#i hate that there's empty space on the upper right

[kleprer2]

remember that 8th episode of sonic x? i like to think sonic still wears that bracelet amy made for him sometimes when he goes chilling by the sea but is embarrassed to admit he still has it

[dirt-str1der]

After i made kiryu walk all around kamurocho to find a quiet alley hidden from the streets thats not already taken up by bacchus i found this little bend in theatre square :) street to the left and sweet privacy (kind of) right ahead

[girlwiththoughts13]

A Vicious cycle

Coriolanus Snow x Wife!reader

Warnings: Dub-con/ violence/ kidnapping

Word count: 3k

~~~~

The silence that fills every empty space within the room is thick. So heavy it is that your head feels the pressure of the silence and your ears are plagued with a low ringing.

You wouldn't be surprised if you lost your hearing completely as you haven't heard a sound from the outside world in quite some time.

It's because of this that when the door suddenly begins to open and the hinges creak, it sounds foreign and too harsh for your sensitive ears.

You're not sure how long you've been in here. Not very long you figured, considering you hadn't felt the effects of starvation or dehydration. Though it could be possible that your constant state of sleep has allowed you to escape that part of captivity. What else is there to do? Regret every choice and decision that has ultimately led to you ending up in this room? Who knew a smile could be so fatal.

Lying on your side on the bed, faced away from the door, you could hear every step he takes, all calculated of course. You don't need to look up to know he's striding across the room, standing tall with his shoulders and chest puffed proud, commanding in every aspect of his life.

"It doesn't have to be this way darling" Coriolanus makes his way over to the small table in the corner of the room that holds a pitcher of water and cups, the very table that has been taunting you with your inability to reach it. He pours a glass as he continues "If you promise to be the good girl I know you are, you can come back upstairs"

You don't answer, don't move or even dare to breathe.

Coriolanus makes his way over to you, setting down the glass on the nightstand before crouching on his hind legs. He reaches out a hand to caress your cheek and tuck away a bit of stray hair behind your ear before moving to pinch your chin between his fore-finger and thumb in order to tilt your head to meet his eyes. "mmh? what do you say"

You glare at him, eyes filled with the flames you wished to burn him in. He ignores this, looking back at you with a small smirk. You lift your head a tad and spit directly onto his face. You had no control since the day he put the shackle on your left hand, the weight of the band a constant reminder of your lost freedom; but you still had control of your body, that was still your own, at least you hope it was.

Coriolanus removes his hand from your face slowly, to wipe your spit off of his eye and cheek, while standing to his full height. He suddenly grabs at your upper arm to yank you in an up-right siting position on the bed. The chain on your wrist that's connected to the headboard rattles violently. He grabs the glass of water and brings it to your lips. "Drink" He grits out

You slowly shake your head back and forth, your act of defiance.

"Drink or I'll force it down your throat. No matter how ungrateful you are you're still my wife, I won't let you die". You stare at him for a moment to long which prompts him to grab your entire jaw in one big hand, gripping so tightly, your mouth pops open from the force. He takes this opening to pour the water in your mouth which you slightly choke on. He stops for a beat before resuming his onslaught. Your entire chest and top of your sheer nightgown is drenched in the fallen water. He finally relents and allows you to lean forward to cough your lungs out. He pats your back for a few moments before you quickly swing your hand out to swat his away.

Between coughs you spit out "I...hate..you"

Coriolanus moves toward you once more and attempts to wrap his arms around you in order to bring you into an embrace. You resist and thrash around to knock him away from you, but he's stronger, bigger. He places one knee on the bed and tucks your body into his chest, you have no choice but to rest your head in his inner neck. He whispers to you "You don't mean that, you love me".

As much as it pained you to admit. You did love him, you wouldn't be here if you didn't. But you also hated him and more than anything else you feared him. He knew this, thrived off it. Coriolanus Snow was the scariest man you'd ever met and you had his full love and attention, the center of his universe, his entire world revolved around keeping you by his side, what a terrifying prospect.

"I wanna go home Coriolanus" you whispered, it was futile but every now and then you'd try to appeal to his empathy in case he suddenly developed emotions. Coriolanus eyes hardened just like it always did when you mentioned leaving him. "Corio". He corrected, not liking the formality of his full name. "And you're already home" he finished, letting you know this was the end of it. But you couldn't take this without some type of fight. You hadn't seen your family in a long time and you knew they were asking for you, capitol elites didn't handle being treated less than.

"Coriolanus please, I won't leave I just want to see them I swear". This was a variation of the truth. You wanted out of this house, possibly this marriage. Ever since you had said I do, Coriolanus ran you like a dictatorship, supervising where you went, what you wore, who you spoke too, even what you ate. You've tried to leave a few times before, every time ended the same way. You remember him whispering to you after your first attempt, "I'd never harm a hair on your head but when you do something wrong someone has to pay for it and it won't be you sweetheart" he says this as he forced you to watch one of the staff members who had become a cherished friend to you- one of the only people you're allowed to talk to and who helped you out past the doors- get beaten by two peacekeepers til her body was mangled beyond recognition.

You pull your face away to look at him your hands reaching up to hold the sides of his face, the heft of the chain resting on him surely bothering him but he wouldn't say anything. You saw his anger flare and you felt him begin to pull away, so you wrapped one of your hands around his back and the other to the nape of his neck to hold him to you.

His arms around you tightened. This was what you hated the most about yourself. The sudden heat that would consume the pit of your stomach. Just from being held by him, being this close that you can smell his strong scent that was all man, a man of power. Every move you made was because he allowed it, he could predict everything you'd ever do, maybe just this once taking him off guard would be rewarding.

You pull away from the embrace by an inch and bring your hands to his cheeks once again, resting there gently instead of the firm grip he usually holds your face in. You look him in the eyes briefly and see a crease between his brows appear from confusion. You don't let him think on it for too long before you're smashing your lips onto his. He kisses back immediately and you continue on like this for a minute or so before he's grabbing your shoulders and shoving you back. "What are you doing?" Coriolanus wants nothing more than this, to kiss you until there's no more air in your lungs, to take you and fuck any ideas of leaving him out of your head, but he also doesn't want to be tricked.

You don't answer just lean up to kiss him again, this seems to be enough for him. Coriolanus practically pounces on you, wrapping one hand around your throat while the other goes down to your lower back, pressing you into him. The rattle of your arm reminds him of the chain on your wrist, he pulls away and hastily digs into his pocket to pull out the key. He unchains you and you throw yourself back on the bed, arms reaching out for him in faux yearning. Though it isn't entirely in-genuine, despite your distaste of his control over you he never fails to make your body light up like the brightest burning star. It spreads down further into your center at the sight of his striking blue eyes and you know your panties are drenched with the overwhelming lust heightened by the intermingling fear.

Coriolanus climbs on top of you and you're quick to lower your arms around his neck when he slots himself between your legs. His palms resting on the sides of your head to keep his weight off of you. His lips come smashing down onto your lips as if he's attempting to meld you together. If that were possible you know he would, to know you'd be his forever. The passionate kiss continues as Coriolanus brings one hand down to the hem of your nightgown, fingers caressing your exposed skin with a feather-light touch. He brings his kisses down to your jaw slowly and sensually, a complete switch from the untamed way he had been before. Finally landing on your neck where he sucks a mark on your soft skin strong enough to elicit a moan from deep within you.

The hand that was ghosting on your nightgown at last pulls the fabric up until it bunches up high on your thighs. Coriolanus releases the gown to trail his fingers across your clothed cunt, he smirks as he feels the wetness. He begins to rub up and down slowly but with a harsh pressure, the pleasure that explodes from his exploits makes your teeth vibrate.

"Your body could never lie to me, you crave me, need me, your nothing without me" Coriolanus whispers in your ear taking a lobe lazily in his mouth to nibble on it. You hate that his words hold truth to them, you feel ashamed. And it is that exact emotion that reminds you what you almost forgotten. With Coriolanus head tucked away in your neck, he is unable to see your hand let go of the bedsheet you were gripping onto for dear life and slyly take hold of the abandoned chain.

You were somebody without him, he made you into nothing. But you knew if you could just be strong for this next part you can be free to be the person you truly were, the one he long ago exhausted.

With the heft of the chain in your hand, you tightened your hold and wasted no time taking what could very well be your only chance and brought it down with all your might to the side of his face that wasn't covered by your neck.

Coriolanus lets out a shout, you don't let him recover before you're pushing against his shoulder to slip out from under him. You run as fast as your legs will carry you and rip open the door. You can hear Coriolanus yelling and crashing into things no doubt rushing after you already. You want to will you body to run faster but your legs are practically numb from laying in bed for god knows how long. It isn't much later that Coriolanus body crashes into yours halting any further movement.

He spins you to face him and yanks you by the throat, cutting off your air immediately. The side of his face already is dripping with blood staining his pristine white shirt. Your hands come to his arm in order to claw at him off you. "Where do you think you're going?"

He doesn't let you answer before he's releasing you to crouch down and throw you over his shoulder, like you weighted nothing at all. He storms back into the room and throws you on the bed, you land on your back with a thud. He waste no time climbing on top making sure to press one knee on your thigh to subdue you. Your hands come up waving violently every which way. "Get off of me" You scream, Coriolanus latches on your wrists to end the digs you're getting on his face, no doubt worsening his wounds. "Stop fucking moving".

Coriolanus lowers his weight upon you and reaches between you to free his cock from his pants, having no plans to remove any articles of clothing. 

"Coriolanus stop it" You squeal after he rips your panties off it one swift move.

He presses his cock against your pussy and rubs it up and down, until you slowly relax. You try to push away the building arousal but find it difficult to resist the ache that's begging to take over your senses. Eventually you begin to pant and you know your resolve is at the point of breaking. His cock moves upon your clit and your mouth flys open to release the sweetest sound his ever heard.

“What do you want?” Coriolanus will never miss the opportunity to make you beg.

“Please.. Corio fuck me” Gone were any reservations of Corio’s dominion over you. 

A sharp gasp is ripped through you as you feel his cock push inside you. A full blown moan rushes out as he hits the barrier of your womb. His mouth falls open against your shoulder, a desperate groan leaving him as he sinks into you, he bites clamps down his teeth into your skin to tether himself to you, you know from the sting that his teeth marks will be present for days to come. 

Coriolanus is so big, thicker and long in a way that matches his dominant nature, every time he fucks you the stretch teeters on the edge of pain and pleasure. When he pulls back and pushes back in with rapid movements, the sheer desperation makes you both moan. Coriolanus begins to pound into you at a frantic speed. One of his hands leaves yours again, coming up drag your the top of your gown down enough to expose one your breast, he kneads your full breasts, mouth coming down to put the nipple in his mouth, sucking powerfully, coming off with a pop. You can feel every inch of him inside, he’s so deep, hitting all the spots that make your head spin.

“You’re mine, do you hear me? You're not going anywhere you're gonna stay right here, where I could have you like this all the time” The hand on your breast goes up to lace his fingers through your hair at the back of your head, too pull you back to look at him. His beautiful face at ease- no one but you has ever seen this look- though his eyes never get rid of that dangerous glint. “Tell me you’re mine.”

Coriolanus begins to fuck into you faster as if to warn you to answer correctly. You glance down to where you are connected and watch as his cock disappears into your cunt. You let out a high pitched yelp at the sight and the arousal it spurns.

“I’m yours, Coryo, only yours.” His face is flushed with relief at the proclamation falling from your lips, at that you lean up to kiss him sloppily. 

Amongst the pleasure you feel as his fingers catch your clit and rub quick circles on it, shame rises within you. Your hand rests on his wrist, attempting to give you reprieve from his measured circles on your clit but this only makes him speed up.

The sound you let out is entirely pornographic, everything inside you seizes when you finally reach your peak. His hand falls from your clit, moving both hands to your hips in order to chase his own high now. The grip he has on you hurts, but despite the terror he instills in you, you find that it heightens your desire for him. 

Faintly in the back of your mind you notice yourself falling back into the pattern, because the thought of leaving him seems impossible, it pains you. You know he’s about to burst when his cock throbs incessantly inside you and his groans get louder against your ear. His hips stutter and then ram inside once, twice, before he releases, teeth digging into your shoulder again and cock buried to the hilt. 

After a long beat of silence, his head moves up from your shoulder and he grasps your jaw again. At this your eyes open wearily. He simply stares at you for a moment as if you're the most uncomplicated thing in his life that he’s conquered. His cock now softened, slips out of you and you can feel the rush of his cum spilling out and dripping along your inner thighs. 

“Are you gonna be a good girl now?” His eyes dare you to challenge him, you won’t, you know better. You nod your head within his grip. He tightens his hold. “Words sweetheart” 

“Yes I’ll be good” Corio smiles like he always does when he knows he’s won. You can't remember how many times you’ve seen this particular smile. 

“Good, let's go back upstairs”

Corio tucks himself back into his pants before helping you off the bed and straightening out your nightgown. He holds out his hand for you to take which you do eagerly. The both of you walk out of the room, when you reach the door he lets go of your hand to push you forward lightly by the small of your back. He pulls the door shut and locks it tight. 

Once again taking your hand in his,  you climb the stairs that lead to your actual home but you can’t help but think about the next time you’ll be down there because you know for certain you haven't seen the last of that room.

[starry-nights-garden]

Mingi ✧ 9:37pm

✧ Ateez Mingi x gn!reader ✧ words: ~1.2k ✧ genre: angst, comfort ✧ warnings: reader breaking down crying, mentions of reader considering hitting themselves

