#i'm too perplexed to be anything else

[o-uncle-newt]

I read Possession by AS Byatt after people told me "if you liked Gaudy Night you'll like this" and WELL.

Warning- spoilers for both books abound below!

So it sounded great- as a lapsed academic (though not in the field of literature by any means) there's a part of me that loves reading about academia because it's full of such obsessive people, and this book seemed to be exactly that and so I was excited.

Then I read it, and on the one hand, my first thought was "all these people are dull as heck, the only sane modern-day one is Val, and at the end of the day the historical stuff is just two people having an affair, who cares." My second thought was "there's just enough stuff here that makes me think that maybe the author knows that all of this is stupid, like the fact that Val is obviously one of the few sane ones here." But the ending made me doubt even that. Essentially, and I say this even as that lapsed academic, the author could not convince me to care about the important things at stake here, and as a result couldn't get me to care about the people who only seemed to care about those things.

I didn't care about Ash and LaMotte- they came across as two people high on their own supply who had a tawdry affair. (And each of them is the less interesting person, as a person, than their official partner!) As a result of not caring about them, I couldn't POSSIBLY care about Roland, Maud, and the rest of their crew, because their only functions were to be possessed by, and weirdly possessive of, these two entirely unworthy individuals, whose in-universe historical and literary significance Byatt couldn't convince me of, and to use that possession as a mirror for their own very lame romance. Beyond that they're utterly uninteresting, and there isn't even meant to BE much beyond that so it's not that surprising.

Anyway, I didn't like this book much, but it still made me think a lot. And there's a way in which a certain kind of person might say "well if it made you think then that's surely a sign of some positive quality" and... maybe? I don't know. I didn't hate all of it, and some parts were interesting, and I do have a whole separate list of things about the book that bug me including a breakdown of some of the book's (perceived by me) themes that I particularly disliked lol. Perhaps I'll post it another time. So I guess you can say it spurred me to thought, but loads of things that I don't like do that, and the only positive thing that that draws from me is that they're not downright dull.

The thing is, after finishing the book I was immediately struck by that "if you like Gaudy Night..." element, because it has a situation that felt weirdly similar (if for totally different reasons)- a young scholar stealing a letter from a library/archive. The circumstances are different- in Gaudy Night, the scholar does it to hide its existence so as not to contradict his thesis, and in Possession, the scholar does it so as to explore the document further, though still secretly- but there are still some interesting parallels vis a vis class. Possession goes into the class thing more than Gaudy Night does, but neither book goes much into it- the scholar is lower-class and someone who has scraped their way to their position, and is encumbered by a female partner of lower social and academic standing, and in the end they are juxtaposed against scholars who come from an elevated class and who have more money and opportunity. In Gaudy Night, Arthur Robinson is judged by the likes of Lord Peter Wimsey and a college full of women who don't have to do anything but think, teach, write, and grade papers; in Possession, Roland has to convince a bunch of academics of standing and resources to take a chance on him (and while this is more about money than class, he's the main one who's like "maybe it's good if Lady Bailey gets her wheelchair"). Byatt elides over this at the end by having him magically become in demand and on his way to achieving his academic goals, but I think in both books, the class element really could have taken on more significance in the text.

(I'd add as well that Byatt pits the upper-class and moneyed Maud, who of course is doing things for "the right reasons," vs the evil American businessman who clearly... doesn't care about Ash enough? Despite how much he clearly and obviously cares about Ash? The book was way more interesting when he seemed like a valid rival to the British team, who only thought that they deserved the letters more because of their obsession, rather than how it turned out at the end where the American dude is an actual cartoon villain. What made him genuinely less worthy besides having money without class, and of course having the bad taste to be American? What makes one scholar's possession more justified? Sayers was never this unsubtle.)

So that made me think more about Possession vs Gaudy Night, and the thing is, there are actual living people in Gaudy Night! Say what you will about the unworldliness of the academics at Shrewsbury, but you get a very keen view of their personalities by the end, even as they are (by necessity given the rules of their world) subsumed by academia, or subsume themselves in it. And the people who do fall in love are REALLY in love, and you understand why...

And somehow a book from 1935 feels far more interrogative of the possession (or lack thereof) found in love and romance, and just about the place of women in academia and relationships overall, than one from the late 80s. In Gaudy Night, Harriet accepts Peter once she has determined that despite their power differential (brought on by class, money, history, and to a degree gender) he will not threaten her personhood, because he has proven himself to her. In Possession, Maud accepts Roland because she has the power (money, class, position, even height) and so Roland actually cannot threaten her- and yet still that final scene is about her being taken by him, basically to prove some kind of a point. In contrast, in Busman's Honeymoon, the euphemistic sex scenes are about Peter trying to please Harriet.

When I say it's to prove a point, I'm paraphrasing Byatt, incidentally- who said: "And in the case of Maud I had made it very inhibiting. She was a woman inhibited both by beauty (which actually isn't very good for very beautiful women because they feel it isn't really them people love) and she was also inhibited by Feminism, because she had all sorts of theories that perhaps she would be a more noble kind of woman if she was a lesbian. And so she was a bit stuck. And Roland was timid because I am naturally good at timid men. It's the kind of men I happen to like. He's a timid thinking man, so of course it took him the whole book." I mean... yikes, but also that explains a lot. Maud can only bring herself to be with a man who is weak/effeminate (?) enough to justify whatever weird psyche Byatt has imagined up for her, but still she needs to get over her inhibitions and under him because... reasons. I don't know.

(Height is also interesting here as a point of contrast- Byatt makes Maud taller than Roland to make a point about how on the one hand she retains the power but on the other hand there is now even more of her that has to surrender. Peter and Harriet are the same medium height and wear the same size gown.)

I think the thing that most stuns me is how regressive Possession feels when it comes to gender politics on relationships than Gaudy Night does. I'd need a whole other post to talk about this, but the theme of Possession seems to me to be "relationships that produce things (whether art or children) are worth more than ones that don't." Roland is better with Maud than with Val because Val is a second rate scholar who drags him down (while supporting him financially) and Ash is better with LaMotte than with Ellen because LaMotte didn't only inspire his writing (Ellen's contributions are described only in the negative "didn't impede"), she gave him the child that Ellen refused to. Incidentally, in both cases it's the man pursuing a relationship that will give HIM something... But, to paraphrase Peter in Busman's Honeymoon, one wouldn't want to regard relationships in that agricultural light. Gaudy Night is about how two people can produce great things without each other but choose to be with each other for their own, and each other's, happiness. They aren't each less apart, and as I noted in a prior post, they don't need to solve cases together or conjoin their work in order for their relationship to be worth something. It is worth it for them to be together because it encourages some kind of inner balance within them and between them, as people. They enjoy collaborating but that is by no means the basis of their love (and, incidentally, I think that a lot of, if not most, detective series romances fail this basic test of "would they have fallen in love if they were accountants who met on a dating app." Peter and Harriet definitely would have- would, say, Albert Campion and Amanda Fitton have? I do NOT think so).

And here's the thing- another reason why Byatt's quote above is so off-putting is that it makes it clear that not only in the text but on a meta level, the purpose of the relationships is to prove a Point. I found Roland and Maud to have zero chemistry, and honestly I was expecting them to get together 3/4 of the way through and split up at the end when it turned out they had nothing in common- it seemed like that kind of book. I was kind of stunned when they only got together at the end in an "it's meant to be" way because nothing about it seemed meant to be. They were stuck together by that one thing and they each apparently needed the relationship for some kind of self-actualization or historical rhyming or other. (Whatever I say about Ash and LaMotte... at least they seemed to like each other!)

Peter and Harriet... they get together because they love each other. Do they change over the course of Gaudy Night, and over the course of the other books they share together? Of course they do. But if it makes sense, I'll put it this way- Harriet doesn't accept Peter's proposal as proof that she got over her hangups, Harriet gets over her hangups so that she can accept Peter's proposal. Her hangups only matter because they were keeping her from this particular kind of happiness- she was a fully actualized person even with them. She is a person who does things for human reasons so that she can build a mutually happy life with the person she loves, not a little plot mannequin being moved around in order to tell the author's desired Message. People can say what they want about Gaudy Night and its flaws, but despite the intricacies of its construction, nobody can call the characters' actions and motivations anything but brutally human.

Whether within their universes or on a meta level, the books have SUCH different things to say about the value and nature of love, the place of and purpose of sex, the place of art and intellectual accomplishment in relationships, all of the above in the context of femininity… and I can't help but feel that each time, Gaudy Night wins the contest. It's possible I'm missing something major about Possession, and maybe sometime I'll post the rest of my notes about the things I disliked and people can tell me what I'm wrong about- but if nothing else it made me appreciate Gaudy Night even more, so for that I'm grateful.

[hwajin]

☆.° — breathe me | hhj

genre: smut

pairing: nerd!hyunjin x afab!reader

wc: 3k

warnings/ content: ice play, lots of fingering

this is my fic for @whatudowhennooneseesyou's kinktober 2024; ice play with hyunjin! also an unofficial part 2 for my nerd hyune fic 'study me' hehe <3 hope you enjoy, check out the other works too!! (pst @hyunverse)

It's been a while — three months, give or take — since you and Hyunjin had started going out; officially, and openly. You remember the looks on peoples' faces, slightly irritated, perplexed, when you and him would enter the classroom, hand in hand, sitting down next to each other and giggling shyly about something only you two understood. The group project three months back — which you were grateful for every passing day for bringing you closer to him — had been long over; so why were you hanging out with the loner, the unnamed loser, the nerd sitting in the first row by himself every day anew? You had found a certain satisfaction in those looks; something about them had made you proud, made you feel lucky. As though you’d understood something no one else had.

By now, people were used to the pair of you; seeing you together in the campus cafeteria, accompanied by some of your friends and a heavy blush on Hyunjin's cheeks wasn't as bizarre anymore; hearing your quiet chatter echoing from the first row was normal, almost — except it didn't occur all too often, and far too seldom for your liking. Yes, Hyunjin became your boyfriend over the course of a couple weeks, and while your studies and academic affections suffered beneath that, his didn't a bit; surprisingly.

"How are you acing every class!?", you attack him one evening. He had scored 99 out of a hundred possible points on a Statistics test — your one and only mutual class —; you had barely gotten a 49.

"Don't tell me you're actually getting anything done when we study together?"

You had sat in the library, and your too loud voice had flustered him, so he had responded even quiter than usual; and not without a hint of judgement:

"Of course I am." Brows furrowed, genuine question in the way he'd looked at you. Then, after a moment, he had cocked his head, in near fearful realization; mouth agape, eyes big behind his nerdy glasses. "Wait... you wanna tell me you're... not actually studying on- on our study dates?" The last words had sounded from his mouth shyly, almost bashful. You had chuckled internally at that, though had given him a sultry look; playful, a wink accompanying your gesture.

"No, I'm way too distracted by how good you look studying that I can't get anything done myself."

Another thing that hasn't changed over the last three months — Hyunjin has seemingly not gotten used to your flirtations. To any flirtations, any intimacy at all. Every time you touched him, as innocent a touch as it was, every time you gave his lips as little as a peck he froze, utterly clueless in his own body, scarlet in the face and down the neck. It was adorable. A part of you hoped he never would get used to it; that he would always stay the bashful, quirky man you got to know him as. That he would always drown in red when you shot him a playful look, fire behind your eyes and igniting Hyunjin, fixing his glasses with a quick motion, clearing his throat and diverting his eyes, only to notice you're still staring when he looks for you again. You liked initiating things, liked the way he still shied from as much as kissing you, reaching out to hold your hand. That when he did — reach out, touch the back of your hand with his own, slowly entangling your fingers and acting unknowing all the while — it wasn't without fluster, wasn't without you giggling about him because his crimson neck and his blown pupils were so ironic, considering you'd been entangled in bed together two hours ago, naked and pressed against each other.

Another thing, undeniably, you had loved about the past months; the sex. Sounding perverted upon admission, though you had to; because it'd been better than you had anticipated. Hyunjin was shy, and he'd only been learning to voice his own wishes and desires fairly recently; but he was eager. Eager to please you, eager to do anything you asked him to, to learn. And he was more open than you thought, too, more experimental; there was barely a thing he denied, even if never without shyness, but always saying yes with a face red as crimson.

And he'd said yes this time as well.

You were sprawled out on the bed, in the nude, limbs shivering and skin pearly, covered in a million tiny bumps. It was strange, the contrast to the heat Hyunjin emitted; fires ignited beneath your skin but you were cold, so cold to the touch against the warm air of the room. Yet, you were glowing. You were burning and freezing to death at the very same time.

Hyunjin was holding the little, melted down ice cube he's prepared the day prior against your skin. You had brewed an ice coffee for the pair of you, as innocent a date as ever, Hyunjin talking your ears off with a new computer he's acquired, and how setting it up was — apparently — the most fun he's had in a while. You liked listening to him, could never grow tired of his hobbies you learned to love so dearly, viewed as so adorably quirky; but you also couldn't have suppressed the suggestive remark you'd made:

"Oh... really?", puppy eyes while you’d turned to face him slowly, and he had sat by the kitchen counter perplexed, nodding and going on with his demonstration of his new set up. You had stepped closer to him, ice cube mold in hands. "Even more fun than... we had yesterday?" You had eye-fucked him by now, eyes big and dear-like, blinking and playing with a lose strand of his hair; it had gotten so long over the past months, and you could never keep your hands from it.

Hyunjin had gulped, visibly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he did, and a feeling of heat had lain as a blanket in your lower tummy. You had seen the memories of last night flash before his eye in a second, and a familiar blush had lain over his pearly skin. He hadn't, and the faint outline of his developing erection had been proof.

"I can remind you, in case you did."

A futile promise; not only because he hadn't forgotten, but because you would remind him nevertheless.

Hyunjin's eyes had hushed to the ice cubes beside your hands on the counter, and upon the deepening of his blush your eyes had started glistening. That was the thing about your boyfriend; he knew what he wanted. He knew exactly, only too shy to admit to it, too ashamed to speak the words out loud. He had never said no to a proposal you've made, because he'd wanted it as bad as you did — more so, maybe. You'd smirked, following his eyed and then locking them again.

"You wanna try these...", you had barely whispered, "...on me?" Head cocked and eyes questioning. Hyunjin had gulped again; then he had nodded.

Fast forward half an hour, you were shivering against the cold of the ice cube. Hyunjin was clumsy with it, utterly helpless; he didn't quite know what to do with the little bit of frozen water, where to touch you with it, what to do. After the third one has melted without much an outcome, Hyunjin looking both distressed and apologetic, you finally took matters into your own hands with a giggle.

"Fuck, I'm sorry; I have no idea what I'm doing." Hyunjin sounded frustrated, and you entangled your fingers in his locks, messy and raven around his face. His glasses were sliding down continuously, and he had grown tired of fixing them; they were forgotten, sitting almost at the tip of his nose. You slid them up, looking down at him where he was positioned between your bare legs, and he grew bashful; he always did when you fixed his glasses for him. He held you, big hands on your waist, so casual but your skin burned beneath every touch.

"Calm down, babe.", you smiled at him, and his brows furrowed closer together.

"Should I... help you? Tell you what to do?"

He had laughed then, thankful relief, had nodded and had kissed your lower tummy; you loved when he wasn't shy to show banal affection, when his lips and hands felt a home on your body.

"Take an ice cube in your mouth.", you commanded, voice silk and honey. Hyunjin blinked up at you twice; then he obliged, momentarily. Almost with no hesitation; he was slave to every of your word, your wish his very own. He trusted you to take the lead, and his plump, scarlet lips wrapped around the frozen bit of water, securing it further with his teeth; and he shivered at the coldness of it. You hissed in a breath at that; you needed to remember using the ice on him, at some point; he would look heavenly flustered and red and shivering.

Hyunjin looked at you, expectedly, waiting for your next word. He wouldn't do anything but.

