#it seems like unnatural personality flips

[weebsh-t]

Wtf is going on with Damian's mother? Any theories? Why does it seem like a switch flips in her brain at certain things.

[solardrop]

mean drunk.

aaron hotchner x fem!reader.

summary: after a bau night on the town your boyfriend tries to get you to admit to being mean when you drink. But he can't seem to keep his hands to himself either... (or hotch says you're a mean drunk and you say 'nuh uh") tags: smut NSFW 18+ alcohol use. dubious consent because both parties are drunk but 'consenting'. oral m/f receiving. unprotected p in v. spitting. literally like 2 seconds of anal. word count: ~2.6k a/n: be nice to me you aren't allowed to be mean this is my first time writing a fic since the finnick odair x oc fic i posted on ff.net when I was like 12 LMAO. first smut in general too so. yeah. all divider creds. to @cafekitsune

The two of you stumbled into the entryway of Hotch's bedroom with your faces all but glued together. Thick hands grasped at the small patch of skin revealed as your shirt rode up your back. 

You lean into his chest and grips a handful of your breast in his hand appreciatively before walking you backwards to the plush comfort of his bed. Suddenly, he pulls away from you completely and boyishly smiles down at you perched  on the edge of his bed.

His lips and neck are covered in a glittery brown sheen from your lip gloss. Black hair spiking in unnatural directions. The powder blue dress shirt he wore haphazardly wrinkled from your efforts to untuck the crisp fabric from his now tightening dress pant. You could eat him from the top down. But he was just standing there. Smiling at you instead of stripping. 

"Aaron, I swear if you dont fucking touch me I'll kill you-"

He giggles as he unbuttons his shirt, "Very mean drunk."

A successful case led the entire team to a night of drinks at O'Keefe's. Penelope was all but pouring shots down everyone's throats; she somehow even managed to get Hotch to down a few extra glasses of scotch than his typical. Unsurprisingly the result was everyone being absolutely sloshed. Everyone was giggly and free, playing stupid drinking games before the topic of 'drunk personalities' came to the table. 

JJ declared herself a sleepy drunk, while Derek, Garcia, and Emily all admitted to being more flirty. Spencer and David started going back and forth about the psychological implications of the human personality traits while intoxicated. So their categorization as chatty drunks went without saying. You were starting to agree with JJ on being sleepy when your annoying man decided to cut you off and say you were mean when drunk. 

Sure, liquid courage did loosen your tongue a bit. You were guilty of causing few hurt feelings after a night out. And maybe Aaron had to whisk you away from a few bar fights with people you couldn't take without your handgun. But you were not a mean drunk!

An uncharacteristic back and forth bounces between you for the remainder of the night. Only ceasing when he smashes his lips against yours in the taxi home. 

His calloused hands flip you around roughly. Propping your hips up towards his face. Your face heats as he presses his face into your wetness, inhaling deeply and moaning at the scent of you.

"So pretty.." He spreads your lips apart with his thumbs, the moisture there almost holding them together. 

Your head was spinning, now from more than just the alcohol. The position was just embarrassing. You were almost completely upside down and your back arched shamelessly. Hell, you couldn't even see Aaron's pretty face like this. His strong thighs and thickening length weren't bad to look at either but you wanted to see him. 

you crane your neck around to tell him as much when he closes his lips around your clit and sucks greedily. 

"Aar-" you gasp. 

You squirm in the grasp he has on your hips. He tightens his hands around you, preventing your from escape. the warmth of his lips travel up from your nub to lick a few long stripes against your slit. 

"Oh fuck off-" you start.

He was going to kill you like this. Your face and neck were too hot, your back was starting to ache. The alcohol and your arousal swirling your mind into a fog.  Hotch continues his attack on your sex. Sucking and licking with whatever intensity he pleased. His words slur together as he praises you. The sound so intelligible you're convinced that they're more for himself than you. 

When the warmth of his tongue prods at your entrance, you fall forward. The wiry hairs along his thigh press into your cheek as your face is squished there. The invasion has you moaning and wailing, bucking your hips closer to him now; begging for him to delve deeper. Your desperation must amuse him because you feel a short puff of air and the semblance of a smile against you. What an absolute drunken ass. 

With a renewed burst of energy, you lean over without warning and suck the head of his length into your mouth. The strong, salty flavor of him spreads along your tongue as you circle the muscle around his tip. 

"Fucking hell-" he rips his mouth from you and yelps out. 

He jerks at your stimulation. His hips thrust into your mouth reflexively, the erratic movement causing his shaft to slip deeper into your mouth. You allow it, pressing your face closer and closer to him until the coarse patch of curls above his length pressed against your chin. 

He's always been so thick. But being held like this, he felt even heavier and stiffer in your mouth. You hollow your cheeks to pull off of him almost completely, the remaining glitter on your lips streaking up his shaft, before quickly pressing yourself down to the hilt. His tip taps against the back of your throat, you welcome the intrusion and swallow around him. 

He stutters your name out, the syllables melting together as you bob your head along him. You giggle at his lack of articulation. The mean, pristine, crime-fighting machine Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner. Reduced to nothing but a gasping mess from a moment in your mouth and a few glasses of whiskey. A hum vibrates from your chest when you pull of to stroke him with a taunt. A string of saliva still connecting your lips to his swollen pink tip.

"See honey? if I was such a meanie drunk," a bead of precum weeps from his slip, you tongue darts out to collect it, "I would take such good care of you like this. Right?"

You slip back down to bask in your self-proclaimed victory. Savoring the heady taste of him before Aaron abruptly drives two thick fingers into you. 

Your eyes snap open and the sound that rips from your throat reverberates around the room, even muffled by the length of him. He picks up a rapid pace. The wet sounds of your pleasure winding you up even further than you thought possible. His girth slips with a pop. Moaninh against his calf as your body slides from its arched position to lay almost flat against his outstretched legs.

"Aar- '' you cry. "Aar this is so- Baby I- I don't think I can-"

You jump as he spits on your lips and grinds a thumb into your nub. As if you needed to be any slicker. The tight circles he makes are punishing. His saliva cooling against your folds doing little to waver the heat building between your legs. His fingers slam into you over and over, sometimes curling down and brushing that soft, sweet spot deep inside you. 

"Uh uh. The gorgeous girl I know can do anything," he presses an additional finger into you, "isn't that right?" 

You buck your hips back into him, the praise sending a shock to your core. You chance a glance over your shoulder at him, and you have to screw your eyes shut again and groan at the sight. The entire lower half of his face was covered in you. The bottom lip tucked between his lips shiny, red, and swollen. His eyes were low, hyperfocused on the movement of his hands between your legs.  Pale face still red from the night of festivities. He looked absolutely entranced. Completely pleased himself and they way he was wrecking you. 

"Aaron, Please just-" He wickedly pinches your clit between his thumb and forefinger and you squeal. 

"Hm? That attitude" he says as he pinches you again.

"Fuck-"

"See?" Another pinch. " I told you, you're a mean drunk," he does it again. 

Tears prickle in your eyes, sweat along your forehead clinging your curls to your warm skin. You thrash and cry as he continues his onslaught.  He was sitting beneath you, pushing and twisting and gripping your body in any way he wanted while you cried and you were the mean drunk?

You try to slip away from him, the pleasure too much, yet not enough to send you over the edge. But he slips his fingers out of you to grab you by the hips, spreading the globes of ass apart to spit on you again. 

Except this time the cold shock landed right on the pucker of your asshole. 

"Aaron!" you whimper

"If only my baby was nicer to me," he has the nerve to sigh wistfully, "I'm so damn hard, if she asked me politely I'd fuck her so good she'd lose it..." 

He rubbed his thumb over your hole, not pushing in, but applying enough pressure to have you keening in pleasure. 

He sighs again, completely ignoring your pants and cries. "But I think I can finish without touching just like this, hm? Maybe in 30? An hour?"

No. Nope. Absolutely not. 

If you had a lick of sense left in your brain right now you'd realize he was fucking with you. You'd recognize his words and the creeping smile on his face as the bullshit they were. But right now all your muddled mind was registering was the danger of being held shaking and pained for an hour without release. You would never finish like this, you couldn't. You needed to look into his eyes, feel his lips graze along your face as you came.  You wouldn't get that, not like this, you'd be stuck like this.

"Pleaseplease Aaron- Aar- fuck. Please I need you, Aar. Please-" 

He breathes out a laugh. Finally granting you mercy from his wicked hands. He grunts a little at the effort of pulling himself up around you, kissing your shoulder as his face finally nears yours. 

"I thought you'd never ask" he smiles, "Where do you want me gorgeous?"

You twist to move on your back, and Hotch shifts to allow you more space. You face him for the first time in a while, and your heat clenches almost automatically when his eyes meet yours. 

It was fucking sick how he had the nerve to call you gorgeous when he looked so positively delicious himself. His lids were still low and his cheeks were still tinged pink. But now you had a true view of the slick coating his mouth and chin. A crooked smile beamed off his face, smile lines deepening at the gesture. 

"Like this," You hold his face in your palms, pulling him down to peck on the lips quickly, "I want to see you, please."

"Anything you want, legs up for me." He playfully taps his hand on the side of your ass. Your legs shoot up quickly, and his eyes crinkle with laughter at your desperation when he props your knees on his shoulders. 

He presses his lips to yours again before shifting all his weight to one arm, the muscle there flexing while he reaches down to grip himself with his free hand.

He runs the tip of his length along your folds, every brush causing you to twitch with sensitivity. Special attention is given to your already swollen clit, nudging his hips forward to swipe against the delicate bundle of nerves.  He pulls away and slots his lips above yours to kiss you fully. 

You eagerly press yourself closer to him, deepening the kiss. His tongue presses into your mouth and you groan when the taste of your wetness mingles with the familiar bite of the dark liquor on his tongue. 

He notches himself at your entrance, massaging but still failing to push inside of you. A whine bubbled from the back of your throat. 

"Baby, I promise I'm already wet enou- Oh!" your murmuring is cut short by Aaron thrusting into you all at once. 

He doesn't even move before your wretched body betrays you. the abrupt force and fullness pushing a white-hot pleasure throughout your entire being. Your thighs beg to snap shut, but the spread of your knees on his shoulders denies them. Your walls lock around him in a vice, causing him to grunt above you. You're saying something, probably some warbled nonsense, but you can't even hear yourself above the heartbeat in your ears. 

Aaron presses his face into the crook of your neck as you come down from your high. Whispering your name and 'i love you', 'so beautiful's into your skin. 

The fluttering of your core begins to slow when he pulls almost completely out of you, only the head remaining within your warmth. He raises an eyebrow at you expectantly, when your breath catches.

"We're not done here are we? Best one of two?" He doesn't wait for an answer before pushing into you, this time much slower.

you mewl at the firm stretch of him. Your hands reach up to grip the back of his neck, pressing his forehead to your own. Your eyes bounce around his features, burning each one into every empty space in your mind like you could ever forget. The precious mole you loved to kiss on his cheek. The unruly hairs sticking up on his temples. His pretty jet-black lashes flutterinh as he struggles to keep his eyes open for you.

His pace intensifies as he gets closer to his own climax, ramming into you. Every push tickles your clit with the thatch of curls that crown his shaft. 

"Such a good girl for me," he tries to hold back a moan causing him to stutter, " Y-you have one more in you I know it." 

The rough sensation of his calloused hands running up your side makes you shiver. You feel it again as he continues to bully his way through your center, the intense warmth pooling in your toes before creeping upwards. You nod your head at him, begging him to keep going, go faster, fuck into you deeper, love you fully. He complies with every soft cry, kissing and biting at your jaw as he forces you over into your second orgasm. 

You were almost completely gone for this one. Screaming into Aaron's mouth as he continues to chase his own release using your body. Your body shakes and you grip his biceps until the crescent marks of your fingernails are guaranteed to become a permanent fixture on his body. 

The breathless whimpering in your ear is what helps slowly bring you back down from your own world. You could tell he was close, his eyes screwing shut and his hips bucking into you out of pace every few beats. Using the last of your strength you push your hips up to meet his thrusts, fucking him back. You press a kiss on his good ear. 

"You treat me so well Honey," you murmur, "Come for me, you're so, so good to me, let me have you"

You suck the lobe of his ear into your mouth and bite down. He punches into you with one final thrust before you feel him twitch, bursts of his warm release spurting deeply inside you. He gasps your name out like a prayer as he comes down. 

Normailly his hardness slipping out of you after a session would cause you to cringe, but right now you were so fucking tired you barely even took note of the sensation. Clearly he was just as out of it as he plopped unceremoniously next to you in silence instead of his normal bossy demands for you to get up and pee after he wore you out. Before you even realize it both of you are drifting off into the best sleep you've had in a while. 

This had to be the worst sleep Aaron's had in a while. His mouth was dry, his head pounding, and his skin felt parched and scratchy despite the sweat that slicked off him. Not to mention the very obvious lack of clothes he was sporting under his bed sheet. 

Before he could grab his phone to send Strauss a termination request form for Garcia (the one he kept saved in his files, yes for moments just like this) you burst into the bedroom and flip the bright lights on. He groans as the rays stab him in the back of the head. You giggle, his pain clearly amusing to you. You saunter over, place a glass of water on the nightstand and press a kiss to his beating forehead. 

"I was wrong, you aren't a mean drunk. You're just mean." he sighs.

You throw your head back in glee

"I'm fine with being the mean drunk," you shrug, "at least we know for sure you're the horny drunk."

[allgirlsareprincesses]

Choosing the Beast: Modern Folklore Heroines Embrace the Animal Husband

“I choose the bear.” The refrain rang out across the web, with many a woman nodding in agreement or at least understanding, and certain men huffing with indignant outrage. Just a meme, really, but did it speak to a deeper truth? Is it merely age-old mistrust of patriarchy talking, or a true desire for the beastly, the wild, the untame?

