to where his other grandson, Perseus Jackson, was. And oh, that was an interesting name! Very Greek! But those Greeks gods can not have his grandson because he belongs to him now!

Sullivan will be the best, bestest grandfather ever! He won’t just leave the poor boy to fend for himself like the Greeks do! If the boy is even a Greek demigod, anyways! But either way, his new grandchild will be well taken care of!

However, as Sullivan teleported to where the boy lived, he wrinkled his nose when he came to a fifty apartment with beer bottles and cans and rotting food all over the counter tops and floors.

Then, Sullivan turned away and entered the bedroom that belonged to his youngest grandson. And all Sullivan felt was rage. A great white fire spread through his veins, his eyes darkening and his pupils dilating dangerously as his claws lengthening and sharpening and his wings unfurling, casting on ominous shadow as he saw the mortal, who was his youngest grandson’s stepfather punch and kick his grandson. His grandson, who was wheezing and gasping from pain as black and blue marked most of his exposed tan skin.

Sullivan didn’t waste a moment to yank the human off from his grandson, already reveling in his screams as his claws were already bruising the human’s throat like the dark purple ring around his grandson’s throat that he saw.

And, oh, his poor grandson was just whimpering and trembling, not even noticing that his attacker stopped.

Sullivan might be a demon, but even he knew children were species and needed to be protected, and this mortal just beat his grandson like he was worth nothing!

Sullivan’s magic exploded from him. The world went still and silent other than Lord Sullivan, and this human called Gabe Ugliano, as time was completely stopped around them.

“You dare harm what is mine!” Sullivan growled at the human, not caring for when his ears started bleeding when the human heard his demonic voice.

Notes:

Here's another crossover! It seems that both Iruma and Percy will be receiving more care in the demon realms than the human realm.

These fledglings were hurt by the world, and now they'll receive the care and love they deserve.

Next Part

[waitwhaa]

cw: shots, mention of kidnapping, chasing

It's cold, wet and damp in the forest - jogging through wet grass at five o'clock in the morning obviously won't have a good effect on Phos' health, but now wet grass was the least of her worries.

FUCKING RUN.

R U N.

Her lungs were already burning - it seemed to her that a little more and she would simply spit them out. Her legs were buzzing, the blood was pounding in her head, and the thin dress she was wearing had already become slightly torn on the branches of the bushes.

It was terribly quiet around her and because of this, her whole soul sank into her heels every time she made loud noises.

She wonder what will happen when he finds her?

Will he kill her?

Will he kidnap her? He's already done it, damn it!

Why was she so stupid and went along with his sweet speeches?

Ever since she was a child, she had been told to be wary of strangers and not to trust them.

..however, he was not a stranger.

The edge of the forest - but the girl does not feel inspired, only an endless, tight, dense anxiety, nerves stretched like a bowstring do not allow joy to embrace an already tired mind.

Mechanical sound of a hunting rifle.

"Wait...what?.."

`Shot!`

It looks like he will kidnap her after all.

Screaming in pain, the girl collapsed to the ground, straight into the mud.

The bullet went through the arm muscle, but Phos still fell to the ground. Pain shot through her head and, trying to overcome the darkness and stars in her eyes, with a roar, the 21 y.o. student stood up and ran forward.

Now it was impossible to stop - she pulled as hard as she could, ignoring the wound and only squeezing her hand on top of the hole.

Click, cruck.

Does he reload on purpose to warn of a shot?

Is he making fun of her!?

Of course he does.

"He's aiming at me right now, i need to do something unexpec-"

`Shot!`

Phos jerked to the left - the bullet slid across her right calf, leaving a scratch.

"I need somewhere to hide..I NEED TO FUCKING HIDE!!!"

Her heart is beating like crazy - the girl feels her throat being constricted. This is a game of life and death, and she clearly doesn’t set the rules!

She runs out of the forest.

Oh, yes, of course.

Fucking bare field.

All that was left was to run along the curve, ignoring the throbbing of her hand and the prickling of the scratch.

And she rushed forward...

...To fall screaming into the ground again - this time it hurt to the point of sparks from the eyes.

A sharp, piercing, paralyzing pain grabbed her leg like a thorn vine and climbed onto her back. Tears flowed from her eyes involuntarily - she was shot in the knee.

Writhing and groaning, she convulsively grabbed the lumbago with her fingers. There was absolutely no relief from the pain, but she grabbed the skin above her injured knee and clenched her teeth, whining.

"I need to leave...I need to leave, get out of here!!"

The heart beat like a dull hammer against the anvil, the body began to tremble - the hand made itself felt again. The girl could not stand it and whined again, protractedly, suffering.

"But I can not! ...I can't get up...I can't get up...I can't get up, I can't get up, I can't get up, I can't get up, I can't get up, I CAN'T GET UP, I CAN'T-.."

Jerk.

Groan.

"Ugh, get up...the field is small, there are houses nearby..."

Strained breath.

Jerk!

"C`mon, Phos, it's just a knee... You moved calmly and on one leg, jumping, for the longest time than others, come on, you can do it, come on, you just need to do nothing - get up, and walk, get up and..."

"Do you want to take a second bullet in the knee?"

What?

The girl froze in a half-raised position.

"A good choice."

"How is he so fast..?"

The girl was afraid to move. And it wasn’t just the hellish pain dulled by adrenaline.

Behind her stood a blue-haired hunter with blue and white eyes.

In his jacket and with his hunting rifle.

Which was now pressed to the back of her head.

The girl slowly sank to the ground.

"Good girl. Now, be the good girl you are, turn to me and let me pick you up so I can carry you home."

Carefully turn sideways.

.

.

.

Phos felt boiling lava inside her.

Anger.

"DIE, SCUM!!!"

.

.

.

The attack was successful but useless.

Having fallen out of the stranger's hands and falling straight on her shot knee, the girl froze in painful shock.

"Hm. Bad girl."

A moment later, the butt of a rifle landed on the back of her head.

The darkness fell on her with a ringing sound...

UPD: She's not dead damn it, why does everyone think she's dead? He knocked her out with the butt of a hunting rifle, hitting her on the head, guys, LMAOOO HAHAHA...

Also,,,,

@turvuren hi friend

[sin-cognito]

Rarepair New Year 2024 ch9: Nightmare/Blue, Foreign language

SFW

Wordcount: 2623

Blue arrives early at the café.

READ ON AO3

Blue arrives early at the café.

He's still got a good two hours before his new teacher arrives, so he gets himself a cup of tea, pulls out his headphones and his books and starts to study. No sense in wasting any precious time when he's got an important test in two months.

Blue is a smart and studious monster, the best in his class. His grades are through the roof, and his aim is to get into the advanced class by the end of the year, so that leaves him a little under four months to achieve his goal. It's especially impressive since he could barely introduce himself and count to ten not even a year ago, when he first moved to Applemoon.

He's always been fascinated by Applemoonish culture, it's so different from his own country, Underswap, so when he got the opportunity to come here to study the language, he didn't even think and signed up right away. He told himself he has two years to learn to speak Applemoonish fluently and so far he's on the right track.