Desc.: Your boyfriend Mingi notices something’s off about you right away as you’re trying to keep it together so as not to break down crying in front of him. In the end the tears come out anyway, and he’s right there with you to comfort you.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sure,” you answer coldly, feeling yourself getting annoyed at your boyfriend’s repeated question. You busy yourself with rummaging through your bag that you had put on the chair in your room - at this point you forgot what you were searching for in the first place, but you obsessively keep your hands busy with its contents anyway. Mingi falls silent, strangely silent, or maybe it’s your overall agitated state that causes you to tense up, because you desperately wish for him to just start a casual conversation with you about fuck knows what.

“I don’t think so…” you hear him mutter, and the sadness resounding in his voice has you gulping. You bite your lower lip because you know if you don’t, your own sadness will break out of you as well, and so eventually you decide it would be better to go find something else to do, solely for the purpose of moving into a position where instead of seeing the side of your face, he can’t see your face at all. You move to your wardrobe, opening it in an attempt to decide on your outfit for tomorrow in advance, but Mingi’s gaze that’s glued to your back won’t let you focus. “Y/N,” he calls out your name, speaking softly, and again you feel yourself coming close to the verge of breaking.

“What?” You manage to force out a single word, your voice cracking from the strain you’re putting on your whole body, and upon hearing his next words, you feel the anxiety spreading through your body like an explosion.

“Look at me,” he says. “Please.” Your legs trembling, you know you shouldn’t refuse. If you want him to believe you when you say you’re just fine, you should prove it to him by putting on a brave face, just like you had done all day. And so you turn around, and you think you end up glaring at him instead of the confident expression you had planned, but you can’t tell. It’s almost like the fear and the pain you’ve been holding in for days is making you numb to all other sensations you should be feeling in your body. 

Your boyfriend has made himself comfortable at the edge of your bed, upper body leaned slightly forward as he shoots you a worried expression. He knows. And still you stay stubborn. You’ve broken down every time you came home and were finally alone in your room at night for the past few days now, you don’t want to go through this again - especially not in front of him. You don’t want him to worry, you don’t want to burden him, and you will make damn sure he won’t. So why does it feel like he’s about to break down the walls you’ve built up around yourself with his bare hands?

“Y/N,” he says your name again, sweetly, and you currently hate him for it, because it’s not helping with your plans of keeping it together at all. “Come here.” And then he pats the empty space next to him, on top of your fluffy blanket, and you freeze up completely. You know that if you walk over there and sit down next to him it’ll be just like the past few nights - and yet, even just the thought of it makes you tear up. It’s like hearing his words has formed a crack in your facade, and with every breath you take and let out again, it’s only getting bigger. You can’t stop it anymore, and as you sink to the ground and the sobs violently make their way to the surface, you close your eyes and hide your face behind your hands in one last sorry attempt to not let him see what’s really going on inside.

“Baby…” you can hear him breathing out right beside you only moments later, his steady hands placed on your shoulders as he crouches down next to you.

“I’m s-sorry… I’m… s-so sorry…” you whimper as the tears stream down your face, guilt overwhelming you, but you just can’t make yourself stop crying. You form your hands into fists, considering whether punching yourself would make a difference and help you stop crying, but when you feel Mingi’s hands leaving your shoulders only to wrap around your wrists instead, the anger at yourself leaves you along with the strength in your limbs.

“It’s okay…” he mutters. “It’s okay.” He carefully adjusts your position until your back is leaning against the surface of your wardrobe door that he must’ve closed in advance, and when he leads you to lean your head against his shoulder you simply accept it. One arm wrapped around you, he pats your back gently and at a slow pace, and as you feel your heart beating in tune to his touches, you can finally somewhat relax.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” you say, having trouble keeping your voice steady, but he hears you.

“Why?” he turns his head, his lips brushing against your temple. 

“Because… I dunno…” you mutter, too tired to put all your complicated thoughts into a coherent sentence.

“You don’t have to,” he answers, extending his neck so he could place his chin atop your head now as he tightens his embrace around you. “Just know that I’m here if you need me… and that you don’t need to be strong when you’re with me.”

“But-” Mingi simply shushes you and shakes his head when you’re about to protest.

“I love you for who you are, not for all the strong faces you can put on.” Upon hearing his words, you tear up again, and you instinctively hide your face in his chest, reaching out to grab his shirt now as you cling to him. His hand patting your head for a while, he continues speaking eventually. “You know I’m not always good with words, but I just want you to know that you can be yourself with me, and I’ll accept all of that - the good sides and the bad sides. Okay?”

“Okay,” you mouth an answer. With his hands back on your shoulders, he brings some distance between you two so he could get a proper look at your face, and when he sees the state you’re in, he furrows his brows. You avoid looking directly at him, still embarrassed about your puffy eyes and the tear stains on your whole face. You sniffle at him, but as he wipes away the remainder of tears on your face you can’t help but melt into his touch. “I’ll protect you,” he says, and somehow the way he’s telling you such a cheesy line so seriously unexpectedly makes you laugh. “Why?” he now whines, and as you glance at his face you can see the offended expression on it and it just makes you giggle some more. Then you shake your head, giving him a weak smile and you say,

“Nothing… I just love you.”

“Well, if it made you smile that’s all that counts, right?” 

“Yeah…” you mumble, and as you see him still sulking over your reaction you lift your hand to ruffle your fingers through his hair, before bumping your head against his chest. “Thanks… for being there for me. I mean it.”

“Of course,” Mingi answers, welcoming you back into his arms, as he lets you simply rest in his embrace, for however long you need to. 

[themotherofhorses]

NO! Because what if I said mean!superior!Simon Riley x new recruit!fem!reader ??

An equally dark and obsessed!Simon Riley, who became stupidly OBSESSED with one of the newest recruits currently housed on base. You're young and naive and (in his eyes) need an older man to corrupt the living shit out of the dumb little innocence clinging to every action of yours. So much smaller and softer than him — with the prettiest bright eyes and the sweetest, dimpled smile.

Such a stark difference in character between the two; perhaps that is the main reason why he wants you so badly.

Ghost knows everything about you — from your instagram account to your childhood street address and that adorable build-a-bear plushie that you somehow managed to slip into your duffle bag (right now, it sits quite snugly between your two pillows, but sooner than later, it’ll wind up in *his* bed).

As time passes, he only becomes meaner — a terrible combination of aggressive and antagonistic and frightening. A literal bully. But he cannot help it. It’s a shitty excuse, he knows it, but there is something so fuckin' delicious about catching an eyeful of your pretty face crumpling at every insult he spits out.

The way your head needs to tilt upwards to meet his heavy glare, causing your pink, plump lips to twist into a pout. If he was forced to define it, he’d claim it’s practically an aphrodisiac for him.

Ah, you won't ever survive in my world, he tells himself.

Anyone can see it. You ought to remain back in his home flat — safe and sound with his chubby-cheeked baby bouncing on your hips, waiting for your husband to return home from combat.

So imagine a dark, obsessive, and mean!superior!Ghost overhearing that you were almost murdered by enemy fire during a recent recon mission. A stray slug gazed your upper thigh, and a second came a little too close to your pretty, empty head.

And sure, Ghost is beyond pissed about it, but he's driven more upset over the fact that no one told him; instead, he had to learn through word-of-mouth by some rookies seated within the mess hall.

(Behind him, Soap and Gaz couldn't really understand why their lieutenant reacted so strongly. After all, he hates you …. right?)

What the hell? You almost died. DIED! Not only that, but you were almost stolen away from him. Did you not fuckin' understand that? Death came so fuckin' close to robbing his precious girl from him.

In the meantime — as he awaits your return to base — Ghost sits atop his bed, casually planning out what'll happen next.

There is an empty room in his flat — straight down the hall from the master bedroom, perfect space for the nursery. In fact, it has a nice, single-hung window that he can add drapes to (if you fancy looking outside while tending to the baby).

The bed is, of course, ready for you, and beneath the bathroom sink are those scented body washes you adore. Thank bloody fuck Bath & Bodyworks allows online shopping and shipping.

[anonymous-dentist]

Part Nine of the Catboy in the Village AU

Part One | Part Eight

-

Cellbit realizes that it's gotten bad when he finally gets permission to go to the castle's gardens and he feels the urge to cry upon seeing the sun. The sky is so blue that it hurts his eyes to look at. And the clouds?

Roier sighs contentedly and immediately faceplants onto the lawn, nuzzling his face against the grass. He's so embarrassing.

"You're embarrassing," Cellbit tells him, very matter-of-fact.

He settles next to Roier and pulls his upper half into his lap, anyway. Roier already has grass in his hair; Cellbit resists the urge to pick it out.

The guards escorting them stand at attention next to the door leading back into the castle. There is another set of guards at the far end of the garden on either side of a large wooden gate that presumably leads to the outside world.

Cellbit stares at the gate hungrily. So close...

Roier raises a hand and pinches Cellbit's cheek.

"You're embarrassing," he teases. "What did you say? 'Please let us outside, please, please, please, please'-"

Cellbit covers Roier's mouth with his hand. Roier keeps talking, anyway; his eyes crinkle up like he's smiling, and his shoulders shake with the effort of not laughing.

(Behind them, grass crunches.

Ah, Cellbit thinks. The little spy is finally back.)

"Cállate," Cellbit huffs, mispronouncing the word just to finally make Roier laugh. And he succeeds!

Roier explodes into giggles, rolling onto his side and hiding his face in Cellbit's stomach and wrapping his arms around Cellbit's middle and squeezing lightly.

Cellbit's heart flutters. He feels like he's on the moon. Roier's laughter sounds like what an angel's must sound like, it's just so heavenly.

Smiling, Cellbit flops backwards, pulling Roier with him. He makes sure his hat doesn't fall off with one hand; his free hand grips the back of Roier's tunic loosely.

Roier resettles so that he's laying entirely on top of Cellbit- still hiding his face, but not uncomfortably diagonal. His legs tangle with Cellbit's, and his smile burns through the thick cloth of Cellbit's shirt.

Cellbit stares directly at the sun. His eyes water, but those might be tears of another kind.

Once a week, he and Roier and the kids would make the trip to the Águila Kingdom's palace for a playdate with Leonarda. The palace gardens are massive: there are acres of trees of every kind, beds of flowers from every corner of the world, a life-size pirate ship on a pond for Leo to play pretend on with her fathers, a literal zoo filled with every animal the princess could ever imagine, and more that Cellbit hasn't gotten to see yet but that Roier assures him is real. Like the greenhouse filled with every medicinal herb that has ever been discovered, and a thick bed of roses.

While the kids played, Cellbit and Roier would sit somewhere and let the guards keep watch. Sometimes Jaiden would sit with them. Sometimes it would be Etoiles. Foolish, usually, though he always left the second he heard his daughter call for him.

The Gato Kingdom's garden doesn't seem to be a thing like the Águila Kingdom's. It's just the one spot of land, for one thing. There are a few trees and some empty flowerbeds, but that's it. The grass is green, but it's thin, and Cellbit can feel the dirt under him.

It's... small. Clearly neglected.

I could fix it, Cellbit idly thinks. And then he mentally rolls his eyes. Yeah, right. As if he'd be allowed to, "lost prince" or not. He's still a prisoner; he had to resort to literal begging to get the guards to escort him and Roier out. It's the same yard time that Cellbit was given back in prison, just with fewer prisoners.

Besides. Why should Cellbit care what the garden looks like? It's none of his business.

...Still. Pepito would like it. He likes anything, really, but he especially likes open spaces that don't have things for him to trip over. Richarlyson would hate it, but he hates everything that his sibling likes. That's just how he works.

After adjusting his hat one final time, Cellbit shifts that hand down to caress the back of Roier's head; Roier hums, quieting down with his laughter.

He must be thinking about the same thing as Cellbit, because he quietly asks, "I wonder if they have a graveyard here, too."

Cellbit winces. "They aren't dead."

"Maybe. Probably not."

"Roier..."

"But! If there is a cemetery here, wouldn't the prince be in it? Just dig the body up, prove there is a body, then we can go. Easy!"

Roier props his head up on Cellbit's chest, looking at him with bright, teary eyes. He's smiling, but only because he thinks that it'll keep Cellbit from worrying.

Cellbit sighs. His hand travels from the back of Roier's head to his cheek, cupping it; he wipes a tear from under Roier's eye with his thumb.

"If they were dead, we would have heard about it by now," he assures Roier, voice low; the guards don't need to hear any of this, it isn't any of their business.

(The grass beside him shifts.

Cellbit, caught up in his husband's sad little face, doesn't care to think about it.)

"Unless they ran away and died," Roier argues. "They're shitty kids, they'd do it."

"Be nice. They're perfect."

"Perfectly dead."

"Roier."

"Gatinho."

Cellbit opens his mouth, about to argue, when the grass next to the two of them crunches just a bit too obviously.

In a heartbeat, Roier is ready for battle. He's pushing Cellbit to the side and lunging for the invisible spy before Cellbit can say anything.

There's a screech, and then the invisibility potion wears off to reveal Princess Empanada kicking at Roier and clutching her little notebook to her chest.

The guards by the door immediately rush into action, tackling Roier to the side and pinning him to the ground.

And then Cellbit is immediately rushing into action, pushing himself to his knees and lunging for the guards with bared teeth.

The fight lasts for approximately five seconds before the princess stands and shouts, "Everybody, stop it!"

Everybody stops it. The guards look up at the princess reverently. Roier looks at the princess confusedly. Cellbit looks at Roier concernedly.

The princess' notebook has been abandoned to the grass, and her hands are over her ears, pinning them to her head. She looks positively overwhemled, and Cellbit's heart breaks just a little for her (he definitely understands the feeling.)

Grumbling, Roier pushes the guards off of him with ease. Gods, he's strong...

"How dare you attack the prince's husband?" he snaps. "Imagine what the queen will say!"

The guards cower before him.

Cellbit just rolls his eyes. What a drama queen...

While Roier and the guards argue, Cellbit stands and brushes the grass off of him. He spits at the nearest guard's feet, sneers at them, scoops his hat off of the ground where it had fallen and firmly pulls it down over his ears.

Then, he walks around the guards and Roier and bends down to pick the princess' notebook up. He holds it out to her, not making eye contact.

"Thank you," she mutters.

She takes the notebook and tucks it under her arm.

"Let me guess, you made a potion that can last longer, but you made it so that it wears off as soon as someone touches you," Cellbit says.

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. "Rookie mistake. What is the healer teaching you?"

He yelps as the princess smacks him with her notebook hard.

"She's the best alchemist ever!" she huffs. "You're just a bully."

And then she yelps as Roier, suddenly, swoops in and picks her up and dangles her above the ground by the armpits.