I’m no sociologist, of course, but I have noticed an emerging trend in fem-gaze media that seems to reflect this view. In movies like I Am Dragon (2015) and recent shows like My Lady Jane and The Acolyte, the heroine chooses the beast, loving her animal husband in his wild form rather than requiring him to transform back into a mundane man to earn her affection. This is such a departure from the typical folktale pattern that it’s difficult to even find an historic example where this occurs.

Commonly thought to reveal the desire to tame a dangerous mate in a patriarchal society, most animal husband tales (ATU 425a) feature a hero who ultimately transforms permanently into a human. This is viewed not only as freeing him from the maddening effect of his wild form, but also saving his bride from committing the sin of bestiality. In these tales, the animal mate’s transformation is necessary for the salvation of both.

Is the modern heroine then damned by choosing her husband’s beastly form? Or does she actually free them both from the yoke of patriarchal expectations?

Bathing: Discovering the Wild Masculine

The first motif that stands out in these modern screen examples is bathing. In animal spouse tales, there is often a dynamic of the hunter and the hunted, and thus a moment when the hunter comes upon their would-be lover unawares. Perhaps they find the animal spouse sleeping, or they cast a light on them unexpectedly, see them without their animal skin or disguise, and so on. And of course, they often come upon the lover at their bath.

There is an implied eroticism in this discovery, finding one’s quarry not only undressed, but also in the most private of activities. Water of course symbolizes fertility, but bathing is also purifying, symbolically washing away all that might make a mate undesirable. And this, perhaps, is the reason that historically this motif is used almost exclusively for animal brides, not animal husbands.

For the animal husband, he either actively chooses to reveal himself to the bride (perhaps on their wedding night), or she violently strips away his disguise, often armed with “flame and steel” like Psyche and her many avatars. Animal brides on the other hand are nearly always discovered at a body of water, bathing. The hunter will then capture her either by stealing her animal skin or cloak, or by placing his own clothing on her. What does it mean, then, when it is the husband who is discovered bathing in a body of water, held as an erotic object in the feminine gaze?

In The Acolyte, Osha follows Qimir to a pool where he slowly undresses, in full knowledge that she is watching. On the shore, she steals his lightsaber, just like the hunter who steals the animal skin, symbolically claiming him. When he emerges, Qimir dons new clothes, as if acknowledging that he is a different person than before he entered the water, almost purified in a way. Osha is forced to confront that there is more to the murderer in the mask than she realized.

Similarly, in My Lady Jane, our heroine goes looking for Guildford just before sunrise on their ill-fated wedding night, only to discover him bathing in the stables. The scene is gratuitously filmed from Jane’s (very horny) perspective, flipping the script on the countless scenes in screen history shot with the masculine gaze. Immediately after she discovers and confronts him, Guildford transforms against his will into a horse, and Jane realizes that he is an Ethian, a creature she has been taught is demonic and unnatural.

And in I Am Dragon, Mira makes several discoveries in quick succession: first, she deduces that Arman is actually the dragon. In the next moment, she slips from the island’s peak and falls, saved only when Arman transforms at the last moment and breaks her fall with his dragon form. The water begins to wash over his unconscious body, and at first Mira thinks that she will allow him to drown. But the sight of Arman in his human form after he rescued her, worried over by his animal familiar, stirs her to pity and she wraps him in a sail and drags him to safety. In this way, she clothes him, claiming him as her own.

Each of these heroines discovered a new aspect of her husband at the bath, finding him unexpectedly alluring, and ultimately choosing to begrudgingly claim him. Each animal husband tried to wash away his beastly form, to separate himself from the wild masculine. These men feel a sense of disassociation from a part of themselves, but now that their brides have discovered it, there will be no more hiding. Further, the bride now holds the power in the relationship, evidenced by how her husband needs her: Qimir needs Osha to be his apprentice, Guildford needs Jane to help him “break the curse,” and Arman needs Mira to heal him from his wounds.

Playing House: The Half-Husband

The second feature of these stories is a period of domesticity for the couple. For a brief time after the husband’s beastly nature is revealed, the lovers “play house” like children. While sexual tension is present, they typically do not consummate their union during this time, but instead cook, eat, rest, and care for one another. What’s more, they ignore or even attempt to actively destroy the husband’s animal form. They deny that this is part of him and therefore part of their relationship.

In I Am Dragon, Mira heals Arman, and wakes the next morning to find he has left food for her (dragonfruit, appropriately). Together they begin building a home out of shipwreck debris they find scattered around the island. A cheery montage shows them decorating a living space, choosing clothes, playing music, and dancing. But the specter of Arman’s monstrous form lurks on the edge of their idyllic life. Mira has nightmares, and tells Arman how much she fears “the dragon,” notably not referring to them as the same person. And eventually, it emerges that Mira has been planning to escape, rejecting Arman’s dragon form entirely.

After he sheds the helmet and robes of The Stranger, Qimir turns his attention to caring for Osha: he heals her, lets her sleep in his bed, provides clothes, and cooks for her. In turn, after some lightsaber-wielding, Osha becomes more comfortable in his home and accepts the food he offers, eventually even trying on his helmet. Later, they bicker amiably on their way to Brendok, like an old married couple on a road trip. When not facing down Jedi, Qimir leaves his menacing persona behind and transforms into an empathetic, protective, and alluring partner.

Jane Grey, meanwhile, finds herself using her honeymoon sequestered away in a private cottage to try to cure Guildford of his Ethianism. With her knowledge of medicine, she concocts various potions and magical cures, but none of them succeed. Guildford often checks in on her after these disappointments, making sure she’s getting enough sleep and taking care of herself. It’s also clear that they’ve been regularly dining together when Jane suddenly dashes off to rescue her friend. Guildford follows her and the two protect one another, followed by an almost-tryst. Even when they move into the palace, their day-to-day (or rather night-to-night) life is one of comfortable domesticity, although they continue to deny Guildford’s horse form.

In each of these cases (although less so in The Acolyte without Season 2 to continue the story), playing house can only last for so long while the husband’s animal nature is denied. There is a part of him that is suppressed, rejected, and this leads to him being incomplete, a half-husband. Each hero is unable or unwilling to accept and celebrate his whole self with his bride. Eventually, it is that denial that leads to a rift between the couple, which can only be healed not with the transformation of the husband, but with the embrace of his animal form.

Enforcing Patriarchy: The Rival

Each of these relationships exists in direct opposition to the dominant culture in the story: Arman as the Dragon is the literal enemy of Mira’s people, Qimir as Sith is the enemy of Osha’s Jedi masters, and in My Lady Jane, intermarriage between humans and Ethians is punishable by death. By choosing to stay with their animal husbands, even for a brief time, our heroines are openly defying the patriarchal norms of their societies. But no oppressive society is about to take that transgression lying down. In each story, a rival emerges to enforce the patriarchal order, kill the beastly husband, and retrieve the bride.

In I Am Dragon, Mira’s betrothed and descendent of the dragon-slayer, Igor, journeys to rescue her from the dragon. Over the course of the story, it becomes clear that Igor cares nothing for Mira herself, and merely feels entitled to her as his bride. Dragon-slaying is his heritage, so he must find her, kill the dragon, and take his place as the hero of his people. Even the marriage ceremony illustrates his ownership of her: he takes hold of a rope tied to her boat and reels her in, thus binding her to the patriarchal order. Contrast that to Arman, who offers her the power of flight, a symbol for freedom.

In Osha’s case, Qimir’s rival for her loyalty is clearly Master Sol, who wants to keep his former pupil dependent on him and the Jedi. Sol takes patronizing fatherliness to an extreme, constantly rescuing Osha rather than letting her stand for herself, teaching her to deny her feelings and instincts, and lying to her to “protect” her. The Jedi refuse to allow that there might be any other way to access the Force than their own, thus invading the home of the Brendok witches and ultimately orphaning the twins. Sol continues to press this dominance to the end, challenging Qimir and insisting to Osha that his own lies were justified.

In My Lady Jane, there are two rivals, both women. Lady Frances attempts throughout the show to dominate her daughters and crush their wills, forcing them into unwanted marriages, applying political pressure, and even counseling Jane to abandon Guildford to save herself. The other rival is Mary Tudor, who is determined not only to emulate her father’s violent, oppressive, and misogynistic reign, but to crush anyone she considers “unnatural” or who poses a threat to her rule. These characters stand as clear examples of how women can enforce patriarchy, too.

In each story, there is a moment when the rival briefly recaptures or “rescues” the bride from her beastly husband, bringing her to a moment of decision: will she stay within the bounds of patriarchy like a good little girl? Or will she make an act of defiance to choose her own path?

Marriage: Choosing the Beast

The bride’s choice will ultimately decide not only her fate, but that of her mate as well. As an independent character, the wild masculine is deeply wounded, separated from himself and thus from his bride. He longs to transform not into a greater, more whole person, but into a lesser, half-person. Alone, without the embrace of his anima, he cannot see the value of his beastly form. Instead of healing, he faces annihilation.

As a part of the bride’s psyche, the beastly husband represents her innermost desires, the truth of her heart, and a spirit freed from the expectations of her society. He is her animus, her missing wild masculine. If she transforms him into a man, then she will tame his wild nature, bringing him to heel under the boot of the patriarchy. Choosing the human form and rejecting the beast means rejecting her own psychological needs. It would be just another form of psychic dismemberment.

Fortunately and unusually, each of these modern brides chooses her beastly husband without demanding he transform. When Osha finally agrees to become Qimir’s apprentice, she takes his hand under the willow tree, clasping the newly-bled lightsaber between them. A few scenes later, this wedding imagery is repeated when they hold hands over the saber again, this time looking into a sunrise/set. Notably, at the moment they “marry” under the willow tree, Qimir is wearing his beastly helmet with rows of menacing, wolfish teeth. He has not come to the light side or shed his Dark Side persona, but Osha has embraced him anyway without fear. And while they might not both be healed (yet), they are more whole together than they were apart.

When her efforts to cure Guildford of his Ethianism repeatedly fail, Jane begins to suspect that his “condition” cannot be cured at all. But listening to her Ethian friends Susanna and Archer finally convinces her that the truth is Guildford doesn’t NEED to be healed - being an Ethian is who he is, and it’s nothing to fear. Unfortunately, Guildford still associates his beastly form with his mother’s death, so he is unable to accept it as Jane encourages, and flees. After a near-death experience, he uses his equine speed to return to the castle just as Jane is deposed and captured. As our heroes battle toward the end, Guildford comes to learn that there are many other proud Ethians, and that his family loves and accepts him in any form.

Still, he’s unable to transform at will, and when Mary captures him and sentences both husband and wife to death, it seems their story may end in tragedy. But as Guildford has been struggling to accept himself, Jane too has been battling with her own conscience. Does she renounce Guildford to save herself? Use her wits to kill the guard and escape? Bend to her mother’s manipulation? Jane confronts each temptation, and ultimately chooses to face death rather than betray Guildford or herself. But when her Ethian friends (the wild instinct) appear to disrupt the execution, our heroine seizes the opportunity to rescue Guildford. Unable to free him from the burning pyre, she confesses her love for him, and they kiss amid the flames.

Fire is often a herald of transformation, burning away illusions to reveal the truth. And when Jane and Guildford exchange their vows in this symbolic marriage ceremony, Guildford’s fears and illusions are finally burned away. Now that his bride has accepted his beastly form, he can accept it too, and so he at last transforms at will into a horse so that they can escape. Their story ends with them married and whole before the sunrise.

Among our modern heroines, Mira is the boldest in her embrace of the beastly husband. Offered yet again as a bride to Igor, she realizes that this is not what she wants, and casts off the tether from her boat. She declares “I love the Dragon!” using the name of her husband’s animal form rather than his human name. Then, she sings the song that will call the dragon to her, and he appears to carry her away again.

But their story is not over yet! Earlier in the story, Arman told Mira of how he loses control when in dragon form, and that dragons are compelled to reproduce by burning maidens to death and retrieving their offspring from the ashes. Returning to the island with her a second time, the dragon drops her on the altar and prepares to spew fire, but Mira lunges up and kisses him. This act of love, even when he is a monster, stuns the beastly husband. Again, Mira declares her love and kneels before him, saying she does not wish to be parted. We might expect the animal husband to transform in this moment, but instead he lays his fearsome head in her lap as a lover. Their story ends with a child and a flight in the sky, silhouetted by the sun just like the other couples.

Each bride, when confronted with the option to return to the patriarchal limits of her childhood, chose instead an act of love and acceptance for her wild masculine. This embrace helped the beastly husband to accept his whole self, and he is healed without having to cut off the wild parts of himself.

What Does It Mean?

Again, this story is so rare in world folklore that it’s difficult to even find examples. On fleeting occasions that the woman chooses an untransformed beast, it is presented as a cautionary tale. These women are framed as a danger to the community for their bestial impulses and abandonment of the social order, much like witches who were said to consort with the devil. It was certainly never presented as a happy ending, insofar as we can tell from written accounts.

So what does the emergence of this tale mean for our culture? I would argue that this is just the latest step in our ongoing reckoning with historic gender roles, as well as renegotiating with other forms of systemic oppression. People of all genders are pressured to reject a part of ourselves, cutting us off from our own truth and desires that run counter to the enforced social order. We must not challenge patriarchy, must not embrace different gender expressions, must not blur established hierarchies of power, must not find joy and power in our identities, and so on.

This enforced denial does tremendous damage to everyone caught in the system, and so through story, we dream our way to escape. We dream of embracing the dark, wild parts of ourselves, of flying free on a spaceship or a dragon or enchanted horseback, and of being totally loved for who we are.

It’s clear patriarchy is still fighting back against this emancipation of the wild feminine and wild masculine, given that both The Acolyte and My Lady Jane were canceled not long after their release. In the case of The Acolyte in particular, there was a sustained campaign from its announcement to harass and silence the creators. Demoralizing as this phenomenon may be, it’s important to remember WHO ultimately owns these stories:

“Fanfiction is a way of the culture repairing the damage done in a system where contemporary myths are owned by corporations instead of owned by the folk.