Recently however, he's felt like his oral skills are not up to par with his writing, leaving him frustrated everytime he tries to go out and have fun. Granted he doesn't do much of that since he's so busy with school and (self-imposed) homework, but it'd still be nice if he could have more confidence in speaking up during the rare times he does go out and tries to make new Applemoonish friends.

It leaves him puzzled as well: how can he get full marks on all his tests but then struggle so hard just asking the lady at the grocery store if they have soy milk? He sighs at his lacking skills.

Which is the reason why he's spending the rest of his afternoon here in this café. He'd usually just go straight home after class, but today he's going to meet a private teacher that should help him improve his conversation skills. Or so it said on the site where Blue found the other's profile.

Nightmare, skeleton monster, 27, half-Underswapian, half-Applemoonish, with experience in teaching both languages. He sounds perfect for Blue. Not to mention that he doesn't charge too much for each lesson.

So Blue messaged him and they've agreed to meet in this café for a trial lesson. It's half the price of a regular one, so if Blue isn't satisfied with Nightmare's way of teaching conversation (however one does that), he knows he can just find another teacher and he won't have lost too much money. It's a good deal.

"Blue?" A deep voice calls out his name, drawing him back to reality.

He was too focused on his books and didn't see the time, momentarily forgetting where he even is, so when Blue hears his name and looks up, it takes him a couple seconds to realize who the stunning skeleton standing in front of his table is.

He looks dumbly at the other for a moment before he feels his cheeks go hot. Hold on, wait, -this- skeleton is his teacher? This absolute stud of a Greek god? Really? There was no profile picture on the website, this isn't a dating app after all, but holy stars, there should be. Nightmare would have so much success with his sacramento green bones and broad chest, not to mention the vivid mint eyelight shining in his left eyesocket. Blue swallows hard.

"Sorry, I must have the wrong person," the dark-boned skeleton says when he can see no reaction from Blue.

It gets the little student into motion again, and Blue quickly stands up and gestures at the empty chair in front of him.

"NO, YES, I MEAN, YES IT'S ME, I'M BLUE!" He wants to smack himself for the worst ever delivery of a self-introduction.

"Oh, alright," Nightmare lifts a brow but doesn't comment further on Blue's awkwarness. "Nice to meet you."

"NICE TO MEE YOU AS WELL, MR. NIGHTMARE," Blue happily says as they shake hands.

"Eh, drop the mister. Nightmare's fine."

Blue feels his SOUL skip a beat, what is wrong with him! He needs to calm down.

Nightmare orders himself a coffee and then the trial lesson begins. Nightmare asks Blue what his objectives are and why he had to hire a private teacher when he's already enrolled in a school that has a great reputation. Blue explains his dissatisfaction with the way the school teaches oral conversations, or rather the lack of teaching in that department, really, and Nightmare nods.

"Yeah, it's not that unusual that language schools like the one you're in focus more on getting their students to pass written tests than obtaining the actual skills to live in the country itself. That's why I don't really like them, but I can't complain because that means I can get a job quite easily," Nightmare comments as Blue nods. "Alright, enough about your backstory, let's hear you talk Applemoonish. How about you introduce yourself again?"

Blue makes a face but does as he's told so. He struggles with getting the right words to come out of his mouth smoothly, his timing and intonations are all wrong, and his pronounciation is way off. He can be an absolute chatter box in his native language, but right now he can't help but keep his introduction as short as can be.

Nightmare hums. "Well, it wasn't as bad as I expected. I think all you need is to just practice talking about random stuff, and it'll all come naturally."

Blue blinks in surprise.

"REALLY? I THOUGHT IT WAS TERRIBLE!"

Nightmare chuckles and something stirs in Blue's magic.

"Not at all. Sure, maybe some of what you said sounded a little weird, but I understood what you meant to tell me, and that's what important with oral skills. It's not as much saying the correct words as it is getting your point across," he explains.

Blue lets out an impressed hum and decides that yes, Nightmare is the perfect teacher for him.

(Nightmare being a solid piece of eye-candy has nothing to do with Blue's decision.)

They start planning Blue's lessons twice a week at first and everything goes well. Nightmare usually shows up with a couple conversation ideas before asking Blue to come up with some themes himself. Over the next month or so however, preparing anything for these private lessons feels more and more useless as conversation flows so naturally between the two that it's not unusual for them to keep talking well past the hour Blue is paying Nightmare for. Blue insisted at first that Nightmare accepts his money, but the handsome skeleton proved himself to be rather stubborn, saying that it was his decision to keep hanging out with Blue outside of his 'work hours'.

Blue feels more than pleased with his progress already. It's barely been a month and he feels himself getting more and more confident, and he doesn't dread having to ask something in Applemoonish anymore. He doesn't even use Underswapian with Nightmare anymore, not even for corrections or when he doesn't know a specific word. He just does his best to explain what he means in another way and waits for Nightmare to provide with the actual term.

One month and a half marks the start of Nightmare offering Blue to go to the movies with him. Watching a movie in another language without any subtitles is daunting at first, and Blue admittedly doesn't do very well on his first time. The actors are talking too fast and sometimes mumble their lines, and without the visual aid subtitles provide, Blue is lost. They debrief the movie later with Nightmare, and Blue asks if they can go watch it again.

It doesn't change much however, as Blue is way too distracted by Nightmare casually wrapping an arm around Blue's shoulder to really pay any attention to the movie.

They hang out more and more often after that, spending almost every afternoon together. When they can't because one is too busy, they usually text each other well into the evening.

At this point, Nightmare is more than just a teacher for Blue. He's a real -crush- friend. Maybe even his best friend.

They celebrate the end of Blue's big test at Nightmare's place, where Blue gets to meet his teacher's twin, the lovely Dream. The two immediately get on well, which ends up with Blue spending all his time with one or the other twin, though he won't lie, his preference clearly goes to Nightmare.

Blue cannot deny it anymore, he's crushing hard on his private teacher. He does consider the idea of asking Nightmare out, but he's not sure how to go about it. He makes the mistake of confiding in Dream about his feelings, who lets out a squeak so high that Blue finds himself temporarily deaf. At least having Nightmare's twin on Blue's side is reassuring, as Dream assures Blue that Nightmare is very single and doesn't have any crush at the moment. The news is as much a relief as it is disappointing, as Blue realizes his teacher doesn't seem to have any interest in Blue as a potential romantic partner.

Well that's what Dream's here to help Blue with, and the ever-smiling twin spends the next few weeks feeding as much personal info about his brother as he can to Blue, who soaks everything up like a sponge. Blue's never been more grateful for his quick learning dispositions. He learns Nightmare's favorite desert, and invites him to taste a homemade apple pie and asks him about how authentic the taste is. Blue hears that Nightmare likes playing chess, and so he downloads an app and asks Nightmare if he knows how to play and can he teach Blue. Dream spills the beans about his brother's very secret passion for singing, and Blue casually mentions he's never been to karaoke and is too shy to go by himself and oh how wonderful it would be to have someone go with him…

Blue knows he's a bit too obvious here and there, but he doesn't mind as either Nightmare doesn't notice or he doesn't mind Blue's company.