"He is a bully!" Roier agrees. "And you are an eavesdropper! What, isn't there anyone else you can get your chisme from?"

The princess squirms angrily.

Notably, the guards have vanished. Cellbit can't see them anywhere.

"Guapito," he mildly asks, "where did the guards go?"

Roier shrugs. "Who knows? All I did was threaten to get them fired for trying to kill us. Maybe they fell over and died and the demon ate them."

The princess freezes briefly before resuming her petulant wiggling.

Cellbit nods. "Makes sense."

He leans in towards the princess and whispers, "Remember when I told you about the half-spider who followed me around?"

She nods.

"Well, this is him. So it's best to behave."

Her eyes widen. She stops fighting, but she still looks pretty pissed.

Humming, Roier turns the princess around and raises his arms until he can look the her in the eyes.

She sticks her tongue out at him.

He sticks his tongue out back.

Then, he looks at Cellbit and asks, "Do you think they have mail here?"

The princess scoffs, "Of course we have mail. The war was forever ago. Mamãe fixed the mail immediately."

Roier quirks an eyebrow at Cellbit. Cellbit gestures towards the princess' cat ears with his eyes. Roier's own eyes widen in realization, and he nods and mouths, "Right."

"Well, your highness, we need you to send a letter for us," Roier says. "I'll use your little note-thing, and then you send the letter, and then we're even."

He glances at Cellbit before continuing, "I mean, this guy is the prince. He's your uncle! We just want to know if your cousins are okay. Then we'll leave you alone, and you'll leave us alone, and we can pretend that we never saw each other. Deal?"

The princess bites her lip and looks away. "Mamãe says that you aren't supposed to know that I'm here."

Cellbit nods sympathetically. "And she won't know that we know, because you're going to help us, and then we won't see each other ever again. Nobody has to get in trouble."

Does he feel bad about blackmailing a child? A little, he's never liked hurting kids, especially now that he has his own children.

But if it'll make Roier feel better, Cellbit will do anything. He'll kill everyone in this gods damned castle if it means getting Roier back home to their children. Blackmail is nothing.

Eventually, the princess nods.

Grinning, Roier puts her down on the ground. He accepts the notebook when it's offered, and he starts to write.

(A shiver runs down Cellbit's spine. Why, all of a sudden, does he feel like he's being watched?)

[goodolddumbbanana]

(Molten/Sun) - Honeytrap duo- A mix between dream and reality

TW: toture, depressed, self hated... It is Sun angsty, what are you expect? But for real, this chap maybe a littler uncomfortable, please be aware before you read it.

The overly cold and harsh white light of Moon’s lab no longer made him feel nervous like before.

The space was clean and silent as if it had been covered with a layer of powder, only the slow movement of the worn gears, too soft to become white noise buzzing in Sun’s ears.

The yellow animatronic sat down on the sofa, staring at the floating fire created by his magic. The color seemed unreal, too beautiful for nature, pure in liquid gold, like amber and honey mixed together into a dripping mess in a pot of lava, crumbling and crashing into each other like shooting stars falling down.

***

'Huff! Huff!' 

Sun ran in panic, trying to avoid the fiery arrows that were flying repeatedly at him. Darkness maliciously covered Sun's vision, only the lava lakes that were boiling and waiting for him to fall, has become a tool to guide Sun ironically, the high temperature was so harsh that he coughed.

"Come on Sun, you don't want to die again, do you?" The Creator's hateful voice rang out from The Thing mockingly, enough to make Sun, if he still had the strength to scream right now, he would have thrown the most vicious curses at that motherfucker's face.

*Swoosh!*

An arrow pierced Sun's left leg, the plastic pieces were torn apart, half of his endoskeleton was exposed and stuck to Sun's upper thigh before Sun's lack of vigilance made him fall into the waiting lava mouth.

***

It didn't really hurt to the point unbearable, Sun mused, even as the metal surface in his palm turned into a sooty black.

***

The pain hit him instantly, immediately overloading his system. It was too much, too hot. His insides were contracting and twisting together, brass flowing through Sun’s lenses. His vision was the first to go, as the heavy metallic liquid melted his entire plastic shell, igniting like New Year’s Eve fireworks. The smell of oil and tar mixed with smoke and fire, and patches of flame flew everywhere as he struggled to free himself from the pulsing lake.

He didn’t even get a chance to scream, as the terrifying heat melted his entire sensory system.

***

The sharp, merciless pain was enough to make Sun’s body weak and quiver, but it still kept his mechanical mind awake and gritting its teeth to endure. The cold, vague fear of letting things go too far crawled in Sun’s too-empty chest, but the inertia of Sun’s nature made him reluctant to move. A few fire alarms sounded in his system, as black spots began to move at the edges of Sun’s eyes like annoying beetles.

He should have thrown the fireball away, or let it burn out.

But Sun didn’t, just watched indifferently as his magic tore itself apart, pouring long streaks of fire through Sun’s hands like mist and smoke drifting through his endoskeletons.

It was a pointless act, using his own magic to destroy himself. Like trying to kill a beast with its own teeth, or letting a fish choke on water.

It was impossible, because the nature of magic was his to control.

Sure, it could get out of control. Sure, it could exhaust Sun.

Sure, it could get his hands bloody and cause Sun a year of trauma.

Kill one brother. Destroy another one…

But it could never hurt Sun himself. Not physically.

And if the pain he felt was fake, the product of what his bastard father left, who thought it was funny to simulate the human nervous system’s response, then why did Sun keep trying to trigger it?

***

“The two of you,always being so dramatic. Your body’s sensor system is burned out, and honestly, I didn’t even increase your pain sensitivity this time, but you still act like you’re about to die.” He clicked his tongue.

“So pathetic, Sun. What a waste of my sweat and effort in creating you. What a disappointment.”

It was strange that Sun was still conscious, forced to listen to even that bastard’s whining and scolding.

“I should have scrapped you when your rebellious phase appeared, but no, you had to be this useful.”

“It is sad that you can’t even obey or be obedient to your papa.”

“Oh well, guess whatever happens next, you only have yourself to blame, Sun…”

“Oh, what has your brother used to say? Oh right, I would make your life a living hell, Sun. Try to enjoy it this time, okay~~~” 

***

Sun didn’t know, honestly, he has become so tired and aching instinctively every time he continues to think too deeply about the nature of why his life was so terrible. It just went from one depression to another, never ending the cliche emptiness like a stone pressing down on Sun’s chest preventing him from breathing freely whenever he opened that can of worms.

So Sun closed it again. Put it away, packed away the horrible pathetic, unsolvable, unhelpful thought and sunk it deep into the deepest corners of Sun's mind and took a deep breath.

"Shut up."

He told that to himself. A rather bad but effective coping mechanism, something Sun had picked over time for whenever he had an 'episode'.

He would automatically empty his mind. Think of it like deleting the hard drive, or throwing everything that made him feel uncomfortable into the ocean.

The information, the data, the bad memories… would still be there, in Sun's little head, just out of reach, blurred at the edges enough that Sun felt he could look deeply into it and still feel comfortable.

Even though he knew that the empty writhing feeling wouldn't stop even if there was nothing left in Sun's brain, as if his mechanical body was trying to warn him that there was some serious wrong affect him mentally, Sun keeps continued to do this in stupid stubbornness as if to scream to the whole world to leave him alone.

***

“One finger, two fingers…” Sun gritted his teeth, refusing to scream as The Thing patiently broke each of his fingers. “I’ve been watching your channel, Sun. The game Ruin created is honestly pretty fun. Tell me Sun, how many more joints do I have to break before you’ll behave like a good son?”

“You son of a bitch, what the hell do you need answers for!” Sun screamed, wishing he could bite off the tendrils holding him to that chair and march over to The Thing. “You’re not even real!! You’re not even him!!!”

***

Earth would say it would hurt him in the long run, but his sister wasn’t here. And as much as he hated that it felt like he was betraying Earth by agreeing to the Nexus, Sun didn’t think his sister could heal him on this.

***

The red mist made the Thing's face look like a jumbled mess. But one of Sun's eyes, –Sun ignored the fact that the other had been pulled out, the wires still stuck in his sockets– could still see the virus's vaguely satisfied smile…

That motherfucker… Sun thought they were just viruses, but they actually enjoyed doing this…

“Does it matter if I'm not the Creator?” The Thing tilted his head, his slow, even voice speaking to Sun for the first time, his real voice.

***

Because Sun was fine. He wasn't lying. His problems were in fact too small compared to their lives that were always on the brink of danger. And honestly, if Sun ignored the feeling that sometimes made him want to rip out his internal wires or scratch away the metal webs that turned the gold to the original aluminum gray on his body long enough, it would feel like nothing was there.

A rattling noise from the attic made Sun blink.

The fire in Sun's hand disappeared, the embers hovering over Sun's shoulder like fireflies. The anxiety made his stomach churn.

Oh… He forgot he wasn't alone.

There were Moon and Solar in the basement leading to another lab, but that didn't count. The two of them were too busy with their research, especially when the biggest weight named Goliath was illegally residing down there, threatening to find a way to escape.

And don't mention Ruin… Sun groaned. The nakedness of handing the codes to Ruin still made Sun tremble. The nauseating fear, along with the anger and bitterness of not knowing what the killer had killed Solar has planned and a series of tons of danger around him keep coming up made Sun feel dirty and anxious.

He knew he should think positively, but his poor mind kept making assumptions about what would happen if Sun’s agreement would bite him in the ass in the future someday or if Goliath would break free.

Because Sun had been around long enough to realize there was a pattern going on around here. Whenever he felt the slightest bit of joy or peace, life would appear and crush that remnant of hope right before his eyes with a patient delight that was all too similar to his creator’s.

It was almost comical, like they were stuck in a never-ending show if it weren’t so sad.

***

“Can you stop whining, Sun. You keep blaming the world for the things that were your fault.” ‘Creator’ asked kindly, a pair of glasses perched on his oversized brain as a mockery of Earth’s therapy profession. “I wonder why Nexus has stuck that long with you before he realized the truth.” 

“That you are the problem.”

***

“Do you need help, Molten?”

The bear heaved another sheet of plastic up the stairs, his deep concentration reminding him of Funtime Freddy’s obsession with anime girls.

Perhaps this spectrum was part of Funtime Freddy’s code, just like how all Suns were obsessed with cleaning?

And how every Moons had a crazy phase?

‘Shut up, brain, not now.’ Sun muttered, feeling overly exposed as his brain had nothing to do other than occasionally think about some stupid things.

“No, I can do it myself, Sun.” Molten answered him seriously, but right after that, an awkward tearing sound rang out. The cardboard inside Molten’s hand had a piece of hair on the tip ripped out, and the bear’s claws had also pierced a pretty big hole in the anime cover’s shoulder.

***

“Hey Sun, if I pull you in two different directions, which part of you do you think will be left bigger? The left or the right one?” - The sunflower-colored animatronic had its arms and legs spread out, tightly wrapped in midair, a parody of how Spider-Man stopped the train with his web.

“Nevermind, Let’s check it out, shall we?” Sun only had time to hear the train roar before a huge force crashed heavily on the back of his face.

***

“Oh.” Molten looked regretfully, still holding the cover in his hand, the way Sun was all too familiar with the kids inside the daycare. This is the image of a child breaking his toy and not knowing what to do next.

“Uh— There are a lot of models here, you can choose another one, Molten.” Sun stuttered, pointing at the anime figures that were huddled together, something he still couldn’t figure out how they had appeared in Moon’s lab.

“But I just like this lady…”

Sun should have felt sorry for Molten’s loss, but it was quite funny. It made Sun take a deep breath to suppress the laughter that would escape Sun’s mouth and come up with another solution that would make Molten happier.

“Um… Do you want me to fix it for you? I’m pretty good at cutting and pasting…”

Needless to say, Molten’s admiring gaze made Sun feel a little embarrassed.

They all sat down at the table, glue and scissors strewn about in Molten’s rather quick hands. The bear tried to help by handing Sun some tape, but seeing Molten struggling in the pile of tape and scrap paper, Sun stopped asking the bear while trying not to giggle.

It was great, just sitting like this, without thinking about anything else. Sun unconsciously looked at Molten fondly, who was trying to fix the cardboard for himself without paying attention to anything around him.

The faint blue light in Molten’s eyes and the rustling sound of paper and cardboard made Sun’s nervousness subside quietly. He shouldn’t worry too much about… Ruin or Creator… Not when his brothers were still here… And Molten was getting better, developing to become his own person.

“Hey Molten… May I ask…Are you okay? I heard you were almost taken by Goliath…” Sun timidly looked down at the red ribbon wrapped around his arm.

He wasn’t good at starting heavy conversations like this, when his nature was to literally create for the entertainment of others.

Which was in fact the complete opposite. Sun was good at annoying and ruining other people’s lives, not providing peace of mind and trust.

That was more Moon’s thing…

“Oh… Yeah… But Goliath can’t do anything to me… Why do you ask, Sun?”

“Just worried.” Sun muttered. “And… you don’t… I mean… I know you don’t like fighting anymore…”

The image of Molten going crazy as he pinned Ruin to the ground, the uncontrolled excitement bordering on anger, reminded Sun of the first days when he met Molten. Sun couldn’t help it, he stood still and motionless, just like always…

***

“Since you’re so good at being useless, I have a little game for you, Sun.” Creator wore an orange helmet, a small whistle hovering beside him. The gloomy darkness was only illuminated by the moonlight that illuminated the skinny body of the clown animatronic, revealing a garbage pit littered with rats as big as human biceps.

“Stand still and don’t move.” Sun stiffened, trying his best not to tremble. Thousands of red eyes stared at Sun, their fanged mouths gaping around him. The suffocating smell of sewers triggered Sun’s cleaning instincts, the water sloshing and soaking the hems of his pants with the green-brown color of filthy mud. “You don’t want to be these beasts’ chew toys, do you?”

“Oops! I screwed up.” Creator chuckled as he poured a bucket of blood over Sun, as a signal for the rats to pounce into the poor robot.

The screeching was interspersed with the sound of metal and wire ripping. Some stood craning their necks and squealing in Sun’s eye sockets, others came out of his mouth. In this almost unreal, fantastical pain, Sun wondered if this nightmare would ever end.

***

“I like helping people, Sun…” Molten tilted his head to look at Sun. “And Ruin is the one who needs to be stopped…”

“But I mean… you don’t have to do that. You can just go far away, away from here, to a place where Creator can’t find you.” Sun’s hand rose unconsciously as if to pull his rays apart. “You don’t have to help us, especially when it could put you in danger again…”

Sun tried not to be too sentimental, but his voice grew rougher and quieter as he spoke. His mouth was full of gravel, and as Molten’s hand rose, the metallic light reflected off the wire, causing Sun instinctively recoiled.

“I don’t like hurting people,‌ Sun.” Molten’s soft, rusty voice rang out. His hands slowly turned down, so subtle without saying anything. “I don’t want to do that anymore.”

“But I still owe you guys. I owe Moon, I owe Solar, and you Sun. Without you guys, I’d still be like‌ Goliath, still blindly following some rotten code.”