-Henry Jenkins, NYT 1997

Ah, an oldie-but-goodie. But Dr. Jenkins is right. Corporations may greenlight, film, release, and then cancel these stories, but ultimately they belong to the people. We take from these tales what speaks to us, leave what does not, and then retell them ourselves in fanfiction, in art inspired by the stories, and in lessons we pass on to our friends and families. If the embrace of the wild masculine speaks to you, let the story take root in your own life. Do you know someone who needs to be embraced, just as they are? Do you need to accept the parts of yourself that society tells you to hate? Do you want to be free, healed, and whole?

If so, then let these stories show you how, and tell more like them. Embrace the beast, and find your joy.

Sources:

Beauty and the Beast Tales From Around the World by Heidi Anne Heiner

In Search of the Swan Maiden: A Narrative on Folklore and Gender by Barbara Fass Leavy

And a relevant song for you, as a treat:

Women Who Run With the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype by Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Ph.D.

[rainbowsillz]

Could I maybe ask for your take on how the dorm leaders react to their SO playing with their hair (and their ears/horns when it comes to Leona/Malleus)?

I love your writing! 💜

“How are you so carefree with this? I swear you are full of surprises..”

Pairings: Multiple Characters X GN! Reader.

-*-

Note: Sure! Thanks for this request(*^o^*)✨ I admit I got a bit lazy so no Vil and Idia qwq.

RIDDLE was near to conjuring his signature magic with you, and he was very tempted to it when he felt a hand tucking a strand of his ruby hair behind the back of his ear until his eyes met yours. The howling snarl in his mind settled when he downed his cup of tea. In an attempt to remind himself. What kind of person would he be if he loses his conduct with a spouse of his because of his mania? And because you informed him how much he was as exquisite as if he was a prince from a mythology you heard from.

LEONA was generally meh with it. Just don't touch his tail, 'kay? Or else, he'll be making you his pillow for the rest of his evening. Let's say, you're lucky to be his mate because if it's the others, he'd probably flip with this blunder, deemed it as an annoyance for him. He's also extremely prideful with your display of affections and reassuring words, it somewhat feeds into his ego that at least he's number one in your opinion (unlike that damned lizard). It means a lot to him even if you are as dense as a rock or something too.

AZUL has an intriguing reaction. Internally, he's kicking his feet and beaming like a high-school boy interacting with his crush, how about external wise from your point of view? Gripping his coat, as he forced another customer service smiling face (that looks unnatural) as if he wasn't on the urge to hide himself in his octopus pot. Does that mean you'll marry him? Is this a yes? He's delusional. Not that I would blame him, he's overjoyed after all. From his tone, he seemed to be okay with these gestures...?

KALIM behaved as you'd guess. Zero hesitation. Poke his forehead? Go ahead. Hold hands? Wonderful. I wholeheartedly believe that he would encourage you to because it means that you were at ease with his presence. Easy to talk him into your sort of thing (while Jamil suffered). With how dazzling and happy-go-lucky he is, you wouldn't have the heart to refuse him either. He jumped up and dragged you to his drawer as he motioned you to pick out a brush so you could use it on him as you wished.

MALLEUS was ecstatic, that wouldn't be enough to describe him. For you, it may be due to your own curiosity or you being adventurous with the said fae, his pupils intently gazing into you. Is this how humans express their emotions? What's the underlying meaning? Too invested in his thoughts at this time. You ran your fingers along the curve, sturdy and bony sprouts on his height. Amusement was creeping on his features as he let out a chortle at it. How brave. You differ from everything he knew of, aren't you?

[misctf]

Someone Like Him

When Dan’s good friend moved out to take a job in another state, the young man was devastated. Not only because he missed his friend, but because the next rent check was coming due. And despite having a good job in sales, the extra cost this month would set him behind. So when Amir had answered his ad online, he was elated. But flashforward a few months and Dan was slowly losing his patience.

“Your room reeks dude, could you do your laundry?” “Your plates are piling up and you spilled your protein powder all over the kitchen, can you clean it up?” “Could you be a bit more quiet when you bring guys over?” And Amir would just nod and tell him to chill out.

And so Dan was finding himself doing the cleaning, keeping up as best he could while managing his stressful job, while Amir seemed to be living his best life- partying, working out, and thriving at a job as a personal trainer. And Dan was getting tired of it. As he lay in bed, kept awake by the moans of the man Amir was fucking in the other room, he grew more frustrated.

“How is he this fucking inconsiderate?” Dan mumbled, “I wish he’d fucking know what it’s like to live with someone like him.”

As those words left his lips, he felt a sudden searing pain well up from within his abdomen. Dan flipped over, falling off his bed and gripping his abdomen tightly, the pain slowly subsiding. Tears in his eyes, Dan pushed himself up against his bed, panting heavily, a cold sweat soaking through his clothes as a heat welled up inside of him. Slowly, he pulled his shirt and pants off, basking in the cool air of his room. He looked down at his stomach- hairless, pale, and skinny in the dim light that creeped in through his window. Nothing looked out of the ordinary.

“What was that?” he whispered, as he rubbed his sore abdomen with his hand. His large, tan hand. Dan’s eyes widened and he lifted his hand, staring at it closely. It looked unnatural at the end of his skinny pale arm, and as he flexed his meaty fingers, he felt an aching sensation course down his arm, “No, no, no! What the fuck?!” He shouted.

He watched as the darker tan traveled down his arm and the muscles in forearm begin to contract. His arm swelled and the muscles in his forearm became more pronounced, only to be blanketed in swirling dark itchy hairs. The young man groaned as the same feeling started in his other hand, which quickly began to expand. Dan cursed as his biceps and triceps contracted before violently expanding, the muscle toned and refined. He looked down at them in shock, unable to process what he was seeing. He was always called a beanpole growing up and throughout college. Now he had arms that could rival any of the guys on the football team. Arms that must’ve seen the gym frequently. Arms that he realized must look ridiculous on his pale and skinny body. But his worry was unwarranted as he felt his shoulders begin to expand and fill with muscle, causing his frame to widen. The muscles in his upper back followed suit, contracting and expanding, causing his body to widen.

“It hurts...” He moaned, a few tears falling down his face. He let out a yelp as he felt his torso seemingly expand, taking him from a modest 5’8” to 6’0.

He tried to push himself up- he needed to get help. But another round of muscle contractions knocked him onto his larger back. This time his pectorals and abs contracted violently. First his pecs began to swell, at first with only a little muscle, but then more quickly- expanding and growing. They became more toned as the skin turned tan and matched that of his arms and back. His abs were next, each one popping forward one at a time- becoming larger and more defined. His obliques followed suit, becoming toned and defined- giving him a set of abdominal muscles any man would dream of. But Dan couldn’t help but feel this was a nightmare. The cold sweat that covered him and the soreness that radiated throughout his upper body was too much. And before he could even catch his breath, the intensity of that itching returned. It started in his chest- hair emerging from each follicle before lengthening, darkening, and curling around his once bare chest. His lifted his arms as his pits filled with dark and curly hair. He watched, amazed at how long and dark his new pit hair was becoming. And when he caught a whiff of the musk that now emanated from them, he quickly lowered his arms, feeling tears run down his eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” He breathed out- it was like he just ran a marathon and hadn’t showered for several days or worn deodorant.

Before he could fully process the new smell wafting from his pits, the itching returned- this time to his abdomen. A dark treasure trail emerged, running down to his light, well shaven pubes at the base of his cock. And once it reached there, all thoughts about his new size and smell were replaced with pleasure.

“Oh fuck yeahhhh...” Dan moaned, his large hand wrapping around his small dick.

He gave it a few tugs, and felt his dick harden to his usual 5 inches. With each tug, he felt his member lengthen. And to his pleasure, he felt his cock widen with each pump, filling his large hand more and more. Overcome by the pleasure he let go, breathing heavily while his new 13inch dick remained painfully erect. He looked down at the new python between his legs, his eyes widening as his previously cut cock became wrapped in foreskin, the pleasure nearly causing him to black out. But when he looked again, he was shocked- it was massive- putting his old dick to shame. Not to mention much darker as the skin around his upper legs similarly darkened. He let out another moan as his ass inflated with muscle, lifting him slightly off the ground. But his pleasure came to an end as he felt an intense cramping in his feet and legs. He looked down at his feet, he could see that they were also expanding, quickly increasing from size 10 to 11 and then to 13. He winced as more hairs pushed themselves out along his feet and as his legs similarly began to contract. The muscle in his calves and thighs expanded rapidly, before toning and becoming covered in a thick layer of dark leg hair. Dan watch through tears as his skin darkened there as well, until each pale patch on his body had been replaced by a rich caramel. And finally, his body and its muscles relaxed, although his new python remained painfully and pleasurably erect.

“Okay, it’s over, it over.” Dan reassured himself, pushing his new muscular body up.

He felt unbalanced on his new larger legs and he stumbled a bit towards the mirror in his room. And in the mirror staring back at him was a body of an absolute beast. Hairy, muscular, taller- his new dick twitched slightly and continued to leak. He gently rubbed his pecs, feeling the hairy between his new large fingers, taking in his new size. But his head remained unchanged, the pale skin of his thin neck and clean shaven face was completely off from what the rest of him had become. He rubbed a hand through his matted and sweaty hair, taking a deep breath. But when he looked down at his hand, his eyes widened. He was holding a clump of his hair. And when he looked up, more of his locks fell from his head.

“Am I going bald?” He questioned, rubbing his hair more and watching it fall out.

But before he could even fully register that, the pain returned, this time in his neck. He fell to his knees and watched as his neck expanded with muscle, becoming wider and wider. He could barely keep his eyes open as his face began to change. He watched as his jaw expanded, taking on a typical lantern jaw appearance, while his head expanded and matched the size of his new body appropriately. His soft features hardened and became rough, while his eyes shifted from a light brown to a dark brown. Finally, as his skin began to darken even more, he watched as hair sprouted from the top of his head, mostly shaved at the side, while a thick beard sprouted from his once clean shaven face. At this moment, a realization hit him hard. The face staring back at him in the mirror was none other than Amir. And any trace of his old physique was finally gone.

“No.... no way.” He whispered, his voice deepening and taking on a slight middle eastern accent, “Why? Why am I Amir?”

He looked over his body, a feeling of dread passing over him. This couldn’t be happening. As he racked his brain for reasons, he felt his stomach drop. Was it that stupid wish? This isn’t what he meant! But as he tried to think of anything he could do, he felt another throb of pleasure coming from his dick. And another, and then another. He fell to his bed, moaning in his deep baritone, matching the sounds the real Amir was making in the other room. He gripped his new monster and with new vigor began to stroke. Without thinking too much, he lifted his arm, again getting hit by the smell of his own musk. But this time it was different- he didn’t dislike how it smelled. In fact, it smelled kinda good. Like actually really good. He smiled and took in a deep whiff, his mind in complete bliss from his own musk. It was all starting to make sense now- Amir wasn’t inconsiderate. How could Dan have expected Amir to deprive himself of such an intense musk? And if he wanted to maintain that musk, he’d need to workout. How could he have time to clean up after himself? He had to prioritize. Dan nodded in agreement at his own thoughts, all while moving his large hand faster up and down along his dick. And that was another thing too! A dick this large needed to be shared with the world. This body needed to be shared with the world. All other things were trivial- his job, his education, his friends, his interests. All he needed was the gym and sex. He listened to the men in the other room moaning and let out a moan of his own. The sound of Amir dominating another man- it made so much sense. And slowly, Dan felt his interest in women shift. Instead, skinny guys with big asses danced through his mind. Having them suck him off or him plowing their asses caused Dan to moan even louder. And finally, after a night filled with pleasure and pain, his breathing hitched and Dan released his load. His dick throbbing- load after load landing across his chest. After a few minutes of lying in bed, nearly having blacked out from the pleasure, Dan forced himself out of bed, rubbing his cum across his large hairy chest and abdomen. He grabbed his cellphone and quickly texted his boss that he was quitting his job at the sales firm, before blocking him. What did he care anyway? As he walked towards the door, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and smirked.

“Good looking guy.” He chuckled.

His attention shifted when he heard their front door close. He smirked- Amir wasn’t interested in any of that cuddling BS after a good fuck. Dan entered the living room where he came face to face with a shirtless Amir. The other man looked confused, taking in what essentially was a mirror image of himself, except this one was covered in dried cum and completely naked. Amir raised his eyebrow.

“Well hey there, aren’t you handsome.” Amir smirked taking in the sight, “But who are you exactly?” He continued to look over the man and started trying to put two and two together, “Wait, Dan? Is that you?”

Dan chuckled and he seemed to ponder it a bit. Who was he exactly? Who did he want to be? The name Dan- the very idea of being Dan- didn’t really seem to fit him anymore. He shrugged and looked at his twin.

“I guess I was Dan once, but I feel more like Amir.”

“Wait but dude, I’m Amir.” The two stared at each other, both trying to think through their dilemma. Their brains were mostly geared for sex and working-out, this was almost too much for them. And why should it matter? Wasn’t this the best thing for both of them? The real Amir finally cracked, fully accepting their new predicament, “You know what dude! That’s fucking awesome!” The two fist bumped, “I think I’ll call you AJ since ya know we share the same last name too.”

And AJ smiled, the two of them fist bumping as he fully embraced his new identity.

A week had passed since Dan became Amir, and the two of them were living their best life. Amir had let AJ borrow some of his clothes in the meantime given that all of Dan’s old stuff was too small on him. AJ didn’t mind that none of it was washed or anything, fully enjoying the musky smell. They had spent the last week removing any old memories, photos, and possessions that Dan had, making room for AJ’s new interests. Maybe at times AJ felt a pang of resistance somewhere from within his psyche, but he never had a hard time suppressing it. Especially as the apartment became messier and messier, the smell always provided some comfort to AJ. Amir also helped AJ find a new job as a personal trainer, which wasn’t too difficult. In fact, the two had just finished up an intense workout. AJ couldn’t help but snap a photo of the two of them. And if you asked, both he and Amir had to admit, it was in fact great to live with one another.