Meanwhile they continue their weekly lessons, and Blue's hard work pays off when he's told that his test results are good enough to let him go up to the advanced class. Blue's first reaction upon hearing the news isn't even to tell his family back in Underswap, all he wants to do is run to Nightmare's place to announce the good news.

"I'm really proud of you," Nightmare congratulates Blue over the phone. "How about we celebrate this tonight around a drink? There's this new bar that I wanted to bring you to, I'm sure you're going to love it."

Blue beams at the other and excitedly runs home to get ready. He calls Dream to the rescue, to help him pick his outfit for tonight.

Blue has decided he's going to confess his feelings.

He wants to do it right. It might sound cheesy, but according to Dream, Nightmare can be a little traditional when it comes to relationships, and apparently he likes when things are laid out flat rather than making a bunch of innuendos. It's a little nerve-wracking for Blue, who so far doesn't have much experience asking someone else out as he's more of a 'actions over words' kinda guy if you catch his drift. But he's serious about Nightmare and wants to make sure he's not going to fuck it up for a stupid reason.

He puts on a deep blue sequin top with a high-waisted pair of jeans. He's got white platform shoes on and a dark gray leather jacket on. He asks Dream a billion times whether the look is over the top or underdressed, and each time the twin assures Blue he's exactly to the tastes of Nightmare.

Blue's efforts are rewarded with a soft blush on Nightmare's cheeks when Blue arrives at the bar. Nightmare isn't the most expressive monster out there, so Blue is confident that his looks helped him get a few good points if Nightmare can't even keep his magic in check.

They go seat at the counter and Nightmare orders cocktails for them both.

"As a treat, since you did so well with your test," he explains as he clinks his glass to Blue's.

"I CAN'T WAIT TO BE IN THE ADVANCED CLASS," Blue happily sips away his cocktail, munching on the popato chisps they've orders to go with their drinks. "APPARENTLY THE ADVANCED LEVEL TEACHERS ARE REALLY GOOD, SO I'M REALLY LOOKING FORWARD TO ATTENDING THEIR CLASSES."

Nightmare puts his skull in the palm of his hand as he grins at Blue.

"Maybe I should apply to work at your school. It would be fun to teach a whole class, and who knows, maybe you'd be my student."

Blue chuckles awkwardly as he hesitates whether he should say his next words.

"YES BUT PLEASE DON'T. WE'D HAVE WAY LESS TIME TO HANG OUT TOGETHER IF YOU WORKED AT MY SCHOOL," he finally blurts out, avoiding Nightmare's gaze. If the teacher comment on Blue's blush, he can always say it's because of the cocktail.

Nightmare hums. "Yeah, maybe you're right. I don't really want another student anyway, I'm good with just you."

Blue is about to faint, his magic beating wildly in his chest. That was a direct hit, and quite honestly very unfair of Nightmare to be so charming when Blue is the one supposed to flirt with him, not the other way around.

Blue gulps the rest of his cocktail in one go and decides to just go for it.

"NIGHTMARE, I NEED TO ASK YOU SOMETHING!" He starts, but loses his confidence as he scrambles to find a way to word his thoughts. "I, UHH… SO I HAVE SOMEONE I LIKE AND I WANT TO CONFESS."

He glances at Nightmare to check if the other knows this is about him, but Nightmare just looks intrigued. He waits for Blue to continue.

"YES, SO, WELL. I WANT TO KNOW… ERM… HOW- HOW DO YOU ASK SOMEONE OUT IN APPLEMOONISH?" Blue blurts out and immediately has to stop himself from smacking his own dumb face.

"You say will you be my boyfriend?" Nightmare replies without missing a beat.

Blue's SOUL is about to explode or implode, he isn't sure, but it's going to stop working that's for sure.

With a burning face and shaky voice, Blue repeats the sentence.

"WILL YOU BE MY BOYFRIEND?"

"Yeah."

Blue blinks. Oh no, Nightmare thought he just repeated the phrase to get the pronounciation right, something they've done a billion times before during their lessons.

Blue's plans crumble like a card tower and he starts feeling dizzy. His palms are sweaty and his magic is throbbing in his skull.

He decides to go for broke.

"I'M NOT JUST REPEATING THE SENTENCE. I'M ACTUALLY ASKING YOU TO BE MY BOYFRIEND."

There he said it.

"I know," Nightmare replies just as casually as before. "And I'm telling you yes."

"YES?"

"Yeah. I like you too, Blue, so yeah, I want to be your boyfriend."

Blue feels like he's melting, turning into a puddle of goo on the floor, or he would be if it wasn't for the arm Nightmare wraps around his waist. Nightmare tilts Blue's skull and leans down for a kiss and this time, yeah, Blue does melt. Nightmare's tongue is warm and strong and so so good. It leaves Blue breathless but more importantly, eager for more. More kisses, more Nightmare, more… more.

Maybe they can go to Nightmare's place and have a different kind of private lesson.

[animatorweirdo]

Imagine courting Lindir

(Sorry for the late delay, I was on a week long vacation and had no focus to publish these till the end of the week. I tried to make this sweet as possible so I hope you enjoy it,) 

(Little note, this is a male reader, so you don’t get confused) 

Requested by @gilairon-deactivated20221015

Warnings: none really, fluff, a possible inappropriate jokes, relationship stuff, Lindir being the sweetes boy. 

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

-You were one of the guards of Rivendell.

-You didn’t do much, to be honest. You guarded the gates, scouted the borders, and ensured everything was fine before taking the rest of the day off and doing your own things.

-You wanted an ordinary life, away from orcs, darkness, and bad things that once happened in your long elven life. You had seen and experienced too much, so it was time to go on retirement and take things easy.

-Then you met Lindir. He was just the sweetest being you had ever laid your eyes upon, and his voice made your heart beat louder than any war drums.

-When you saw him for the first time – it was like an arrow had pierced through your chest, making you feel immense love for this ellon.  

-You could not help but become friends with him and try to win his heart.

-He was pleasant to talk to, and his giggles and laughs were worth hearing whenever you told him a joke or tried to flirt with him. He often called you shameless or scolded you for the inappropriate jokes, but seeing his flustered face was worth it.

-Over time — you finally asked him to court you. You prepared yourself to face rejection, but to your eternal happiness: he said yes. It was one of the happiest days of your life.

-Same-sex relationships were considered normal in elven communities. There were no ridiculous rules like among the humans, so you didn’t have to fear rejection. If anything, your people were happy for you.

-Your courtship started happily and smoothly.

-You love hearing his voice and music whenever you have free time from your duties. It became your favorite hobby as his voice was beautiful as the voices of the birds. It also helps you sleep better as you love to snuggle into his arms as he lulls you to sleep.