“You helped me become who I am, so I want to return your favor.”

The silence was like wanting to drown Sun down.

“It’s okay Sun… I want to help.”

You don’t understand. The very thing you wanted to do would be the very first door leading you to hell. I know it because I have been through it.

Sun thought bitterly.‌ How long would it be before another unfortunate soul got tangled up in his family’s mess?

Like KC?

Or Evelyn?

Sun tried to ignore Nexus’s name that came out of his head.

“You don’t have to do what you don’t want to do, you know that, Molten?” Sun said in a low voice, the sound of water flowing steadily in his ears.

“Yeah… And neither do you,‌ Sun.”

The sharp blue eyes stared at Sun, forcing Sun to look away. He would rather focus on the greenery in the room than Molten’s face right now, a confusing combination of an old, profound mind and an innocent brain.

“Haha…‌ I have absolutely no idea what you mean, Molten.”

Sun's laugh was so barren, it reminded even Sun himself of broken glass or the howl of a dying animal.

***

“It’s sad you’ll forget everything when you wake up…” The Thing looked bored as it poked at Sun’s shattered body parts. “Although, with your numbskull brain, I guess you don’t even understand what’s going on even if you are aware of it…”

“See you in the next dream, my brother…”

[skelly-words]

ChosoXloser!Reader

revisiting this bc I'm approaching the age of the MC. i wrote two chapters on ao3 then forgot abt it, so i'm trying to finish a third to get it to a stopping point.

October Birds: Chapter 1

tags- fem!reader, roommate!shoko, yuuji and choso are brothers, college au, fluff, eventual smut, idk it's pretty chill

wc- 2k

Rain splatters on the cafe window, dripping lazily down the glass. Your breath fogs up the pane, losing yourself in the misty morning as you ignore your homework and the busyness of the morning rush. The lab report leers at you from your open laptop, not that you care, too enraptured in the pretty cinnamon and swirl of steamed milk in your pumpkin spice latte. The foam traces an arc over your upper lip as you sip the drink, headphones in your ears, staring out the window of the warm cafe.

The line of people and buzz of lazy college students on a Sunday morning smear across your peripheral vision. You’d usually sit in a corner booth- as withdrawn as possible- but the cafe is packed. The only empty tables are in the middle of the lobby, mingling in the throng of people, a community table for half-empty cups. You grabbed the only empty booth, but it’s right next to the door. A chime rings every time a patron enters, making any hope for productivity completely futile.

Ding

There it is again, that irritating ring of yet another stressed our bio major on their way to get an americano with enough caffeine in it to fuel the next mission to space. You aren’t like them. You got a latte. As much as you hate the awful announcement of every idle individual, it snaps you out of your fogginess, lacing resentment into your blank document as your homework regains your attention. 

At least you start typing. Even if the lines of text are C work at best, anything above 60% on an assignment is a blessing. Your TA for organic chemistry is particularly critical of any assignments done for lab. Needless to say, this requires your best effort. You turn down your music, just a little, letting it blend enough with the outside world to create white noise, nothing but a dull hum. You sip your latte and chip away at this week’s workload. The crowd of people in the cafe never thins, even as morning rush teases at noon, if anything, all the late risers roll in to join the rest of the procrastinators in the cafe to do homework. 

“Excuse me?”

Your steady workflow is interrupted. When you sigh you hope it’s audible.

“Yeah?” You pull your right earbud out of your ear, not bothering to look up as you scroll through your work to look busy.

“Do you mind if I sit here? Sorry, it’s just the other tables…”

You pass a glance around the cafe. Every table and booth is occupied by at least two people. You nod in understanding, but he takes it as a cue to sit down on the bench across from you.

“I promise to not bother you.”

You force a smile over the screen of your laptop, fully looking at your guest for the first time. A bold black line traces its way over his nose. The color matches his hair, which hangs loose, spilling down his shoulders and curling around his neck. His eyes are a warm brown, crinkling at the corners as he smiles back at you.

“I get it. This place isn’t usually so busy.”

He hums in agreement, bending to pull his laptop from his bag. “Thank you, though. If you want another latte, I’m buying.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“I know.” He shrugs, opening his laptop and tapping on the keyboard. “But I want to.”

He doesn't say anything else, too engrossed in his own studies, and probably just as stressed by them as you. You sip your latte and put your earbud back in. The familiar rhythm of work, music, and coffee forms back into focus. 

The lab report becomes easy, the words flow onto the paper as you reference your notes and translate them into the mechanical syntax of academic jargon.

Music, coffee, and work. Your playlist is just random enough to not become boring. A few transitions shock you, something somber and melancholy followed by upbeat hip-hop, but for the most part, Spotify treats you well. It’s when you hear a song repeat that you realize it’s time to go home. You’re tired and the sun is threatening to point west, tipping past what could be called morning.

You shut your laptop quietly, not wanting to disturb the person across from you. He’s still quietly working. How he’s maintained focus for this long is a complete mystery. A work ethic you can only dream of. The laptop, lab notes, and other various clutter are shoved into your bag, hoping to slink back to your apartment for a caffeine-addled nap.

“Leaving?”

You pause. You could just ignore him, playing it off as his sparse question being drowned out in the general noise of the cafe, but now you’ve paused too long. 

“Yeah. I’ve been at it for a while. It’s time for a break.” You wouldn’t have said goodbye if he hadn’t stopped you.

“I still owe you coffee.” He tilts his head as he looks at you, frowning at your empty mug.

“No, really. It’s fine. If anything I should thank you for the company.” You don’t know why you’re declining. Another pumpkin spice latte would be nice for the drizzly walk home. “I haven’t eaten yet. My roommate will kill me if I don’t get some breakfast.”

He hums noncommittally. The screen of his laptop closes as he slides from the booth. “What do you want from the cafe?” 

He’s committed to repaying his favor, and you’re really in no rush to leave. Though, you don’t lack apprehension. The motley blend of people is dizzying, overwhelming you whenever you chance a glance at your surroundings.

“A blueberry muffin?”

“Sure. Anything else.” He places his forearms on the tabletop, leaning in to hear you better in the cacophony. 

“No thanks.”

He smells nice, like citrus and cigarette smoke. The scent is soft, almost nonexistent in the overwhelming smell of coffee that smothers the store. There’s something nostalgic about it that you can’t put your finger on, but whatever the burnt orange reminds you of is pleasant. You miss it as he stands fully and walks away. 

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he tosses over his shoulder, so sure and relaxed. 

You watch him until his tall frame gets lost in the line to the register. You use the time to text your roommate, letting her know that you’ll be out longer than planned.

Your roommate, Shoko, keeps in touch with you about your plans. Since she’s a few years older than you, and a senior, Shoko likes to play the protective older sister: checking in on you when you leave the house, making sure you eat, and asking about your personal life or lack thereof. 

You and Shoko met the year prior in some stupid general ed class that neither of you had any interest in. Shoko had put off taking the class until junior year, and you decided to get it over with as a freshman. After bonding over a shared major, the friendship had stuck. And while you aren’t an unlikeable person, finding people you like enough to have long-term relationships with can be rare.

Shoko replies to your text almost immediately. She congratulates you on staying out past the few hours she suggested you study for, and requests that you grab her some food on the way home. You put your phone away after that, not wanting to appear rude as your companion returns.

He sets the muffin on the table in front of you. It’s in a clear, plastic to-go container. You can see the sweet, blue bruises that mottle the appearance of the pastry. Blueberry muffins have to be the ugliest dessert, but that doesn’t stop your mouth from watering at the sight of it.

“I wasn't sure if you wanted to stay and eat with me or not, so I figured I’d leave it up to you.” He sets a sleeved, paper coffee cup next to the muffin. “And here’s a latte for you too.”

“Thank you,” you say. You bring the cup up to your lips, smelling that it’s pumpkin spice before the coffee hits your tongue. “I’ll stay and eat here if you don’t have more homework.”

“Eh- I need to take a break and eat too, so homework can wait.” That’s when you notice that he’s purchased himself a pastry as well, something French and buttery. “So, stay?”

You pop open the lid of your plastic container. “Yeah.”

The first bite of your muffin is amazing, and the second is heavenly. You get lost in the easy silence. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were. Coffee and the stress of homework had kept your appetite away all morning. It returned tenfold when you took your first bite of food, reminding you of the morning essential you had been missing. The closest thing you’ve had for breakfast is the bite of oatmeal Shoko had made for herself before waving you out the door.

“I just realized, I never asked for your name.”

You glance across the table, taken aback by the break in silence. Caught off guard, you mumble the syllables disjointedly. You’re not sure if he hears you until he repeats them back, humming in satisfaction at the sounds.

“Pretty name,” he says, “it suits you.”

You flush, feeling your face heat. “And I never asked for yours.”

“Choso Kamo. English major.” And he extends his hand across the table.

“Genetics major.” 

Choso smiles when you shake his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” When his hand recedes, he tucks it beneath his chin. “I figured you were into stem. I noticed the intelligently stressed look on your face when I sat down.”

“Are you sure you’re not a psych major?”

His lips quirk upwards. A soft puff of air escaped his lips at your dry humor. “Almost, but I decided that I wanted the mind to remain a mystery to me.”

“So, why English instead?”

“I want to teach it, eventually. English is where I can impact kids the most.” 

“Teaching? That’s admirable.” You take the last few bites of your muffin, washing it down with coffee. “Why?”

“I want to be a better teacher than the ones I had growing up.” Choso tenses, voice shifting into something pensive. “I want to make a difference where it matters.”

“That’s sweet,” you say.

“Sweet?” Pink dusts his nose and cheeks, trying to obscure itself behind his tattoo.

“Yeah.” Something about Choso makes you feel at ease, enough so to be- at the very least- honest.

“Thanks. I like hearing that from you.” 

“Why?”

“You ask that a lot,” but he’s not accusatory, pointing it out to show you he noticed. “I get that a lot, not many actually mean it though.”

“What makes you think I mean it?”

Choso shrugs. “Would I still feel this nice if you didn’t?”

“I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out whenever I lie to you.”

“Hopefully we never find out then.”

Your lips press together. Lost for what to say, you glance out the window. “The rain’s finally let up, I should walk home while it’s clear.”

Choso nods, nibbling at his bottom lip. “Well, it was nice sitting with you. See you around?”

“I hope so.” A small smile creeps across your face. “Maybe we do this again sometime?”

“Yeah. Let me give you my number.” His hand extends across the table.

You feel your face warm in embarrassment as you fumble with the apps on your phone, searching for the seldom-used contacts. “Here,” when you finally manage to find it.

The exchange is quick enough not to make your exit awkward. You could take the time to think about what you’ll say when you first text him, but you’re too caught up in the idea of a next time.

Choso hands your phone back to you and waves lazily at you as you stand. You pick up your backpack and trash, checking that you didn’t forget anything before you leave. 

“Thanks, again, and good luck with the rest of your homework.” You feel like you’re repeating yourself too often, but it can’t be helped.

“Enjoy the rest of your rainy Sunday.” 

You wave your goodbyes as you open the door. The bell is just as annoying when it announces your departure, and the rain is still pooling on the sidewalk as you walk home, but the day feels lighter than before.

a/n- i'll post chapter 2 when i'm closer to having chapter 3 done

hope you had a really nice day: drank all your water, ate something delicious, had something funny happen, etc. luv y'all <3<3<3

[skzdiary]

~Night Duo~

!Lee: Seungmin and Minho

Ler: Minho and Seungmim

Tw: none, one little bit of rough and the rest just soft tickles that’s all!

Scrolling through TikTok at this time of night is quite rare for seungmin. It was around 10:30pm should we say? Or let’s just say it was late for the little pup. The poor thing couldn’t sleep. Even after a long day in the recording room and practice room, the young one couldn’t fall asleep.

“Ugh, this is ridiculous. How can I fall asleep faster, or to make myself more calm?” He thought to himself for a moment. He has a little idea, it seemed embarrassing at first and he was flustered about it.

Seungmin went out of his room and trotted his way to Minho’s room. He only really went there if he really needed something. (More like all the time).

“Hyung, are you awake?” the puppy glanced over with his boba eyes fulfilled with curiosity.

“Yes, min? Why are you still up? Thought you’d be asleep by now.” The older raised an eyebrow with confusion.

“Can I come in, hyung? I can’t fall asleep in my bedroom…” “Yeah, of course min. I love having you here.” Lee know said in a soft voice, patting the empty space on the bed next to him.

Minnie slipped into the bed next to his older hyung and sighed. The dancer took notice of the vocalists long sigh, and an idea struck into his head.

“Hey, I have an idea. Do you think a soft tickle session will help you become more calm and sleepy?” He exclaimed to the younger.

“T-tickles? You know I’m e-extremely sensitive, right?” the vocalist nervously chuckled. Minho wasn’t having it. He couldn’t bare the younger cuteness.

“Consider it as a… tickle massage maybe? Just not as massagy-thingymajic, you know what I mean?” “okay… fine.”

Min lied down on the bed and the older gently raise his arms above his head. “I’m not gonna hold your arms up, that’s your responsibility. If you put them down, you can raise them again if you like, or I can just stop.” The younger nodded with anticipation.

“Just close your eyes, and tell me when you want me to start, puppy.” “Okay, start now…”

The younger closed his eyes and then got the sensation of tickly shivers. Butterflies overtook the little one’s stomach. He was too ticklish for this.

The bunny walked his fingers and drew soft little circles around min’s sides, causing the younger to let out some little giggles.

“Is this okay so far?” Minho wanted to assure he was respecting his younger brothers boundaries.

“Yehehes, it’s okahay.” The vocalist had a sudden thought that his hyung would use any of his tactics in him. There was one in particular that puppy thought of, believe it or not. And talking about that, he did use it.

Lee know massaged the youngers sides; stroking from top to bottom for approximately 5 minutes. The younger arched his back, giggling and groaning at the ticklish feeling. He hated it, but also loved it at the same time. His older brother seemed to be enjoying himself

“it’s so t-tihihihickly.”

“I know, it’s supposed to be silly. You’re so cute though, do you want me to switch or carry on for a little longer?” Minho smiled, now he was wanting this too, in a way.

“yeheheah, suhure.” Lee know switched techniques and traced the youngers v-line which made him hysterical giggles come out of him as it was one of his worst spots. He endured the pain like a champ.

“ahahaha, hyung it’s sohoho bahahad!” The younger giggled with a pure smile. such a big personality for such a little puppy.

“wahahait, do you wanna have a go?” the older stopped what was he doing, and tilted his head in his tracks. He knew he wanted it, but felt bad. But he smiled, and shrugged it off.

“Your choice, little one. Not mine!” Minho was quite nervous because he’s never let the younger tickle him before.