[anantaru]

THREE SECONDS

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — as your relationship was ready to take the next step, itto wanted you to meet his granny who had raised him for the majority of his life and was beyond thrilled to show you where he grew up in as a child, or especially how cozy his old bedroom seemed to be.

— ꒰ a/n ꒱ — this fic stems from a little thirst i wrote a while ago and since i adored that idea so so much i just had to make a whole one shot for it, didn’t expect it to get so long though, still, enjoy! <3

— ꒰ word count ꒱ — 5.9k

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ex]plicit, fem! reader, messy, whiny itto but also rough itto, riding, fingering, he's insatiable, the horny took him hostage, slight size difference (i mean he's huge), semi! public + his granny is next door preparing dinner.

arataki itto, the one, the only— a man, who could never be easily defeated in the eyes upon his very self.

by the same token, he, in no circumstances regarded anything as a real believed problem which he would have to face in his life sooner or later on, to a higher notice, was he someone who'd pick out the clear positive in most heeded aspects and proceed to give his furthermost, unswerving best.

for you, he was everything and anything, all at once. The bordering, ingrained proximity between you both could have been esteemed like a mind altering drug— neither of you was marginally capable to keep a distance between each other, not when your relationship carried on to bring forth the best of your abilities.

arataki itto— the love of your life, your soulmate, a man who, to the actual core, triumphantly won your heart and sung a promise to protect it from danger of any kind.

be that as it may, tonight, your entire relationship had all gotten a different meaning in his life because of an undisclosed exponent, itto came into hazardous contact with his first real enemy in a long time— the name of the weighty villain was well known, ponderously soliloquized upon the brimming nations of teyvat, the revolting mischief;

anxiety.

now, to remain logical and give the full picture— today was the prized day where you were going to lastly make acquaintance with the person who had raised him for the larger number of his being— his granny, who graciously took him in as a little oni and fondly watched after him with peerless faith and love in this world.

and despite that, unbeknownst to itto, you were, without no holds barred, feeling the same level of distress. It wasn't unnatural to sought after such a devoted step in a relationship— on the flip side can it become undoubtedly frightening and alarming, singularly when it was a striking indicator to remark just how dead serious you both conceived your relationship and its fancied continuance.

when the evening befell the nation of inazuma in its brilliant illustrious artistry, you had met up with your timid boyfriend to then, fidgety stride to his grannies small sized house which had been a partially shade far outside of inazuma city.

your zooming thoughts— like cannon balls, were in abysmal need of required relaxation, in reality, you truly had no reason to be this frightened because even though you had never met her prior to this day, you heard nothing but subliming wonderful deeds about the woman in question, her accepting care and understandings, the way she did not see any differences in humans and oni— viewing them as equal.

"hey no sleeping!" itto suddenly barks, "wait wait are you feeling sick? we can turn around and sit for a while." oh, he sounds nervous but you insist you're fine, because truthfully, you had just reached your destination and you won't be defeated by something as insignificant as nervousness— it's alright, yet you wonder if your hands could please stop sweating so much? ignore it ignore it, there's no way back now.

in front of the door made of otogi wood, your boyfriend lessened his handsome face to meet you, holding your pretty eyes with his diamond shaped pupils. You easily allow yourself permission to cross the fleeting words in your thoughts to run over his question, what he had asked was indeed chucklesome, in a way that you weren't for certain if the spelled out sentence was solely pointed towards your person or if he was in reality questioning himself. "yes i'm alright— are you though?"

the jocular idea of turning around did not cross your mind, not when you came this far and speaking forthcomingly, the pronounced concern on itto's scrunched expression was much larger and dignified than your own, yet despite that, said tangible worry wasn't one bathed in hesitancy or doubts, more— in an enthusiastic procedure that you were, at last, meeting such an important person in his life.

"of- of course i am!" he blabbers, "do i not look okay?!" yeah.. he must be thoroughly relaxed, right? that must be the obvious case, though he was actively waving his hand in the air— yet in front of his cheeks, he made sure he's covering himself, so you wouldn't get a singular chance to catch him blush in a full scarlet pitch, "why— why the hell shouldn't i be?"

"you seem nervous." you bluntly stated but teased, firmly deepening the eye contact and archons, how flustered itto could become when you won't tear your enthralling eyes off him, "— or scared." you carry on to unfitly taunt your lover, sneakily drawing down a firm grin but leaving your brows quirked up light heartedly, "whenever you're experiencing one of those two emotions, your voice gets a little higher, you know?"

"wha-" he interjects, "it doesn't!" for a crisp second, itto came to terms with his graspable frame of mind— because why should he hide his agitation from you? and then the straightforward tension that had been viciously eating him up from the inside out ceased to exist, "not true!" now, come now, "not me!" it had blurred itself out when he got ruminated with a sudden contagious laugh from you while caressing his arm to soothe his worries once more.

"yeah, i can see that." these are some mean turn of events to play with your boyfriends sensitive feelings like that, he figured, so he let his strong hands shelter your soft cheeks in a heart beat, "i'm never scared of anything." he's unnerved, back to his confident self.

"never ever ever, in a million ever never years!"

"you're crazy." you laugh and offer him a signature smile, freely blustering out a sheltered breath as you humanely lean into his left palm— itto flashes you his pearly white teeth and his thumb was lightly tapping on your plump bottom lip before placing a sensual kiss on top.

curiously enough, he never missed the chance to do that, to flip his thumb over your lips with a large smile, so he could lead you through what he was originally planning to do— to smooth you.

"lets get moving m'lady." he refrains, behaving a split amount differently, in all respects energized, "we're already in front of the door."

"you know what i meant!" he pipes up in an immediate rebuttal while angrily stomping his feet on the ground, banteringly pinching your hip, "ouch!" you loudly squeak out in surprise but itto was quicker— because he directly then knocked on the wooden door so you couldn't get back at him without letting his granny see it too.

his coruscating eyes, they expectantly bunch up while actively awaiting for his granny to open the large door to his childhood home, the place, were no matter what past memories, whether good or bad, had been crafted.

"dear, is that you itto?" you paid attention to an older ladies puny asserting voice upon a small space between door and frame, revealed was a short and on the face of it, feeble woman, appearing from behind. "granny! oh granny!" itto loudly cheers and muses, "you sure took your time granny!" this was an all in all cherished attribute you treasured about itto's entire personality— while surely, it by no means has been spread amongst the crowds that he was known for his loud and sparkling persona, but observing his innocent delight when encountered with his parental figure, openly fostered a total gladden in you— it's because you love him, just how he was.

in redirected regard of your own self, you didn't dare to move a single inch— as if frozen to the cold ground, though be that as it may, you could proceed with your reasoning and refer to it as the 'not well regarded accessory' to your continuous pestering tenseness that wickedly sauntered through head to toe.

but on a positive note, it was beneficial enough for itto to be this tall and large in comparison to your own frame, meaning you were capable to easily slip behind his back in hiding.

"this is who i've been telling you about." damn it, a genuine smile plucked the outer region of his lips as he largely stepped aside to reveal you like a gift from the heavens, his hands embarrassingly pointing towards you.

before you can say anything at all, itto had gladly taken over the role of the awkward introduction process himself and introduced you to his lovely granny.

again, thanks to the electro archon for your perfect boyfriend.

"it is such a deep pleasure of meeting you, dear." whatever it may be now, the woman conveyed an immediate tranquillizing quell which had brightly subdued your tensed muscles. "the pleasure really is all mine, miss!" extending your hand to her, she slowly lunged forward to shake it as you introduced yourself again.

now, in retrospect, this entire time, you had been tremendously nervous— highly strung, repeatedly shifting in your shuddering stance from left foot to right foot, right foot to left foot, though now, as you walked into her small home— with itto being a gentleman and closing the door shut behind you both, you at present had felt like you were truly welcomed in her abode.

(major mental sticker for the next time: don't let the useless negativity consume your goddamn mind, okay?)

well, back to business.

throughout the time, itto's sizable hand was, no matter what, situated solidly on the region above your behind, lovingly stationed on your lower back while he guided you to the homely warm and restful living room.

when you listlessly skimmed through the many decorations of the place, you discovered a framed picture of itto as a child next to his granny, it wasn't difficult to see their emotions through the stilled memory, both were marvelously happy and utterly fulfilled— grateful, with a squishy onikabuto plushie being sponged and pressed into itto's chest.

how long have you been staring at the frame? you can't recall, but fortunately to you, you got drawn back to the present reality when your boyfriend pinched your arm. His grandma— such a warm hearted lady, had affectionately assembled two beverages meant for you as she further beckoned you two to take a seat on the mellow couch.

"this is quite embarrassing." she weirdly was in a panicked stance about something rather awful, even going as far as to idly enclose her slender arms around herself, shaking, "what is it granny? are you sick?"

itto pucks himself into the seat with concern, yet striving to stand up right again and aid her in whatever was the critical problem at hand, "oh no! dear." she worrisomely shakes her head and her cheeks irradiated a scarlet tint, "but the dinner isn't ready yet!"

"that's all?!" itto exhales enormously from his chest— to a greater extent, one could say he was about to pass out from the thought of having something serious happen without him being in on it. Despite your rocky state of emotions from beforehand, you were now hopeful and viewed this polished opportunity as your sweet time to shine.

"can i be of help?" you bring forth self assured confidence in your tone color, "i might not be as skilled as you but i can try!" sliding the glass back on the coffee table, you were ready to get up and aid in the kitchen— it was not a big deal and you were always happy to help, especially when it was someone who was regarded as the closest family member to your boyfriend.

having said that, the wishing reply you had longed for, wasn't actually what happened, "there's no need dear." she sweetly giggled around her words, being truly flustered to the core by your sweet attempt to help her out, pretty much warming up with you already— you were lovely in her eyes, "and i'm certain itto desperately wants to show you around, isn't that right?"

you, of course, won't argue with that, "so damn right!" itto was full of happiness, and now, he's pushing himself up from his seat, additionally inviting you over to grab onto his hand so he could lead you around everything, "there's much to show after all!" with your hands quietly placed on your thighs, you feel nothing but giddy and take his palm, but rationally, you'd rather spend time with her so you could get to know her better.

that certainly was the best idea, but inside of you, the sultry skittish feeling of watching itto like that— so happy and excited, was priceless in your very eyes, maybe ... you could sneak in a few fleeting kisses before having to come back, hmmm, this does sound quite bewitching now, doesn't it?

on the way out of the living room, you were met once again with objects from his past, all pridefully shown and displayed around the tiny corridor he was leading you in. Next, on the very left, you found yourself in front of a wooden door that wasn't like any other, it was, quite frankly, messed up with what seemed to be symbols clumsily drawn on with a bunch of pencils— very itto typical, you humbly added.

"there we go." he's so excited, happy, euphoric— are there any other ways to possibly describe his emotions right now because in itto's perspective none of them were doing it justice, "the room of a real oni!"

"aww!" you accept the entry and let him close the door, leaving you both sheltered in place. his room was bigger than you had actually expected; a small, cleaned bed lovingly decorated with two larger plushies on top— one specifically caught your eyes, it was the same one that you saw earlier on the picture with his grandma, the onikabuto exemplar, while the other was funnily resembling a ruin guard of some sorts?

without much to say, both were worn off, he must've played with them in his childhood days.

"what do you think?" he quirks a brow, "to be honest, i was a little worried it wouldn't do me justice." you roll your eyes in the back of your head, what a guy.

at the prospect of being quite the stunner at taunting or playing with your boyfriend, you breathe out euphorically before speaking again, "the bed is so tiny, how little you were itto!"

"tiny?! it's not tiny!" he stomps forward, "this isn't tiny! or is it?"

was this the beginning of a heated debate? not really, but maybe a little. to elaborate himself further without requiring words, itto was swift and eager to carelessly wind away the dear plushies to awkwardly drop his wholeness onto the frail bed and archons— let it be known that the old woman outside had trouble hearing because those damned squeaking sounds were violent, dropping off the walls with an intensity you haven't heard before.

was itto about to break the bed? no no, you suppose. hopefully not.

"looky looky." he thoughtlessly leans back into the silken cushions but props himself up with his elbows so his pretty view on you would turn out even prettier, "it's large, just like me." — how can this man be for real sometimes, you wonder, snorting out a silly laugh on how impossibly comical he looked right now, with the majority of his legs hanging out of the bed frame.

"it sure does." you feign your engaging sentencing, silently getting close and walking towards him to sit, somewhere— which, uh, wasn't possible because he took the entire space.

literally, how could he not?

so, instead, you had, emphasizing heavily on the 'had', resulted to therefore straddling his hips with your thighs on each side of him. You're leaning forward and to that— your dress instantly responded with unknowingly pining up and revealing more of your smooth legs. Due to this unseen course of events, itto thumbed down entirely, now laying flat with you mounting on top.

the shallow heave that unbuttons from his throat when you declined your head to sweetly plant a semi innocent kiss on his lips, it was overflowing with tension, beyond wishing, so he leaned in— one kiss, two, one more? perhaps a couple.

in a profound refrain, you found yourself relaxed, making out with itto, still largely gentle and shy— if only he wouldn't have began to skim over your body with his hands, up and down in circles, his palms were seizing the movements of you, heatedly glissading over your exposed skin until looming them further back to greedily grab a fistful of your flesh and knead your ass to drag you close.

on purpose or not? but your cunt was now directly brushing on top of his member.

"mmh." you inaudibly whimper into his mouth as you coincidentally rub down on his groin, "ah— i'm sorry." he speaks and unexpectedly drags your pussy over his hidden cock. "fuck-" normally, you're so so careful— fuck, you wouldn't, right? do it on purpose, never.

amusing, you, as a matter of action, did not miss how tensed up itto was, how overwhelmed with the budding pressure in his pants.

how ... he was in his old bedroom, giving his almost painfully growing erection the thing it desired, from you, his cute darling. His breathing had been erratic while his digits further altered your flesh to keep you stilled but surely pressed right on top of his swelling cock.

rationality, here we go, "w-wwwait." his cheeks had a sudden burn with an equal amount of both a higher consciousness of euphoric bliss and clear embarrassment, itto figures that— archons, he might already be done for, the 'little' problem in his pants, how was he supposed to get rid of it before dinner?