-You sometimes teased him with love songs of your own. You are not much of a singer, so your music wasn’t the best quality, and people might yell at you to be quiet.

-However, Lindir would feel flustered and have a red face whenever you embarrassed him with a new song while playing like a drunkard. He appreciates the gesture, but he will mentally die if you don’t take some classes and start playing well.

-You would do it, but you loved making him embarrassed way too much.

-At the end of the day, you two like cuddle up and read books to each other — telling about your day and sharing the horrors of serving lord Elrond’s family.

-A good laugh would always follow whenever you mention the latest shenanigans of the twins and Glorfindel, who often ends up as the target of their pranks. 

-Talking about the twins, since you and Lindir were together. Elrond had a great idea of putting you and Lindir on duty to watch his children while he and his wife take a break.

-The twins and Arwen were handy, so you and Lindir got busy to ensure Rivendel did not get destroyed and Lindir’s soul would not leave his body whenever you decided to join in the shenanigans.

-You were considered the fun uncle, so you also got scolded if you did something naughty with the twins and Arwen – while Lindir was the one who gave the scolding.

-It was a sight to behold, and Glorfindel once jokingly remarked how Lindir was the wife in your relationship. You did not deny the thought because you planned to make him your husband one day.

-You were passionate about gardening and even had your little garden in your home. Lindir adored it and voluntarily helped you with the plants while you passionately told him about all the plants you had and their qualities.

-Lindir thinks it’s adorable and made him love you even more.

-You sometimes bring him flowers and fruits from your garden, raised by your love for him, which would make him blush and treasure them. He would take good care of your plants and put them in the prettiest vase he has in possession.

-You had no shame in using pickup lines or affectionate nicknames in public.

-You had no reason to hide them and show everyone how much you loved him, so you would effortlessly call him ”Birdy” or “Dear” without fear.

-He would feel flustered and call you a shameless idiot while you would only smile.

-You two keep your intimate moments behind the doors, though you do love to steal kisses from him here and then –flustering him so much that his ears get red.

-Behind the doors, things get more passionate. You found out your sweet Lindir possesses some dominance. You would sometimes be left breathless by Lindir when he suddenly latches his arms around your head and kisses you first, especially when there was pent-up stress.

-It was a surprise when he did it the first time, but it didn’t mean you did not enjoy it. Lindir was sometimes shy to show that side of him, fearing he might appear needy, but you reassured him it was alright because you’re always down to be the bottom if he felt like being on top.

-Saying that constantly earns you a smack on the head.

-Whenever you had to leave and join a battle. Lindir often feared you would return injured or didn’t return at all.

-You have both seen and lost many people, so losing you would break him.

-You would assure him you would be fine and always return to him because no force in Middle Earth could keep you away from him. You would only leave Middle Earth on a boat with him when it was time to return to Valinor and live your lives together on the undying lands till the end of times.

[myfairstarlight]

Empty Spaces

AO3 Link.

Rated: G Length: 2k

Canon compliant, if you only count s1, that is. Summary:

“It… looks like Heaven,” whispers Aziraphale. Crowley pauses at the doorstep, tilts his head back. “Huh, funny that,” says he, refusing to look the angel in the eyes. Refusing to acknowledge what that would even mean. Or. The first time Aziraphale sees Crowley's flat, and the complicated feelings confined in the large, empty space.

⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

In the two hundred or so odd years since he's forced Hell to rent him a flat — he could have miracled enough money to buy it himself, but what's the fun in that if he can't send the bills right to Beelzebub’s office doors every month? He had to prove inventing rent was truly devilish after all — Crowley has never invited Aziraphale inside of it.

After all, when they do meet up for a drink, they do so within the safe walls of the bookshop and never once has Aziraphale suggested going somewhere else. Crowley also never quite considered the flat as a home of some sort, just a base of operation, near where head offices decided, for some reason, to reside, and where he could lie down and do nothing for months without anyone badgering him about it.

However, in the aftermath of a failed Armageddon and a bookshop burned to a crisp, there is no other option.

“You could stay at my place,” says the demon, voice turned into a mere whisper, in a tone one would consider soft, not that he would ever admit it.

His eyes meet Aziraphale who ponders quietly at the suggestion. There is a glimmer in that familiar gaze, a mix of sorrow and curiosity shining ever so brightly in the darkness of the night. Crowley almost looks away at the rawness of the emotions displayed on the angel's face, he who usually keeps his feelings tightly guarded.

The agreement is unspoken, and when the angel’s hand slides oh so naturally into Crowley’s as they board the bus, something settles within him.

If this must be the end, then… he will not cross the gates with empty hands.

As they reach his apartment building, however, a new kind of worry starts to bloom within his soul. He remembers, with a start, the remains of what once was a demon, now a pile of goo still stinking the entryway. Aziraphale slows his pace, turning around to look at him quizzingly as Crowley hovers a foot outside the bus.

“Well?” asks the angel. “Do you need me to hold your hand again?”

“I killed Ligur,” comes the unexpected answer, and yet, the hand does not falter.

“It was you or him,” points out Aziraphale. “Do you regret it?”

Crowley ponders over the question but does not utter an answer. Slowly, he lowers his foot and takes hold of the soft hand offered to him. The bus drives away quietly as an angel pulls a demon towards a slick Mayfair building.

On the elevator, Crowley gets antsy once more, clinging to his angel as if at any moment, the elevator could plummet into Hell. He feels the weight of Aziraphale’s gaze on the side although the angel does not say anything. He simply leans back and brings their joined hands to his chest. Crowley inhales softly, fingers twitching against his angel’s old waistcoat, seeking his warmth and the gentle rhythm of an ethereal heart.

On a whim, Crowley finds himself reaching with his free hand for the angel’s cheek, whose breath finally falters, the demon feels his heart skip a beat under his fingertips. A bit abruptly perhaps, he pushes Aziraphale against the back of the elevator, breathes in the sweet tint of his cologne and finally tips forward, breaching the invisible gap they have always kept between them.

The kiss barely lasts for a second, a gentle peck contrasted with the violence of the day they just had and Crowley’s lips tingle as he pulls away. He almost gives in to further temptation and leans in for another taste when he catches Aziraphale’s gaze instead. The angel’s baby blues have completely vanished, whole galaxies now swirling in those eyes.

“Alright, angel?”

There is a quiet buzzing in the air that Crowley can’t quite place. Aziraphale doesn’t answer and simply stares at him with wide eyes and parted lips, glowing ever so slightly, overshadowing the elevator’s stale lighting.

“Aziraphale,” calls Crowley, in an unbearably soft voice he would never think of using with anyone else. “Still with me?”

Eventually, the galaxies fade away to make way for the angel’s usual irises, just as bright nonetheless. Crowley smiles.

“C’mon, we’re hogging the elevator.”

Aziraphale nods mutely and they make their way towards Crowley’s apartment. The angel recoils as the scent of still-burning sulphur hits him, the demon only grimaces, too used to the smell of it.