Your fingers played with his hair, and you watched his glasses slide down his nose. He scrunched it, likely unaware of the little movement; but your breath hitched, and you bit your lip.

"Kiss my body with it."

He did. He lowered his head to be level with your bare stomach, eyes never leaving your own. He watched you intently, if waiting for the next command or simply not wanting to miss every breathy sigh you let out, every shaky moan you weren't sure.

The ice touched your hot, burning skin. You were surprised it didn't melt right away; Hyunjin's breath was even hotter than you, and the contrast of it — his warm huffs of air and the freezing cube — sent a electrifying shiver down your spine and right to your core, tickling there until you squirmed to ease the feeling off. Hyunjin's eyes held surprise; then he started making out with your body as if it was your lips he was kissing, and as if the ice had disappeared. He played with it, clumsy and more passion than plan, and you could tell he liked the filth, the lack of sense. He gave the flesh of your hips open mouthed kisses, hot and wet and cold, he let the cube of ice disappear in his mouth to bite down on your skin before his tongue fiddled with the shrinking block again to let it drop on you, unexpectedly, cold and whine-inducing. He groaned too when you let the sound rip through your throat, enjoying the way you enjoyed it.

The ice cube melted eventually. Hyunjin kissed your body some more without it, losing himself, lips and hands unable to let go of you. He did so until you whined out when he wrapped his lips around one of your breasts, hot spit coating your nipple, his cold, delicate fingers playing with the other one. He looked up at you then, knowing and questioning all the same, and you whispered a single word, enough to make him hurry putting the second ice cube between his teeth.

"More."

You shook your head, though, when Hyunjin was about to come back to his previous ministrations. You held his arm; you had gotten so sensitive so suddenly, feeling like slipping away if you didn't grab onto something.

"Let it drop here.", you said, pointing to the core of your chest. He did as you commanded, and searching for your next wish in the depths of your eyes.

"Move it down my body."

He did, straight down, aiming for your belly button, and you shook your head again.

"No, no, slowly. Here first.", you whispered, wetting your fingers in the cold trail of water the cube left, and circling one of your nipples with it. Hyunjin blushed upon that, suddenly. Torn out of the haze from before he as though found his way back to reality, always bashful when you played with yourself in front of him. He watched you close your eyes at the pleasure you brought yourself, the way you hummed out quietly before looking at him again. And he obliged; he let the small cube travel over both your breasts, long and slow, until the ice had almost fully dissipated when he reached your belly button.

"Another one.", you hushed, and he understood. He let an ice cube drop just over your belly button, where he had stopped prior, and continued his journey further down; he kissed your body to elicit sounds of pleasure from you, breathy and hushed and needy whenever his hot tongue danced across trails of cold water, when it circled a nipple; when the melting cube of ice touched your core, finally. Your back arched into him; and after an approval look and a nod of yours Hyunjin fiddled — clumsily — to lay the cold against your clit. It wasn't sudden and yet you jumped, yelped in your place, grabbed onto Hyunjin, digging your nails into the bare skin of his arms. He hissed at that; he hadn't yet admitted to it, but he enjoyed the faint sting of pain, you were sure.

He kept fingering you slowly with the remnants of the ice cube. It wasn't much by any means, almost melted entirely, your wet heat enough to make it, but the sensation remained. You were sensitive, worked up, and Hyunjin above your body so obedient, watching your every move to accord his ministrations to them, that you felt your high sneak up on you, quicker than you had anticipated. It was almost there, almost palpable; but it needed more.

And he felt it. He had eased into it, into the night and into you, and he became more courageous — he grabbed for another ice cube without you telling him to, placed it on your pelvic bone to warm it up, just a little. He kissed you then; impulsively, passionately, moving the cube against your body, cold thumb of his circling your clit. Slowly, not necessarily with a goal, just because; slow circles, barely doing anything, but you still jerked in your place, against him and then into the mattress. And you kissed him back, grabbed the back of his nape, the very ends of his hair, tousled and messy and warm against the cold; and he inserted the freezed water with two of his fingers, into your hot wetness, making it cold and wetter, so suddenly sensitive that you groaned out deeply into his mouth. He ate up the sound, returned it with the same fervour, curled the ice cube up and removed it again, leaving you empty and shivering, aching for more. For again. You whispered the word against Hyunjin's bruised lips, deep red and bitten, and he obeyed; he inserted two fingers and the ice cube into you, curling his digits and pushing the cold deeper. Everything around you turned white, and silent. You saw nothing but him, heard nothing but Hyunjin's staggered, deep breaths, felt nothing but bliss, purified in the way he granted it to you; unapologetic, readily, as if was everything he was born for.

You squirmed against his body, steady and warm above your own. You could feel his erection against your leg, could feel he was moving and squirming too, to remove friction, though it wasn't his primary goal. He moved thoughtlessly, out of an instinct; his focus, though, lay on you. He didn't dare remove his eyes from you, repeatedly fixing his glasses to not miss a second of the changing expressions on your face, or your shivering body, your pearl-covered skin, the way your flesh broke waves with every move you made, with every hard breath you inhaled, exhaled. And he went deeper, bit your neck harder, held your hips closer, kissed you faster; and you groaned louder, squirmed heavier, until finally you shook, body convulsing and waves of electricity running through your body, wetness gushing down Hyunjin's fingers and staining the mattress. Your chest heaved, your warmth having melted down the ice cube to mere cold water, and Hyunjin watched in awe; he hadn't yet grown used to the sight of you coming, especially for him. The way he could see your soul leaving your body and returning again, the way your eyes crossed before rolling into the back of your head, how you held onto him, how your toes curled and the hairs on your body stiffened; he would never get enough of it. He could watch it - watch you - over and over again, shaking and coming against him, your hot breath igniting fires on his skin.

"Fuck.", you breathed out, tearing Hyunjin out of his thoughts. Your eyes were squeezed shut, and only then Hyunjin noticed he hadn't yet stopped fingering you, slowly, helping you ride out your orgasm though overstimulating now, surely. He leaned down, kissed your neck, slowly removed his fingers, eliciting a sweet sigh from you. He did then something which could only be accounted to his incredible neediness; nothing unfamiliar whenever he waited his turn, whenever he prioritised your satisfaction over his own. He sat back on his heels, looked down on your shivering, sweaty body; and he licked his slick fingers clean of you, eyes locked with yours intently. His tongue swirled around his digits, slurping noises filling the room. His ears turned red and the blush crept down his neck, upon the filthy action, and upon your sweetness against his tongue, but he didn't stop; Hyunjin put on a show for you, and he loved to see the effort pay off - your eyes deepened with a sense of desire, dark and seductive and alluring, and a smirk played around your lips; Hyunjin knew you loved when he wasn't shy to show his lust. Only when you grabbed him by his collar, only when you tugged at the hem of his shirt and your legs wrapped around his torso, toes playing with the waistband of his pants he knew the night wasn't over; and wouldn't be for long.

@es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @ppiri-bahng @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @junebug032 @noellllslut @unexceptional-h @like-a-diamondinthesky @katsukis1wife @astraystayyh

[earthtooz]

earth do you have any spare alhaitham thoughts 🥺 thinking ab him a little extra hard tonight 😵

nothing but fluff, reader and al-haitham are engaged, so much banter.

"What do you think about inviting Nahida to our wedding?"

Al-Haitham looks at you incredulously, blinking slowly to register your question. You know a lengthy discussion is imminent when he uncrosses his leg, a habit of his whenever he needs to prepare for a conversation that requires most of his attention.

"You don't mean Lesser Lord Kusanali, do you?" He asks and you nod, as if it is typical to invite a god to one's wedding. "Dear, do you understand what you are asking right now?"

"I do," you sit down beside him, Zaytun peach in one hand and a small knife in the other, cutting up slices that you feed him.

"Then do you realise how ludicrous your question is?"

"I think you are overcomplicating it."

His book snaps shut. "Am I? Or is it appropriate because you just suggested inviting an archon to our very ordinary wedding?"

"You still think you're ordinary after overthrowing a corrupt government and being promoted by said archon?"

"You're crazy," Al-Haitham murmurs, shaking his head with an affectionate smile, one that he always likes to conceal by pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You poke his side gently. "Then we are cut from the same cloth."

"That does not diminish your madness."

Still, you persist. "Well, you haven't said anything in response to my suggestion."

"I called you crazy."

"You haven't said anything I want to hear."

Once again, he sighs, but the noise is too airy to hold any true malice. "Even if I reject your idea, you would personally go to the Sanctuary of Surasthana and deliver the invite yourself."

Instead of answering, you merely feed him another slice of the Zaytun peach, smile growing more and more mischievous.

There is a reason Al-Haitham wants to spend the rest of his life with you. The bouts of delightful juvenility paints endless blotches of colour on his plain canvas, carving a certain feeling of warmth and admiration in his chest that no one else has managed to recreate.

No one compares to you, and he's certain no one ever will because even after all these years of knowing and loving you, every moment he spends with you is as priceless as divine knowledge. Even when you ask ridiculous questions that perplex him greatly.

"How do you even deliver messages to the Sanctuary of Surasthana?" You wonder.

A kiss to your temple halts your thinking. "Let's find out another time. How did this idea of inviting Nahida spring about?"

You shrug. "I was merely thinking back. She's always been so thoughtful and kind to her subjects, even when the Akademiya hid her from us. Then the idea of inviting her made itself quite at home."

"I see," he hums. "Ever so thoughtful."

"Maybe it's a good omen for our partnership to invite an archon. She won't have to bring a present, her presence alone is enough."

Al-Haitham huffs. "My faith in our relationship exceeds that of a good omen, but I agree."

"Aww, you love me that much?"

"Do you still doubt me?"

"Still?" You parrot. "Darling, I've never doubted you."

"I'd like to contest that. Remember when you were vehemently against me resigning as the Acting Grand Sage?"

You feed him another slice. "It gave me bragging rights! Who else could claim that their hot boyfriend-now-fiancé was the Grand Sage?"

"So you prefer when I'm away at the Akademiya working tirelessly from dawn to dusk?"

"Well, no," you set the knife and pit of the peach down before throwing your arms around his neck, pressing yourself close to him. "I prefer having you all to myself."

Al-Haitham huffs triumphantly and you stay pressed close to him for a while, watching as he returns to his novel. He flips back to his exact page despite the lack of a bookmark.

"I'll be sure to send the invite to Nahida tomorrow."

"Alright."

Two days later, you wake to a message written in beautifully precise handwriting on Al-Haitham's blackboard.

'Can Wanderer be invited too? - Nahida'

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[pomefioredove]

Hihi!!!

Can I have a sugar cookie, #15, with frosting and candy cane :D

OMG friends to lovers with rook... REAL

order #15, sugar with frosting, candy canes

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ hunting familiarity

summary: cuddling with rook. that's it that's the plot tropes: friends to lovers, only one bed characters: rook additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu, indulgent cuddling, short

"Oh, but it is necessary!"

You blink, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes while Rook waits on your doorstep. It's well past midnight, you have a make-up exam tomorrow morning, and you haven't the slightest clue why he couldn't ask... well, anyone else if he could stay in their dorm.

"...What happened, again?"

Rook sighs, setting a hand over his heart. "It was the most tragic thing, Trickster! I had been in the throes of passion, doing my evening target practice before bed, when- pouf! My foolish hunter's hand slipped, and an arrow went through the window of ma chambre,"

No way this is the truth. You're too tired for this. "Uh-huh?"

"You see, I cannot sleep in a cold room- I would rest most fitfully, and as I did not want to rouse the Roi du Poison from his beauty rest, I have come to humbly ask for your assistance,"

You almost roll your eyes. He's really rather loud, and the very last thing you need is for Grim to wake up with all the noise (he gets almost as grumpy as Vil).

"...Alright. But just for-"

"Merci, Trickster!" he says, letting himself in and hanging up his hat (yes, fully dressed- at midnight).

Before you can ask him what sofa he'd like, he's already ascending the stairs to your bedroom, and making himself at home with your blankets. Why do you even bother?

You sigh, wish him a good night, and then go to the door.

"Eh? Where are you going? Don't tell me the Headmage has you working at this hour, chouchou!"

He's sitting in bed, the blankets orderly over his dorm uniform, eyes wide and gleaming with excitement in the way they do when he sees something he likes.

In this case, it's the predicament he's put you in. Like an animal in a trap.

"...No, I'm going to the guest room to sleep," you say, hand on the doorframe and one foot over the threshold. "Good night, Rook-"

"You are not going to stay? I don't bite,"

You're not so sure about that.

"Or kick."

That seems more plausible.

"I just... don't want to wake Grim," you reason. "With all the tossing and turning. It's a small mattress."

"I'm sure you'll find we fit quite nicely," Rook says. He's not going to let this go, and though the thought of getting into bed with any of your friends feels like walking into bear territory while wearing a salmon suit, you're tired, it's cold, and you're more worried that Rook might take your measurements in your sleep than anything.

And Vil would have your head if Rook had to return and wake him.

"...No kicking," you agree, getting into bed at his side. "Or biting. And don't try to guess my blood type again."

Rook laughs, the sound merry and light. "Ah, Trickster! I discovered that months ago,"

He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to him, putting his chin on your shoulder and warming your shivering self. His chest is against your back, his body pleasantly temperate and perfectly comfortable. His breath grazes your neck, as if threatening to nibble but never taking the bite.

"Bonne nuit," he hums, complacent and content, as if nothing could be more perfect.

You sigh, pretending to be perplexed at his odd behavior, but he knows you better than that. You're not bothered by your friend, no matter how unfriendly he gets.

"You're lucky we're friends,"

"Oui, c'est vrai," he mutters. "Perhaps more, someday. Sleep well."

Your heart stops for a beat, a breath, a simple moment in time, and Rook surely felt it, with his arms around your waist and his cheek on your pulse point, but he sleeps.

He'd either taken pity on you, or the hunt had begun.

[pukefactory]

I'm not sure if you take twisted!reader requests, but if you do. Then could I request platonic Twisted!user who is surprisingly chill and non-violent with RnD?

Hehe, of course! This is such an adorable concept, and I had a lot of fun writing it. I ended up making it a headcanon post instead of a short story because I had too many ideas for just one scenario—I hope that’s alright!

────༺ LIFEJAM ༻────

ᗢ Summary: A compilation of headcanons featuring RnD with a Twisted reader

ᗢ Character(s): Razzle and Dazzle (Dandy’s World)

ᗢ Genre: Headcanons, Fluff, SFW

ᗢ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

⟢ When they first encounter you, RnD are terrified, just as they would be with any other Twisted. However, when they realize you mean no harm, they lower their defenses and attempt to communicate. Razzle does his best to speak with you, while Dazzle remains hesitant, voicing his concerns—though Razzle quickly dismisses them, albeit with some uncertainty of his own. Yet, due to your unexpectedly calm nature, they both gradually relax the more Razzle interacts with you.

⟢ Eventually, you wander off, leaving RnD to fill the ichor machines alone. As they work, they catch a glimpse of you chasing another toon around the area. They immediately stop and rush to their friend’s aid, but the moment you spot them, you halt, simply staring at RnD before turning around and walking away once more—leaving them, and everyone else, even more confused than before.

⟢ After finishing with their respective machines, RnD begins searching the area for items for themselves and their teammates. During their venture, they are intercepted by you, who nonchalantly hands them a box of bandages without a word. Before they can thank you, you walk off, only to return moments later with a first aid kit just for them. Finally, they get the chance to express their gratitude. Though you simply nod in response before scurrying away again, the pair remain very thankful for your help—even if they find you a bit perplexing.

⟢ Actually, you may go a bit overboard when giving RnD items. While you do hand them useful supplies, you also give them anything you come across—chocolate bars, candy, sodas—just whatever happens to be lying around. You provide so much in such a short time that they eventually have to start stacking everything in a corner. The rest of the toons are frustrated that you’ve left them with nothing, not even a single item. However, at least they can rely on RnD for whatever they need, and your constant gift-giving keeps you distracted, allowing them to work on their machines in peace.