"sorry." you cheekily coo and bit your lip back at him, "but you're comfy." cozily wrapping your arms around his neck, maybe another kiss will do it, so you sloppily go down and pull away with a sharp tug on his lower lip. You smile, although sheepish, "we should get up." and whisper the evident.

but unmistakably, if you would've acted out on what you were manifesting, or that you were more than certain you had wholly slicked up your thin panties by now— sensing them stick on your core, you would've blindingly leaned in to whatever you were attempting to do this second.

"wait." oh? this tone was different and you liked it— remembering the cause of it too. Much deeper was the timbre and not in his usual airless color, because itto was dead serious in his shaking utterance, a single word demonstrated a devilish command, "i'm a little—" you follow his eyes with your own and watch the mess in between your sticked together bodies— your dress had been draped up even more and was now pressed up, resting right above the beginning of your ass while itto's pants were extremely tight.

he embarrassingly looks up at you with hesitancy, "oh you know- i think i need a second." and he forcefully exhales his words from his tight chest, "but you are- fantastic." and prolongs his trembling heave right after, "and warm." while he closes his eyes, only a short amount because he had to catch your hips and stop them when you tried to move.

"what are you?!" he groans so loud, too loud— shameless, as you were quick to shush his noisy tongue with your hand clutched around his needy mouth, "shhh, don't talk." you coo, "don't say anything." and he listens carefully, with wide opened eyes, nervously gulping down the assembled saliva, "let me help you out, okay baby?"

finally, fucking finally, he thought, "c-careful." itto mumbles into your hand as you used your other to clumsily open up his pants— pulling down his, with pre cum drowned, boxers, at last freeing his erect cock that was plopping out of the garments.

it's heavy, shading red and the deep blue'ish broad veins on the underside of his girth left nothing left for imagination— your mouth practically watered at the filthy, sinful sight, but it's so tasteful and you wanted to please him right away, maybe suck him off and let him fuck your face, but now— not now, his grandma was literally in the next room and preparing dinner for you, right, almost forgotten!

lets just get this quickly over with and help your handsome boyfriend with his not so little problem— later on there was still additional time, you can always fuck at home, real messy and loud— leaving yourself to him so he was able to pump his seed into you and let it ooze out again.

"ah- baby." his voice sounded impatient and a bit whiny, "it hurts." he grits his teeth and his cheeks burn up, he lifts his hips and softly grinds into you while keeping you down, his face was incredibly red and even the tip of his ears had now visualized the exact same color. There's no way he didn't spend time to think about it too— about the shared fantasy, about pistoling his cock deep into your spongy cunt, it makes him question himself if he can actually pull it off, in this small room with the bed squeaking at every move.

the delirious flutter was risky, but worth it?

"okay, you know what?" he spills out, chasing more relief, "just the tip." he whines, "only the tip, please!" you curiously readjust yourself to rut your cunt on him— on the brink of turning brainless yourself. "you know we wouldn't stop." but the mental image of his tip splitting you roughly had you close your legs around his body, shoving your pussy on his bare cock again.

"but it hurts-" and you shake your head, just wanting to scream that it hurts you too, "i know baby but we can't."

one hundred percent a bad idea— that's what it was in an outer perspective, but how could you ignore his mushroom tip leaving itself get messed up by your arousal— how now, he nudged himself into the flimsy material of your panties to rub his length within your folds, spreading them apart, loving your wet cunt, "five seconds." you can barely hear him say it, "just five seconds." archons, where were the infamous rational thinking skills when you were in dire need of them?

fuck this, rightfully so, "three." now, you start to bargain for the tasteful prize, "four." and itto was determinedly stammering right back at you while his mouth was still covered by your hand. You both cannot believe each other, truly, how desperately needy you were, at this point barely caring anymore when he slowly bumped his drenched cock into your pussy— your underwear by now fully slipped to the side.

"three seconds!" — "oh man .. fine."

you drop your weight before he could finish his words, catching him so off guard was rare in it's own glorious state and you‘re taking his tip further, making the man underneath you deeply groan into your hand. "shut up itto!" you laugh and embarrassingly snort a little, "i'm sorry!" this whole lively situation had a comical sense to it because when else are you fucking your boyfriend in his old bedroom— in a bed that was way too small for any of you, but maybe that's the fun part of being this close together, fusing your skins as one.

you go silent, overwhelmed and shaking, to counter attack your natural body reactions you forcefully bite down on your bottom lip to withstand the upcoming moans, "fuck, fuck!" for comfort, you lean into him as his tip naturally slips in and out of your warm pussy, in and out, in and out, catching a glimpse of his already hooded eyes. "only the tip." you jokingly repeat, "mhm the tip." he moans back into your hand while you felt him drool on you— because there you were flaunting your tits at him, rigidly pressing them into his chest with your pointy nipples finding friction.

itto shuts his eyes on the sprouting frustration closing around his belly, "mhm, i can't believe this." he almost laughs, as if to ease you both down in his own silly ways, "me neither." he further molds his hands over your hips to hold you in a precise way. Truthfully, your trembling thighs were burning and sore, firmly splattered with arousal and exposed to him.

the position you were currently in wasn't kind to you, if anything it was becoming harder to remain focused so you wouldn't end up suckling in more inches without realizing.

you carefully move away your hand and give him enough space to breathe more sizable and damn— the sight in front of you was a fucking longed one, downright unreal, it wasn't able to be somewhat framed or painted into words.

itto whatsoever, his face had spiraled into complete redness, granted, he was trying his utmost finest to be good and not greedy, though the punishing demonstrated fantasy of bulging his cock into your sensitivity was always there— his shaking hands clearly giving it away.

"ah- this is awesome!" itto clears his throat and needfully runs his knuckles over your skin, reaching your behind— two of his fingers ran down to your folds to spread them and leave him with more room to stay inside, "yeah.. this is better." he heaves and you whine because it really does feel better that way— you've been plenty wet by now and if you weren't this patient, you surely would've fucked him into oblivion by now.

you hide your pleased face in his neck, "i can't believe we're doing this." and admit, arching your back a little (for good measure) before slowing one of your hands over his damp forehead where a couple of his hair strands were sticking onto, due to the excessive amount of sweat, "i think I'm dreaming!" though it's stupefying, itto gladly relishes in the smug satisfaction, claiming you one inch further, a bulged type of sweet and honeyed pride was delivered when he let you do it— slurp up one more inch, ambling his hips differently for a finer angle.

you kiss itto's lips to soothe his gravelly groans, in addition to your own squeaky huffed out cries— he's so big and heavy that when you move just a little, it's as if he's strapping you off every single inch of control in your body, as if he's, on purpose, targeting the plushy splotches in your walls.

you grab onto another inch as he passionately groans into your mouth— more please more, bracing yourself, letting his tongue run free into yours, he continues it, pitching his hips further and spreads his thighs to rub you into him while his eyes flicker with lust and so do yours.

you just cannot think straight anymore, it's not possible nor required, you are so fucking fucked right now, both deliriously good and blazingly bad.

itto thinks it still isn't enough, his big cock was tingling in your walls and it should be criminal on how fucking fine your closed insides were, ravenously bordering on him and gripping him— it doesn't even compare to other instances in his life because you both couldn't keep your hands to yourself and wanted to straight up— lose your minds and bodies.

a hiss spills from his throat and it appears like your legs are about to give up on you— your tits too, bounce in tune to your actions and surge eminent bliss into your veins. You find yourself entranced when he crowds you and your toes curl at another easy shove forward.

the painstakingly grab on your hips was to leave bruises, his knuckles turning white and his dick shimmers with your arousal that you sink down further.

you adjust and squeeze around him, bending over when breaking off the kiss, your wet lips twitching in a shameless grin as itto chuckled right under you. The lower side was rammed with your transparent liquids puffing out your pussy— itto's eyes were blown wide and he makes sure to always remember to stretch your ass while you look so adorable above him, creaming on his cock that was now completely clashed into you.

hold on.

what happened to the three stated seconds? or just the tip?

three or none, oh no— not this, please no, archons above please send us mercy because how much fucking time has passed since you started this succulent and mouthwatering gamble?

"fuck— just like that." itto mouths without a single care behind those eyes, "you're the prettiest baby, you know that?" he lifts himself into you and turns the bed into nothing more than a squeaky noisy problem. It could've turned out real embarrassing if not one of you had turned on your hazy braincells.

"itto wait!" you foolishly whine, "shit, too loud!" he bottoms out and smacks his balls into you, remembering the obscene situation as the bed loudly creaked. "shit, shit shit." your mouth clashes onto his with saliva bubbling out of the outer parts of your lips. Yet you don't stop, instead you grind your pretty cunt on him and smear his filth over your soft walls.

"do you think?" you're concerned for the obvious, stilling yourself, "no no, don't worry baby." itto speaks up, "are you sure? we were very loud right now." he captures your body in between his arms to twitch inside your core, you on the other hnd never adjusted to his large dick— you just couldn't stop pulsing on his length, it's swilled with your liquids. "i got you, i'm sure she didn't hear anything."

while you do want to place your greatest trust into him, you weren't stupid, but amidst the sinfulness of it all, you nod your head at him. "we need to finish this quickly." whispering from above, your warm breath fans over his skin.

itto doesn't answer, there was no need for it, not now at least. He reaches up to lift your chin to lead you towards his lips and you cry into the sloppy kiss while his other hand dampened down on your folds, roughly stimulating you with his knuckles. "i- fuck, i-got-you." he finally says in between groans and urges you to continue, "i'll make you cum on me." his words came out in a stitched together grunt.

his mind— it was gone and clouded and another moan leaves him right after at the galvanizing sight of you. Itto braces himself and leads you to heaven, it's overbearing and frustrating, but the new punctuated jolts were closing down on your sensitive cores, they were tempting and pressing on your beating thuds.

all you could think of was for him to please please go faster, but it wasn't possible, not anymore. okay, well, it was but, you would equally be busted and you were sure the embarrassment of being caught by his fucking grandma during the act alone would give you terrible nightmares for years on end.

his knuckles dig into your shining folds and rub you fiercely while taking you with his cock. By how rough itto was fucking you now you had to close your hand around his mouth again so he could freely grunt and moan— vocalize his pleasure to you so you can latch onto him finer, constrict on his shaft and milk him dry until he's wet of a white ring of arousal, the clear determination to finally cum was genuinely all you both could think of.

you cry yourself into his shoulder when he pulls you to him, fisting his palms into your draped up dress to practically rush you back and forward— using you as a fucktoy to drench his cock in. His hips are stuttering and you knew he was close— because in truth, you were too, the continuous intrusion of his sensual tip on your pleased insides felt so fucking fine you thought you were actually going to tear up from it.

it's when it began to burn as he continuously smacked his hips into you, both tightly squished into each others embrace and melting into your bodies. You were drooling on your entire chin and then it happened, bringing you back to the overstimulation which was twice as powerful, twice as deep— pulling out your climax from your strangled rooted core as you violently clenched on his heavy cock, your orgasm thundering over you.

"too much, too much!" you whisper cry on him and itto plants one of his hands on the back of your head to squish you close as he climaxed too, sealing his lips as you pressed your hand into him. "I'm so close— so close so close." his hips were still going but slower, his calloused palm holding you down, guiding you where he required you to release his seed, paint your walls with silken white and calm your inflamed skin.

"fuck!" he moans and his eyes roll back, "inside— im inside you." itto feels empty but fulfilled, the compressed position was in any other occasion insanely unfitting and uncomfortable, but for you there wasn't a better one. His breathing was hot and the entire room smelled of sex and filth, the spilling ropes of cum were seeping right out of you.

the both of you were utterly panting and damn, itto came a lot, cummed as deep as he could and his grunts were still there— low and under the shadowy rasps, leaving it to you to finish him and he relishes in it, entirely, when being milked by a warm cunt such as yours, a claimed one, by him alone.

it's silent before your thoughts come back swirling, heated but never forgotten, you prop yourself with your arms and smile at him, but then it hit you.

"no no." you panic and your eyes glue down on your not so innocent lower region, "we made a mess." he smirks back at you, all puffed out and blowing. "how do we cover that?!"

you lift your hips and are now presented with the post nut problem, vision still glassed up and shaded by how good you were being fucked just moments ago. "wait let me-" itto helps you lay down while he sits up on the bed, his cock limply coated in arousal, "do you need- uh, wait!"

he swiftly searches around the room and finds a towel, hastily handing it to you, "thanks." you shyly mumble, still sore, "how do i look?" you ask him jokingly while fixing your make-up simultaneously to rubbing off the crumbling perspiration on your body.

"like you just had the best orgasm in the world." he sings, putting up his pants while helping you as much as he could. "you're one to talk." you tease, breathless and still hot, pulling down your dress as itto reaches out his arm to you, aiding you to stand up.

a hand falls heavy on his palm and you curse yourself for not figuring out sooner that you were thoroughly sore and done— swelling and used, especially your muscles were burning, searingly aching, "oh— easy now." itto could do this all day, watch you fix yourself after he fucked your brains out— minus the doing it in his old bedroom. His inflated ego breaks records, "are you okay?" but the concern in his voice was sweet, "y-yes."