“Reckon there’s still Holy Water in that?” he asks, nodding at the pile of goo blocking their way that seems to want to become a permanent fixture.

“I can take care of it, just in case,” Aziraphale answers and with one quick flourish of his hand, Ligur’s remains disappear.

Then, the angel gently pushes the door open all the way, Crowley closely behind. One, two, three steps. Crowley watches. Curiosity surrounds Aziraphale as he looks around, wide eyes, then sorrow and worry taint his sweet aura. The demon wants to reach out, wondering if the reality of their situation is finally sinking in and he is about to witness a meltdown of some sort but then the angel turns around.

Vibrant blue eyes, enhanced by the setting sun shining behind them, look at him, a carefully neutral expression on his face.

“It… looks like Heaven,” whispers Aziraphale.

Crowley pauses at the doorstep, tilts his head back.

“Huh, funny that,” says he, refusing to look the angel in the eyes. Refusing to acknowledge what that would even mean.

“Crowley…”

“I know, can’t rival your bookshop, can it?” Crowley straightens up, feigning nonchalance. “Pretty empty, save for…”

“A few pieces of art. Like Heaven.”

“Right, no need to say it like that. And no, I don't want to talk about it.”

A few beats of silence. Aziraphale nods.

“Alright.”

Somehow, Crowley isn't satisfied with that response but he swallows his groan and starts walking towards the kitchen. The similarly very empty kitchen, he remembers, when he slings the door of the refrigerator open to stare at a bleak, white light. He checks the cabinets next only to get dust thrown into his face at the sudden motion the furniture is not used to.

“It’s alright, I do not feel hungry,” Aziraphale says behind him.

“Doesn’t sound like you.”

“It has been a peculiar day.”

Crowley grunts in response. Aziraphale keeps looking around, that small frown on his eyes until he catches a glimpse of something green around a corner and immediately makes his way to it.

“Ah,” whispers the demon as he follows promptly to find the angel already marvelling at his plants. He seems to positively glow, a warm source of light in the middle of the luxuriant yet sombre plants whose leaves seem to reach out towards the angel.

“Your own Eden?” ventures Aziraphale with a sheepish smile.

Crowley stares for a couple of moments, takes the words and scenery in. Then.

“Now that you're here, perhaps.”

The angel grins wide, almost blindingly so. Crowley looks away behind his shades but a smile still tugs at his lips.

Then, the smile dims. Aziraphale brings a gentle hand to the leaf of one of his plants and caresses it as if it were one of his precious books.

“Do you miss it?” asks the angel, although he doesn’t look in his direction.

“Eden?”

“Heaven.”

Crowley sighs. “Angel—”

“It’s just— I have a plan, but I do not wish to make you uncomfortable.”

That intrigues the demon, all his discomfort about Heaven gone as he gazes upon Aziraphale’s determined and yet concerned look.

“We need a drink, then.”

⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

Aziraphale explains as they lounge on Crowley’s ridiculously long sofa, bottles of wine discarded by their feet. The angel slips the prophecy into his hand, fingers lingering for longer than necessary, but Crowley doesn’t call him out on it.

Choose thy faces wisely.

“You reckon she’s in Hell right now? Agnes, I mean,” Crowley wonders.

“Heaven doesn’t like witches.”

“Heaven doesn’t like a lot of things.”

Aziraphale grimaces but doesn’t refute the statement.

“So do you? Miss Heaven? It is eerie how alike your flat is to it.”

“Not a conscious choice on my part, let me tell you that much,” Crowley sighs. “Spent more time at your bookshop anyway.”

“Mm. So will you be okay, seeing it again?” Aziraphale asks.

“Still on the fence about letting you go to Hell.”

“I should have Fallen long ago, it is about time I see that place,” the angel says nonchalantly as if the mere thought does not encapsulate Crowley's deepest fears.

“Angel.”

“Do not use that tone, you know it is true. You have been cast out for far less than I’ve done.”

“I questioned Her, disrespected Her basically to Her face.”

“And you remained good right to your core despite it all. You did not let bitterness take over your heart, that alone is a testament that you had no place in Hell.”

“You speak as if I managed that on my own. Angel, you’re the one who made me better. You’re the one who gave me hope.”

Frustratingly enough, Aziraphale seems unresponsive to the praise, a distant look in his eyes.

“Look, if it goes wrong, I want you to know—” Crowley starts, only to be interrupted by wine-tasting lips.

“I know,” Aziraphale whispers. “Don’t say it now, dear. Not when it feels forced by fear.”

Crowley has a rebuttal at the tip of his lips but they tingle, still reeling from the kiss. Aziraphale nonchalantly leans back and so he will remain none the wiser of the way Crowley wishes he could admit that the very few things in this Godforsaken flat he always kept were all pieces of art that reminded him of a fair-skinned and blonde-haired ethereal being.

“Why does it feel like our last confession before Judgement, though?” the angel asks, being the one to voice it for once. He swirls the wine in his glass, watching it create tiny waves. He laughs quietly. “Remember when humans started making such a fuss about it? Only for Her to not judge their souls when they die.”

Crowley lifts his eyes again. “I do.” Silly humans, always worrying about something grander than they can ever be rather than worry about the one life they are granted with. “And it is our Judgement. Except we know what the verdict will be.”

Drowned into Holy Water and burned in Hellfire.

Crowley downs the remaining wine from his glass and then lets it fall carelessly to the ground. It shatters into pieces but Aziraphale doesn’t react to the sound, merely looks at the mess then slowly finishes his own glass. Once he is done, Crowley takes it from him but gently lowers it on the coffee table.

“Well then,” the demon says, extending his hand. “Time to face Judgement.”

“Together,” Aziraphale adds as he slips his fingers into his.

“Together.”

And thus they choose their faces wisely.

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

Hey, could you have Victor Rookwood things. I don't know what to ask for but yeah.

Just know I'm going to absolutely fuck with the guy. Absolutely go fucking bonkers. You fell in love with a grimlin man.

************************************************************************

How would Victor react to seeing his SO punch a goblin in the face, and if asked why, SO shrugs and goes "They made fun of your hat, love. Had to defend your honor."

Victor Rookwood, ever the cold and calculating figure, would likely be stunned at the unexpected boldness of his significant other’s actions. His face would momentarily freeze in disbelief as the goblin stumbled back, clutching its face, before collapsing to the ground.

In that moment, time would slow. His SO would turn to him, a casual smirk pulling at their lips, eyes gleaming with mischief. Then, as if this was the most normal thing in the world, they’d shrug and deliver the line:

“They made fun of your hat, love. Had to defend your honor.”

Scene:

Victor blinked. Once. Twice. The surrounding tension in the dimly lit alley of Hogsmeade was thick, the cobblestones still echoing with the dull thud of the goblin’s body hitting the ground. His SO, now standing over the crumpled form, barely glanced at the stunned faces of the onlookers. Instead, they dusted off their knuckles with a nonchalant air, eyes cutting to Victor’s.