“Same rules apply for you, let’s start.” the olders eyes widened with hesitation. He was too sensitive for this. He couldn’t let seungmin know that his upper torso is the most ticklish. His underarms, midriff, sides, etc. But he would just have to with deal with it. He was also wearing a tank top which made it worse.

“I’ll respect your boundaries though of course.” “Thanks, min.”

The younger started off by stroking the dancers neck and massaged his collarbones, giving off some sweet little giggles just like he did.

“Aw, you are so cute hyung. I never knew you were ticklish.” unfortunately seungmin was having cute agression now. “Stohohop, I’m not a kihihid…” he laughed in embarrassment, his face went bright red. Min had an idea, to use one of his tactics he’s used on no one but his older hyung hyunjin before.

“Dang, you really are ticklish. Probably more than me I’m assuming if I do this…” Minnie dug his hands into Minhos ribs causing him to let out a loud squeal.

“HEHEHEHEHEY, OKAHAHAHAY! STOHOHOHOP NOHOHOHOW”~ the vocalist laughed and stopped. He just wanted to test it out.

“sorry hyung. I’ll go back to doing something else now. Now how about here?” the younger lifted up the bunny’s shirt to his midriff and wriggled his fingers at the olders hips and tickled him there for a good solid minute which was enough to drive him hysterically crazy.

“Come ohohohon! Switch spohohots! It’s getting m-more tihihicklish thehehere!” “What if I don’t?” “Nohohohoho”~ he was just getting cuter by the minute. Seungmin had another idea. Minho giggled nervously and had no way to get out of this one. He asked for it.

“Ready?” “Y-yeah…”

Seungmin both of his hands; gently spider crawled and stroking from the top of the dancers wrists, down to his underarms drawing spirals. Over and over again for a good while. The older arched his back, giggling and groaning so much. He hated it, but also loved it at the same time. It was giving him butterfly sensations in his stomach.

The vocalist then just lightly scratched at edge and centre of the dancers underarms for another minute and he couldn’t contain the mumbling laughter escaping from his lips.

“Nahahahaa! I cahanant!” He changed tactics and stroked his left side with one hand, and scratched at his underarm with his other. Minho couldn’t handle 2 of his worst spots at the same time. It was far too sensitive. All he could do is laugh and enjoy the minent he asked for.

After another solid 2 minutes of contagious laughter, min put it to a stop and laced down beside his hyung.

“Thahahanks seungmin, I haven’t laughed like that for a while. I k-kinda missed it…”

The youngers eyes saddened for a moment at his hyung sentence. “You’re most welcome. I love making you laugh. It’d the best thing in this world.” He teasingly prodded his side which let out another small giggle.

“What time is it even now?” The puppy yawned. Minho took a look at the time and it was only 11:30pm.

“Is it okay if I sleep here tonight?” “Yes baby, I’d love you in my company”

The pair of them settled off to sleep. Although some little giggles were interrupted throughout the night by the sneaky bunny stroking at the youngers sides.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

IM BACKK YA’LLL

I’m so sorry I haven’t been posting or been active. I’ve been dealing with some physical issues. I have hyper mobility and I get injured quite easily. I also have a stomach condition called GERD (search up for meaning). I’ve been in and out of the doctors , but I’m back now! Dunno how long this took me but it’s longer than I expected which I’m slightly happy about, although my hands do hurt now, iPad Pro are an issue for someone lik innie said, I have “tiny hands 🥹🦊” 💀

@itzsana-kiddingmenow @minnielvr22 @leeknowstan33 @hansloveleeknow @skzooweemama @skz-addict @sugary-sweet-anon @lubieplackieverybody @jeonginsdiary @soap143 @v--143

[two-white-butterflies]

parallel lines | d. targaryen | part four

Description: An ordinary middle school teacher moves to a desolate town with her fiancee. After suffering episodes of vivid nightmares, she realizes that his uncle looks exactly like the man in her dreams.

Pairings: daemon targaryen/reader, aemond targaryen/reader

Trope: Reincarnation

series masterlist |

"I don't pray for revival, I'm already living in one."

Daemon's body was mere centimeters away from yours, he was looking at you with those puppy eyes - praying to the gods that you'd remember. Aemond almost sees red.

He calls out to you.

"Yes?" you raised your eyebrows, he takes a mammoth stride in your direction, creating an empty space between you and Daemon. "Everything alright?" you inquired, seeing that pout on his lips.

He shakes his head, reaching for the beer on the coffee table. "Yep," he popped his lips, glaring at his uncle's direction. He did love you to an extent, but he could never love you more than Alys.

"We were having an interesting conversation about zombies," Daemon referenced and you responded with a giggle. Aemond huffed, clearly uncomfortable. "I thought you were scared of zombies?" he tried to play it off with a chuckle.

You leaned closer to his touch.

The image of a man covered in blood never boded well with your sensitive stomach. "I still am - but Daemon has a strange way of making them funny." you responded, and he pretended to look away. "Does that mean that you'll watch 'the Sadness' with me?" he narrowed his eyes and you quickly shook your head.

"Now you're just trying to scare me on purpose," you smiled and he pressed a kiss to your cheek, aware that Daemon was a spectator. Aemond thought for a moment that he had finally won. He's taken you with avarice before, and he's not afraid to do it twice.

You shake the ice on your empty cup.

"I'll grab more drinks, do you want any?" you offer the men and Daemon nods his head. "I'll take a pornstar martini, you know how I like it." he winked, referencing another joke that you had prior to Aemond joining the conversation. "You're getting me into trouble," you jested and he laughed.

"Make it fast," he teased.

"Don't make this complicated, kepus. You might regret it." he warns.

Something in Daemon's subconscious shifts. How long has it been since they last fought? A thousand years. One would almost forget the rabidness that a desperate man possessed.

"The greatest swordsman killed by his own nephew." Aemond mocked, taking a swig of his beer. "I wasn't wearing a sword, and it wasn't much of a fight if your bitch wasn't playing fair." Daemon gritted his teeth.

Aemond smirks, taking the upper hand.

"Calm down," Aemond antagonized.

"What do you want from her?" Daemon quickly interrogated. Everyone knew that you were his, since the moment you met in the Stepstones - you came back to Harrenhal as a claimed woman. Even after his marriage to Lady Laena, he always came back to you. A bastard, loving him better than any trueborn woman. "She doesn't know who you are, she loves me." Aemond emphasized.

And it pained Daemon to see that he was right.

"She's bound to remember," Daemon retorted.

"You are right, but she'll still choose me." he smirked.

"Even when she remembers the whole truth?" Daemon challenged.

Aemond's eye softens, wholly unsure. He remembers what he's done to you - those dark nights in your sister's castle. Hands tied together, eyes flowing with tears and begging for death. No, he was sure that if you remembered - you'd leave him; you'd hate him forever, and he'll be alone once more. He decides to shift the conversation, for now. Until he finds a permanent solution for your memories.

"You were lucky to have been spared before the capture. You couldn't have saved her from me." Aemond mumbles, waiting until the gears click and Daemon realizes the full truth. "You didn't kill her?" Daemon's eyes narrowed and Aemond nods smugly. "What did you do?" Daemon inquires, scanning the room for allies.

"I gave your wife an heir, something you couldn't provide." he whispered and Daemon lifts his fist, striking the man on his face. Aemond falters from the shear force, but quickly regains his strength. Daemon lifts his fist again, but Laenor prevents him this time. "Daemon," his friend breathed - running across the room to stop this circus.

"You cannot change the past." Aemond lifted his chin. "You should've seen her, alas that memory is mine alone." he smirked, seeing Laenor hold Daemon with all of his might. The man was struggling to hold his friend back, as Daemon was a trained soldier - strong and big.

"You told us that murder was forbidden in this world, but this house has a garden of fifty-hectares. I could bury you and I know for a fact that the police wouldn't dare search." Daemon threatened, the atmosphere suddenly grew thick.

Laenor and Aemond knew that he wouldn't be making this threats if they weren't promises. "Hide me like you've hidden our family's dirt?" Aemond antagonized further. "If you're going to make him mad, I'm not going to hold him back." Laenor warned, the boy ignores him.

"Be careful with your words, Aemond. Your confession will lead you to a place with no return." Daemon warned, a part of his heart still feeling for his young nephew.

It wasn't always this way.

(December 25, 2003)

Daemon could hear his nephews cry in the other room. "Everything alright?" he asks his brother's wife, her hair was disheveled and the entire house was out of place.

"Viserys and Aemond had a fight, I don't think that boy will ever like his father again." she shook her head. A sigh escapes his mouth. "Is there anything I can do to help? I should've been here yesterday but there wasn't any flights until Yule morning." Daemon reasoned, handing his sister-in-law the gifts for the children.

"Merry Christmas, Daemon." Alicent greeted weakly. "Talk to Aemond for me, please. You know how much the boy adores you." she pleaded, the older man nodded. "Of course."

Aemond was sobbing loudly, covered by his pillows and sheets of duvet. "Byka zaldrīzes?" his uncle called out, taking a cautious step towards the bed. "Go away." Aemond mumbled.

"What happened?" Daemon ignored, settling down on the mattress. "Da' got mad at him for opening the gifts too early." Aegon responded, taking a sip of his eggnog - he's probably too young to be drinking that. "It's Christmas?" Daemon frowned.

He lifts the pillows off Aemond's body - exposing his sweaty body. "I got all of you gifts, they're with Mum." he pokes his nephew. "Maybe we can go out later, enjoy the funfair." Daemon offered.

"I want to stay at home." Aemond huffed.

"We can stay at home," Daemon wiped the boy's sweat with his handkerchief. He reminds him so much of himself.

next chapter>>

[hanasnx]

Hello! May I please request a smutty Han Solo x fem!Reader with prompt #11 and/or prompt #42 (I loooove daddy dom Han)?

prompt: #11 + #42

MINORS DNI 18+

prompt list | rules WC: 0.9k | CHARACTERS: han solo x f!reader WARNINGS: sexual content | implied smut | dom!han | kinks: size, daddy | arguing

"Are you serious?" the incredulous tone of HAN SOLO follows you as you march away from him. "Where do you think that little ass is goin'? We aren't done talkin', sweetheart." his condescension is unnecessary, but it conveys his exasperation. The thunder of his boots catch up to you, and a large hand reaches out, latching onto the back of your belt at your tailbone. Effortlessly, he arrests you, directing your body to a sunken doorway in this hall. The attendants of this base pass you by to perform their duties, and he points a finger in your face. "What's the attitude for, huh?" His finger turns on him, gesturing to his chest with a raise of his brows, "Did I do somethin'?"

"Typical!" you huff, throwing your arms into the air in an annoyed and defeated motion. You're tired of this, you don't want to explain things to him, you just want him to figure it out. He's supposed to be smart, isn't he? When you go to retreat, he palms your upper arm, drawing you right back where he wants you.

You regain your footing after your stumble, and he straightens, crossing his arms. "I ain't gonna chase you anymore, sister. Get it out now while you've got my ears."

When you reluctantly concede, and check each ways of the passage, you conclude you can't talk here. The door next to you gives you an idea, and with all your suspicious looking around Han gives you a questioning expression, pivoting his head to eye you from the side with a brow furrow and parted lips. You slam your hand against the door controls, sliding it open, and dragging him inside by his wrist. Once you're sealed in the safety of this small storage room, you round on him.

"You've ignored me every since we got to this stupid base, and as soon as you realize I'm mad at you— suddenly—" You gesture wildly. "you're interested! Then—"

"There's more?"

You scoff indignantly. "Yes, Han! There's more!"

He nods, cutting you off. "Oh, I get it. Okay—" It earns him a deep frown from you.

"—What? What do you get—?" you taunt, and he persists.

A shrug, a stupid pinch of his shoulder to his neck as he raises his voice to match yours, "I've been 'neglecting' you, right? That's what this is about? You're acting out like you need a good fuck!"

"Han!" you scold.

"Well, that's what you're tellin' me!" When he drops his arms and advances on you in a leisure lumber, you back up out of instinct.

"Don't you dare think you can touch me right now." you warn, but as usual Han sees right through an empty threat, your back against the shelving.

“C'mon. Be a good girl for daddy.” he condescends, "I'm giving you what you want. You'll feel better after, right? After daddy does his thing? Give it here." The annoyance is apparent in his responses. Once you're trapped against the shelving, he stoops. He towers over you, and in order to reach the space between your legs, he tips his body to the side. Defiantly, you twist your hips, jerking away from his hand. You don't like his attitude, or that he thinks he can just do whatever he wants, or how he makes fun of you, using your kink against you. "You gonna fight me for it? Sweets, we both know you can't hold out long. So jus' lemme get you off and we can put this whole thing behind us."

Something about an argument puts you over the edge with him. You've never conversed with anyone so frustrating, someone that brought this side out in you. You hate the way he solves problems, and you hate how sometimes when he solves these types of problems by getting you off that it's successful. Embarrassingly so. There's a part of you that wants to put him to work, but that won't fix everything. He has a shitty way of apologizing.

"Like I'd let you walk all over me and then act like it's all good after! Again!" you seethe through gritted teeth. You meet his gaze at eye-level with you, jutting your chin when you press your lips into a line.

"Why?" he plays dumb, but there's a knowing hint of a smile on his crooked mouth. "You're good at it."

Clearly, he'll need a different approach. With a cautious glance behind his shoulder at the door, he confirms it's not locked, which adds to his thrill. He sighs, adjusting his pants to accommodate his knees when he gets on them.

"At least let me check somethin'."

A sick sense of pride blooms in your chest at the sight of Han kneeling in front of you. He doesn't do it often, but you know where this is going. So you begrudgingly offer your hips to him.

"There, see?" he praises, thick fingers hooking in your bottoms to undo and tug them down. "Was that so hard? Let me do this right." Like a man would, he sucks on the tips of two of his fingers, cleaning them off before he wedges them between your thighs, swiping at your folds. You're slick. "That's what daddy thought. He's always right."

You shift forward, warning him wordlessly about his poor choice of words. The side of his nose scrunches charmingly in his amusement, his crooked grin spreading onto his handsome features. You denied yourself the possibility of smacking it right off. Still tentative, you won't widen your stance, and so he peels your pants further down to give you room to.

“Spread your legs for daddy, I want to see you.”

[hom3landr]

For the lovely anon who sent me an ask that got promptly deleted on accident. They requested more angst and Homelander hurting the reader’s feelings during an argument. Hope you enjoy!

He hates this feeling, like he is a little boy again. Shame prickles at the corners of his eyes at the look of deep, aching, hurt on your face. It would have been better if you had fought back. He could have justified his words. Instead you look like a kicked puppy and he doesn’t know why it bothers him so much. This is what he wanted, wasn’t it? He had to teach you a lesson.

He can smell the salt of the tears that you refuse to let fall and his stomach turns over. He wanted you to be sorry. He didn’t want you to mope and look so damn…disappointed in him.

“John…why would you say that?” You ask weakly and it’s the last thing he could have expected. He knows the answer. He had wanted to hurt you and work his way under your skin. He wanted you to feel the way he felt when he saw you giggling with that new intern. He’d felt impotent and powerless because of course that fuck was working directly under Edgar and therefore out of reach of his wrath. He had to sit there and watch him lay a hand on your shoulder and now he was supposed to feel guilty for putting you in your place? It was unacceptable. Still, he finds it hard to reply around the lump in his throat.