"lets eat dinner then!" you almost forgot about that.

he rubs his belly and you nod your head in agreement, spouting out a wheezy laugh while you began to fix his hair, "— and hope your grandma didn't hear a thing." and end his sentencing at last.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[iliketangerines]

Thank you so much for Dark Raiden with innocent reader!Maybe part 2 for that?like when he had enough of this feelings and go straight to reader and propose it to her and hold her I'm his arms (they're too good and I can't get them enough)

docile as a lamb pt. 2

a/n: mmmm, i want him to fuck me so badly. also, i do NOT condone the behavior at the end in real life

pairing: lord raiden x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), overstimulation, pussy eating, fingering, squirting, somnophilia, slight breeding kink, dubcon near the end, dacryphilia, mating press, nipple play

Raiden stares at you from across the room, eyes taking on an unnatural glint as he stares you down, almost like a predator sizing up its prey

he’s deathly still as you explain the problem to the soldiers, but they huff and point a finger into your chest as they complain that they need the technology now

Raiden feels his fingers twitch as you shrink away from the soldier, who uses their size and muscle to tower over you

you say that you can’t do anything about that, that they damaged the hardware and that the the technology in general needed to be replaced and that isn’t your department

the soldier hisses you and gets much too close to you, and you tremble in place, unsure of what to do against your superior

Raiden walks over to the soldier and places a hand over the soldier’s shoulder and squeezes tightly, making sure that his eyes crackle with lightning as the soldier looks up at him in fear

the god asks if he has a problem, and he digs his fingers into the flesh of the soldier’s shoulder, making them wince in pain

they stutter out a ‘no’ and scamper away the second Raiden lets go of their shoulder, and you let out a sigh of relief and thank Raiden

you ask him if you can repay him, that he’s been doing a lot for you, keeping the unruly soldiers off you who thought they could boss you around because they’re your superior

and that he’s been keeping you company, and you look up at him through those eyelashes, sending Raiden’s blood flowing downward

he clears his throat to try and distract from the thought, and he tells you that he’d like to meet you later tonight, that he has something to show you

you light up and pat his shoulder, asking him when and where to meet you, and he gives you a time and location in the hangar

he watches you walk away, and he can see the way the skirt you’re wearing ride up your thighs and how your shirt shapes around your body just right

Raiden turns around and wanders around the base aimlessly, waiting for the time to pass until he can finally take you out on that date, and he paces impatiently

he wants to claim you now, have you stowed away from the world, mark you up and keep you as his own personal lover

but he has to draw you in first, and so Raiden waits, irritated that he was to waist to long to lure you in

none of the soldiers dare to ask what’s got Raiden so short-fused, and the day passes by slowly as he waits in the hangar for you to arrive

finally, as the sun starts to dip low on the horizon, you arrive, wearing a pretty little dress that emphasizes your curves, and Raiden wants to flip up the dress and fuck you right now

but he restrains himself and takes your hand and leads you out of the hangar as you chat with him about the rest of your thankfully uneventful day

he takes you outside of the compound and helps you walk on the rocky terrain to the cliffs, stopping a few feet from the edge just in case you fall down

he chats with you as he waits for the sun to set just a little bit longer, and you seem excited, perhaps a little confused, but you don’t seem to mind

but finally, the sun dips down, and the moon comes out

Raiden concentrates and summons the clouds to surround the moon but still shine through the window of clouds, and they grow dark and gray

you hear thunder come, but no rain falls

the god lets out a breath and feels the red lightning run through his fingers, through the current in the air, how it gathers in the clouds

he draws his hands up and flicks his fingers, sending the red lightning into arcs that combine together to form a beautiful display of his power

he puts his full concentration into the display, but he can still hear your gasps of delight and amusement as he controls the lightning to bend to him

he gives one final burst of lightning to flash through the sky before letting his arms fall to his side, and he take a glance at you

you look amazed at the display, and the clouds disappear, letting the moon shine through and shining on your features just perfectly

you tell him that it was amazing, that it was beautiful, and Raiden decides to make his move

he tells you that you’re more beautiful and tilts your chin up to look up at his tall frame properly, and even in the night, he can see your flush at the comment

but you don’t move away, rather your chin rests its weight into his hand, and you’re left speechless as he leans down in close to you

he comes down close enough so that you’re underneath his hat as well, and he can see you strain to get as high as you can on your toes to meet him

you presses his forehead to yours and asks if you will be his, so that he can kiss you, touch you, ravish you as he pleases

you nod, and Raiden smiles as he closes the distance between you two, bringing his arms to circle around your waist and lift you into his arms

you squeak as your feet lift off the ground, but you still melt into the kiss and grip onto Raiden’s shoulders as he presses his tongue into your mouth

he feels all-powerful, like he could take on the elder gods and win right now as he kisses you, and it’s better than he could have imagined: you’re so much sweeter than he thought

he can’t get enough of you, and he could taste you forever

but you pull away from him, his lips still chasing yours, and you take deep breaths as you stare into his eyes and bring your hand up to cup his face

you hesitate for a second, but then you tell him to ravage you like he wanted

Raiden head spins as he hears you, and he immediately transports you both in a flash of lightning to his bedroom

he presses you into his plush bed, lips smashing against yours and moving fervently as he hands claw at your dress, but he grows impatient and rips your dress and bra off

you gasp and whine into his mouth about something, but Raiden doesn’t hear as he sees your chest fully exposed to him, plush and full and so soft

he trails his kisses down your neck and chest until he latches onto your nipples, and he nips and sucks on the sensitive bed, using his hand so squeeze and knead the flesh of your other tit

you moan at the feeling, and your hands fly down to remove his cowl and grip onto his white hair, and he groans at the feeling of you tugging at his strands

he licks at your nipples, circling around the bud with his tongue, before pressing a firm lick into it and then nipping it

Raiden loses himself in the taste of you, and you whine as he leaves your chest in hickeys and bite marks

finally, he pulls away and admires how your nipple is puffy and sore before moving on to lavish the other one is the same attention

your hips buck up into his, and he grinds down into you, moaning at the feeling of his cock rubbing against the fabric of his clothing

the image of your pussy flashes through his mind, and Raiden immediately detaches from your chest, giving it one more appreciative squeeze, before shuffling downward

he presses his tongue into your clit through your underwear, needing a taste of you right now and too impatient to remove your panties right away

it makes you whine, and the rub of the fabric against your sensitive clit with Raiden’s tongue pressing firmly into your clit has you whimpering into the air and arching your back

Raiden moans and grips onto your thighs, bringing you in closer to him as he laps at your pussy through the fabric

but finally, he grows tired of the barrier, and he reaches his hand to rip off your lacey panties and dig his nose into your puffy clit as he tastes you

Raiden is in heaven, you taste better than anything the Earthrealm could offer, you’re so sweet, so delicious, so pliant underneath his hands, and he fucks you on his thick tongue

you tug at his hair, head thrown back, as you grind your hips into his face, and you whisper his name like a prayer as he pleasures you

you’re so tight around his tongue, and he can imagine how tight you’ll be around his cock, how he’s going to stretch you out

Raiden grinds his cock into the mattress as he continues to fuck you on his thick tongue, and his fingers dig into your thighs and send small shocks of electricity through you as he loses his composure

it makes you whine and squirm in his grip as your hips buck into his face and your pussy clench around his tongue as you near the edge

you can barely warn him, voice breathy and high-pitched, and Raiden hums into your pussy, needing to taste your release, to taste how he pleases you

you keen and tug at his hair as you cum, and Raiden laps at the taste desperately, as if he’d never taste it again

your taste was only for him, your whines were only for his ears, your body was only for his touch, he pants into your pussy as he glances up at you

and you’re so beautiful as your chest heaves up and down as you come down from your high, and Raiden can’t help but place his tongue firmly into your clit to watch you twitch in his arms

he wraps his lips around your clit, keeping watch of your reactions carefully, as you whine and moan squirm in his grip as he flicks your clit with his tongue

you cry out in overstimulation as he brings you to another orgasm, and he hums at your taste flooding his mouth again

he needs more, needs to taste you again, and he brings his thick fingers from your thighs and slides them in between your pussy lips before sliding them into your drooling cunt

he fucks you on his fingers ruthlessly, curling them to press into that sweet spot that has your head tilting back and your whines grow needy

Raiden’s doesn’t let up, fucking you on his fingers, covering them in your cum, watching you turn into a blabbering limp mess as you sob that it’s too much

but he doesn’t care because now you belong to him, and he will take what he wants, he is a god, and he will not let anyone stop him, not even you

he has you breathless and squirming, and then sobbing and crying as your push at him, but he’s so much stronger and you finally go limp on the bed and take his fingers and tongue without even a noise of complaint

you twitch on the bed every time you come, and Raiden still can’t have enough of your taste

but his cock aches in his pants, and he decides he wants to feel you around his cock more than he wants to taste you

he slides his fingers out from your pussy and detaches his lips from your pussy, and he licks his fingers clean of your release, moaning at the taste

he stands up, towering over you, but you don’t even react mind mush and eyes lidded over as he undresses himself

he puts your legs over his shoulders and slides his cock in between your folds, biting his lip at the feeling before finally notching his tip

he shuffles upward, sliding his dick into you, and you finally react, letting out a soft cry at the stretch as tears brim in your eyes again

Raiden pushes you into a mating press, and he groans at the feeling of your soft thighs pressing into his chest, fucking into you roughly before you’ve had time to adjust

he kisses you deeply, swallowing your cries of pain and pleasure, and thrusts his hips and out of you at a brutal pace as he loses himself to the feeling of you clenching around him

he can’t control himself, and he can feel himself buzzing with electricity, making you whine into his mouth and twitch underneath his hold

with every thrust, his pelvis slaps into your clit, sending jolts of pleasure up your spine, and you can’t control yourself as you cry and squirt on him

it only amplifies the electricity, and it has your pussy spasming around Raiden’s dick, causing him to get faster, to fuck into you until everyone knows you’re his

he chases his own high, pace growing sloppy as he continues to kiss you, and he groans loudly into your mouth as he buries himself deep and cums inside of you

he finally stops thrusting and just let himself spill his seed deep inside of you, marking you as his forever

yes, you’d be his consort, his lover, his toy for him to use and love and ravish

not that you knew that right now, not when you’ve passed out on the bed

Raiden pants heavily as he stares at your sleeping figure, but his cock still twitches inside of you and aches to breed you

well, you belong to him now anyway

[tea-and-vodka]

DP x DC AU, Bruce/Danny (if someone knows the ship name *please tell me-*)

Side note: I'm using asterisks (*) to signify italics, because for some reason Tumblr is being annoying about those.

- - -

He never really told anyone about it. No one really remembered but him, Alfred, and the photos they had kept.

Bruce had a friend when he was younger, one who had lived on the streets before moving into the manor.

The two had been practically inseparable.

Yet, as they grew older, they knew that his friend needed to stay away from the cameras and stares that had started following Bruce like mosquitoes.

So, his friend left when they were in their late teenage years. They kept in contact of course, and the two visited. But when the youngest (at the time) Wayne began to get involved with less than legal activities in their twenties, he hid it from his friend.

The rate of their visits slowed down, until it came to a halt. They sent letters, of course, but seeing him in person meant danger. Potentially putting *him* in danger. And Bruce could not let that happen.

- - -

The Batkids all stare in varying levels of confusion, concern, and awe as Bruce becomes visibly flustered.

"Bruce, Darling, it is so nice to see you again!" The man, Danny, says, before kissing Bruce on the corners of his mouth. He holds the billionaire's face in his hands as he tilts his own head to the side, a soft and affectionate look on his face. "I have missed you and Alfred so much! How have you two been?"

Bruce stammers for a moment, not taking his eyes off of the taller man in front of him. "I've, um, been well, thank you. Uh-" He flicks his eyes over to his kids before returning them to Danny as he gestures to the gathered crowd in his entryway. "These are my children! Wo-would you like to meet them?" He blurts out quickly, a smile that he seemed to be desperately fighting on his face.

"Of course! Why wouldn't I want to meet them?" Danny says jovially, turning to the others.

As the man calmly walks over, Cass makes a few observations. His lithe, relatively short body not tense in the slightest, every step seeming purposeful yet not at all thought about, and his eyes flick over everyone in front of him like he's analyzing them. Seeing them like she sees people.

Still smiling, he opens his mouth to speak to all of them, when he freezes. The group tenses, watching as he doesn't take his eyes off of the second eldest brother as his smile falls.

With pain in his eyes, the older man simply breathes out an, "Oh."

Jason stared into Danny's eyes, something akin to grief beginning to show on his face.

"Oh, *Sweetheart.*" Danny said softly, stepping closer to the younger man. He carefully takes his face into one hand, holding him like he may break. "*I'm so sorry.*"

At that, Jason's face metaphorically crumples, tears spilling down his face as Danny feels his [*hurts tired scared angry tired hurts scared h e l p -*]. Danny's thumb rubs his cheek in an effort to soothe the young man, an understanding sadness on his face. In response, Jason lets out a small whimper as he tries to bury his face into the other's hand.

Gently, delicately, despite the sheer size of him, he pulls Jason close, practically curling around him like he's trying to shield him from the outside world. One hand rubs his back, the other curling into his hair as the Bat's face buries itself into his neck, muffling the sounds of sobbing. [*Safe together protect safe comfort soothe safe*]

As the Batfamily watched this happen, most were too caught off-guard and utterly dumbstruck to notice some unusual details.

Cass's eyes squint slightly in suspicion as Danny's toxic green ones close. Weren't those a nearly unnatural blue when she first saw him?

- - -

I'm sorry if this got repetitive; I don't usually beta anything I post!

Essentially, Danny senses Jason's ghostly-ness, and is like, "Who the heck hurt this baby?!" Immediately reaching out with the whole ghost-EM field-thing, Jason's whole world is flipped because he'd been subconsciously trying to reach out that way ever since he got back to Gotham, and had been getting increasingly distressed because no one was understanding what he was communicating.

A few years after he was brought into the manor, Danny had explained to Bruce and Alfred what he is, what happened in Amity Park, how he got deaged, etc., and they accepted him wholeheartedly. *Except*, he left out any and all mention of vigilantism / the bigger enemies that he fought, and went on to working on being the ghost king when he moved out. He doesn't know about the Batfam being the Bats and Birds, and they don't know about him being royalty, nor his vigilante past.

He and Bruce are both very intelligent dumbasses, and do not realize that they have romantic feelings for one another. Alfred is well aware. Is Bruce also dating someone else in this AU? Potentially! It is currently up to interpretation, since I have not thought about who would go well for this scenario. (Although, I do feel like Danny would have beef with Clark because of the whole Connor debacle. Maybe, behind the scenes, Danny adopted Connor, and now Danielle has a brother!)