“Is… is that so?” Victor finally drawled, his tone low and dangerous, though the amusement lurking beneath it was unmistakable. His mouth curled into a sharp smirk as he stepped forward, towering over the goblin and looking down at his SO with eyes that burned like embers. “My hat, you say?”

“Mm.” His SO nodded, a playful glint in their gaze. “Some kind of comment about it looking like you’d stolen it from a circus performer.” They grinned, clearly satisfied with themselves. “Couldn’t let them get away with that.”

Victor chuckled, a rare sound, his fingers brushing the brim of his hat as though considering the insult. “I suppose a public display of brute force is one way to handle such… slights.”

The goblin groaned on the ground, trying to sit up, and Victor, without breaking eye contact with his SO, delivered a swift, elegant kick to its side, sending the goblin sprawling again. “And yet,” he continued smoothly, “you seem to enjoy handling things in your own… direct manner.”

His SO tilted their head innocently. “You didn’t seem the type to mind getting your hands dirty.” They shrugged, clearly pleased with the reaction they’d provoked.

Victor’s smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “Perhaps you know me better than I thought,” he mused, voice laced with something dangerously playful. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair behind his SO’s ear, his fingers lingering. “However, next time—do give me the pleasure of seeing that insolence burned from their very souls.”

His SO gave a mock salute. “As you wish, my dark lord.”

Victor laughed, a low, menacing sound that reverberated through the alleyway, causing several of his dark wizards to exchange nervous glances. “You’re a reckless one,” he said, his voice a silken purr, “but I do admire your passion.”

With a flick of his wand, Victor sent a curse toward the groaning goblin, silencing its weak attempts to crawl away. “Come, darling,” he murmured, extending his arm toward his SO. “I believe we've made our point.”

Together, they walked away from the scene, leaving the goblin in the dust, the smirk never leaving Victor’s face. He glanced down at his SO, a glint of approval dancing in his sharp eyes.

“Defending my honor,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “You’re quite the little storm, aren’t you?”

And his SO, without missing a beat, grinned. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

**********************************************************************

What would Victor Look for in an SO?

Victor Rookwood would likely be drawn to someone who complements his cunning and ambition, but in a way that both challenges and intrigues him. As a calculating and ruthless Dark Wizard, he wouldn’t settle for just anyone. He would value intelligence, loyalty, and a certain ruthlessness, but also a spark of unpredictability—someone who can surprise him, keep him on his toes, and hold their own in the dangerous world he inhabits.

Here are key traits Victor would look for in a significant other:

1. Intelligence and Wit

Victor would be attracted to someone who can match his sharp mind and think quickly on their feet. He enjoys manipulating others and crafting elaborate schemes, so he would appreciate a partner who can keep up with his mental acrobatics, offer insightful strategies, and occasionally outsmart him. Wit and clever banter would be a part of their dynamic, as he’d enjoy the intellectual challenge.

2. Unwavering Loyalty

Trust is rare in Victor’s world, so loyalty would be a non-negotiable trait for him. His SO would need to be someone he can rely on in both political and personal matters, someone who wouldn’t betray him for power or personal gain. In return, Victor would show a fierce, possessive form of loyalty toward them, expecting the same level of dedication.

3. Ambition and Ruthlessness

Victor respects ambition, so his partner would need to have goals of their own and the drive to achieve them. They wouldn’t necessarily have to be as power-hungry as him, but they would need to understand the importance of control and influence. A ruthless edge—knowing when to show mercy and when to crush their enemies—would appeal to him, as he values a partner who isn’t afraid to get their hands dirty.

4. Confidence and Strength

Victor would be drawn to someone who exudes confidence, someone who can command a room and hold their ground in dangerous situations. He wouldn’t be interested in someone timid or easily intimidated. Physical strength wouldn’t be as important to him as mental fortitude and emotional resilience. He’d admire someone who can stare down danger without flinching and maintain control of their emotions.

5. Charm and Subtlety

Though Victor is often direct in his ambitions, he appreciates the art of subtlety. He would admire a partner who knows how to manipulate others with charm and charisma, someone who can navigate social situations with ease and bend people to their will without them realizing. Their relationship could thrive on subtle power dynamics, where each teases the other’s boundaries in a game of influence.

6. Mischievousness and a Dark Sense of Humor

Victor would enjoy a partner with a mischievous streak, someone who doesn’t take life too seriously and can appreciate the darker, more twisted aspects of life. They would need a sense of humor that aligns with his own, finding amusement in irony, danger, or cruelty, while keeping their playfulness sharp and clever.

In a Relationship:

Victor would likely crave a dynamic where both power and affection are in balance. He’d need someone who respects his authority, but isn’t afraid to challenge him when necessary. He’d enjoy pushing his partner’s limits, just as much as they push his, making for a tense yet passionate relationship filled with mutual respect, mind games, and moments of genuine care buried beneath the surface.

While he would never fully let down his guard, Victor might find himself surprised by how much he enjoys moments of vulnerability with his SO—moments he wouldn’t show to anyone else. His affection would likely be possessive and intense, with a protective edge, but always veiled beneath his usual cool demeanor.

In short, Victor would seek a partner who is both an equal and a foil—a brilliant and dangerous counterpart who stands beside him as they pursue power together, all the while teasing and testing the boundaries of their complex relationship.

************************************************************************

How would Victor react: He is pacing in his headquarters, muttering about goblin failures and the repositories, when out of no where, a plushie version of the magic repository hits him in the head (knocking over his top hat) and lands in his hand? The plushie is indestructible, very plush and soft, and smells like butter beer.

Victor Rookwood, pacing back and forth in a fit of controlled frustration, would be caught entirely off guard by something as absurd as a plushie hitting him in the head. The sharp rhythm of his muttering about goblin incompetence and his plans for the repositories would be shattered in an instant as the plushie knocked his top hat to the floor.

For a split second, he’d freeze, eyes narrowing dangerously as his fingers instinctively closed around the offending object. The softness of the plushie, its buttery scent, and its impossibly cute shape would completely derail his thoughts.

Scene:

Victor stopped mid-step, his body tense, eyes flashing with fury. He whipped around, expecting to see some foolish underling or perhaps even a goblin playing a prank, but the room was still. The plushie, soft and warm in his hand, looked… exactly like the magic repository he’d been obsessing over for months.

He stared at it, his jaw tightening.

“What in—” he began, before lifting it closer to his face. The scent of butterbeer filled the air. He blinked, suddenly and unwillingly thrown off-balance.

He gave it a firm squeeze, testing it. The plushie squished in his grip, as though taunting him with its indestructible softness. His gaze darkened, lips pressing into a thin line. He squeezed harder—nothing. Not even a sign of wear or tear.

He tried crushing it with both hands—still, nothing. No damage. No magic burned or dissolved it. It remained as absurdly plush and intact as when it had struck him in the head, its cheerful form mocking his serious expression.

His hand twitched, as if considering flinging it across the room, but something about the ridiculousness of the situation made him hesitate. Victor, the feared and calculating Dark Wizard, standing in the middle of his headquarters, holding a stuffed repository.