⟢ Once the floor is nearly cleared of items, RnD decides to keep you occupied and away from the other toons by showing you what you’ve given them. They attempt to explain what each item is, which ones they prefer, and which they don’t. Though this was originally meant as a distraction, the pair soon become engrossed in their one-sided conversation while you calmly listen, occasionally responding with muffled groans. It’s nice to have someone who listens.

⟢ Just because you get along with RnD doesn’t mean the other Twisteds do. If another Twisted tries to attack them, you immediately become hostile, chasing them off and, in some cases, even attacking them. You take on the role of RnD’s personal protector, driving away any threats that come their way. They appreciate your vigilance—at least until you start turning your attention toward the toons. At that point, RnD has to quickly find a way to distract you before you can harm their friends.

⟢ When it’s time to leave, RnD feels conflicted about abandoning you but ultimately knows they have no choice. As they depart, guilt lingers, and they briefly consider finding a way to bring you along—until they realize you would be a danger to the other toons. That’s okay, though, because they can always visit, and they do! You may not be much for conversation, but you’re kind, protective, and always ready to help when needed. Even if you’re not who you once were, RnD still cares about you deeply—and that means something.

[lemmesayimyourbiggestfan]

if you love me, prove it

regulus black x fem!reader

when Regulus Black proves to be emotionally unavailable, Y/N decides it's better to end their relationship. In order to get her back, Regulus has to face his own trauma and open up his heart to her.

warnings: angst

word count: 1,9k

requests are open!

When Regulus saw you for the first time, he was smitten. Every time he saw your beautiful hair, heard your perfect voice.... He couldn't even stand to be in your presence, because your perfume smelt like heaven to him. In his dreams, that used to be haunted only by the traumas of his childhood, now, there you were, haunting him in a whole new manner. It scared him, yes. But for you... in that moment he first saw you, he decided he would do anything for you and he hated himself for having this weakness.

What a surprise it was to both of you when you asked him out in your fifth year. Your first date spent strolling around Hogsmeade wasn't the exact definition of a date - Regulus just couldn't figure out how to actually let you know that he liked you. All he knew about love was his now ruined bond with his brother Sirius and that all too twisted relationship with his own mother. He could express it in bits here and there; like when he helped Sirius heal his wounds when they were younger. But never anything more.

And when you were smiling at him so sweetly, he even felt anxious to return the smile. What was wrong with him? He spent years pining after you and when he was actually close to having you, he felt sick with worry.

"Why do you like me?" he asked you on that first date. Has he ever asked someone such a genuine question?

You gave him a perplexed look he couldn't decipher and one corner of your lips rose into a crooked grin. "Is there any reason why I shouldn't?"

He thought about it, then. Yes, he wanted to tell you. Yes, I'm a coward. I'm a horrible person. But insted he just smiled and shook his head. "Nevermind."

And it worked for you for a while.

When you spent time together, just you two without anyone else nearby, Regulus tried to let you in and you were patient and proud of any progress you made in strengthening your whatever-kind-of bond-it-was. You told him of your childhood, of your siblings and your favourite memories from holidays spent oversees. And your openness ispired him so much - if you could, why couldn't he?

So he told you of his own childhood, of his abusive relationship with his parents, how they acted towards his pigheaded brother. How he was the one who helped patch Sirius up every single time and how he always hid his brother’s muggle stuff so their parents wouldn’t be even more angry.

Regulus was very vulnerable in the moments afterwards and very aware of the fact. But the tears welling in your eyes weakened him way more. But what could he do? He just sat there. There were no wounds to patch up. And apparently, that's all he knew how to do.

"I love you." you cried into his shoulder and he pulled you close. Was he doing this right? The last thing he wanted was to hurt you.

But then the words actually reached him. For the first time in his life, he finally had those three little words aimed at him. All his life, all he ever wanted was to be loved and here it was, this precious little moment with the girl of his dreams being so vulnerable with him that his heart ached. The least he could do was do the same for you.

"I love you." he said and gently lifted your chin and kissed you on the lips. The kiss tasted sweet but salty from your tears.

"I see your worth, Regulus." your whispered into the kiss.

And he was, for the first time ever, home.

...

For a while you two were happy. For a while, you put up with being just his "friend" because Regulus insisted on keeping your relationship quiet. In private, you were everything to each other, but when in public, Regulus couldn't even look at you.

At first, you found it so romantic. Every time you were alone, you were so excited to hold him close. When you walked by him in the hallways, you could only admire him but that was enough. But was it really? None of your friends could know. And especially Sirius, with whom you sat at every meal. As far as you knew, noone had any suspicions, but sometimes you wished they did just so you could be cornered and get this secret off of your chest.

But you could live with it. What you couldn’t live with, though, were the secrets that Regulus kept from you since Christmas 2 months ago. Yes, you understood that spending time with his family wasn’t exactly something ejoyable for him, but that he kept it from you was killing you. You tried to ask but his dry answers – also obvious lies - were useless. Maybe that was the worst part – the lying that he was fine and the: “everything is okay“s.

And when you finally confronted him about it, Regulus just looked like he didn’t know what to say.

“Why are you lying to me, Reg?“ you whispered, staring into his dark eyes as if they could give you the answer.

“Y/N…“ he sighed and tried to reach for your hand. You put it inside your pocket instead and hurt flashed across his features.

“Stop it. I thought we were better than this. 8 months, Reg. 8 months we spent building that bridge of trust between us and you still shy away.“

He sighed, turned his face away from your searching gaze and ran his fingers through his dark wavy hair.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Y/N. I’m just trying to keep you safe and unhurt-“

“But you are the one hurting me,“ your voice broke. “Your lies hurt me, the secrecy hurts me. Are you ashamed of me, is that it?“

“No! Of course not! I love you! What more could you possibly want? I gave you my heart, isn’t that enough?“ He looked as if he wanted to grab your shoulders and shake you until you understood his point.

“Not when you gave it to me in a locked chest and didn’t bother to give me the keys.“

“Y/N-“ he said desperately, searching for any signs of affection in your eyes. But you remained resolute.

“Sometimes, love isn’t enough, Reg.“ you said softly, as if explaining something to a toddler. “You’ve been subconciously sabotaging our relationship while calling it “keeping me safe“. Either I get all of you, or none of you, but I won’t continue playing the fool who is glad for any scraps of love you can provide. If you love me, prove it.“ you gave him a sad smile and tears shone in your eyes. “Come back when you’re ready to let me in.“

With that, you left him standing with one arm outstretched, as if with that move alone he could stop the time.

…

“Sooooo….“ Sirius said and finished his glass of butterbeer. “You and Y/N no longer a thing?“

Regulus froze. Repairing his relationship with his brother was the first thing that came to his mind that could help him become a better person. But at that moment, he was rethinking his decision.

“What?“

“You know,“ Sirius mumbled nonchalantly, “that girl of yours with whom you’ve been with like, hmm, for like over half a year? Something like that?“

“How do you know about that?“ Regulus asked sharply.

“Oh, little Reggie,“ Sirius sighed pitifully. “Everyone knows. I mean, knew. Even, like, McGonagall and Dumbledore.“

Everyone knew. Was he so blind to see it the whole time? He tried so hard to keep you safe, from people knowing that you were the one weakness that could kill him. And, as it turns out, everyone knew.

Regulus put his head in his hands and started crying.

…

The day before the beginning of the summer break, Regulus finally aproached you. To say you spent every day since your breakup waiting for him was an understatement.

“Heyy,“ he said nervously when you two met in the middle of a hallway. You smiled at him warmly.

He took you by the elbow and tugged you near the windows so you wouldn’t get in the way of the other students.

“I just- look, I know I messed up, but ever since, I’ve been trying to-“

“I know,“ you said softly. His nervous gaze moved from his shoes to your eyes. He raised one eyebrow imploringly.

“Sirius told me you’ve been keeping in touch.“

“Oh.“

“And he also told me what happened during the Christmas break; how he ran away from home and left you there. I’m sorry I didn’t understand why you didn’t want to talk about it-“

“No, I’m sorry that I lied about it.“

You two were silent for a while before you both started smiling.

“Oh, I nearly forgot. I wrote a letter for you.” Regulus blushed shily and fumbled for a bit before he took a letter from his backpack.

“You, Regulus Black, wrote me a letter?” you raised an eyebrow in surprise and Regulus just raised his shoulders uncomfortably. “I’m just joking, Reg. Thank you, that’s very thoughtful of you.”

Your eyes met again and now you were both blushing.

“So…” he started but couldn’t bring himself to say anything else.

“So I will read it on the train and when we arrive in London I will find you and say my goodbye.”

“Yeah, of course.”

It was time to get to the carriages so you stood on your toes and gave Regulus a soft kiss on the cheek before leaving him standing there like a statue. On the way to Hogsmeade, you couldn’t wipe the smile off of your face.

…

When you were sure you were left alone in your train cabin, you took the crumpled letter from your pocket and opened it. You smiled at Regulus’ neat handwriting.

My Y/N,

When I first saw you, I knew. I just did. And I’ve been hating myself for having that one and only weakness – you. My mother always told me that we cannot afford weaknesses. But what I didn’t get until a few weeks ago is that loving someone doesn’t make me vulnerable but stronger in some ways. It was just hard for me to understand the fundamentals of a relationship itself – I always appreciated your love but never actually accepted it, because I didn’t think I was worthy of you or your love. You gave me your heart so willingly and here I am, finally, offering mine on a golden platter, all of it – the pain and love and hate and happiness. And I hope that just once, all I am is enough.

Yours, Reg

You stared and stared at that perfect handwriting. And when the train stopped in King’s Cross station, you held the letter in your fist and ran out of the train, searching for that familiar face you loved.

Regulus was already anxiously waiting.

“Oh yes, all you are is enough for me.” You laughed and hugged him tightly and Regulus leaned his face in the crook of your neck.

“Will you introduce me to your parents?” was the only thing he said and there was a new spark in those beautiful eyes.

[pedge-page]

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife: Snacks for the Pack

Joel miller x F!Reader

Warnings: some family fluff 🤎

Notes: guys my sister and I moved into our own house, but our dad stops by almost every day to drop something off or fix something in our house, ans he usually brings us something like coffee and bubble yea. It didn't occur to us that we expected it till he came one day and didn't bring us a snacky, and we were disappointed. Thus: this fic is born!

- - - -

Ok, so here's the thing about your Joel. He's so selfless and always thinking about his family, he never consciously realizes it. And that can be a great thing... until you create a pack of spoiled girls in the house who know not what it feels like to not be spoiled 24/7.

So now you, Sarah, Spoon, and Ellie heard the garage, and all subconsciously got up from your spots in the house, lined up at the door, and waited for Joel to come in. He's on the phone when he does, but gives each one of his ladies (even Spoon) a kiss on the head.

But then he just. Keeps walking in. Closes the garage. Drops his keys on the table, and goes straight for his office.

And then four of his duckling family shuffle behind him on cue, in height order of you, Sarah, Spoon, and little Ellie. Eager and patiently awaiting.

He sits down and finishes his call before rubbing his face and opening his laptop. It takes a moment before he realizes 8 eyeballs anxiously staring at him from the doorway. Even Spoon was licking her chops in anticipation.

"Uhhh... can I help you ladies?"

You look very perplexed. "Did you... need help unloading the car?"

"Uh... no. There's nothing left in the truck....?"

"Nothing. Not even like... in the cup holders... or...." you twirl your fingers, hoping it'll suddenly click that he simply put it... somewhere else of course!

Joel's at a complete loss. Did he forget an anniversary? Birthday gift? He didn't say anything before he left to drop off the package at the post office. Yet here you all were with big, pleading eyes expecting something from him.

"You didn't. Get us anything," you say, coming to the disappointing conclusion.

"Wha--no. Was i supposed to? I'm sorry, I dont remember if you had asked"

Well no, we ... never ask but you always just. Bring us a little treat--" God you felt stupid standing here like pavlov's dog trained to salivate when your husband got home.

Honestly he TRAINED you all to be like this!

See, when you were pregnant and suddenly craving snackies every day, Joel got into the habit of just always bringing you something whenever he would come home. A latte, coffee, bubble tea, hot pretzel, frozen slushie, milkshake etc. So much so that you'd feel like you were wagging your imaginary tail and rushing off the couch every time you heard the garage, and eagerly give him a kiss when he presented you with the daily snack.

Well then Sarah came along. He still brought snacks home for you now out of habit, and Sarah got to the point where she'd take a sip or bite from yours. So daddy coming home was very exciting for her indeed. Like a little reward.

But then you got pregnant again. And suddenly sharing ANYTHING with your little girl kinda irked you. So Joel had the very great intuition of just getting her a little something for herself.

Spoon also saw the two of you constantly approaching the door and being rewarded when Joel would come home, so she'd sit patiently, and Joel started bringing little dog treats or pup cups for her too.

Then Ellie came along, and she wasn't much for coffee, but she DID love the little cake pops that the bakery sold.

Joel curls his brows. Thinking about it, he guess he DID usually come home with something, but he never really sets out with intention most days. It's kinda just... a stop along the way. Today he didn't pass a coffee shop so it didn't even occur to him that--

"Daddy, no cake pop?" Baby Ellie asks in his soft, high, sweet little sad voice, twisting her hips with her pouty lips. Her eyes welled up all shiny as if on the brink of tears.

His entire heart shatters in that moment.

Door, keys, ignition, gas.

15 minutes later and Joel is back, balancing an iced coffee, Tea latte, pup cup of whipped cream, and a few cake pops on sticks. You each grabbed what is intended for you ans give him a fat kiss on the cheek before returning to your corners of the house.

Joel blushes with a barely contained grin.

- - - -

Taglist

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda @picketniffler @bbyanarchist @jeewrites

[copperbadge]

Am I the only person who doesn't find humidifiers particularly useful?

I've tried several, from little personal desk humidifiers to large home units (mum gives me a home unit about every five years) and it seems like Slightly Higher Humidity is meant to do something for you health wise but it just doesn't for me. There's no particular change in my skin or breathing or whatever. I can't find anything anywhere, even on the Complaining About Things website (Reddit) about the idea that humidity just kind of isn't that awesome. Any complaints are about mold and bacteria if you don't clean them properly, which leads to equal amounts of talk about "well sure, thoroughly scrubbing a small appliance with vinegar daily is a pain but they're so helpful!"

But they don't actually seem that helpful to me. Is it just me and my dessicated flesh prison? I wouldn't mind if it was just "something I tried which didn't work", but I'm perplexed that everyone else seems to find them miraculous.

I mean, one, no way am I unplugging, emptying, scrubbing, refilling, and resetting this diva-ass machine daily or even less-than-weekly if that, I have too much ADHD. But two, if I did, for that amount of work that thing had better unchap my lips, fix my ADHD, and cook me a meal. It's not even doing one of those things.

Idk, a 6% increase in humidity with accompanying 10% increase in my chances of getting Legionnaires Disease just isn't worth the work.

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

imagine bucky breaking up with you

The room fell silent as the words spilled out of Bucky's mouth. Jumbled up breaths of excuses of how things were just getting a little too serious for him. How he thought things were casual and suddenly he was feeling pressured. His voice ringed in your ears, heat burning on your skin as you stared at him.

Bewildered.

Casual?

This was never casual. Sure it might have started that way, friends seeing where things could go but never was it just casual.

You allowed him to continue, listening to apologetically enthused words that meant nothing to you.

Let him finish...

Let him finish...

"....I really just need some time. I don't want anything serious right now."

Bucky studied your face, looking for signs of distress. Your face was so stone cold, Austin could have been your first name. He held onto the chair he was standing in front of, waiting and waiting until you nodded.