Also, I'm tired of people being like, "Danny is short! He's only 5'7!" (/lh) It makes me feel short. In this, he is 5'4, and he does not care if this whole ass man is over six foot, he *will* do his best to curl around him and help him feel safe for the first time since he was a teen.

[miserable-sarah]

Bad Boy

18+

Pairings: Demon Sam x Reader

Warnings: Dark sex, NSFW, unprotected, fingering, dirty talk, language, Dark Sam

Summary: Sam is possessed, and hot af.

“I’m going to look for him” Dean mutters out

“I’m going to look for him” Dean mutters out

“Dean stop! He probably stopped somewhere. He’s fine”

“Listen no offense but you don’t know what’s been going on with Sam. He’s just-“ Dean stops talking

“He’s just what?” You cross your arms.

“He’s just not himself lately.” Dean says quietly walking out of the bar. You roll your eyes at him. Sam wouldn’t do anything stupid he probably stopped for food or beer. He’s not in trouble. You wipe down the tables in the bar and get to the bar counter, you here the door jingle.

“Sorry we’re closed” you yell out not even looking.

“I know” you hear a familiar voice

“Sam” you smile “where have you been Dean is worried sick”

“Oh is he?” He says walking up to you getting closer and closer you back up until your back is against the counter

“Y-yeah he is” you stutter

“Is be here?” He asks his chest inches from yours. You shake your head ‘no’

“No he left. He went looking for you” you say despite your mouth going dry.

“Oh he did” his is deeper and rougher. You swallow thickly. His body is pressing against yours “that’s a good thing isn’t it?” He says In a whisper. You shake your head yes. Sam flips you around so your back is pressed to his chest. His hand on your throat. “Yeah I thought so too” he pushes your face into the counter and holds it there by pressing down on the back of your throat.

“S-Sam what are you doing?” You choke out confused and extremely horny. He’s got you soaking right now and he has no idea.

“Having some fun. Giving into temptations” he says so calmly there’s almost something wrong with it. “You want this don’t you?” He chuckles “actually I already know you do. You slut” he’s harsh about it, which makes you even more wet. You wiggle your ass trying to feel him, he laughs at you. “Wow look how pathetic and desperate you are”

Where the hell did soft Sammy go who is this person. You’re not complaining but oh my god. He couldn’t be hotter. Sam lifted your your skirt showing off your lacy white thong. “Hmm white. For purity?” He says messing with the hem. You squeeze your thighs together trying to feel something. “Oh but there is nothing pure about you is there?” his words ring in your head, you can't even think straight. Your whole vocabulary went to "Oh my god, fuck me, I need you." He moves your thong to the side giving him access to your clit. He gathers some of your wetness and uses it as a lube, he rubs your clit, you bite your lip so hard you think you're bleeding you close your eyes tight trying your hardest not to move.

"You like this don't you" you can feel him smirking "Don't you" he says slapping your pussy causing you to jump

"Yes" you say barely audible

"I know" He says in a mocking voice you let out a shaky breath. Your body starts to shake, you close your eyes and let out a long moan. "Already close?" He chuckles "I haven't even put my fingers in you yet"

Your face is still against the cold counter, your breathing is picking up faster and faster. This entire situation is something you dreamed of you never ever thought it would be happening in real life. Sam this hot, this rough. It seems so unnatural but you don't care.

"Please" You moan not even knowing what you're asking for, you just want to feel something.

"Please?" he completely slides off your thong slowly.

"Please" You repeat. Sam chuckles darkly and enters a finger in you, he slides right in because of how wet you are. You let out little moans. Sam bit down on your shoulder, then kisses your back. He adds another finger, his other hand slides up your shirt.

"No bra?" he asks shocked "not so innocent" he teases your nipple, tweaking and twisting it. You try to move your head but he stops you.

"Sam" you moan

"Don't move." He tells you sternly. You bite your lip and try not to move at all. Your legs are starting to shake, you try so hard not to let them. Sam's grip on your neck gets tighter he shakes his hand a little. "Don't. Fucking. Move." He says through his teeth. Sam removes his fingers from you and shoves them in your mouth. You take them suck on them swirling your tongue. "Good girl" He says in your ear. You can hear messing with his belt and pants. You feel a hard something at your entrance you moan loudly just thinking of his cock inside you.

"I see you're ready, so needy. I bet you can't wait to feel so full of me you can't even think straight. You're going to get so cockdrunk you won't even remember your pretty little name." He says in your ear.

"Please Sam. Please fuck me" you beg. Sam slams into you without warning and keeps going, giving you no time to adjust. You scream out in pain and pleasure. "Oh my god, keep going" You grip onto the counter so hard your knuckles turn white. Sam stops. You let out a big confused breath.

"Don't tell me what to do. okay?" his hand squeezes your cheeks. You nod your head yes. "Good" Sam says roughly letting go of you. He continues to pound into you. Your moans are echoing off the walls in the bar. His grunts and groans only turn you on even more. You can feel your wetness going down to your thighs.

"God you're such a mess for me" Sam grabs a handful of your hair, he finally lets go of your neck. You arch your back and Sam pulls on your hair bringing your head back. Your moan gets even louder, Sam's thrusts get even harder and deeper. "Who knew, a girl like you. Always playing so innocent would love to be fucked like this" He whispers in your ear before nibbling on it. "I would, because I see right through you. You're a slut, a slut for a man with authority." You don't say anything, you just close your eyes and try really hard to cum all over him right now. "Oh getting close are we? I can feel squeezing my cock even more."

Your mouth hangs open just a little, you know you're making noise but you can't understand what's coming out of your mouth. You're starting to see stars even though you're trying really hard not to. You feel a sharp pain on your cheek.

"I asked you a question" Sam yells.

"W-what?" You ask sloppy not even sure he could understand you

"You're close to cumming all over my cock aren't you?"

"Yes" You moan out. "Yes, yes" Your legs start shaking and your entire body tenses up, you've never felt anything like it. "Oh my- Sam!" All you saw was black, you're screaming Sam's name. He holds you up and continues fucking you hard, and rough. You're screaming and trying to squirm away. Sam wraps his arms around pressing you to his chest keeping you still.

"You love this don't you, being used like a toy, being used so I can get all my anger out." you lay your head on his shoulder not even able to form words or think. "I'm going cum in you, fill you up even more"

You nod your head and little whimpers escape your lips. His thrusts become sloppy, his moans become louder. He squeezes his arms around you tighter so much it hurts. You feel Sam fill you up with his hot cum. He loosens his grip on you, you breath heavy and so does he.

"Wow" you say breathless. Sam pushes you back down over the counter, he slides up your panties and fixes your skirt, he fixes himself as well.

"Y/n" Dean busts through the door. He stops when he sees you and Sam there, your hair a mess, you breathing heavy, and your cheek red, your eyes glossy. "Sam" he says softly, he pulls out a bottle of holy water and splashes it on him, Sam has an immediate reaction. You cover your mouth gasping.

"He's a demon?!"

"Of course I am, pretty" He smirks at you.

"That's why he hit you, Y/n" Dean says keeping his eyes on him. Sam laughs loudly.

"That's not why I 'hit' her" Sam says walking towards Dean "I fucked her"

"What?" Dean says through his teeth, you stand there not knowing what to say.

"I. Fucked. Her." He says proudly "Oh and she loved it"

"Y/n is this true? Did he-?" Dean doesn't even finish the question

"Oh what Dean, still got that little crush? Well so does Sammy and he got to her first" Dean doesn't say anything. He watches as Sam walks out of the motel and he runs to you pulling you in for a hug.

"Are you alright?" You shake your head yes not even looking at him, your mind is racing, what just happened?

~~

Hope you enjoyed it! I'm re-watching supernatural and something about season 2 Demon Sam gets me. Thanks for reading! Feedback welcome! Like/comment/reblog!

[screamingatanemptyroom]

The Healer pt 3

The story continues! Hope you guys like it!

Part 1 and 2 linked here.

Enjoy!

_____________________________

The Hero’s party stood with their backs to us, arguing loudly. They obviously didn’t hear Stephanie’s call, and kept their focus on the man in front of them.

“How dare you go back on our deal?!” Jack the Hero snapped, his face twisted with rage. “You have always been our chief supplier!”

Rita the Holy Archer spoke up, flipping her long blond hair over her shoulder as she did so. “Yeah, you never turned us down before!”

The massive and imposing form of Garrett the Giant loomed over the group as he stood by with his arms crossed, nodding in agreement. The fourth and final member, Rebecca the Sorceress, leaned against the Hero, her eyes filled with tears as if everyone in the room had personally wronged her.

Seeing the group together again was… rough, to say the least. I had once considered three of them, Jack, Rita and Garrett,  my closest friends. We had played the game together before the Downfall, spending late nights going on raids and completing quests. They had been the brightest part of a life that had been greatly overshadowed by my parents’ expectations and disapproval. I had valued their friendship, so much so that I was willing to break myself over and over again just to stay by their side. I had lied to myself, that I was just as much a part of the team as they were. That I was valued, even if they didn’t always say so. That I was lucky to have them, given that I had chosen the class I did. I hated myself for my weakness, but refused to leave, too dependent on them to try to break off on my own.   

Until Jack finally betrayed me enough to wake me up to the truth:

They had never been my friends.  

As for Rebecca… my gaze settled on the pitifully crying girl. She was crying when I met her, too.

______________________

“Healer! Help! I have an injured person here!” At Jack’s frantic cry, I forced myself awake and ran out of my house, surprised to see him carrying a young, beautiful woman. Her face was unnaturally pale, her red hair matted with blood, stuck to her forehead. Her clothing was scorched in several areas, making her seem even more pitiful. I paused for a moment, feeling a brief discomfort at the sight of Jack holding her with a tenderness in his eyes I had never seen before.

We were not a couple. He had hinted his interest several times, but we had agreed to wait until the world was more stable before discussing it deeply. I wasn’t sure of my own feelings, having always considered him a good friend, but I knew that in the midst of a life or death battle was probably not the best time to give a real answer. Jack hadn’t been happy with my response, but said he understood. He hadn’t brought it up again, but the sight of his distress for the woman in his arms made me wonder if I had his answer.

Either way, it was no time to work out my feelings on the matter. I pushed away the flash of unease at the two’s closeness and stepped forward to look at the young woman. She flinched away from my gaze, her teary eyes looking up at Jack.

“Don’t bother your friend! I just need a potion and I’ll be fine.”

Jack smiled at her. “Nonsense, you fainted just a minute ago. The Healer may be useless in a fight, but she can do targeted therapy for whatever injuries you have.”

I winced at the word “useless”, a term I was all too used to from my childhood.

“Wait!” Rather than being comforted, this seemed to distress the young man more. She struggled slightly, seeming unable to free herself from Jack’s hold. “I don’t…”

I lost patience, and reached out my hand, putting it on her forehead.

“Scan.”

**The Healer has activated Scan -20MP. Target is not in your party and some information is withheld.

Rebecca the Sorceress

Class –Magic User

Title – Sorceress, Magic Student, Dependent, Poison Master.

Level 56

HP 209/250

MP 280/300

STR ***

DEX ***

INT ***

WIS ***

CHAR ***

Current status: Charm applied + 50 Charisma – 1 hour remaining.

Healing status – mild abrasions to forehead, right elbow, and anterior thigh-  10 sq centimeters total surface area.  First degree burns – dorsum of foot, and right wrist – 5 square centimeters total surface area. Mild poison toxicity – side effects include pallor, diaphoresis and generalized weakness. – 10 minutes remaining. **

I frowned as I read through the information. Jack quickly began asking questions.

“How bad is it, Healer? Will she be all right? You can fix it, right?”

“Some scrapes and mild burns, no worse than a sunburn, just needs her wounds dressed and some ointment for pain and to prevent infection. How did she get poisoned?”

“Poisoned?” He brought her into my house and set her down on my bed. “She wasn’t poisoned, she was protecting a family from bandits.”

I shrugged, getting out supplies and carefully cleaning and dressing her injuries. “The scan says she was poisoned, probably about an hour ago judging by the remaining cooldown. Nothing bad, just something that would make her pale, sweaty and weak.”

Rebecca began crying loudly as I finished bandaging her. Before I could react, Jack pushed me out of the way, leaning over to check on her. I slammed by back into the dresser, groaning with pain as it struck.

“Did she hurt you?!” He asked Rebecca, frowning as he looked over her bandages. 

She blinked back tears, regaining control of herself. “I’m sorry, I was just so worried… The way she said it… it sounds like she’s accusing me of taking poison on purpose!”

I gingerly stood up, rubbing my back where it hit the dresser. “I didn’t mean to imply…”

“Shut up, Healer!” He laid a hand on Rebecca’s head. “Just ignore her. She’s just a burden our team carries around because we happened to know her before the Downfall.”

I closed my eyes at his words, trying to ignore both the physical and emotional pain.

______________________

“Why can’t you help us?!” Rebecca was sobbing, blinking her tear-filled eyes and staring at the man in front of their group. “Don’t you know we’re humanity’s only hope?”

“They’re our only hope?”Alton leaned in, whispering “We’re so doomed.”

Stephanie and I chuckled quietly in response.

The owner of the shop, Winter, stood silently in front of the Hero’s party. He was tall, although still shorter than Garrett the Giant. Somehow his demeanor made him seem to tower over the entire group. His white hair was cropped short, at odds with his younger appearing face, placing him in his late twenties. His eyes were a bright pale blue, his handsome feature marred only by a large scar tracing across his face, only barely missing his right eye. His face was expressionless, almost bored, unchanged by Rebecca’s tears.

“You seem to be having a bit of a misunderstanding.” Winter finally spoke up, his voice quiet and cold. “I never had a deal with YOU.”

“LIAR!” Jack screamed. “You’ve always…”

“I’ve had a deal with your healer.” He raised an eyebrow. “And she’s not with you anymore. So I have no reason to deal with you.”

“The Healer?” Rita laughed, her sharp features and gaze filled with a mocking light. “That useless baggage? Why would you care if she’s with us or not?”