The absurdity slowly began to register, and the tiniest hint of a growl slipped from his throat. He ran a hand through his hair, knocking the rest of it back into place as he retrieved his top hat from the floor with a graceful sweep. His cold eyes scanned the plushie again, and in a low, venomous tone, he muttered to no one in particular:

“What cursed fool thought this was amusing?”

He glanced around the empty room, the silence answering his question. For a brief, fleeting moment, something very uncharacteristic crossed his face—a twitch of his lips. Perhaps, somewhere deep inside him, he found this entire thing just a little bit amusing.

But he quickly buried that thought, setting his hat back on his head, though his hand still clenched the plushie. He couldn't destroy it. He couldn't figure out where it came from. And now, despite himself, it sat in his hand with an almost… comforting softness.

With a slow, deliberate sigh, he turned and muttered, “Well, at least the goblins didn’t make this mess.”

He placed the indestructible plushie on a nearby shelf, far away from any important plans or documents. For now.

And as he resumed his pacing, muttering about how to deal with his goblin allies, his eyes would occasionally flick back to the stuffed repository, as if daring it to pull any more tricks. It smelled like butterbeer.

He hated that he liked it.

In the days to come, the plushie would remain there, untouched by any of his minions, but never too far from his sight. An annoying, ridiculous reminder of the one thing he couldn’t control, and yet, somehow, it always managed to draw his attention.

************************************************************************

How's this @kawipastell1928 ?

[echantedtoon]

Valtor x Reader Oneshot

A nightly visitor visits his lover once more.

The darkness of night was always dangerous to those whom did not heed the warnings of the monsters whom lurked within the abyss and shadows.

The woman knew that more than anyone else very well. Often finding herself confined within it's hold. Innocence ensnared like a bird within it's cage. Singing it's innocent melodies despite being condemned to be surrounded by cold iron bars. Forever ongoing. Swirling, swirling around 

The sun sank beneath the horizon to make way for his sister the moon to take her rightful place upon her throne of darkness surrounded by her army men of stars and comets. 'Cone out!' She cried out to her dark children that hid from the light. 'My brother and his infernal light is gone. Once more come out to greet your mother and wreck discord upon thine earth. Have your fun dancing in my gentle glow and bask in the darkness that I reign upon as I watch over you.' The monsters woul answer their mother's cries. Dancing. Reigning havoc over the darkness. Bringing entropy to every household they manage to invade. 

A fire warmed up the skin as your lazy eyes watched the dancing flames in the pit. The flickering lights casted dancing shadows the lonely still walls. They frolicked in tune with their own rythme in their own universe. However the warmth of the fire kept your body warm and toasted from the cold outside. No doubt crawling with monsters and demons of the abyss walking forth towards you with every step they took. In tune with every breath you took. But you didn't mind. Infact within the darkness the maiden embraced their outstretched embrace. 

Step. Step. Step.

Closer and closer.

Breaths of sins clawed their way from a maw that swallowed more innocent lives than the mind cared to remember. Smiling at a wicked whom remembered or a sinful taste that it could still taste on the malicious tongue. Running the muscle along fangs sharp and destined to rip magic from mere soul. However the sins of that life would be forgotten in exchange for the comfort of innocence that the night allowed him to have once every moon. Footsteps soft yet loud enough to echo through the darkness and approaching fast the house with remaining light. Light that offered warmth and comfort but not protection.

F/c eyes opened slightly and turned. A door normally provided comfort and protection was no match for the class that ensnared it and pushed it open allowing the night and shadows to spill inside. The sinful, wicked smile was delighted to see the one of innocent happiness smiling back to her.

"Well now. Hello, Beautiful.~ Do you mind if I come in and warm myself by your fire?"

A giggle all too sincere made the monster's undead heart beat against his own ribcage in anticipation of her answer.

"Come right in, Sir. Heaven knows how cold the night must be for you."

The monster did not hesitate given the permission. Coming inside to receive his reward for the sinful deeds he had done in the form of an embrace of the warmth she gave. The embodiment of darkness was enticing to say the least. Especially with herself entangled within his grip. It felt...

c o l d.

So cold, so frightening. Yet so familiar. The blood ran cold yet so warm upon the strong arms around her. Eyes deeply staring through the soul wriggling, squirming in its hold. Gleaming  teeth beside the eyes in a smile that was promising sin yet a love no one else gave. There for her, the one caught up into the grip of the night. the only thing they could do for them was finish them off — even if it was they who would have to suffer then.

"It's been far too long. You have no idea what you do to me. Making me feel things a sinner like me has no right being happy to have."

Neither spoke for a long moment just staring into each other's eyes before a cold hand reached out to run his knuckles along her chin causing her to shiver before leaning into that hand that switched to caressing the soft warm flesh. A strong arm pulled her forward until they were chest to chest. His sinful freeze and her innocent warm glow. A sturdy arm held her close, the other cracked the back of her head gently as worlds apart connected in the ultimate declaration of affection between two partners.

Lines were blurring. Obsession with love. Madness within clarity. Starvation of touch with longing of burning loneliness. Passion and poison. Breaths were warm despite his cold body. Eyes soft despite their own desire filled look. Grip firm but restrained so much it hurts him how cautious he was being to not harm. Her soft skin burnt him! It burnt, it burnt-

It lit up his soul with unresolved longing he was never able to fulfill like this with anything else in his life.

He pulled her closer deepening the connection for a blissful moment before slowly pulling away just a smidge. Their lips still touching as warm breath gently caressed his face as his dark eyes looked back in narrowing into possessive slits. Words whispered against lips as he spoke.

"You really shouldn't really be letting me come back over and over. It's addicting... Intoxicating to me to not have you right where I need you. My mind clears when you are the only thing it can think about."

A shiver ran over her body so close and it sent a smile against her lips from him. It pleased him so.

"Maybe I like it when you only think about me though. Would you really leave me even if I were to dismiss you?"

Whispered murmurs against lips. Close as lovers could ever be. Arms around each other's bodies like a whirlwind would pull them away. Eyes closing with one last murmur against her lips.

"No. But I don't mind if you took my body and soul because you already have my sanity. Now love me. Love me like I'm going to die."

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Como dientes en el alma

Song that inspired the title, idea is from this and the one post I made about wanting to write a prompt based off "you drew stars/around my scars/and now i'm bleeding"

This is so sweet and emotional, it made me miss writing angst and killing blorbos.

Have fun and don't get used to it <3

Lan Wangji passes by that place every morning when he takes A-Yuan to school. It's still the same as always, the same as back then, a little shop facing the main street, high windows with tattoo displays on them and a light up sign that hasn't flashed in over a decade.

"You don't look like the tattoo type." He laughs, and it lights up his whole face, his handsome features softening. His lip piercing glistens under the white neon lights, and for a moment, Lan Wangji forgets he's nervous at all. "Is there any occasion you're doing this for?"

"For... my mother, she's... gone."