"Fine. I really have nothing to say. I have work in an hour, but I can come by and if you could have all my things ready..."

He looked perplexed as you listed off all your possessions around his apartment. The whole two bottom drawers needed to be cleaned out, books on the shelf, coats in the closet. There was at least two pair of shoes under his bed, he could keep the pots and pans.

"Except, I really would like my stainless pan. I'm very attached to it but other than the clothes, books, whatever else you can keep."

Bucky Barnes was dumbfounded and plain dumb. He was self sabotaging as he always did and you weren't going to play this game - he needed to figure it out all his own and if he never did, well...a person could only wait around for so long.

but, fuck, he might be worth the wait if he could get his shit together.

can't wait too long...

"Also, you have a doctor's appointment next Tuesday. Don't forget they moved buildings, you won't have to take the extra train ride. So yay..."

The half hearted 'yay' made Bucky grimace and he wanted to take it all back but you were already at the front door. He moved toward you and you met him half way, staring lovingly in his eyes. A hand brushed strands of hair from his handsome face and you smiled.

"Get your shit together, Barnes. A catch like me isn't going to wait for too long. Especially when her casual boyfriend has a really hot best friend...."

There was a hint of deviousness in your eyes, the mere thought of Steve and you nearly sent Bucky into a rage but then you gave him a peck on the cheek and walked out of his apartment.

He stood there, like a perfect idiot.

[nonsscrapheap]

TFP: Universal Observation

i cracked, i caved underneath my own pressure and impulse HAVE THIS REACTION FIC OF TEAM PRIME LOOKING INTO ALTERNATE UNIVERSES! i'm gonna test this out on tumblr in an effort to be more active here.

this is mostly going to focus around Raf, Miko and Jack btw! at least at the start. also! this is set around mid-season 1, when Arachnid arrives at the Nemesis.

WARNING! LONG POST!

Prologue: Shattered Glass - I -

[ ----- TFP : UO ----- ]

Omega Outpost One

It started out as a normal day, a normal weekend, spend some time with his mom in the morning before heading to the Autobot base after insisting that he would be okay there. Jack was just glad that she didn't do anymore impromptu visits to the outpost anymore, and that she was trusting Arcee with his safety without hovering.

Look, he loved his mom and he did still feel a bit guilty over the whole Arachnid situation but still, her concern was getting a bit too much. Even for him.

Anyway, as he and Arcee pulled into the base, he found the others already there and gathered around something perched on the second floor area. "Hey guys, what's up?" He greeted aloud as he got off Arcee, giving her his helmet after she transformed for safekeeping.

"Welcome back Jack, Arcee." Optimus greeted back with a stoic warmness that Jack didn't know possible.

"What's with the crowd?" Arcee asked curiously as she and Jack stepped closer, with Jack bounding up the steps to join Miko and Raf on the second floor. There, on the second floor, was a silver and gold sphere with curved glyphs wrapped around it. It was nearly the size of Raf, only stopping at the boy's chest height. "Uh, what is that?"

Bulkhead shrugged, "Dunno, Ratchet found it in storage but we don't remember it being stored there. Like, ever."

Jack frowned, staring at the sphere warily, "Could it be a trap?" He couldn't help but ask, bristling when Miko just casually placed a hand on the sphere. "Miko!"

"What?! Raf and I already touched it before! So have the others! It does nothing!" Miko exclaimed, patting the silver and gold sphere, making a clanging noise as she did so.

Ratchet grumbled, giving the girl a look of intense disapproval. "Nothing so far. We still don't know what it's supposed to be or how it got into the base. And before anyone suggests, no, we did not forget about it. We catalogued every single Cybertronian item that we brought into this base, before and after we moved here, and I am certain that something like this would be remembered." He huffed, arms crossed against his chassis. "However so far, all scans shows it being... inert. Deactivated, with no clear instructions or signs on how to activate it." He glanced over to the Prime who shook his helm.

"My apologies old friend, I have searched through my memories and data files, but I have no knowledge as to what this artifact is. Or what it can do." Optimus replied with slight apology, though he did look back to the sphere, watching Raf, Jack and Miko hesitantly (Miko wasn't hesitant at all) poke and prod the sphere. "But I do recognize the glyphs on the sphere, it is Primal Vernacular. The old tongue of the Primes of Cybertron."

.: So it's a Prime relic or an artifact related to it? :. Bumblebee beeped in question. .: What does it say? :.

"It says, 'See for yourself, what else is out there.'" The Autobot leader answered, intrigued yet perplexed by the sphere's mystery. "Again, I do not know what that means per say, nor do I remember anything resembling this artifact anywhere."

"Well, whatever it is, it's currently broken." Miko said with a huff, still patting the sphere before curling her hand into a fist. "Or maybe we're not hitting it hard enough! Do something already! It's been so boring today!" She exclaimed, banging her fist.

"Miko!" Jack, Bulkhead and Ratchet exclaimed in varying tones of worry and frustration.

Miko gave each of them a deadpanned look as she, Raf and Jack continued to press their palms to the sphere for some reason. It was just warm and weird to touch, alright? "What? It's not like I'll shatter it! It's not made of glass!"

Suddenly, the sphere began to glow.

Immediately, the humans let go of the sphere, backing away with a startled cry. The Autobots were quick to retrieve their charges and step away from the glowing sphere. Light shined out of the glyphs before shooting into the air to... project a holographic screen?

Words began to flash along the screen, first in Primal Vernacular, then in Neocybex, and finally in English.

[ CONTINUITY SCAN 100 % COMPLETE SUBJECTS ' Raf ; Jack ; Miko ' COMPONENT ACCEPTED UNKNOWN ATTEMPTS GENERATED PASSCODE 'BORING' HAS BEEN ACCEPTED KEY WORDS ; SHATTERED GLASS ACCEPTED ]

"What's happening?!" Raf clutched Bee's hands as his guardian held him close, tense and ready for whatever would happen. It was the same for Miko and Jack who were being held up by Bulkhead and Arcee respectively. Ratchet and Optimus stood before the three bots, ready to fight if necessary.

Fortunately, they didn't have to.

The holographic screen merely stayed there in the air, the text being wiped away for new ones.

[ PROCEED WITH UNIVERSAL OBSERVATION? ACCEPT / DECLINE ]

"What?" Ratchet uttered as he and the others slowly relaxed, enough that the three Autobots slowly put down their human charges. "Universal observation? What on Cybertron could that possibly mean?"

"I... do not know, old friend." Optimus murmured, eyeing the screen with a wary optic.

"If... If it's an 'observation' thing then, maybe it's harmless?" Jack suggested, peeking up at the screen with a look of apprehension. Then he spotted Miko's look of interest, and the smile on her face. "Miko... Miko no!" He exclaimed, trying to reach her but unfortunately for Jack, he was too late. She'd been set a bit too far from him.

"ACCEPT!" The teenage girl shouted just as Jack reached her a second too late, startling everyone and immediately the screen came to life.

"MIKO!" Multiple voices exclaimed in varying tones of exasperation and frustration. Miko merely grinned from behind Jack's hand before her eyes widened and she pointed at the screen.

"MMPH! MM-" She forced Jack's hand off her mouth, "LOOK!"

[ Two humans ran through the halls of a familiar looking ship. The colors a little bit brighter though. ]

"It's Raf and I!" They all boggled at the sight of it. "Why are we on the Nemesis?"

"Wait, when did this happen?" Jack squinted, wondering why Raf and Miko were on the Nemesis, hell, why was the sphere showing this?

"It didn't! Miko and I never ran together on the Nemesis." Raf said, adjusting his glasses as he watched him and Miko on screen run through the halls.

"Why do the halls look a little different? More..." Bulkhead squinted, "... brighter?"

"More importantly, why are running and why do they look excited?" Ratchet questioned stiffly, wondering what in the pit was going on.

[ "Oh chiiildren~" A feminine voice playfully rang out in the hallway, almost familiar rapid, multiple pedesteps sounded out. "Where aare youuu~?"

Miko and Raf shared a look, "Split up!" She whisper yelled to Raf who giggled and ran the opposite direction. ]

Arcee immediately tensed, "Arachnid!" She hissed with contempt, recognizing that voice anywhere. And yet, she paused with confusion. Unlike the usual sultry maliciousness in her voice, she sounded... genuinely playful, and soft almost. It made Arcee shiver with unease.

"Arachnid?! Miko, Raf, get out of there!" Jack urged the screen-version of his friends even though they couldn't hear him.

"Woah Jack! Raf and I are here! We're fine!" Miko soothed, though she did look concerned for her screen counterpart. But even she noticed that screen!Miko and Raf weren't really scared? They really just looked excited, of all things. But why? 

[ Miko ducked around the corner, pressing against the wall so she could catch her breath. She huffed, trying to keep herself quiet. She peeked around the corner, eyes squinting. When she spots nothing, she sighs in relief, grinning to herself before she hears a sound coming from above. She looks up and gasps, abruptly, she's snatched upwards.

Meanwhile, Raf was still running in the halls of the ship and just as he turns, he stops as he finds a familiar mech standing in the hall. "Starscream!" Raf exclaimed with delight, reaching his arms up, "Quick, hide me!" ] 

There's a cry of her name, much different from usual- panicked and scared and Miko yelps as she finds herself in Bulkhead's hands once again. The wrecker looking so very concerned for her, "Uh- Bulk? I'm fine! I'm here! I'm- screen Miko's definitely fine! Bulk?" 

Raf gave the screen a bewildered look before he too, yelped when he found himself being lifted up by Bee just like Miko. "Bumblebee!" His friend let out a protective, panicked beep, "Bee?" 

"Starscream?" Arcee repeated incredulously, having been on edge the moment screen!Miko had disappeared. "That's- that cannot be Starscream."

The Starscream on the screen's grey metal was lighter, his wings were folded downwards, there were red and blue detailing that the Starscream they knew didn't have. Not to mention he wasn't hunched over and his optics, they were blue instead of red. The most damning of all though, was the gentle look the seeker had that replaced his usually malicious and scheming expression. 

"I… believe it is." Optimus murmured with slight disbelief, watching how the young human on the screen seemed to treat that Starscream with friendly familiarity. "I do not think it is our Starscream however." 

[ "Hide you?" Starscream mused aloud, "Ah, another game, Rafael? Very well." He knelt down, letting Raf climb onto his servos and opened his cockpit, letting the human settle into the space before gently closing it. "Alright in there?" He asked with amusement and chuckled when Raf replied with a muffled 'yes!' ] 

"Definitely not our Starscream, he would never let a human into his cockpit like that." Ratchet agreed, watching the scene with a nervous tank and a boggled expression. Trying to understand what exactly was happening right now. "This… This is an alternate world." 

They all turned to the medic. "What?"

[ Pedesteps came, alongside the joined laughter of two females. The screen showed Arachnid in her root mode, toting around Miko on her shoulder, servos firmly yet carefully holding on. Miko was laughing as the spider bot jostled her two and fro. "Starscream!" Arachnid called out happily, smiling widely at the seeker. "I don't suppose you've seen Raf, have you?" 

"Hmm, Rafael?" Starscream replied with clear jest, "Perhaps…" His optics not so subtly looked down to his cockpit. Arachnid noticed and smiled mischievously. ]

Arcee was staring at the screen with warring emotions, firstmost was anger and disgust at the sight of the spider femme and then there was confusion at the sight of the fact this Arachnid was different. Not only in looks, her optics were a cyan blue instead of purplish pink, her finish was a dark yet cooler hue of blue with bronze trims instead of gold. But in personality of course, she was handling screen!Miko with obvious care despite having the human girl on her shoulder. And her voice, it was soft as silk, not sultry and had no hidden menace.

Add into the fact Starscream was being equally differnet—

It was a fragging jarring thing to witness, even through a holographic screen. Arcee felt faint. 

Ratchet, was thankfully, just as perturbed as he gestured to the screen. "This is- this is showing us a glimpse into an alternate world. One where the Decepticons are- well, that." 

[ "Now, where oh where could Raf be? He couldn't have gotten far, his legs are, unfortunately, too short." Arachnid mused slowly, snickering at the muffled 'hey!' that was heard from Starscream's cockpit. Not long an 'oops' was heard as Arachnid leaned closer to Starscream, faceplate by the cockpit. "Gotcha. Starscream, if you would?" 

"No Screamy! Take Raf and run!" Miko hollered with a laugh, squirming on Arachnid's shoulder. 

Starscream laughed, shaking his helm. "Perhaps another time, I do still have duties to fulfill. My apologies Rafael." He opened the pit and gently took the pouting tween out. It didn't last long as Arachnid took him as well, setting him to sit properly on her other shoulder unlike Miko, who hung like a sack. "Hm, that's two humans accounted for. Where is Jackson?" ] 

"Primus that is so fragging weird." Bulkhead hissed, still holding on to Miko protectively, but eventually relented when the girl squirmed and scrambled towards his shoulder. He gave in and let her sit there. 

"I know! Looks like the cons are the good guys over there! So weird!" Miko exclaimed, legs swinging as she watched herself call Starscream 'Screamy' and not get obliterated by the con. 

.: … Starscream calls Raf, Rafael like Ratchet… And calls Jack, Jackson- he sounds like a fraggin' gentlemech. :. Bumblebee whirred, scratching his helm while settling Raf on his own shoulder. He glanced over to Jack who had the same look as Arcee, staring incomprehensibly at the screen. Which was fair, the two times he met with Arachnid were horrible but here she was- different on screen in another world. 

[ "Jack's with King Con! Talking about Cybertron again." Miko huffed, wiggling in Arachnid's grip. The femme finally relented, letting the teenage girl down to the floor. She groaned, stretching her limbs. 

Starscream frowned, "Miko, you know he doesn't like being called that." 

Miko pouted, "Aw, but he's like- all wise and stuff! And he leads the Decepticons- plus, you all told us if it wasn't for Optimus and his evil Autobots, he'd be like, ruling Cybertron." 

"In charge of Cybertron, not ruling it. Never ruling it- he hates the word and thought of it." Arachnid corrected gently. "It's why he never chose a Prime name, merely shortened his gladiatorial name to Megatron. He hates being addressed by any other title aside from General." 

The scene changes to Megatron, standing at the control center with Jack on the console. Pictures of Cybertron in its golden age were on the screens, the silver mech had a gentle smile on his face as Jack looked around with wonder. ]

There's a silence in the Autobot base from the scene. "This is a world where good and evil have been switched." Optimus whispered, his usually warm stoicism broken into disbelief, optics widening as he sees such a familiar faceplate. "Megatronus…" He utters, spark aching in his chamber at the familiar-looking mech. 

He looked so much like the Megatronus he once knew, only older, slightly different but his optics were blue as can be and his servo digits weren't sharpened into claws. And that smile, when had been the last time he'd seen it? Before the council meeting? Longer? 

[ "And this… This was my home city, Kaon." Megatron told Jack as the pictures flickered to Kaon. "It was not the friendliest of capitals, far from it, it was where the ruthless tore into the weak. Kindness was rare, especially in the Pits from where I fought." 

"You mentioned that before, the Pits. It was… a gladiator arena, right?" Jack questioned as the pictures changed again. The human carefully walked along the console, aware of the bigger mech that shadowed him, as if to make sure he wouldn't fall. 

"Indeed, glad to know you've been paying attention, young one." Megatron chuckled, "It was named after the Cybertronian version of what you humans would call 'Hell', and quite honestly, it was. I struggled to survive in the Pits, but I did. I found strength, I found power, and most importantly; I found kindness." 

The human frowned, looking at him with confusion. "I thought you said it was rare?" 