He hates you right now. He hates you for making him feel weak. Your gaze burns through him like acid. Other people, he revels in their pain because they are beneath him. They are only pathetic underlings who think they can control him despite reeking of fear when he’s in their presence. He never had their esteem to begin with beyond empty platitudes.

You are different. Everything about you is so honest and grounded that it makes him feel grounded. He feels like a man instead of a lonely god forced to entertain the masses who should be worshiping him. He thought the feeling would grate on him but it’s the opposite. He feels free. It’s like that first big gulp of oxygen when he descends from the thinning air far above the city. You saw him, truly saw him, and you never feared him once.

He realizes now that maybe there are worse things, disappointment, apathy, the love fading right in front of him. His instinct is to hurt you more for making him feel these things but he can’t.

“I didn’t actually mean it.” He responds, something embarrassingly close to an apology. It works somewhat, you sigh and break your gaze. Without your laser sharp focus, he feels steadier. He needs to gain the upper hand. “You really need to stop letting any old intern put their hands all over you. It makes you look like a slut.”

When you meet his gaze again, you’re just annoyed. He’s relieved, he can handle this.

“Is that what this is about? If something makes you uncomfortable then you can just tell me before you lash out. I can’t read minds.” You reply, exasperated. You take a moment to rub the dampness from your eyes before taking his hand in yours. “For the record, they were showing me pictures of their kids. I can promise the conversation leaned more towards diapers than anything salacious.”

“I know. I heard.” He confesses and you physically fight to not roll your eyes.

“You have nothing to worry about. I’ll just let them know to give me a little personal space in the future. Does that sound ok?” You ask with a weary smile. You’re being polite for his benefit because your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You’re still upset with him and he doesn’t like it. So, despite the fact that he very much is not ok with it, he nods. He’ll just find a way to get rid of the creep later. You don’t have to know.

“Thank you.” You reply and your eyes are slightly brighter than they were previously.

[whoppert]

Sunna 7 (stephen strange/reader) (loki/reader)

◂ previous chapter first chapter ▴

3969 words

warnings: the after effect of mind violation

AO3 Master Fic List

Despite the gaping hole in my memory, I'm confident that I've never felt like this much of a burden before. A few days ago I wouldn’t have batted an eyelid at the staircase, but now? Now it’s an impossible mountain to climb.

Most of the world is contained to my room now. 

Wong had mentioned struggling to cleanse the space of mystical markers that had been left behind, but I couldn’t even tell. The power that flowed through me, albeit slight compared to Stephen’s or Wong’s or even this goddamn house? It’s gone. The purple energy that used to flicker around my fingers, forming shapes almost of its own will was gone. I'd tried to call it, but I almost threw up. My body is at odds with my spirit right now and I hate it.

AO3

Stephen brandishes the worm, dropping it into the palm of my hand.

“What the fuck is that?” I ask, trying to ignore the pool of slime it extruded.

“Excuse you, ” said the worm.

The flick of my hand was involuntary, and I fling the worm onto the rug.

Stephen, who had been trying to tell me to be careful, squats down and plucks the worm out of the carpet fibers. “This is the frontier in magical psychology. Its name is Gorron.”

“It’s a worm.”

“It’s a grub, thank you very much, you ungrateful mammal,” the worm had an accent that I couldn’t identify. “You’re lucky I’ve already been paid or I’d march right outta here! Worm? What am I, a nematode?”

Stephen sighs and shoots me an apologetic look. "I know it's strange, but it's actually very good at it's job."

"I'm really sorry, I don't usually do bugs. I'm sorry if I offended you and for... throwing you," I wince. “So… do I just lay back and tell Gorron my problems? Care to summon me a chez lounge?”

“It is much more simple than that. Look, I recognize that this is going to sound really gross, but-”

“Stick ‘im in ya ear, baby, lemme have a look at that mind!” Gorron interrupts.

So stark was the silence after that statement, that I almost decided that I might have a limit when it came to finding a cure. I look from Gorron to Stephen, who nods in confirmation and then back at Gorron whose little mouth had fallen open and was licking his lips. If grubs have lips. “Absolutely not.”

“Look doll, I’ve got a job to do, so open your ears and shut ya mouth, capeesh?”

Stephen snaps his hand shut, muffling the grub’s yells of displeasure. “I’m sorry about him, he doesn’t get out much," he continues, obviously with the intention of Gorron overhearing, "and he hasn't updated the way he speaks to women since the 1950s ap-pa-rent-ly."

I talk over Gorron's slew of deadened swear words. "You're joking, right?" I hear how desperate I sound, but- "In my head? This is a joke? To lift my mood?"

Stephen is right in front of me. Really there is a-step-and-a-half between us. “He’s crass, but if anyone can figure out the next steps, it’s Gor-”

My stomach bottoms out in my gut, a wave of panic hitting me with such force that I literally stagger. “I’m not-”

His free hand steadies me. Stephen says nothing, taking his bottom lip between his teeth, his gaze flitting back and forward between my eyes. I don't understand, what his expression is conveying, concern, and sympathy and pain all together perhaps.

“I can’t,” I want to sound strong, but my voice betrays me, cracking. “I’m sick of this, I’m sick of having shit shoved into my head. I’m sick of it, I’m sick of it. Please.” My breath comes fast and sharp.

“I know,” Stephen eases into the space between us, his empty hand still grasping my upper arm gently, the warmth seeming to loosen the knots in my body. “I know you’re scared. You have every right to be. Does it change anything if I assured you that Gorron can’t hurt you? He can only see what’s going on in there, he can’t change anything.”

My bottom lip wobbles, and Stephen’s gaze shifts to look at it, before snapping up to look me in the eye.

"Would it change anything," Stephen's voice soft, "if I told you that Gorron's basically my shrink?"

"Huh?"

"Do you remember after I found you and we were sitting in my office? And I told you I've been... having trouble sleeping, and you joked about therapy?" He pauses for confirmation. "Well, Gorron's my therapist. Wong makes me see him."

Excluding fighting lessons, Stephen and I are never this close, but lately I appreciate his sparing touch. There is something inviting about him when he isn’t trying to hit me, something comforting. I guess this is his job. I've seen him behave similarly for the people that seek out his help. “Does it hurt?”

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, “not at all, it can be a little uncomfortable, but it doesn’t hurt, no. After your injury you might be a little sensitive though.” Glancing around the room, Stephen adds, “I’m right here, you know. Right by your side, I won’t leave you. You are always safe with me.”

His gray eyes hold no hint of a lie.

I nod. “This is coercion though.”

“I know.”

“And if it goes wrong, I’m holding you accountable.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Stephen opens his hand. Gorron, who had spent the last few moments remarkably silent, opens his eyes in mock surprise. “Glad to see you haven’t forgotten about me! I have a waiting list ya know, I could be getting ignored by far more important people than the pair of you!”

Stephen grasps the grub by its tail.

“Do you trust me?”

“I guess. Yes. I do.”

His gloved hand lightly grasps my cheek, tilting my head, my right ear skyward, before dropping Gorron right into the shell of my ear. Gorron's rolling and wriggling sent a shiver through me. There was a little resistance, culminating in a wet plop, and then he was inside. There’s a grub in my brain, there’s a grub in my brain, there’s a grub in my- I shudder. I feel bad about thinking it's gross, Gorron's a sentient being after all, but I don't do bugs.

Stephen tilts my head back to my midline and then removes his hand from my cheek. I feel its absence keenly.

“Wow, Strange, ya weren’t wrong, something’s destroyed it in here,” Gorron’s voice is too loud and it vibrates in my skull.

I swear, instinctually jerking 'away' from the sound and I feel Gorron brush up against something, strings that bring the spots back to my vision. I grasp Stephen’s hands.

“Wow, talk about a household in denial,” Gorron mutters, quiet enough that I wasn’t sure Stephen could hear, but I was too dizzy to ask what he meant. “And your powers have gone too. That’s a knock to the balls for sure.”

“Can you give us any insight?” Stephen asked.

“Yes, but you’re not gonna like it.”

“Out with it.”

“Firstly - lass, gotta commend ya on having the cleanest brain ever. Not a single mind mite to be found. I have literally never seen that before. Secondly - whatever Loki did, it broke that enchantment that you were under.”

“That enchantment ?” Stephen and I say in unified confusion. There is a yellow and green blob floating between us and it makes the sorcerer look like he's got a bad case of jaundice.

“You heard me. I’d ask if you knew who put you under their spell, but I can see you don’t remember at all. Hey, have you considered renting this space? I know a few parasites that could use a place to live.”

“Gorron.” It was Stephen's last warning.

“Non-lethal of course.”

“Wind it back up a sec,” I demand, “what do you mean Loki broke the enchantment? What enchantment?”

I can feel Gorron squeeze it's body through some tight spot and the spots in my vision cleared.

“Has she always been this slow?”

“Mind your manners, Gorron. I know some bugs that lay their eggs in live prey,” Stephen threatened.

“Jeez, it was only a joke, man. Learn to take a joke. Hmm…” inside my brain, Gorron trailed off. “Your oldest memory is meeting Strange… because that was the day the enchantment was created. It’s got a magical signature that I don’t recognize, but boy did they hide it well.” 

“And my memories, my life before that?”

“My best guess is that whoever put this enchantment in place didn’t account for Loki going for a trip through ya head, and it broke the enchantment differently to the way it was supposed to be broken, it severed your mind. Separated the before-the-enchantment from the after-the-enchantment. Your memories from before then might still be here, but as a result of the spell or the unorthodox way in which it was broken, yeah, I wouldn’t know how to find them. The block on it can only be reversed by the creator. I’d say your best shot would be to find them.”

“Wait, so our best chance of finding out who put the block in place is to find out who put the block in place?”

Gorron sighs like I'm wasting its time, “yes. That’s what I said. Look, if there’s no mites in here, you’re gonna have to tip me, Strange, I didn’t come all the way out here for nothing.”

“For nothing. My whole brain has imploded and it’s nothing to you,” I whisper, my cheeks tight from my uncomfortable smile, before falling into a stunned silence. Everything feel so far away.

“Gorron, what can we do to figure this out?” Asks Stephen.

There's a whoosh, and I feel the grub slide out of my ear, the opposite ear to the one it had entered. “Seems to me, your next step would be finding someone who knows memory magic like the back of their hand and get them to have a look. See if they can recognize the signature. Maybe even see if they can locate where her memories have been hidden in there. Once you know that, I’d go and ask-” Gorron almost fell, but Stephen catches it, “thanks doc. Anyway, figure out who put the enchantment in place and get them to remove it. Easy as pie.”

Without missing a beat, Stephen crushes Gorron in his hand. The sound had a surprising crunch, like the grub had more bones than expected. I gape at the sorcerer.

“Sorry,” he opens his hand to reveal that it is empty empty, no fluids or bug guts in sight, “I was getting really sick of him, and the only way to send him home is to 'kill' him. He’s fine, I’ll see him later about his tip. How are you? That’s a lot to process.”

“If I wasn’t so overwhelmed, I’d probably be angry. Yeah. Probably angry.” I look down to find that Stephen is still holding one of my hands. I recount what we have learned, “so there’s a block on my memories, created the day I met you, probably not by you, because then Gorron would’ve recognized the signature? Correct?”

Stephen nod.

“And the only way to find out who it is that cursed me, is to let someone else have a look? I'm assuming it's a very similar type of magic to what Loki did to me.”

He nods again.

“Even though the last time someone did that it gave me the magical equivalent of a severe concussion?”

One final nod.

My heart pounds. “That voice- from my dream told me what a disappointment I was. I don’t even know who I’m letting down. And my powers are gone, and yeah they weren’t big and dramatic but they were mine. They belong to me, it’s like I’ve had a limb sawn off and I can’t even walk up the fucking stairs without my body giving up on me so I’m just trapped in this room. Is this my life now? Someone just put a spell on me one day and for what? I’m not important, I’m not powerful. Whoever did it must have had a reason but I have no idea who- or what? Except it’s got something to do with you? It must do, or maybe it’s just a coincidence that we met that day, I don’t know.” I'm spiralling.

Stephen doesn't say anything, just squeezes my hand tighter and like a toddler having a tantrum, I try to wrench it from his grasp, but he has a stronger grip than I’d anticipated. I poke a finger into his chest, but he doesn’t flinch.

“And you! You have the nerve to stand there, all sympathetic and concerned, ‘cause I’m just another pathetic-”

“You’re not pathetic-”

“Maybe I’m not, but who’s to say because I don’t know who I am! I couldn’t tell you my favorite food! I don’t know who I am and I feel so stupid. I’m barely a person.” Tears well up in my eyes and I hate them. I try to brush them away, but Stephen still wouldn’t relinquish the hand he held. He was swimming in my vision, and I was glad because then I didn’t have to look him in the eye as he beheld my tears. I’d never cried in front of him before. 

It was the second time he had ever embraced me. The first time even through the wave of nausea and the bright lights, I could feel his relief that I was safe, but this time? Stephen pulls me in, his arms wrapping around me, no relief, only release as I bury my eyes in his shirt and sob. He doesn’t say a thing. Doesn’t move, just holds me, one arm around the small of my back rubs small circles and the other grasps my shoulder firmly. I can feel the ridges and stitching of his glove through the fabric of my shirt.

After a while, I couldn’t tell you how long, I manage to stop crying, taking deep breaths to get myself together. He smells like earl grey tea and lemons.

“You are a person,” said Stephen, finally breaking the silence. His low voice rumbles through his chest. “Look, I’m not the most open person in the world, but,” he takes a deep breath, “I… care about you. You're not stupid and you are certainly not pathetic. I promise we will get to the bottom of this, but until you get everything you’ve lost back, you’re still a person. You're no burden to me.”

My arms are around his neck, our bodies pressed together. “I’m scared.”

"I know."

"I'm scared I'm going to be like this forever."

“I know,” his lips skim my temple, and goosebumps raise down my limbs. “I felt the same way when my hands were crushed. But we have no evidence to suggest you won't make a full recovery. And worse case scenario, we’re going to figure this out. Do you believe me?” His breath is warm on my skin.

"I believe you.

The air is charged, the question is charged, and Stephen holding me is the only thing keeping me together. I get the distinct impression that I should feel embarrassed, humiliated for sobbing in front of Stephen, as though a proper lady might have done it more demurely. I don't though. I like it. I like how caring and attentive he has been since I was injured.

"What do you need? What can I do for you?"

I glance around my room. It seems especially small with another person in it. The green wallpaper is still bright and the iron bed below it is a mess. The room itself is mercifully, not too messy. The curtains are mostly drawn now, blocking out the harsh light of the sun, and leaving only a thick stripe that cuts the room into unequal halves. The room itself is cozy, but after all the time spent in it the last few days, and what had happened there, it's suffocating me. 