There have been many rumors. Some said he ran away, others said he killed himself, or was disposed of. Most people shook their head and moved on with their lives.

Sometimes, Lan Wangji wishes he did too. Wishes he could.

It's been so long.

"Have you thought where you'd like it done?"

"It must be somewhere hidden. My workplace is...strict. As is my family."

He laughs again, and Lan Wangji finds himself yearning for the sound, wanting to remember it forever, melodious, sincere. Light shines on his face, his stormy eyes glistening with mirth, and Lan Wangji irrationally wonders what it would be like to hear that laughter forever.

"How about your arm? There's plenty of space there, I see." a wink, and Lan Wangji's ears flare red.

"Alright."

"I'll do my best so it doesn't hurt too much, but you'll hate me when I'll start to color it in, so heads up for that."

"It is fine, I am used to pain."

He smiles, but this time it's in sympathetic understanding, hiding something dark and painful beneath, "I am too. Doesn't mean you have to like it."

The tattoo is still there, beautiful etched into his skin. It hurt, but not nearly as much as everything else in his life - before that, and after - did. He still catches himself admiring it in the shower, or as he's getting ready in the mirror.

"Do you want to talk about your mother? It'll help distract you, you seem tense."

Lan Wangji was tense, but not because of the procedure, the other's touch electrifying, the closeness, intoxicating. But, indeed, this was about Lan Wangji's mother. And he never really got to talk to anyone about her.

It's comforting, to know there are still pieces of him into the world, scattered in the crowd, carrying his mastery, his touch, his soul, his creativity.

His love.

"My mom died too. Both my parents did. And I... I don't really remember them anymore. I was 3 or 4 years old when it happened, and then I lived on the streets for a while before uncle Jiang found me and took me in. I always wanted to find a way to make sure I wouldn't ever forget important things again and... well, you can never forget to look at your skin, right?"

It was impossible for Lan Wangji not to fall in love with him. Anyone would have. Such a kind, considerate, playful person, so beautiful, so artistic with everything he did - it was as if, with every move of his tools, Wei Wuxian didn't just leave his mark on Lan Wangji's body, but on his soul too.

"I...this is really unprofessional of me and I really shouldn't be doing this, but... frankly, I like you." The blush decorates Wei Wuxian's face so beautifully and Lan Wangji feels his own cheeks burn, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He smiles, shy, but with a glint in his eyes "And I think you like me too, because you've been here almost every day, and the 'I'm worried about healing' excuse is getting old."

Busted - but Lan Wangji knew it wasn't that good of an excuse anyway. However, he's done with excuses - and he pulls Wei Wuxian into a kiss instead, fully accountable and open about his intention.

And so incredibly happy.

Lan Wangji has three tattoos. The gentian flower, in memory of his mother, on his right arm, a pair of bunnies, a tribute to the love he and Wei Wuxian shared and...

Lan Wangji traces his fingers over the crudely drawn brand on Wei Wuxian's chest.

"This isn't yours." He says, and kisses over it, softly, as if the skin had yet to heal.

"No, it isn't... It was a... punishment. I pissed off the wrong people and I paid for it."

"Why didn't you remove it?"

"There are some things you can't erase, Lan Zhan, regardless of whether they show on your skin or not."

Lan Wangji remembered the symbol precisely - the lines, the contours of it, the sun it supposedly represents - and had it done too. Wanted to do it himself at first, drunk and mad with grief, but ultimately decided against it. Wei Wuxian wouldn't want him to die the same way he almost did.

"How about we get matching tattoos?" He asked one morning as he hopped onto the kitchen counter, coffee in hand, all but inviting Lan Zhan to kiss him.

He did, hungry and wanting as always, but Wei Ying seemed insistent on having a conversation right then, pushing Lan Zhan away enough so he could catch his breath. "I'm being serious, Lan Zhan, come on."

"So am I." And he kissed down the column of Wei Ying's neck as if to prove a point, hands sliding over the painted skin of his thighs.

"Lan Zhan, you're - ahh...- you're not listening to me!"

"I am. You sound pretty."

"That's not - mmh! - you know what, we should just get bunnies, since we're fucking like rabbits anyway!"

Sometimes, Lan Zhan can almost feel it, the gentle touch of Wei Ying's hand, the pinching of the needle, the warmth of being so close to the love of his life and distracting him with kisses when he shouldn't.

"Lan Zhan. Stay still, I mean it. I could really hurt you, and that would break my heart and my license!"

"You should not look so beautiful then."

Wei Ying lifted the tattoo gun off his skin and sighed, loudly. "Mister Lan, I may have to ask someone else to finish your tattoo, because you'll kill me with those words of yours."

Lan Zhan took advantage of the break to get into kissing his lover properly, smiling to himself as they parted and Wei Ying appeared entirely lovestruck, lips kiss-bruised.

"Okay, I'll behave. I don't want anyone but you."

It's been a long time since Lan Wangji has felt anything but hollow. He's been unable - and unwilling - to love anybody else other than his Wei Ying, and he's long resigned to a life of loneliness because of this conviction.

But he does dream, still, of a day when he passes by the old tattoo shop and the neon sign is lit up, the door opened wide, and Wei Wuxian rushing out to greet him, latch his arms around him and give him a sweet, smiling kiss.

Every morning as he passes by the place, his heart stutters with the tiniest surge of excitement.

Maybe there will be someone there today. Maybe, somehow, Wei Wuxian has returned, and he's still pursuing his dream and he still love Lan Wangji.

But the building stays stubbornly empty no matter how hard Lan Wangji hopes it not be so.

---

But one day, 13 years later, the neon sign is lit up and the door is opened. Lan Wangji nearly stumbles out of skin at the sight of the decrepit shop suddenly teeming with life and the distant sound of buzzing needles.

He rushes in, shaking with so much emotion he feels his knees might just give out.

Wei Ying!

The young man at the register glances at him curiously. The name badge on his shirt reads "Mo Xuanyu", and, as if awoken from a dream, Lan Wangji blinks once, twice, and realizes he doesn't recognize anything or anyone in the old establishment.

"Can I help you?" Mo Xuanyu asks, though Lan Wangji feels too shattered to do anything but shake his head.

How could he be so stupid? Of course he won't find Wei Wuxian here. There are other tattoo artists and the building couldn't have stayed abandoned forever.

The world has long moved on.

And Wei Wuxian is...

A voice calls from somewhere deep in the store, and the closer it gets, the more tears gather in Lan Wangji's eyes.

"Xuanyu, did the 10 am appointment arrive yet? I want to go get some co..."

Wei Wuxian stands frozen in the middle of the shop's reception, eyes wide as if unable to comprehend what he's seeing.

The stranger - no, not a stranger, not at all - smiles at him, honeyed and tearful, and Wei Wuxian's body moves before he realizes.

When he's finally in Lan Wangji's arms, and Lan Wangji is in his...

"Is this real, Lan Zhan? Tell me it is, tell me you're really here."

"I am here, Wei Ying. I've always been."