"It was, but not nonexistent. Kindness exists everywhere, Jack. Even the smallest of acts might sway or influence another. Sometimes, even creating a cascade of events that escalate into something more." Megatron murmurs, sounding nostalgic, fond yet also somber. "In all the time I've lived, Jack, I've realized many things. I've realized that strength is not everything, that weakness is subjective, that kindness is not weakness and that there is a difference from being nice, to being kind." ]

Hearing this Megatron talk made Optimus feel weak. His voice was so similar, but without the roughened edge of anger-fueled war tingeing his vocals. The growl of rage and slight hint of madness. It was so gentle and warm and wise— A strange sort of feeling that permeated his processor, numbly, he could hear the quiet reactions of the others. Varying from disbelief to outright confused shock. It was understandable, they've never seen this side of Megatronus. This side of Megatron. 

Primus, his words too. 

"Scrap, he's reminding me so much of Optimus but so different, it's weird." He hears Jack mutter and there's a hesitant agreement coming from all around him. 

[ Before Megatron could continue, a warning came to the screens. Startling both of them. "Woah!" Jack almost stepped off the console, but was caught and saved by Megatron who gently settled him to the floor.

"It's a Decepticon distress signal." Megatron said tensely, "Everyone, get to the command center. Now." He said aloud and into the comms. 

It didn't take long for the other Decepticons to arrive. ]

It was bizarre, to see the line up of Decepticons in different colors and all with blue optics, with the exception of Knock Out whose optics were a darker orange here.

Breakdown looked very different, his armor was red, his optics an icy blue and his faceplate a purplish grey tint- surprisingly, he had screen!Miko on his shoulder. Trailing behind him was Knock Out, instead of a bright red finish, the medic was cyan.

Right beside them was Soundwave, who was painted in a very faint purple with light green biolights. He still had a visor covering his faceplate. 

"Woah…" Raf muttered, eyeing the Decepticons from Bee's shoulder. "It's- they all look so different, at first glance it's just the colors and even that is enough to feel- jarring?" Bee made a beep of agreement, nodding to his words.

[ "Signal Origins; Makeshift." Soundwave immediately said, a worried emoticon appearing on his visor- voice synthesized but understandable. "Location coordinates attached." 

"Makeshift? Who's that?" Raf asked as Soundwave picked him up. ]

Bee tensed at the sight of Soundwave picking screen!Raf up, .: I-I know this is supposed to be an alternate world but- :. Primus, was that Soundwave's actual voice?! 

"I know Bumblebee, it's- it's weird. Downright disturbing." Arcee agreed, still looking a bit nauseous at the sight of Arachnid, of the Decepticons alongside the humans on the screen. Even though, they seemed… good. Frag, Optimus' words echoed in her processor, 'good swapped with evil' naturally that meant… oh frag.

[ "An old friend." Knock Out said as he and Soundwave went to the console to locate the distress signal. "He's been away for a while because he wanted to explore Earth on his own. This was before the Autobots managed to follow us here."

"I ordered him to stay away after the Autobots arrived, I wanted to keep him as a hidden operative. You see, Makeshift has a unique ability, he is a Shifter, a Cybertronian capable of turning into another Cybertronian- copying their frame, their looks, even their voice. Makeshift is one of my best stealth agents." Megatron explained with a tense frown. "He is a hardy mech, for him to use a distress signal…"

"Situation; grim." Soundwave finished. 

"Starscream, prepare the groundbridge at those exact coordinates. Knock Out, Breakdown and I shall be going through." ]

[---- TFP : UO -----]

The Nemesis

"I cannot believe my other would let a human inside his pit! Inconceivable!"

"Teal? Teal? Ugh, I mean, it's not a bad look but red is so my color!" Knock Out complained to Breakdown who didn't look too impressed, though he was too busy looking at himself on the screen.

"Can't believe I've got Bulkhead's human pet as my own. Guess Arachnid was just babysitting." At the mention of her name, the spiderbot hissed at Breakdown, annoyed and perturbed by her on-screen self. So gentle, so weak- thankfully she wasn't the only one disturbed by their alternate selves.

"And there's still no information as to how this thing got on my ship? Or how it activated on its own?!" Megatron growled to Starscream and Soundwave but his optics were trained solely at the screen. Taking in just how… different he was in another universe. The implications he's gotten so far… were abhorrent. Yet intriguing. 

"N-No! Master, we have- we have no idea how either happened." 

Soundwave said nothing, but did bring up a picture of a certain text.

[ CONTINUITY SCAN 100 % COMPLETE SUBJECTS ' Raf ; Jack ; Miko ' COMPONENT ACCEPTED UNKNOWN ATTEMPTS GENERATED PASSCODE 'BORING' HAS BEEN ACCEPTED KEY WORDS ; SHATTERED GLASS ACCEPTED ]

Before showing the picture of a certain trio of human children. 

"The Autobot pet humans? Hm…"

Megatron trailed off, optics shining sharply when the screen continued.

This was… interesting to say the least.

[----- TFP : UO -----]

shattered glass designs inspired by @jealousmarquis

winged it for breakdown's colors tbh. also, i was a bit confused on knock out's color scheme from jealousmarquis' pictures, one seemed a lighter blue like teal while the other was a darker blue- for now i settled on teal with thinking maybe knock out liked changing the shades of his finish. idk.

i have no idea when the next part will come but i've definitely a few ideas on what else for team prime (and cons) to react to next! but first, gotta finish the shattered glass segment. the next one will be the last of it (for now).

EDIT 1/16/25: jealousmarquis described their sg breakdown design so i edited it accordingly.

[NEXT]

[juniperdugong]

Super Weird - Vernon

WC: 867 || Genre: Fluff || CW: Suggested bullying (?)/ reader being an outcast || Vernon x GN!reader (established relationship)

A/N: For all my weirdos because I'm a weirdo and Vernon is too, ain't no denying it, just a buncha freaks in masks huh?

"Do you think I'm weird?"

Vernon looks at you, eyes squinting in confusion and his expression shifting into a scowl seeing that you're completely serious, "Whaf dar haw ah yo tarking abo-?" (What the hell are you talking about?)

His mouth is filled with the last and biggest spoonful of food that you knew you couldn't finish so - as the routine goes - you gave it to Vernon. He furiously chews at a pace that you know probably isn't safe and with a large and rather painful-looking gulp his mouth is free of obstructions. "What did you just say?" his tone sounds more lightly confused but his face gives quiet anger more than anything.

"Hansol you heard me. Do you think I'm weird?" You speak very monotonously, a trait the two of you shared.

"Of course you're weird." He says it like it's a matter of fact. His expression completely drops into the deadpan face you're used to. He ignores how perplexed you look as he brings the dishes to the sink.

"And you're okay with that?" You ask out of genuine curiosity, you know that most people would outcast someone they think is weird - it's something you've often experienced at school and work. So if he thought you were strange then why would he stick around?

"Why wouldn't I be?" He looks up at you almost accusatorily as he scrubbed the dishes and put them to dry.

"I mean- It doesn't bother you at all that I'm abnormal or weird? I know people talk about how I sound or that I'm too... strange and stuff. It isn't lost on me but if you also know that then why do you stick around?" You let your words spill just wanting to get down to the root of the issue while escaping the heavy-handed approach of blurting out "Why would you want to be with someone you find weird?".

"Nope." That was his reply. His. Entire. Answer. Just "Nope." and then he picked his phone up from the table and went to sit in the living room. You know he saw your face as it contorted into even more confusion and bafflement but he ignored it!

You did the only sensible thing, of course, and immediately trailed him and sat right next to him, snatching his phone out of his hand as he opened up a game. You had his attention and yet he seemed confused? As if he wasn't the one who completely dodged your questioning before.

"Yes?"

"You have nothing else to say?"

He gave himself a moment to think, you thought for a millisecond that perhaps he's finally found a more appropriate answer, "Nope."

"Huh?" You shake your head completely bewildered. "You know I'm weird and you still want to be with me, why is that?"

"It's probably because I love you or something weird like that-" He turns to you as a blush sets in. Chuckling he gives a small pinch to your cheeks, fighting the cuteness aggression he feels, "Don't think about it too much though, that's a fact you should already know about by now... I would hope you know about by now..." He tilts his head as he says that last part as if questioning if you really did know about his love after all this time.

Vernon's love for you was something you never questioned, even though he wasn't exactly the best at physically expressing it he always made sure to assure you through words, actions, or gifts. It was a bit odd honestly, like he had some sort of psychic powers to know what your needs are. Maybe...

"I think you're the weird one actually-" you start thinking out loud.

"Yeah? Maybe."

"And you accept that, Han?"

"Mhm." His answers are blunt and to the point, you have to wonder if he's just saying this to satisfy your curiosity- "I'm not just saying that by the way. I know that I'm weird, babe."

"You a wizard?" He squints as he looks at you, waiting for clarification, "You read my mind like one."

"Nope, I'm just a really good boyfriend I think." He relaxes into the couch, pulling you onto his lap and retrieving his phone from your grasp.

"So we're both just weird and we both just have to accept that?"

"Looks like it, babe."

"huh..." You ponder on it for a moment as your eyes look around your shared apartment. Shelves filled with knick-knacks of yours, pillows in the shape of cartoon characters, anime on the TV currently... "Yeah, okay." You retract your worry as quick as it came, it was an absurd thought that you let yourself get caught up in any way. You wrap your arms around his neck, leaning your head against his shoulder as you watch him play his game.

"Hansol?"

"What?"

"Why am I seeing a half-naked man on your screen right now?"

"That is my current boyfriend, Sylus."

You look at him and raise an eyebrow, he meets your nebulous expression with a peck on the lips. "You are weird, Han."

"I know baby. It's honestly weirder that you heard me say all of that and that's your only reaction."

A/N: Hahaha totally not something to sate you guys as I continue working on the Cheol angst fic... (Please help me I'm 3000 words in and still haven't gotten through half of my bullet points) Tbf I did say it was gonna be long though... First Vernon fic though! Plus comeback around the corner, yeah let's all talk about all the whiplash that's been going on in Caratland rn...

Please Reblog and Comment (They act as power-ups for me)

Taglist (OPEN): @bemybabiibish @bath1lda @porridgesblog

[toranesu]

⌗ sub bottom. andrew graves x dom top m. reader — silver sable; section A.

cw. established relationship, post-therapy andrew&ashley (yes, i know they're beyond redemption), body worship, foreplay.

; REN: accidentally posted a draft.. now you'll have to deal with a story split into two parts, lol.

He's done it, now. Andrew Graves has finally, finally found the courage to heal. And he's brought his sister along with him, too. It's been a rough year, attempting to heal in a secluded area where no one would leak their information or spread whispers of their deeds.

Andrew Graves and Ashley Graves are beyond redemption — that's what he's sure of. His sister had dragged him with her, and he had dragged her with him. No one is to blame, he tells himself. But deep down, he wishes he could put the blame on someone else so he wouldn't have to stand this soul rotting guilt. His sister doesn't feel it, he's sure.

He glances at you, the man he had met at a bar one and a half years ago. His source of repentance, his source of change, his source of love. "I don't think we should do this," he murmurs, hands clenching and unclenching on the sheets underneath his head.

Andrew doesn't understand why you're so willing to touch him like this. Sure, you've been dating for almost a year — only starting once his psychiatrist gave him the green flag for it, that is. But your relationship was going fine without having to have sex, he thinks.

Why now? He's asked before. "Don't you want to?" Was the question I responded with. It'd be a lie if he said he's never once thought of it. But he can't. He couldn't. Not after.. not after everything.

"Why not?" Your voice breezes in just barely a whisper, voice only loud enough for Andrew himself to hear. A hand reached out to cup his cheek, thumb grazing against the bone lining across his skin to his jaw. Andrew purses his lips, eyes averting to think of something to say.

Anything. It's fine, he tells himself. I don't deserve this, anyway, he repeats in his head. "I had sex with Ashley," he breathes out, voice cracking as he keeps his gaze away from yours.

"In the last one and a half year?" Your response came gentle and nurturing, eyes never once leaving his face. He bites his lip, turning back to you. "No," he denies, almost defensively. As if trying to convince you, or himself, that he would never do that to you.

"I know," you whispered, thumb reaching to rub against his lower lip in an attempt to get him to stop biting himself. He almost teared up from that simple gesture. "It's gross," Andrew said, referring to the sex he had with his sister; referring to incestual sex.

You raised an eyebrow, pursing your lips into a thin smile. "It is," he frowned at your response, legs folding up to his knees in perplexity. "I'm gross," he clarifies, staring directly into your eyes.

"No," your reply came almost immediate, eyebrows furrowing in negation as your palm gripped his jaw a little tighter. He winced, looking away once more. "Hey, no," you frowned, tilting his face to make him look straight at you. "I never said that."

Andrew bit his lip once more — a tendency whenever he seemed to get frustrated, you noticed. "But you think it," he rasps out, hands laying dumbly on the sides of his head. "And even if you don't, it's true," he mutters just slightly above his breath.

You leaned down to place a kiss to his almost swollen lips, only to receive a knock to the forehead because of Andrew abruptly turning his head to the side. "Dude," your reaction could almost be mistaken for a wail if it weren't for your profound nonchalance.

He stayed silent, which led to an escaped huff out of your lips. "You're not gross, 'Drew," you say in assurance, gaze softening the slightest bit to show your sincerity. "You've done gross things, including fucking your sister," you trailed off, earning eye contact avoidance from Andrew once more.

"But that doesn't mean I think you're gross," you grimace, patting his cheek before taking his hand in your own, intertwining your fingers together beside his laid down head. "It doesn't mean I don't see the effort you've put in and the progress you've made throughout this year," you whisper, trying to search for his gaze.

Andrew's lips quivered, hand almost instinctively squeezing your own, returning the lace of your fingers with his. "That goes for your sister, too," you continue. Damn it. A guy who cares about not only him, but the only family he has, too, despite how fucked up they both truly were. He's truly scored — without deserving it the slightest bit.

His eyebrows furrowed once more, every hint of joy seemingly discarded by his own thoughts the moment they shimmer. "Thanks," he manages to grate out in a hoarse voice, hand weakly squeezing your own.

Your gaze softened, leaning once more to place a kiss to his forehead; which he gracefully accepted, this time. "Of course," you mumble against his skin, free hand brushing the hair out of his face.

"So?" Your voice interrupted whatever thought he was about to have, palm running down towards his cheek and jaw as you lifted your head back up once more. "You up for it?" So caring, he wanted to tease. "Or we can just cuddle and do it another time."

Andrew instantly shook his head. Though he refused to admit, sex with you did seem to often cross his mind. "No," he mutters, free arm reaching out to drape around your shoulder. "I want to," he says.

"No pressure?" The hand still clasping his own squeezes his, and he gives an affirming nod. "Okay," you lean down to envelop his lips in a sultry kiss, palm tracing along the arm draping on your shoulder.

You encapsulated his lips in a senseless frenzy, hands a little clumsy as they undressed his dimly built body. He's been trying to exercise a bit more along with you, after all. All these little things remind you of just how deep your love for him goes.

"I love you," your voice comes out in a weary whisper, hands trailing down his body as your head dipped right onto his barely existent cleavage. He doesn't really understand the things you're into; but if touching him at all makes him happy, then he's got no reason not to be.

His now free arm joined the other, draping around your shoulders as you trailed kisses down his wretched chest. The intrusive thought springs him awake, glancing down at his marked up body of scars and whatnot, yet also decorated in the kisses and marks I've dwelled parts of my love into.

Maybe this was fine, he tells himself. Maybe it was fine to let me kiss him; embrace him like this, despite everything, despite all that he is. Andrew gazes down as you trace kisses down his abdomen, reaching lower as your hands work their way smoothly to pull his pants down.

"I love you, too," he covers his face with one arm, only now realizing he's yet to respond to my three words of affection as your lips just barely grazed too close to his cock.

He wants this, he tells himself. Seeing that small smile on your face as you trail more kisses down his thighs, reaching to his legs only furthering the will to serve himself vulnerable before you. He's never taken it from behind before — never even thought to.