"Take me somewhere else. I need to get out of this house."

Stephen clears his throat, and created a portal. Through the golden circle is the stark night. The chill from the cold air radiates through, prickling my skin. We manage to detangle.

The wind is mild and the sky clear. I have no memory of the world so dark. Back in the city the night is never dark, polluted with bright lights and fluorescence and color. But here, the sky is a sheet of black, with hundreds, no, hundreds of thousands of stars of every hue. The world is so quiet and there are no tell tale signs of humanity around. All this space and only the two of us.

"Where…?"

"New Zealand." His robes had shifted into casual wear. That grey sweater again. Stephen stores his hands in his pockets. "Aptly named by the European settlers as the South Island, due to the fact that it is the Southern Island."

"They sound creative." When the portal went, so did all of the light and my eyes tale a moment to adjust. "It's beautiful."

"It is. And it will only get better."

I look at him surprised, eyebrows raised though he probably can't see it in the darkness. The tracks my tears have left behind feel particularly cold in the icy air.

“From a scientific point of view, auroras are the result of charged solar wind particles caught in Earth’s magnetic field. These particles ionize oxygen and nitrogen molecules in the upper atmosphere, a chemical reaction creating light. The indigenous people of this land saw auroras as the campfires of their ancestors.”

“Are they? The campfires of their ancestors?”

Stephen stands at my side, and passes me the sweatshirt that had been hanging on the end of my bed. “Yeah, they are. And if I’ve timed correctly, they should be just about to…” He trails off.

Nothing happens. There is only blackness around us.

Stephen chuckles, “that would’ve been really impressive. This area has been having an increase rate of solar storms-”

The dull cloud twists into a ribbon of white which begin to curl across the sky. Then it's yellow. Red, green, blue - a nebulous glowing arc ornamenting the sky and I look on in awe. The lights of New York had been overstimulating, but this is- "beautiful."

“Yes.”

The dam inside me breaks and energy floods me. Even being out in the fresh air had invigorated my soul a little and I take off marching towards the slab of rock on the edge of the cliff. I dig my fingers into the top and hauling myself up.

"Jesus Christ, be careful!" Stephen's at my side in half-a-second, clamoring up to stand at my side.

"You're worse than Wong," I complain.

"At least sit ," Stephen's hands find my shoulders and gently push.

I groan but comply, letting my legs dangle off of the edge. He joins me. I could see our breath in the air, and pull my sweatshirt tighter around my shoulders.

"What made you want to be a doctor?" I ask finally, breaking the prolonged silence.

"Do you want the PR answer or the truth?"

"Either."

"Well," Stephen runs his fingers through his hair and I wonder what it feels like, "what I used to tell people was that I wanted to help. We are the world type of bull," he laughs and it cuts through the cold, warming my chest. "But the truth is that I wanted to be the best at something with a lot of status."

Stephen digs through his pocket and pull out a chocolate bar. He hands it to me and I snap it in half, letting him choose which piece he prefered.

"Well, I've been thinking about why I must have chosen anthropology to dedicate myself to. I have three possible answers."

"And they are?"

I chew my chocolate thoroughly. "One, knowing how big of a motivator spite is for me, someone probably told me I couldn't do it."

Stephen laughs again, "sounds about right."

"Two, it's just so damn interesting! I was reading through my doctorate thesis and I seemed really passionate about how teeth could tell you so much about someone's social status.” Cupping my hands I blow warm air into them. My knuckles are bright red. "Three, and probably the most boring of all the answers, maybe it was related to my powers. I didn't really ever figure out the origin, maybe I thought it would be linked to something else, something bigger."

"Well, it's looking more and more like you are a part of something bigger."

"Now that I know what 'bigger' entails, maybe I should have wished for a more simple life." I finish my half of the bar and suck the last of the melted chocolate off of my fingers. The aurora crackles around us like radio static. “The way the light flows… It reminds me of the incense that Wong burns. You know the stuff, lotus and patchouli.”

I look at Stephen, his face bathed in colored light. “I know exactly the one. Gives me headaches, but he still insists on it.”

“That’s because it gets you out of his hair once in a while.”

“I suppose, yeah. It does.” Then he adds, "metaphorical hair."

It's nice to laugh with him. “Why did you choose-? I mean, I said I needed to get out of the house, why was New Zealand the first place you thought of?” I shiver, my sweatshirt is not holding up against the winter breeze, I twist my hands in my lap trying to increase the friction.

“Ah, I don’t know,” his eyes levelled against my gaze, the grey taking on the colors passing overhead. It's mesmerizing. “Just popped into my head, I guess.” His voice gets quieter and quieter and I have to lean in to hear him.

There's a magnetic pull between us. Something strong have sucked us into its current, it wasn’t just this moment, it's everything, it's the universe deciding our fate and pushing us together. Everything since we had met had just felt so right, like we were made for each other.

“Aren’t you cold?” I whisper. “I’m freezing.”

For the moment he looks so relaxed. He's only inches away from me now, and his hand covers mine, his warmth permeating through the yellow leather, and I look from his eyes to his mouth, pink lips from the cold slightly parted and bordered with his dark beard. “Stephen?” I couldn’t get my voice to work properly, my breathing had gotten shallow, heart clanging in my chest.

My eyes flutter shut, as he comes close enough that his nose brushes against my cheek, and he murmurs something I can’t make out, cut off when I press my mouth to his.

Stephen tasted like the chocolate we had shared and for a moment everything in this dark world, with its vibrant skies slowed, until he kisses me back, energy flowing through us at the places where we connected, his hand gripping the back of my neck to deepen the kiss, his tongue running over my bottom lip.

He's gone.

I've lost my breath.

Twisting around, I find Stephen standing behind me. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, I was just- trying-”

Heat floods my cheeks and for once I'm at a loss for words.

A portal opens to my room and I flinch at the sudden piercing light.

“I should go,” Stephen hurries into my room, disappearing into the hall.

In his haste, he left the door wide open.

◂ previous chapter next chapter▸

AO3 Master Fic List

[fatuifucker]

The white fur-trimmed coat slides off your shoulder, before being hung on a rack. Although the snow boots have been set aside to a corner — a habit courtesy of your birth place’s customs — you trudge your way to the 6th Harbinger, before sitting down opposite to him. A thin eyebrow raises, and in a few moment’s time, a steaming cup of tea is placed in front of you. Has he always been this deft with his hands? Or have you been spacing out for so long that you haven’t been keeping track of the time? With careful fingers, you pick up the cup and sip its contents.

It’s bitter.

After years– no, decades of travelling with Scaramouche, you don’t flinch at the taste anymore. Instead, you’ve grown to appreciate the subtle notes within each blend. This one is of high quality, definitely one of those blends reserved for the upper-class. The Inazuman flavour makes you feel nostalgic for memories you don’t recall.

“You know the reason I asked you to go out was so you couldn’t have fun, right?”

“I didn’t have fun.”

“And why’s that?”

“I don’t know.” You stay silent, and he only stares at you. “I don’t understand it either. I did all the things I thought I like. I ate all the food that I was craving to eat. I thought I felt good enough to go out on my own but…” You swallow the growing lump in your throat. “I’m sorry. I wanted to try making myself feel happy today but it’s just the same. No, it’s worse. Why do I feel worse? Why do I feel emptier than usual when I did everything I used to enjoy?”

You hear a sigh, followed by shuffling. A warmth wraps around your cold body like a comforting blanket. A dainty hand reaches out, wiping off the unknowing tears trickling down your face.

“It can’t be helped. If you don’t feel happy, you can’t force yourself.”

“I’m sorry.” You nuzzle into his chest, noticing the slight crack in your voice. “I tried, I really tried.”

He sighs again. “I know you did, idiot. Just rest for now. I’d hate to see you get all gloomy because of a silly thing like this.”

You relocate to his lap so he could continue doing his work. Unfortunately as much as he would like to postpone his duties to tomorrow, he had to finish looking at these urgent documents. Your empty cup sits on the other side of the table, while you’re draped over the harbinger like a clingy pet.

“Scara?”

He hums.

“...Forgive me, I don’t know why I called your name.”

“You’re really out of it today.”

“I know.”

“...But the day’s coming to an end.”

You slowly blink a few times. And then you kiss him on the forehead.

“I will try again tomorrow.”

And if that fails, the day after, then the day after, and the day after that.

“...I’ll be here. Like always.”

@midnxght-sweet-time, @barbatosfavouritenun, @edenialucas, @fluffyganyu, @nejibot, @yumixxn, @teallapril

[rinwritesfics]

How (Not) to Heal - Chapter 4

Plot: After being rescued from Mount Tantiss, Crosshair has to figure out how to work with the Batch again - and their new medic. It would be fine if he didn’t start to fall in love with her.

Warnings: mild discussion of trauma

Word Count: 1175

Author’s Note: Yes, I know what they said about his chip.

Previously

Chapter 4

It was the dead of night when they met Rex. They all made their way to a civvie hospital as Rex explained that this was the safest place for the operation to take place in such a short amount of time. The hospital itself was in the middle of an upper part of the main city, which was almost silent aside from a buzzing light fixture here and there.

Rex’s assurances didn’t make Crosshair feel at ease. How many procedures had the Batch gone through after they had been decanted from their growth pods? How much pain, agony, had they all been subjected to day in and day out, where they still had the physical scars?

The mental scars?

Even the Empire hadn’t been without their experiments, but the first one they made him undergo had brought on the chip enhancement. The rest, the more recent ones, well….

He told himself not to think about that.

But how was he supposed to accept that this procedure was going to be any better than the experiments?

Hunter said what Crosshair was thinking, “Rex, can we trust this person?”

“I trust them with my life,” Rex said, opening the service door to the hospital and ushering the group in. They began climbing the stairs, their boots echoing loudly against the grey stairs and cream walls.

“I hope so.”

Rex took a breath before speaking. “It’s Senator Chuchi’s sister who’s giving us this access. She’s in on the cause.”

“Chuchi, the clone sympathizer?” Crosshair asked.

“The very same.” Rex opened the door to a dark hallway and ushered the group further.

Crosshair felt claustrophobic at the size of the hall while being surrounded by so many people, and he knew Hunter could sense it, so he forced himself to calm down. The glance Hunter gave him confirmed he was out of practice at keeping his emotions completely on lockdown.

“Where is everyone?” asked Omega. “I’ve never seen a perfectly working hospital so empty.”

“This section has been shut down for us,” said Rex. “The doctor put it under maintenance for ‘health and safety.’”

“Sounds awfully convenient,” Echo said. “The staff bought it?”

“She may have fudged some air quality results that may or may not need to be retested and will come back completely clean.”

“But she could lose her job!” exclaimed Omega.

The group fell silent, pondering the risk the doctor was taking for them. For Rex’s request.

For Crosshair.

Rex led them to a room and let them in. Inside was a surgical biobed. The cylindrical unit surrounding the bed glowed a bluish white, the whole thing reminding him of his time, however brief, as a child on Kamino. His fists twitched in a reflex from the memory of the pain and he tore his gaze away. He flinched when a hand met his and he turned to the source.

Omega. She was looking up at him with those innocent eyes. He wanted to hate her. He wanted to yell at her for touching him, but deep down this was comforting to him, like it had happened before, despite not being able to remember it.

“It’ll be okay, Crosshair. You won’t be left alone while it happens.”

Hunter nodded. “We’ll all be here. I promise.”

But Crosshair wasn’t afraid of them being here. He was afraid of them not being there when he woke up. He was afraid that he would wake up back at Tantiss like in one of his nightmares.

Still, he let his sister guide him to the biobed and he sat. There was a little pressure in his right temple and he rubbed at it, which didn’t go missed by anyone. Ka’li ushered everyone back to give him some space, and some of the stress that was knotting up his stomach lessened. Everyone’s eyes on him certainly didn’t make him feel comfortable.

Tech did approach, and offered to begin the process as Omega stood at his side. Crosshair laid back in the bed and closed his eyes, trying to practice a counting exercise in his head to distract him and calm him. It usually worked.

Before he got halfway, he lost consciousness.

* * *

He blinked a few times, gaze coming to rest on his brother Tech, and then Ka’li who was beside Omega. The bed had pulled all the way out of the surgical unit, and the procedure was complete. His hand flew to his healing cut, and it was clean and stitched. It was over.

He was free. For real, this time.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Omega shake Ka’li’s arm and Ka’li startled awake in her chair, small smiles on both of their faces.

Tech spoke, slightly startling him and making him look back at his brother as he sat up. “Ah, good, you’re awake. We must leave soon, but it is acceptable for you to take a moment to wake up properly.”

Omega almost pushed Tech out of the way in her excitement and gave Crosshair a hug from his side. “You’re okay!”

The show of affection felt foreign to him, but this was his sister. He considered pushing her away, but he knew she loved him despite everything he had done. Her hug did fill a little bit of the void in him, so he resisted shoving her. He scowled a little to show he wasn’t going soft, but it wasn’t at its usual intensity.

When she let go, Tech didn’t step back to examine him. Instead, Wrecker came up to him from the other side of the room and offered to help him up. This time, Crosshair did scoff. He wasn’t fragile. He could do things himself, like stand up, but seeing the look on Wrecker’s face made him reconsider. Wrecker’s face held indescribable glee when he agreed.

Crosshair looked around and noticed Hunter was missing, as was Echo. Seeing as Rex wasn’t there, all three had to be discussing something without him.

Again, he thought bitterly.

He didn’t realize he had a scowl on his face until Ka’li approached him and his eyebrows softened.

“Hey. How’s the head?”

He took a measured breath and assessed. Then he realized –

“The pain is gone.”

She gave him a lopsided smile. “Glad to hear it.”

A feeling blossomed in his chest and it struck him that he had been waiting to hear she had been concerned, and not just because of the team. Maybe it was the smile. Not carefully curated for a bedside manner. No, it was real. And it made him happy.

He knew shortly thereafter the moment would be over, but here it was. His batch – no, his family – was here for him, and so was someone he was falling for.

“We need to start moving. More staff will arrive soon, and we need to clean up and be out of here before they do.” Rex stepped in. He then turned directly to Crosshair. “We also have a mission to accomplish. You up for it?”

Crosshair straightened. “It’s payback time.”

Chapter 5 Tags: @crosshairsbabygurl, @starrylothcat, @thecoffeelorian, @idoubleswearimawriter, @heylosers06, @totesnothere04, @dangraccoon

[corvidcrows]

First post in years. Guess this Tumblr isn't empty anymore. Just doing some drabbles for friends.

Something different I decided to write because sfw lol but ALSO something self-indulgent because it features my own Narrator.

I was thinking really hard about @indigo-art 's Arthur and his crisis of personhood and couldn't let him go without a headpat.

So this is more like a character study of Arthur than anything else. Existentialism at its finest!