Andrew could remember the awkwardness he had felt while preparing himself; cleaning his ass out, fingering himself to stretch himself even just a little. He had wondered if and how someone like you would even go through touching a body as dirty as his — defiled, dirty, and gross.

But now, having you trace loving kisses, licks, and nibbles all over his skin without leaving an inch of his skin as if you worshipped him.. he's rendered speechless.

He let out a guttural moan as soon as he felt your longest finger coated with a cold substance pressing against his already swollen hole from his careless fingering. "Maybe you should let me stretch you out next time," your chuckle of understanding only left him further embarrassed.

"Be gentle," he wanted to rasp out. But was someone like him truly in any position to make demands? He doesn't think so. Therefore, he bites himself silent.

"Relax," your airy whisper came as soft as comfort, two fingers slowly finding home within his squishy, unintruded walls. "I'm not hurting you, am I, baby?" You rustled beside his ear, placing a kiss to the shell.

He shook his head. "No," Andrew let out a sound akin to both a sigh and a moan. His hands scrambled to reach towards your back, fingers digging into your skin ever so loghtly at the sensitivity of the newly found sensation.

Your fingers grazed against his prostate, and he let out the most delirious moan you never thought could exist. His nails dug into your skin, back arching as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Despite what he says, Andrew is a sucker for physical contact.

( t.b.c. . . . )

[angelthefandomobsessed]

Between Teeth, Between Claws, Between Them - Chapter 2 - Leona Kingscholar x Reader x Ruggie Bucchie

This is a continuation of the first part, which can be found here. I'm thankful for all of the support that BTBCBT (what a terrible, wonderful acronym) has received - I'm glad people enjoyed it!

This one still carries the slightly suggestive energy of the last one, but it's a little bit less strong. I hope you enjoy!

(Link to AO3: Between Teeth, Between Claws, Between Them - Angel_Ashido - Twisted-Wonderland (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own])

༺═────────────═༻

Spelldrive was a weird game. It seemed simple enough, but you could never quite grasp all of the rules. Luckily, the photographer didn’t need to know the ins and outs - they just needed to capture the best action shots.

And with a model like Leona, every shot was one hell of an action shot. He was toned, and though his magic was doing most of the work, his muscles flexed with every spell he slung.

It was difficult to focus on anybody else. The prince stole the show with his perfect balance of strategic play and raw power.

You tried to take snaps of the others, but when you tore the lens away from Leona, you always seemed to find Ruggie. Ruggie, who was quick and underhanded, always aiming at the opponents who didn’t expect to come under fire. His acrobatics made for some pretty dynamic pictures.

During their break, Ruggie and Epel ran over to you.

“Getting my good side?” Ruggie asked, water dripping from the sides of his grin. He was clutching a water bottle like his life depended on it, his breath coming to him quick and uneven.

You flicked through the photographs on the digital camera, trying to hide the fact that most of them featured Leona. Finally finding the perfect shot of Ruggie, you presented it to him. “You tell me.”

Ruggie leaned forward, scrutinising himself. “Ooh, nice. Definitely my good side.”

“Woah, that looks really cool!” Epel chimed. Despite his petite frame, he didn’t seem tired in the slightest. “What about mine? I bet I look super manly!”

A picture of Epel… There had to be at least one, right?

You pulled the camera back and set about your search.

“Hm…” Not much luck. “Sorry, I haven’t got much of you, Epel. I’ll make sure to get the perfect picture in the next half,” you promised.

“Ah, that would be appreciated, but no pressure or anything,” Epel reassured you. “I told my ma and pa about the magazine thing, and they seem pretty excited about it. It would be awesome if I could make it in!”

Once Epel had wandered back to the field, Ruggie raised his eyebrows. “Poor little frosh… I’m flattered that a lowly hyena such as myself got to share the spotlight with the Prince of Spelldrive, though. Dashing good looks, bold plays, thirty-per-cent biceps by volume… I can’t blame you for neglecting everyone else.”

“Sounds like you need to keep your eye on the disc, Ruggie,” you pointed out.

“I’m good at multitasking. I’ve been stealing looks at you this whole time, too.”

“Really?”

“Do you doubt me?” Ruggie let out a small laugh. “I’ve always got one eye on you.”

With that, Ruggie left.

Before the game started back up, you flipped through the images once again, this time paying closer attention to them. True enough, Ruggie was in the background of several of them, staring right at you.

“You ruined the shot…” you mumbled to yourself.

“Who did?”

You yelped, eyes snapping up to see Leona, leaning over the railing in front of you.

Startled, you flew into a state of pure, confused instinct and yelled: “Hello!”

Mortifying.

If only the elusive Malleus was playing, so that he could strike you down with lightning.

Leona seemed equal parts amused and perplexed by that. “Hello, yourself. What were you muttering?”

“Oh, just that…” Your heart was pounding. It was as if you were being chased, yet you were sitting completely still. “In some of the pictures, Ruggie was looking directly at the camera, so… They aren’t very good.”

Leona humphed. “Amateur mistake.”

“It’s fine, though, because there are a lot of good pictures too. So… It’s no big deal, or anything.”

You were talking far quicker than usual. Why were you acting so… Idia-ish? Leona seemed to notice the change in your disposition, as he turned a more analytical gaze upon you.

“Do you need a break?” he asked, sounding… considerate, almost.

“No, I’m fine. Just a little startled by you suddenly appearing. That’s all.”

“Alright.” 

Leona walked off, as if that was the end of the interaction. You had just begun to calm your racing pulse when he strolled back into eyeshot.

“Here,” was all he said as he handed you a water bottle. It was ice-cold and covered in condensation, yet the way his hand bumped into yours sent warmth fluttering through your entire body.

“Thanks,” you managed to choke out.

Leona smirked. “No problem. I like to take care of what’s mine.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. How could you possibly know what to say to that? Back in the cafeteria, you had mustered up so much confidence, but now the sheer audacity of your actions was coming back to haunt you.

The cafeteria felt like a dream. This, beneath the soon-to-be-setting sun, felt far too real.

“Unless,” he continued, “You don’t want that.”

Leona dripped confidence in that moment, but you didn’t miss the way his tail curled, to the left, and then to the right.

“I do,” you reassured him. “I like you. And I like Ruggie. A… A lot. I just don’t know where the line is.”

Leona’s tail slackened, and all felt right in the world. “That can be discussed. Don’t let it distract you from taking a half-decent set of pictures, little mouse.”

“It won’t. I’ll consider it motivation, I suppose.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Now… That sorry lot has been lazing around for long enough.” Leona turned to the rest of his team. “Alright, places, people. Make sure to give it your all - practice your curtsies and look good for the camera, boys.”

With a general roar of enthusiasm, the match continued.

You managed to get at least one suitably ‘cool’ shot of Epel, as well as a few of the other members. When the game finally came to its end, the team wandered off to the locker rooms. Everyone except for Leona and Ruggie, who made a beeline for you like you were an oasis in a desert.

“Did you get what you came here for?” Leona asked, leaning on the railing once more.

Ruggie, on the other hand, vaulted the thing and sat right beside you. He threw an arm around your shoulder, which was, admittedly, unpleasant, as he his entire being was dewy with perspiration.

“I bet you fell head over heels for me and my moves, right?”

“The only thing that was head over heels was you, when you were hanging upside down,” you retorted.

“Pretty impressive, right?” Ruggie pressed, bringing his face close to yours.

You smiled at that. “Very impressive.”

“Don’t stroke his ego too much,” Leona said.

“Well, somebody has to, it’s not like you’re dishing out the compliments…” Ruggie mumbled, loud enough for both you and Leona to hear.

“Oh, I get it,” you said, reaching an epiphany. “You have a thing for praise.”

“H-Hey, you don’t hafta be so blunt about it…” Ruggie bristled, hiding his face in your shoulder.

“Gross, you’re all sweaty!”

“Good! Suffer!” Ruggie whined, the sound muffled against you.

Leona’s eyes danced with mirth. “This is a truly pathetic sight, Ruggie.”

“Leonaaaaaa…”

Another epiphany struck you. “Ruggie, do you also have a thing for humiliation?”

“You two are the worst.”

“I think it’s easier to put it as a thing for attention. Attention of any kind,” Leona added.

“So… If I were to call you a pitiful, adorable mess..?”

Ruggie said nothing. He let the wagging of his tail do the talking.

“Got it… I’ll keep that in mind,” you said. “But seriously, get off of me, you reek.”

The hyena backed off, face covered in pink. “You’ll pay for all of that,” he grumbled.

“Looking forward to it.”

“You seem to be back to your usual self,” Leona observed in his usual drawl. “Good. It suits you more than being uncertain.”

“Yeah, I feel a lot better now.” You reached out to put a hand on each boy, one on Leona’s hand, and the other on Ruggie’s head. “I would feel a lot better if you two would go and shower, though.”

“Hm… I guess if my kitten is asking…” Ruggie stretched before springing up from his seat. “Alright, I’ll go. C’mon, Leona, before you fall asleep on the field.”

“Don’t boss me around, Ruggie.” In spite of that, he took a step back, signalling that he was going to go. His green eyes fell to you, holding the last of the sun’s warmth. “See you tomorrow, herbivore?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you both tomorrow. I can pick out the best pictures and run them by you.”

Leona’s teeth flashed as he let out a single, low chuckle. “Looking forward to it.”

All three of you knew that Leona didn’t care in the slightest about the pictures.

༺═────────────═༻

I've just opened asks for this blog, so by all means, feel free to get involved. Request pairings, ask questions, scream into the void... It's all very welcome (I don't have any TWST friends, can you tell, is it obvious?)

Next chapter is available: here.

[winterarmyy]

Behind The Facades | Part I

An unrequited pining over a certain super soldier.

Summary: In which Y/N is pining over Bucky while she watch him wrap his arms around someone else.

Navigation: Part I || Part II || Part III (end)

Words: 1.2k++

Pairings: avenger!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: angst. just pure angst and pain.

P/S: i'm feeling melancholy all of the sudden, therefore this idea was born. It's a very short one but I hope you enjoy!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

"Never let your true feelings show." was one and if not the most important lesson Y/N learned from where she was trained before becoming an agent under the avengers program.

It was so deeply etched within her very being, that the habit had became as natural as breathing the air into her lungs.

"Keep that mask on, and no one will be able ever break you." They said.

So, she did exactly that.

She giggled when Bucky told her about how he managed to make a fool of himself when he attempted to flirt a girl that he had fallen for at that bar he regularly went to.

He really shouldn't read those random top 10 pickuplines articles on Google anymore.

Tears were threaten to fall, as her shoulders shook in silent laughter, "Really, Barnes? I thought you were the ladies man back in the 40's"

"Exactly. 'Were' . Now, I am clearly not. Urghh, I can't believe I let that birdbrain convince me that these 'pickuplines' would do the trick."

Despite his gruff annoyance towards Sam, she could see a tinge of red shade on Bucky's cheek; probably feel embarrassed from what happened.

Gulping down whatever drink he had in his glass Bucky huffed, "Honestly, I don't think any sane person would even consider to approach me, let alone date me." His sharp gaze wavered into something more vulnerable.

Though he didn't mention anything about his history but when he shifted his view to the metal of his left hand, Y/N knew what he meant.

Y/N gaze softens, "I'm here with you. Am I not?" Her nails dug into the skin of her thighs as she held back from wanting to touch him, kiss him, hold him; to whisper sweet nothings in his ears in hopes that it would shut whatever doubts he has of himself even for just a moment.

There was a swift glaze over Bucky's eyes. As if he realized something but his words seems to deny his revelation, "I said 'sane person', Y/N."

Y/N gasped with an exaggerated perplex on her expression, "Sargent James Buchanan Barnes..." she purposely called him by his title, hoping it will remind him that he should have the reputation of a respectful man, "... are you accusing me of losing my sanity?"

Bucky shrugs with a face of pure innocence, "In this tower? We all are. But, especially you." a playful smirk tugged the corner of his lips as he waited to witness her reaction.

She stifled a laugh when she heard a knock on her door and then greeted by what looked like a mountain flower, and in between them was Bucky.

He had impulsively bought almost half a dozen bouquet of flowers because he couldn't decided which one of them is pretty enough for his date.

He shyly laughed it off when she told him "You could've face-timed me at the shop instead of ended up buying this much of flowers, Buck."

"God, you're right, doll. Why didn't I thought of that?" He frowned as he sighed.

"Because you're old and forgetful, that's why." Y/N teased as she leaned to the door frame, arms folded across her chest.

Bucky rolled his eyes before sending a glare towards her, "You're not going to stop mentioning my age in everything, are you?" he grumbled.

He might not know it but Y/N managed to noticed a tiny pout on his lips; something only, as they said, Steve can notice. That slight difference on his lowers lips; a very minimal protrude, barely noticable.

But secretly, she can see it too. And it was something she wished she could brag about, something she could tell the world; how lucky she was to be able to notice those little things about him.

She chuckled with an answer, "Never."

Another grumble escaped from Bucky somewhere behind the bouquets, before he presented a particular set towards Y/N, "Anyway, this is for you." He acts reluctant but she knew he was always sincere with actions.

Her eyes skimmed through the gorgeous arrangement of daisies; her favourite.

For a mere second, she let her heart flutter and a genuine smile bloomed on her lips; however the truth was not supposed to surface.

If Bucky was not blinded by the bouquet, he would've seen how the joyous glint her eyes faded even if her smile was still intact.

"Bribery is an act against the law, you do know that right, Sargent?" Nevertheless, her hands reached out to take the gift.

Bucky chuckled in response, "Yes, ma'am. I do."

She smiled when Bucky's love-struck gaze shines when he told her about his first kiss with that lucky lady, during one of those midnight coffee trips she share with him at the pantry.

He should've seen how beautiful he looked that night; free of worries and caught in pure joy.

"It was..." Bucky sighed in content; he was so happy he lost his words. As he tried to find the right description of the kiss, she could see his gaze softens.

Y/N knew he was recalling the kiss, but she couldn't help but to fall for him all over again; not that it's not a recurring event everyday but she really did felt as if her heart stopped for more than necessary.

'He's so happy.' She thought to herself. 'Then, I should be happy for him too'

So she did exactly how it supposed to be done.

"Mirror their feelings; that way your true feelings will never show."

Y/N did exactly that.

That one habit that had lead Y/N to countless of undercover missions.

The same missions that left Y/N with one of the highest rate of successful inflitration, unharmed.

And yet, the facade she wore seemed to failed her this time.

Why didn't work?

Why does it hurts?

The longer she kept the mask on, the more it burns from within.

"Keep that mask on, and no one will be able ever break you."

Then, why does her heart aches as if it was falling apart?

Y/N could feel how weak her knees were becoming, she had to lean on counter tops for support. The slow ballad filling the living room, leaking to the pantry from where she stood and watched.

Oh, she loved this song.

She wrapped her shivering hands around the warm cup of coffee that she made as she watched the couple danced. And the longer her longing gaze linger on Bucky, the blurrier her vision get.

"Y/N..." Natasha softly grazed the side of Y/N's arm. How could she not notice Natasha coming in. Must have been her widow effect.

"You're breaking, honey." Natasha was meaning to imply about Y/N's heart but she was so set on hiding her feelings she thought Natasha meant differently, "I know." She replied as she sipped on the warm drink.

Her facades are breaking.

Her hazy vision remained on the, now shadows of the dancing couple, "I will put up a new one." She didn't even notice how her own voice cracked.

Tears overflowed from the corner of her eyes, "Just let this one crumble." Her lips trembled as she told the truth, "Cause I don't think I can fix this."

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: I'm thinking to have more of this couple; should i do it? Any thoughts?

[kirain]

Please don't get me wrong, I like gale well enough, but he turns me off because I get the impression that he wouldn't care much about what I have to say. He's so intelligent and wise and he clearly has years and years of education and study under his belt. So what on earth could I even talk to him about without boring him to death? Because honestly, I like to talk, like, a lot. I'm just as passionate about stuff but not nearly as knowledgeable and I fucking hate that look on people's face when they're blithely listening to stuff that bored them? Im not knowledgeable enough to have anything to offer him

This is ironically how Gale feels about himself. He feels like he has absolutely nothing to offer anyone, which is why he went after the orb in the first place. He felt inadequate for a goddess, and he feels inadequate for Tav. The idea that Tav is attracted to him genuinely shocks him, too, because from his standpoint ... who could possibly love him? He's just a guy who screws everything up. That's why he's so elated when Tav shares their feelings with him.

He knows magic, but he doesn't know the world. He's clueless in certain areas. Despite being so knowledgeable and passionate about magic, he wants to know Tav. He doesn't care how intelligent or unintelligent you are, he only cares that you're a good person. I haven't finished his romance yet, but I've made some pretty silly decisions (like licking a dead spider) and he's still sticking by me. His desire for Tav isn't transactional at all. In fact, he'd probably find your question "what on earth could I even talk to him about without boring him to death" perplexing. The answer is anything! Gale's passion is learning and sharing knowledge, and if you talk to him about a subject he's already well versed in, he won't shut you down, he'll just match your enthusiasm. I'm playing as a wizard, and every time I've spoken to him about the Weave or books or anything my character knows as a result of her background, he gets excited, not bored.

Moreover, Gale's hobbies mainly consist of reading. That's it. He likes to sit on his balcony and read. I'm sure many people would consider that boring, and he knows it. That's why he gets agitated when you first meet him. He blatantly tells you his hobbies and everything he loves; reading, writing poetry, his cat, so when you ask him to elaborate or say "tell me the real you" he gets a bit defensive. He dodges the question about his past and anything regarding the orb, but he was also being 100% honest about who he is. He does love reading, he does write poetry, he does worship his cat, but that's all he really has going for him and he knows it's not substantial. At least not from his perspective. He's insecure.

Mystra was his entire life. He was secluded from childhood by a groomer and only had Tara and tutors on the side. Then he lived alone in his tower for over a year, fearing death, regretting his mistakes, and reevaluating his life. Companionship is literally the best thing you can offer Gale, because it's the only thing he truly wants. Even just a simple friendship means the world to him. Anything else you bring to the table is an absolute bonus. Don't forget, when you reach his maximum affinity he responds to your queries with, "Always a delight to speak with you."

[derww]

TL;DR: 4C&Joker!Zam at Jingle JAM. Almost 6.5k words.

Disclaimer: PrinceZam brutally murders your fav people from the event (and more).

CW: Violence, deaths, non-graphic gore, suicidality

***

4C sees a figure coming up a hill – a yellow spot catches his eye instantly, and there is simply no one else here like it, and he raises his hand to finally, after too long an hour of an event, greet Zam in person.

 

He only needs a moment more to see the purple cloak and too much blood to be just his own. For a split second, 4C stops, and a freezing chill hits him to the bone. He immediately understands everything.

 

The cold is replaced by calmness and confidence. He knows the situation. There's nothing to worry about.

 

He waves at him.

 

– Hey, Zam!

 

Zam smiles brightly and waves back.

 

– Hey, 4C!

 

PrinceZam whispers to you: you know what to do.

 

There is complete chaos here: suspicious people appeared, no one understands anything, everyone is pulling each other in different directions, looking for solutions to the threats, and all this is mixed into an ear-crushing hubbub. And Zam... he just stands there, listening to people, watching as one of the team members climbs as high as possible, deciding to hide from hunters in the air.

 

Zam whispers to you: should I just kill them all here

 

He's not answering. He pulls people into conversation until they disperse into smaller groups. 

 

DTR, having broken away from the others, winds circles around them, and 4C mentally says goodbye to them. In the rush of the moment, he doesn't even feel sympathy. All of them are already doomed anyway.

 

– Imagine, I was able to make 11 people play a scene from Titanic, – he shares while they slowly walk in the opposite direction from the rest, and Zam tells his own adventures in tune with him, and how he was teleported many thousands of blocks from his house, and DTR adds here and there, rushing back and forth. They tell how suspicious one of the guys in their group was, that he even threatened them, but no, he didn't seem to be a hunter; he didn't have any diamond armor or netherite weapons, but anyways, all sorts of people exist, after all, PVP is turned on for everyone-

 

4C liked DTR. They were a ray of sunshine, eternally energetic and motivating and unable to stay in place, and ready to tell the whole story of their lives. He puts his hand on their shoulder, and DTR stops, staring at him curiously with their bottomless fishy eyes.

 

– You don't have to worry anymore, – he warmly assures, – I'm good at fighting, and Zam is even better! 

 

– Are you doing nothing but fighting there? – DTR seems perplexed, – of course, we also have fights sometimes, but usually we just have fun together.

 

– Well, not only that, – 4C agrees, – relationships between people, teams, stories, interests, all this is also very important, but in the end you often still need to fight, – and he smiles.

 

Diamond sword pierces DTR right into the heart, and then Zam leads it down, ripping the chest open. Blood gets on 4C's clothes, and he lets DTR go, allowing them to fall from the horse onto the ground, muttering something muffled.

 

– And if you fight over and over again, one day it becomes your life, – Zam purrs, and then bursts into laughter until DTR stops moving – and their pupils roll up – and they die, crumbling into nothing.

 

4C dusts off his jacket, but blood has already soaked into it.

 

– You've stained me, – he remarks reproachfully, powerlessly trying to clean it at least a little, – how can I pretend to be innocent if I'm covered in someone else's blood?

 

– I'm sorry, – Zam pulls, hiding a sword, – but it's not so noticeable from the distance, maybe they wouldn't notice?

 

– Zam that doesn't mean I want to wear dirty clothes, – he retorts, shaking his head disapprovingly. Zam raises his hands in defeat.

 

– I'm sorry! – he admits, - I'll try to be more careful, 4C, I promise. 

 

– I'll keep an eye on you, – he threatens frivolously and, unable to restrain himself, giggles. They let the horse go and continue walking in the same direction.

 

When they reach a river, Zam honestly tries to help him wash the blood, but it is tightly stuck – there is no way to fix it on the spot. But he manages to clean himself – remove blood from his head, clean his mouth after the past internal bleeding, wipe almost everything off his hands, leaving only red outlines under the nails. Only his coat remains the same – darkened, half-lost its own color, dragging corpses and grave earth. At least it's still better than it was, says 4C optimistically.

 

– I thought you had renounced your past self, – he remarks, – does it really not matter as long as you're not on the server?

 

Zam smiles back at him gently; there is no threat in it, but it is still subtly different from how he smiled before.

 

– Oh, no, no, 4C, of course not, – he shakes his head, – you can say, that guy took a break. He will return to you in complete safety upon our comeback.

 

He sighs. Well, this is within the norm of strangeness for a Lifesteal player. He hardly felt even a little surprised.

 

– Okay, okay, – 4C shrugs, – do you want to find someone specific, or do we take care of those we find first?

 

– Of course, I am interested in all our dear friends and comrades, – Zam draws out, – and, of course, Fruitberries! I'll be so happy if I get a chance to kill him! – he chuckles enthusiastically, – but we still need to kill everyone else, too. I would prefer to hide my role for now, so we should focus on singles to leave no witnesses. With you around, everyone will believe that we are completely innocent!

 

– Sure, Zam, – he ironically agrees, – I am, without a doubt, the friendliest player of the event.

 

– That's what I am talking about! 

 

***

It's even too easy: they follow a compass, determine a situation, and come into contact with singles and duos. Zam looks almost normal and draws them into a conversation, and almost everyone here knows 4C, and they take his benevolence and desire to help for granted. Not used to always being suspicious of everyone, they easily succumb to kind words, gifts and help, open to befriending them, even after discovering the secret of the event, hoping just to spend time well. Not warriors, peaceful people, why should they even be involved in a meat grinder between hunters and the strongest of the strongest?

 

– Oh, we don't just fight on the Lifesteal, – Zam mysteriously declares, and his listeners are staring at him, catching his every word, listening like a fairytale; – we also, just like you, tell our stories, it's just that there are a lot more deaths in ours. For example, one day I set out to corrupt the whole world, and in the process, wanting to prove my case, I killed a lot of people! – he waves his arms and shrugs his shoulders as if it were an everyday occurrence, – and he, – points to 4C, – was my first victim, with whom it all began! The president whose unwise decision led me to shift my vision!

 

– Did he murder you? – gasps the first, – and you're still friends?

 

– Yeah, it happened, – 4C laughs, shaking his head, – I was expecting something like this when we decided to remove the heart recipe. Everyone needs to survive somehow, and I was an obvious target. I don't hold a grudge. Besides, Zam has changed.

 

– Oh, yes, – Zam murmurs, – I've changed since then! I realized that I was wrong, and I can't let this happen again! I took an oath that I would never kill anyone!

 

He burns them alive – 4C hands him a camping bottle of ethanol, and Zam laughs hysterically, setting them on fire and then watching agonizing death, admiring and warming hands. Some of his fingertips are licked by flames, getting burns, but he doesn't pay any attention.

 

4C, waiting for him to finish, is sorting through his backpack – it's been too long without long-distance trips, he completely forgot what he even had with him. A couple of times he winces at the smell of burnt meat. The screams subside over time.

 

– Are we going to hide the corpses? – he asks, going through all the available elements of his swiss knife.

 

— No. It's useless, there's not enough time, – Zam replies, putting his hands in his pockets. He's not smiling anymore, but he sounds drunk, still not completely sober from murder, – soon the border will start to close. They won't make it. But we also need to move.

 

– I really need to figure out my armor, – 4C remarks, looking down at himself, and puts all the things back in his backpack. Only iron boots and helmet, absolutely unsuitable for battles, – when we pick up someone, leave their corpses next time, okay?

 

Zam drowns the next traveler by holding them by the neck under water until they stop resisting. 4C takes their half-broken protection 1 iron leggings, which still smell of mud. After three more murders, he takes a diamond boots from someone's riddled body.

 

– I missed killing people, – Zam shares, hiding the third axe under his coat, – it's so much fun, they are too weak, though. Are they so unaccustomed to war? I've killed the weak on the Lifesteal too, but you were different from them. You were so vulnerable just because you chose it.

 

4C shrugs his shoulders.

 

– I'm like them, Zam. I am not a warrior. I don't like fighting. There are so many things in the world more interesting than direct war. I don't want to waste my time on it.

 

Zam chuckles. He turns his trident from side to side, already lying in his hand in his native way.

 

– Don't worry. You don't have to fight. I will gladly take it for myself.

 

– It's always important to let people do what they like, – 4C smiles, handing him a helmet from the second corpse lying with a crossbow bolt between their eyes. It still smells of blood and is obviously too big, but Zam doesn't seem concerned about it.

 

They wade through the river, but it doesn't knock down any smell or stains, just leaves them both wet. 4C glimpses how deeply the blood has seeped into Zam's coat. This is the same coat – the one that wrapped Zam's corpse on the burial and the one that Zam himself stole from his own grave when he possessed Pangi's body. Even now, many months later, there are still traces of 4C's own blood on it – barely discernible, uneven blue streaks on the dark, worn purple. With the still readable trajectory, it is obvious that the hands holding the sword were shaking. He doesn't know how he feels about it.

 

– It's too easy, – Zam complains in a childish tone, rolling enchantment for the trident for the third time in an hour, – they barely even resist. Don't they value their lives?

 

– This is an event, – 4C remarks, shrugging; he wrings out his soaked jacket, – no one's going to actually die. Besides, in their worlds, no one will come up and just start killing you, you know? Some might never have fought against anyone other than mobs.

 

– But I want a real fight, – he objects, – what should I do so that they take swords in their hands and really try to kill me? – he stands up, breaking an enchanter, and his fingers, clutching the handle of the trident, tremble with tension, – is it really necessary to find a bigger group for this? – Zam asks sadly, – this will increase the chance of revealing me... Do you think I can just run into Coldie like that? Or, like, Raddles? – he asks, almost tenderly. – or Fein? Or, – his breath comes in short gasps, and 4C is pretty sure he meant to say "Fruitberries".

 

– I'm sure if we hurry up, you'll be able to find someone strong, – 4C remarks casually, – they're outstanding players, they can beat other hunters. And what about those who are weaker... – he pauses, thinking, – yes, it makes sense to look for bigger groups. It's going to make it harder to keep your role a secret, but that just means we need to shoot everyone before they run too far, right?

 

– That's right! – and Zam smiles at him and laughs, clearly imagining how many people he can still kill before the end of the event, – you're right, it's so easy! – he sincerely declares, – we just have to kill them sooner!

 

It's easy to notice when you know Zam long enough: he gets worse. In the sense that it was worse for him then – he is rapidly losing his self-control and humanity in the desire to kill someone, constantly touching one or the other weapon, tearing his hands, and laughing under his nose. And how did someone like that eventually take the oath of pacifism, 4C thinks distantly, putting his hand to his forehead and looking at the horizon.

 

He notices it first – a human figure, a girl entwined with pink flowers. A girl is different in some way – she throws a knowing glance at Zam, as if capable of sensing something amiss, intercepts her delicate rapier, and then rushes away. Zam swears under his breath and shouts something, clearly still trying to play a card of just-a-player-definitely-not-a-mass-murderer-

 

4C may not be a warrior, but he still knows how to fight. His arrow hits the girl in the leg, piercing her knee, and she stumbles and falls. It doesn't take long for Zam to get close, but for a while he just stares at her writhing in pain.

 

– Why in the leg, – she moans, – better have killed me right away, but now I'll remember that too! If you had shot in the head, at least it doesn't hurt so much!

 

Zam continues to glare at her. 

 

– It's an offering, – 4C smiles, – do you know, like to an ancient god? For the good luck to both of us at the games.

 

Zam's fingers, clenched into a fist, turn white. He doesn't say a word, as if intoxicated.

 

– I'm here, actually, – the girl remarks, – conscious and all that. I won't run away, of course, but I still have one life left. I'll tell everyone about you. Two hunters at once, wow!

 

– You'll tell them everything? What's about my name? – Zam asks softly, pupils dilated. – you should remember the name, right?

 

He kills her before she finds the answer. When he looks up, 4C notes that some of the blood seems to have entered his eye. Zam doesn't even try to wipe it off his face and instead smiles toothily.

 

– Let's find a bigger team, 4C, – he says too calmly, and he nods. He barely remembers to take arrows from the corpse with him. In addition to them and bolts for the crossbow, Zam silently throws him half a stack of rockets.

 

– She probably learned enough to tell the others, – 4C remarks after a long pause, – maybe not your name, but-

 

– Just imagine, – Zam interrupts him, – she thought you were a hunter. It's funny, isn't it? 

 

– Undoubtedly! – he agrees, – in her gaze, I must really look like one of you.

 

– The difference is small, – Zam shrugs, – they didn't turn off the friendly fire. 

 

Zam doesn't show it, but his trembling finally stops. He seems like a cat full of sour cream, but 4C knew better than anyone that it won't last long.

 

***

The next time they come across a company of five people. Zam burns the first alive and pierces the second by throwing a trident. The third and fourth, realizing that there is no way back, grab their swords, and they fight – honestly and with dignity and to the death, but Zam's face expresses boredom and disrespect while he dissects them like frogs. The fifth tries to run, and 4C finishes them off in the back and carefully wipes his sword.

– You're a grouch,  – Zam jokes, – how did you even survive here?

– I'm not a grouch,– 4C corrects pedantically, hiding the sword, – I just don't want it to stay dirty.

– He won't have time to rust, – Zam sounds surprised, and 4C shakes his head. He's not answering.

The closing of the border becomes noticeable when it appears on the horizon, and they change direction, moving directly to 0, 0, where the paths of all the survivors and hunters were converging. 