~~~~~

He's met many a Narrator in an ever increasing multiverse. The space that he resides in seemed to fold into itself even more, giving way to new occupants that fell into the void. Most of these beings were either Stanleys or Narrators, and the latter seem to come in more colorful varieties than the former. Arthur himself tends to stick company to a few Narrators he knows more intimately, but this time he was forced to interact with a new one who seemed to have moved right across the hall next to him.

He's part of a committee of Narrators now, as for some godforsaken reason he was well-liked enough to be voted into a role to greet newcomers. He had no prior experience greeting people, but most have insisted on him filling the job.

He... Doesn't hate it, but doesn't love it either. It allowed him to meet interesting new personalities that became his friends, but most Narrators were insufferable pricks that he would like nothing more than to strangle. He wonders if this one would be the former or the latter.

They say that the person you hate the most is the person who resembled you the best.

He doesn't have a chance to change his mind after knocking, because it opens immediately. This Narrator looked somewhat humanoid from the waist up, but the waist down was a different story. He possessed a ghostly yellow tail that tapered into an arrowhead point and wound itself into knots. It made Arthur dizzy just looking at it, so he averts his gaze and determinedly stares at the Narrator's human upper half.

“To whom do I owe the pleasure?” the Narrator asks politely, as if Arthur had not just stared at his tail flattening and circling around the apartment in a lazy run.

“Name's Arthur. Arthur Gold. You're going to be seeing a lot of me, considering I live around here,” he says, extending his hand. The other Narrator stares in confusion for a moment, and chuckles.

“Ah, names. Names are important here, considering the sheer number of alternates we have. I suppose this would be more of a point of contention for the Stanleys, who do possess a name, rather than us Narrators, am I correct?” the other man says as he tilts his head.

Oh God, this Narrator is one of the rambly ones. He's going to be kept at the door, is he?

“You may call me... Luke. Just Luke, mind you, I'm not very creative,” he says. “And I ask you another question: why are you here, Mr. Gold?”

“I'm here to welcome you to the Parables Flats. I just stopped by to let you know that you can approach anyone in the committee at any time. We have a few ground rules that we need to discuss–”

“You don't seem very enthusiastic to be here. Was this a paid position? Perhaps a voted one?” Luke wonders out loud, making Arthur do a double take. It's not every day that someone can see through to his facade, but Luke had sussed him out in seconds.

He falters, but carries on. “Can you let me in so I can talk to you about the rules?”

“Rules? Ah yes! Of course! Rules are important, you know. The world would fall prey to doom and destruction without the quiet machinations of rules. Did not the parable have rules that the player must follow?”

God, what a weirdo. Arthur's brow furrows as the man rambles on about rules as he walks– *floats* into the flat, leaving Arthur to trail after him. He thinks to himself to make it quick– until the man asks him a simple question.

“Tea or coffee?”

“I'm feeling coffee right about now.”

Luke's green eyes flash and the coffee machine whirrs to life in the kitchen. He flicks his wrist, and the lights flicker on. When he passes by the stereo, it crackles to life and plays blues music.

Arthur tries not to be too impressed. He has displayed much more powerful abilities himself, and he's gone toe to toe with literal gods and other beings.

Arthur sits down on the couch and begins his spiel, the one he gives to every Narrator who moves into the Flats. He starts enumerating each rule until he realizes that a certain someone is looking at him very strangely.

He trails off self-consciously, then glares at the other man for his impertinence.

“May I help you?” he finally says, sighing in annoyance.

“I– my apologies. I was taken aback by your lines of code. It's very... complex and systematic, quite a sight to see. Elegant. You're a sophisticated one, are you?”

That earned quite a stare from Arthur, who was at a loss for things to say. Where does he even begin: *How the hell did you know what I was, Who are you to be able to read my code at first glance,* and *Did you just call my programming pretty?*

“Ah. You must be terribly confused, are you? I'm a technopath, or more specifically, a technogeist. A spirit that affects electronics and technology. I think I was made this way for my Parable, made it easier to activate controls and possess electronics and such,” Luke explains as he hovers closer to Arthur, who instinctively flinched. Possess? This man was not just bordering on creepy anymore, but disturbing.

“I've never seen something– someone like you. You're a real, living person,something that evolves, not an amalgamation of static code made to replicate human response. Do you ever look at yourself and marvel at your own existence?”

Arthur's throat felt completely dry. *No,* he wanted to say, quite the opposite.

“Do you ever look at yourself and wonder how much of what you actually experience is real? How much of yourself is mirroring and how much is your own true response? Or how much of what you perceive is your own true nature?” Arthur's eyes were blank, unseeing, as he said these words. It's not new to him, these feelings. But he rarely gets to share them. Perhaps it's easier with strangers. “That's what it's like.”

Luke nods, almost as though he had empathized with Arthur, though he could not have known exactly what he was going through.

“I see. But are not humans like that as well?” Luke questions softly, and Arthur scoffs. “An existential crisis is hardly contained to inorganic beings like us.”

“No shit. But at least they don't have to deal with the perils of learning that they're artificial. That they're *created.* I'm just made to be a copy of the human condition.”

Silence. Luke sighs, goes into the kitchen to retrieve the cup of coffee, and presents it to Arthur. He then opts to coil his tail on the armchair across the other man.

“You spend so much of your time thinking about whether you live to mimic humanity that you forget to live as yourself in the first place,” Luke says gently. “You are not human, never will be. But you are Arthur Gold, someone who stands before me now, living grandly and passionately amongst Narrators, who forged a path for himself and chose life bravely. What are humans, whose genome is their biological coding yet they are so much more than what it dictates? Do not belittle yourself or what you are, Arthur. You are so much more than that, but what you are is not something to be ashamed of.”

Arthur would be loathe to admit this, but he is in near tears right now. Might just be from Luke's words, or might just be the heat of the coffee wafting into his face as he drinks.

Silence. Then Luke uncoils his tail and sits a little more casually on the armchair, letting his lower half droop languidly. It's as if nothing had happened.

“So. What were those rules you speak of?”