– Imagine if all our friends had already been killed while we were messing with the little things, – Zam groans, – I wanted to kill them all so much! It's such a pity that there's no point in killing hunters... I'd love to finish Kyle off. – he sighs in frustration, – well, I can still do it at least once, but he might get mad and stop me from killing the ones I want. – things are always more complicated when a person is immortal.

He hardly pays much attention to random passers, many of them are just running, but even those who are trying to fight are not interesting enough. Zam still wears his shitty starter armor, and- and even the fact that he is obviously not afraid of death, playing into its hands, he goes ahead, leaving himself vulnerable, and it scares. He fights every time but still always solves everything in a few punches. He fights quite differently now, much more sweeping and aggressiveness, but he leaves himself too open to enemy attacks.

– You still have an almost human body, – 4C reminds him, tying a bandage on his arm, – you're vulnerable.

– I'm immortal, – Zam chuckles, but doesn't move, letting him do his thing, – what's the difference?

– It would be even more inconvenient to look for you all over the map right now, – 4C reminds, fixing the edge of the bandage, – we don't have time for this if you want to find all your favorites. And we don't have any potions to heal your wounds. You're counterproductive, Zam. At least put on your armor or what?

Pause.

– A little later, – Zam answers more seriously, – I need... a first murder that will mean something. – and, instantly switching over, already smiling again, – where do you think Derapchu is now? He shouldn't have died yet... I really want to hit his skull with an axe!

– Who knows, – 4C spreads his hands, – depends on your luck. And you, as far as I know, are extremely lucky.

Instead of answering, Zam bursts out laughing. 4C doesn't interrupt him.

The next person is unknown to him. But they are familiar to Zam. And Zam is clearly familiar to them – they squint, focusing their gaze, and, realizing who is standing in front of them, swear profusely in an unfamiliar dialect and rush away. Zam, smiling too broadly, takes off after them, and 4C follows.

The person is a raccoon: small and nimble, but with a bearing and ironed clothes. He seems out of place.

– Fuck, fuck, fuck, – he chants, – no! Not you! Not like this! I refuse!

They seem to know each other.

– Ka-antje, – Zam pulls lovingly, – this time you can't just watch!

– I can do whatever i want! – raccoon lies down, putting a web behind him and fighting back, and this only excites Zam.

4C keeps a short distance, looking at how Zam, eventually catches up with Kantje and clings to him by the scruff of the neck and then lets go, laughing with a bloody mouth, and hits, and hits, and hits.

– Tell all our friends the news! – he laughs, splitting his skull with an axe, – tell them that I'm here! And that I would come for them!

Kantje hisses him to fuck off before dying. Zam needs almost a minute to calm his laughter.

***

Kantje fulfills Zam's request: all the people they recognize immediately know they are dangerous. Many of them are running, but the others turn around and fight. Fortunately, Zam finally puts on his hunting armor and swaps the axe for a netherite one.

4C knows how to fight, but he's not a fighter. Lifesteal taught him to keep a battlekit with him and hit into weak spots, but it still didn't give him the thirst for a battle. It didn't please him, never. And Zam did not expect that he would fight back to back with him – on the contrary, he took the fights to himself alone, as if every opportunity to put a sword between someone's ribs was the best reward.

4C does something else – throws him new and new ways of killing, patches his wounds, scouts the situation, and, when teams stand against them, shoots those who prevent Zam from taking the desired fight or try to run.

While Zam is clashing in battle with Plushy, 4C shoots Meta, and the fight ends too fast. Zam cradles his friend like a child, almost crying, saying how sorry he is that he did not kill him by himself, that he would have given him the best death possible, that he loves him and will always love him. And even if the corpses don't talk, 4C can't say that he can't understand him. 

When the body crumbles to dust, Zam abruptly stands up and wipes his face. 4C shakes his head.

– Okay, – Zam states, – we still have so many people to kill.

4C is about to say something else, but Zam activates his tracking compass, and they both stare at it in deathly silence for a while.

The needle of the compass trembles restlessly, as if with impatience. "JustKaboodle" is engraved on a metal rim.

They look at each other. Zam nods slowly, stiff with bloodlust. They take off in record time.

Kaboodle, even if the closest to them, is still at a decent distance, and Zam, without slowing down, follows her for the entire half an hour without a break. They don't talk, but it's not so bad – 4C feels that he is already approaching his limits. They don't have to get close to see that she's surrounded by people.

They know many of them. They don't know some of them, but the way they stick around Kab tells them everything they need to know. "Zam," shouts Kab, and Sushi first grabs the sword, Kantje is already here too, and in a split second a random deserted village turns into a massacre.

There is no option left to just stand, and 4C hides behind his shield, clutching an axe with his right hand. Arrows rain down on his armor, and he, ducking from the blades, rushes forward, aiming to kill.

You see: 4C did not like fighting, but on Lifesteal it was rarely synonymous with inability to fight, as his weakness in comparison with the best fighters of Lifesteal did not indicate his incompetence. And oh, he loved to think that he appreciated someone else's life, but as long as it wasn't about his teammates, it was really not that important.

He is almost half as slow as Zam, but even that is enough. While Zam is laughing madly, taking on two-three-four people at the same time, 4C swings and blows off the head of the person closest to him.

He never stopped wishing that the first blow of the orbital cannon had killed everyone present. Here's what was true about him: he preferred to give people a quick death.

– You're all going to die here anyway, – he says even cheerfully, – let's get this over with faster and return each to our world, – and his axe shaft almost crumbles in his hands from the blow of the sword taken at him, – hey, hey, take it easy!

He has to let go of the axe, because the next blow crumbles the handle, and he changes it to his sword. Adrenaline makes his hands tremble.

4C deals with another opponent when he catches a glimpse of the moment where Zam pierces Kab through and leads the sword lower and lower, and she painfully slowly settles down, muttering curses and repeating over and over again that he has not changed a bit, that he is the same as then, that he is a monster born to destroy – and Zam, smiling tenderly at her, says how glad he is to be the one to ban her and that he will gladly do it again but already on the Lifesteal-

It's not that 4C is distracted – on the contrary, he is still attentive enough to react and block the blow. The point is different: while Zam is distracted by the taste of his victory, those who remain in battle almost synchronously turn to look at 4C. And he is far from being good enough to do anything in a tough 1v3 clash: he misses one, two hits, and it's all over.

Hmm, he thinks dreamily, not really resisting the death pulling him down. It wasn't a bad adventure. It was... funny. Making things fun is the most important thing. And then an axe flies between his eyes.

To his own surprise, he does not wake up behind the border or at the spawn – it seems that he set his bed somewhere else at the beginning of his journey and forgot. This is another village with no sign of life. For a while, he just lies there silently, staring at the ceiling, feeling the phantom wounds give off pain in his body. After that, he gets up.

There's still time before an end of the event, and maybe he has something to do, but every part of his body feels like it's filled with iron. Instead of moving... somewhere, he climbs onto the porch railing and watches a sunset, swinging his legs from side to side. Birds are chirping in the surrounding forest.

It's a long minute, two, three. The sun is completely sinking below the horizon, but it is still here, and twilight is descending on the world.

His communicator is vibrating.

PrinceZam whispers to you: coordinates

His hands tremble but instantly regain their firmness. He smiles, and then, after checking, writes his coordinates. He remarks distantly that this is almost the other half of the map.

He likes to just pause and look around sometimes. The world around is beautiful, and it's a pity not to be able to appreciate it. The full moon sticks to the sky like a porcelain saucer, and its light silveres the crowns of trees, the tops of houses, and wide fields. In a sense, it's the same as on any other vanilla server. In a sense, even the air here feels different – cleaner, fresher, but also frostier. No matter how hard he tries, he can't get rid of the taste of fir needles.

When Zam arrives, it is already dawn. 4C is almost surprised that he's here. He's also almost surprised that Zam doesn't kill him. Instead, the first thing he does is give him his own full set, food – clearly forgetting that it is endless here – and several more golden apples, an obviously random sword, axe, shield and pickaxe, and also one of his tridents.

– Hi,– 4C says calmly, and then looks at the helmet. Prot 3 – only hunters have these on the server, – Zam, are you sure?

Zam snorts.

– I can die as long as I want, – he reminds, – but you can't do it anymore. Come on, we don't have much time.

4C nods and gets ready. A shield falls back into his left hand, but in his right is a trident shining in the dawn rays of the sun. Zam activates the compass, and they move on again.

***

Endgame is close, the border is extremely small, and most of the survivors are more than competent. Almost everyone is fighting to the death. Escapees have to be driven into hundreds of blocks. They try to lead them into traps several times. Twice they are ambushed.

Once, Zam chases the only survivor of her squad, the purple catgirl, and begs her to fight him one-on-one, promising fair and equal conditions, and at one point she turns around. Zam throws her golden apples, and Raddles slowly chews one of them, looking at them darkly and menacingly from under her eyelashes. Zam blocks 4C with his hand.

– Don't interfere, – he begs, – I need–I need a real battle. If I die, do whatever you want. I don't think she's going to kill you, – Raddles shakes her head slowly, clearly having heard the conversation, and then spits an apple stub into the ground and draws her blade. She is all like a cat – bouncing movements, low stance, lowered head, lightweight armor. There is no doubt about her lethality, and she takes off at the same moment when Zam moves.

And... 4C just watches. He can do a hundred other things, including just turn around and walk away, but he watches. Raddles fights bloodily and swiftly, and Zam is forced to gain speed to match her. These are infinitely fast exchanges of blows, short cuts, attempts to hit weak spots – at some point it looks more like hand-to-hand sparring than sword fighting, and they are not inferior to each other. At some point, Zam breaks into some unfamiliar forced style, and in another skirmish, he punches her in the stomach at the cost of a knife blow that barely misses the artery. Raddles quickly regains consciousness, but Zam is faster – not paying attention to the fact that he is bleeding, he leads a sword from the bottom up, opening her stomach.

– Thank you,– Zam mutters, without taking his eyes off her, – thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.

– Fuck you,– Raddles mutters, and her eyes roll back.

4C puts a pressure bandage on Zam's neck and forbids him to move for a few more minutes until regeneration from the golden apples stitches at least the deepest damage. He really never saw himself as a medic; he wore bandages for self-help, but in war you either heal or cripple, so it was hard for him to be surprised. Zam is indignant and constantly whines but obeys and then jumps up, as if overflowing with energy again, clenching and unclenching his fists, and says that they need to run. 4C sighs and before that washes his hands. When he returns, there is an unnamed cross on the field. They can only move on.

Something about how insanely familiar it all was made him permanently uncomfortable. He didn't mind remembering his own death, but he couldn't stop thinking about how Zam was rapidly losing control of himself. They did not see each other often, separated by the entire server, but he remembered individual moments – the madness of the meat grinder in order to ban CaptainSparklz, insane laughter, threats to buildings, taking hostages, explosion after explosion after explosion, a sleepless night of the marathon, a bloody stroke of bans, and – death surrounded by flower petals, 1v4, happy and ready to accept who won for himself in spite of everything.

Zam rushes into battle, ignoring wounds and exhaustion and a half-empty inventory, rushing because he only knows how to fight and how to kill, and 4C regretfully lets him go to a certain death, telling himself that at least hunters cannot be banned. That Zam might die, but he would always come back. He watches with regret as Coldie disembowels him like a fish. Coldie does not touch 4C, but takes the trident from Zam's corpse and, nodding, disappears into the fog. 4C gently strokes Zam's hair, looking at the face of the doomed to die, and immediately after the body disappears, he DMs, asking for coordinates.

– And how did your teammates get you out? – he asks, chuckling, returning Zam's belongings.

– They did the best they could, – Zam grins, – and that was enough. I wanted it myself; what can they do? They wouldn't have forced me against my will.

4C smiles, suppressing another giggle, and shoves a spare shield in his face.

– We are almost at the end, – he reminds, – how many survivors are there, about twenty people? Every kill counts. Be careful.

At this point, both Mid and Squiddo have been killed. He has nowhere to turn around.

– Do not doubt, – Zam grins, – that I will use the rest of the time to the fullest.

This is the first time they see spawn. it is beautifully decorated, like a Christmas tree on the eve of a holiday, and that's why the traces of murders scattered here and there look especially grotesque. Here they see other hunters, many of them for the first time. 4C politely shakes hands with the other two survivors who have switched sides, pretending not to notice that the Zam's hands are shaking. When it comes time for Kyle, he is clearly forced to make every possible effort not to try to cut off his head.

Few survivors sitting on the spawn are hiding. The rest stick to that small part of the outer territory that has not yet been absorbed by the border. They catch rare survivors by falling on their heads or catching up or shooting them right in the head. Black and red fireworks explode them with bloody confetti. There is a lull before the final, while everyone is preparing for the final dash, and even Zam is forced to stop.

4C patches him up and makes him eat and drink. Zam's entire clothes and body are covered in blood to the point that it does not wash off, and even now he is staring into space, unable to hold his own hands, trembling so much that it rather resembles convulsions.

– Kill, kill, kill, kill, – he chants, – I have to kill them. Who's left? Fruit? Fein? Misty? – he breaks into a smile, – Derapchu, – squeezes one hand with the other so hard that the bones crackle, – such a feast, I can't believe it... And that's it for me... I just have to make sure that the others are not taken away... Abyss, I would give anything for the opportunity to kill them too...

He makes a fire and warms his icy fingers, counting the minutes until the moment when the border will reach here too.

– Be careful, – he reminds, – the rest are competent fighters. They can kill you. They'll kill you.

– It doesn't matter, – Zam chuckles, – I'm immortal! I will always come back!

– You're going to waste time, – he retorts, – and that's what we're all limited to right now. Time until the end of the event. Time until your targets are killed by someone else. 

Zam looks at him. His pupils are huge.

– You're right, – he agrees breathlessly, – time. It doesn't matter if it hurts me. It matters if I have time to kill them. And I have to kill them. How can I miss an opportunity?

He finds the answer to his unspoken question very soon: only five minutes, and the border almost touches them. He puts out the fire with his boot and loads crossbows with bolts and fireworks. Zam takes off from his place, and he does not try to call out to him, only clutches one of the crossbows in his hands, and slides down through the wet snow into the hollow of spawn.

The border closes in, locking everyone within the ornately decorated square, and this quickly announces losses – before his eyes, Zam, laughing, blows off the head of a frightened player in iron armor, not ready for the meat grinder of the final. Fireworks fill the sky all around, and their light casts deep shadows from the bird squad of survivors holding onto the roofs, each of whom had elites on their backs. 4C aims at the figure closest to him, but they dodge without any effort.

It's like a dance – everything starts slowly, hunters and survivors die one by one, with rare pops, but gradually the production, emboldened, picks up the pace, and very soon you can't keep track of what is happening – the survivors try to keep their distance and hide in the heights and lowlands, but the hunters desperately attack them, dying one by one, exploding clouds of thick smoke are in the air, but materializing again only moments later and immediately rushing into battle again. 

4C quickly finds himself in the company of two other survivors who have allied with the hunters – it seems impossible to keep up with Zam, he can only cover him from a distance, and this has never been hindered by good company. The guys are funny: they talk, joke, and accept him instantly, connected by common experience. 

– Why did you decide to do this? – he innocently asks when Zam dies again from Fruit's axe, – to help hunters, – he clarifies pedantically.

One, a man in a blue hiking suit with stubble, shrugs his shoulders.

– It's more interesting this way, – he sums up, – I didn't want to just run away the whole event. And when will I be free to kill so many people, right? I had a lot of fun.

– It so happened that my friend became a hunter, – says the second, younger, heavily built, and obviously used to fighting, – I did not dare to go against him. What's the rest to me if we've come all this way together?  He snorts, – What about you?

4C looks at Zam again – just respawned, he, along with several others, is storming a survivors' squadron – and then shakes his head expressively slowly. Instead of giving a clear answer, he just smiles at them.