“…” Winter stared at her silently, and seemingly pressured, Rita stepped back, hiding behind Garrett. “Foolish.”

“We’re foolish?” Jack asked, shaken but still angry. “You’re the one who is turning down the opportunity of a lifetime. Just because of some bit…”

SMACK!

Winter backhanded the Hero, sending him down to the floor with a calm expression.

“Close your foul mouth, or I’ll close it for you.”  He raised an eyebrow. “Any questions?”

Stephanie raised her hand. “Where do I sign up to be part of his fan club?” Alton raised his hand as well, nodding.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You never change., Winter”

At my words, Winter turned towards me, his cold blank expression melting into a bright smile.

“Natalie! You’re here!”

“…”

“…”

“…”

Everyone in the room turned to stare at me. I shrunk back slightly. Alton spoke up first, frowning. “Natalie?”

I sighed. “My real name, or more accurately, my name before the Downfall. I don’t like using it anymore.” I don’t like the person who wore that name, nor the people who bestowed it upon me. “Healer is a much more accurate title.”

Alton smiled and shrugged. “Whatever makes you happy, Miss Healer.”

Winter’s smile faded a bit, and he walked forward, stepping on the Hero as he did so, ignoring his grunt of pain.

“Are you okay? I just heard about the price on your head. Did they hurt you?”

I shook my head. “I’m fine. You know that they couldn’t hurt me if they tried.”

“Anyone can get hurt if they get caught off guard, Nat.” He put a hand on my shoulder, staring into my eyes. “You should have left a long time ago. They didn’t deserve your loyalty.”

“Well, she’s got a new team now!” Alton stepped in excitedly.

“Yeah! We’re much better than those creeps!” Stephanie joined in. The two gave each other and me a thumbs up.

Winter stared at them for a while, before sighing. “I told you that you didn’t have to fight with anyone. Yet you still race towards danger at the side of these… people. What has humanity ever done for you?”

I ran a hand through my hair, letting out a soft sigh. “Not everyone is as terrible as you think.”

“That’s rich, considering what state you were in when we first met.” The disappointment in his eyes was clear. I flinched, trying not to think of the circumstances of our first meeting.

“That’s not…”

“STOP IGNORING ME!” Rebecca cried out, fire blazing at her fingertips as she glared at all of us. As we quieted down, she focused her gaze on Winter. “Why are you so obsessed with her? She’s a useless healer! We are the HERO’S PARTY!”

Winter stepped closer, and she shrank into Jack’s side, trying to get away, but froze when Winter’s gaze met hers. “You know nothing, poison witch. A Healer is a noble profession, only meant for the strongest of heart and mind. “

“Y-you…”

“Now get out of my store.” He pointed at the exit, and after a moment of silence, the hero’s party shuffled out. Jack paused at the doorway, looking at me with a serious expression. “My offer is still open. We will attack the forty second gate in 3 days. With or without you.”

And with that, he was gone, and all was quiet.

“What idiots.” Alton sat down on a nearby chair, frustrated. “They’re going to put all of humanity at risk.”

“No more than they deserve.” At Winter’s harsh tone, everyone turned to him again.

“You don’t like humans?” Alton asked.

“Any reason why I should?”

He pointed at me. “Miss Healer is a human.”

“The exception, not the rule.”

I shook my head at his solemn reply. “We came here for supplies. Can you help us?”

“Of course.” He agreed immediately, pulling out a large bag from behind the counter and handing it straight to me. “On the house.”

“You know I’ll never agree to that.” I dropped some custom potions and gold on the table. “You have to stay in business.”

Winter shook his head, but I insisted. “Take it or I go somewhere else for supplies.”

“…Fine.” After a long hesitation, he finally reached out and took the items, carefully arranging them on the shelf on the back wall.

“…” Stephanie and Alton stared silently at the exchange between us.

“I smell drama!” Stephanie whispered loudly.

Alton nodded silently, frowning.

“Speaking of which, PREPARE TO BE AMAZED!” Stephanie stepped forward, dropping the pelts onto the counter. “BEHOLD! I HAVE COMPLETED MY QUEST!”

Winter looked over the wolf furs, nodding silently. “This is what I asked for.” His tone was unimpressed. Stephanie grinned, not intimidated.

“So you’ll pay me this time?”

“This time?” I turned to her. “How many times has he scammed you with fake quests?”

“They aren’t fake!” She defended, clutching the bag of gold he handed her. “He just has high standards.”

“Did you count your payment?”

“… I was about to.” She opened the sac of gold and muttered to herself, before staring accusingly at Winter. “It’s only half!”

“Because you didn’t get the pelts.” He inclined his head towards me. “I know Nat’s work when I see it.”

“I helped, though! I lured them all the way to her!”

“And I bet she asked for half.”

“How did you know?!” She paused. “I was going to give it to her.”

I sighed. “Just pay her the whole amount. Your deal was for the pelts, it doesn’t matter how she got them. If I want the cash, I’ll get it from her.”

“…”

“Besides, she’s my teammate…”

Stephanie jumped in. “AND BEST FRIEND!”

“…In a way it’s paying me.”

“…” He sat a second bag of gold down, which Stephanie snatched up and counted with glee. Winter ignored her, looking at me.

“You’re really doing this again? Trusting humans?”

I shook my head. “I don’t trust anyone.”

“You trust too much… you just pretend like you don’t to comfort yourself.” He thought things over. “Where are you going next?”

Alton joined in. “We’re going to go hunting in the fortieth level forest. Try to get a feel for our fighting style.”

“What about your fourth party member? Your team is incomplete.”

“Maybe we’re just picky?” Alton offered.

Winter stared at us. Stephanie broke first. “Everyone’s too scared to work with Alton, and they think Healer is a burden.”

“…”

“We don’t though! We think she’s awesome.”

Winter finally smiled at that. “Alright then.” He began packing a bag. “I’ll join your team.”

“AWESOME!”

“Is that even possible?”

“You’ll what?!”

Stephanie, Alton and I spoke up at the same time. Winter continued to pack, undisturbed by our shouts.

“You need a fourth teammate, and Nat needs someone to watch her back. It’s a win-win. ”

Alton stared at him. “Why do you think she needs your help?”

Winter didn’t flinch. “She needs it. Needed it since the beginning.”

After studying him a long moment, the dark wizard turned towards me. “It’s your call. I trust your judgement with this.”

I rubbed my forehead, feeling tired. “Why don’t we do a trial before making anything official? Go fight together. See how it goes from there.”

“… You don’t trust me?” Winter asked quietly.

“You’d have to be their teammates as well, fighting to protect humanity. I don’t see why you are volunteering. You’ve never cared before.” Was my equally quiet answer.

After a long moment of consideration, he nodded in agreement. “…Fine. A test mission first.”

“Wait!” Stephanie chimed in. “Can NPCs even join human parties? Aren’t they the ones who give quests?”

Winter placed his packed bag on his back, grabbing a bow and some arrows. “My kind are not a part of the Rules. We follow them, just like you do.”

“So you’re like us?” Alton asked, curious.

“No.” His tone was flat. “I am nothing like you humans. But I can join your party.”

“Great! Let’s go on an adventure!” Stephanie ran towards the door, and shaking my head, I followed her.

“Should be interesting.”

____________________________

The fortieth-floor forest was filled with death. Black twisted trees, grey, dried out grass. Shadows from nothing, movements that didn’t make sense. I stood in place, feeling the constant overwhelming sensation of being watched.

Alton smiled, seeming right at home. “Alright guys, this place is chocked full of undead, perfect for a good fight. We just need to get a sense for how everyone else works, and how to help each other.”

“Sounds good!” Stephanie pulled out her enormous sword and grinned. “I’ll tank!”

“Great. I’ll provide crowd control and protection through magic.” He turned towards Winter, who seemed relaxed despite the evil forest around him. “What about you?”

Winter held up his bow. “I’ll pick off monsters from the back.”

“Great. That just leaves Miss Healer…” He turned towards me. “How would you like to fight?”

His question caught me by surprise. When I fought with the Hero’s party, I had often supported them secretly, standing afar, silently using my healing magic to add further injuries to my teammate’s attacks. It was difficult, making myself appear useless while protecting and attacking at the same time.

But now… I was able to openly and honestly take part with the team.

I smiled. “I want to be in the front.”

Stephanie cheered. “Besties tanks!”

“Sounds like we have a plan.” Alton grinned, looking every inch the evil wizard. “Let’s go.”

It didn’t take long before we ran into a large group of undead. Zombies, skeletons, shadowy creatures with claws and spikes, crawled out between the trees, their eyes glowing red with hunger.

“Kill!” A gravelly voice came out of the large skeleton, staring at me. I walked forward calmly, no weapons in my hands.

Undead didn’t have blood. Didn’t have beating hearts. They needed no oxygen, absorbing their energy from the living. Which limited my options. I would have to go for attacks that caused physical damage.

Stephanie ran forward with a loud cry, swinging her large sword and decapitating the first zombie in her field of vision. Alton chanted, his spells separating the zombies out in smaller groups, hindering their movement and slowing their attacks. I could hear the buzzing of arrows as Winter calmly shot down enemy after enemy.

It was my turn.

I held a scalpel in my hand, the cool metal somewhat comforting against my skin. A group of ten zombies shuffled towards me, trying to shake off the bonds of Alton’s magic.

Wordless incantation was still in cooldown. I would have to speak out loud to activate my spells. I stepped closer to the group

“Amputation.”

**The Healer has cast Amputation x 10. – 1000 MP. **

My magic reached out to each of the zombies, chopping off each of their right legs at the mid-thigh, slicing cleanly through rotting muscle and bone. The zombies groaned in confusion, falling to the ground. I watched them carefully, recognizing they were still dangerous despite their helpless appearance.

This is when Jack or the others would rush in to claim the kill… and then complain about the automatic XP share since my magic contributed to the fight. But now that I don’t have them… what now?

Amputation was a spell that could only be applied to limbs. Small and large incision could cut their throats, but not enough to decapitate them which was what was needed.

A brief feeling of hopelessness rose up within me. The despair that had filled my days as I fought in this strange world beside others who had ridiculed me and belittled me. I chose a worthless class, one that struggles to put down wounded zombies…  

One of the zombies flipped onto its stomach, beginning to pull itself towards me, teeth bared. Simultaneously, a spell and an arrow hit its remaining leg, pinning it into place. Stephanie was still fighting her group of zombies, but seeing me hesitate shouted out: “Go get ‘em!”

They’re encouraging me. The stark contrast of this fight from my past team made me smile. I wanted to live up to the support of this strange new team. I thought of a plan, and I reached out my hand, focusing.

“Craniotomy.”

**The Healer has cast Craniotomy x 10. – 5,000 MP.**

The skulls cracked open, revealing rotting brains. I kept an eye on my numbers, even with my unusually large mana pool, I couldn’t keep spending so recklessly. I chose a smaller spell.

“Cauterization.”

**The Healer has cast Cauterization x 10. – 100MP.**

The tissue shriveled under the heat of the spell and the zombies grew completely still. As I stared down at the carnage, Stephanie killed her last zombie, prompting the end of the battle.

** Stephanie the Lovely Barbarian is credited with 8 zombie monster kills, awarded 600XP and +8 fame. Alton the Great Evil Wizard is credited for the assist and is awarded 200XP and +2 fame. You receive 8XP as a party member.

The Healer is credited with 10 zombie monster kills, awarded 800XP and +10 fame. Alton the Great Evil Wizard, and Winter the Shopkeeper are credited for the assist and awarded 100 XP and +1 fame each. **

“AWESOME!” Stephanie ran over and hugged me, ignoring my grimace as I realized how badly she smelled after close combat with rotting corpses. “We’re the best team ever! Did you see how fast we took out high level zombies?”

“Strong work everyone!” Alton seemed pleased, “A few more fights, and I think we could get a good rhythm going.”

“Here.” Winter held out a mana recovery potion to me. “Those were high level healer spells you cast today. You probably need this.”

After a brief hesitation I took it. “You recognize Healer spells?”

“Of course.” He spoke sincerely, adding. “It’s the greatest achievement one can have, to take such a path. I’m happy to help you.”

“…Thanks.” I drank the potion.

The Healer has used Potion of Mana Recovery, +800MP. 2 remaining in Inventory.

Stephanie stood in front of me, clasping her hands together with a pleading expression. “So… can we keep him? You said we could consider it after a trial!”

Alton and I exchanged glances. I still felt uneasy about having an “NPC” on our team. For all the time I had known Winter, I still did not understand his true motivations. Why was he in this world with us? Why join our team? And the real question that haunted me:

Why did he help me a year ago when he had no incentive to do so?

But the truth was, he was our best option.

I nodded to Alton, who immediately offered his hand to Winter.

“Welcome to the team.”

**Winter the Shopkeeper has accepted your invitation to join your party! He will have access to shared inventory, and his stats will become visible upon medical scan.**

The usual joining party message popped up, along with something unexpected:

** NOTICE - Due to status of new party member, special restrictions will apply to any stat or data sharing.**

Special restrictions? I shook my head. Not helping with my paranoia about trusting him on our team.

Stephanie cheered as I shook his hand after Alton. Finally, once things had calmed down, we all sat down to regroup.

“What next?” Stephanie asked, grabbing jerky from her pack.

I thought over her question. “The Hero’s party is going to attack the gate in 3 days. We should plan to be there.”

“Oh joy, them again.” Stephanie bit angrily into the jerky, as if hurting the people who annoyed her. "I can hardly contain my excitement."

“Fighting monsters, AND making sure the Hero’s party won’t stab us in the back at the same time?” Alton grinned. “Sounds like a party to me!"

I sighed, and grabbed my own food from my bag.

We had 3 days to get ready.

[anarchiii]

Lighten up all those shadows-1 —ACOTAR AU

Part One | warnings: fluff? Angst? | Azriel x Gwyn

Summary; All her roommates had always been lazy and rude, that was, until she met Azriel, fell for him.

Note: this is an AU it’s not in the books.

Masterlist

Gwyn’s POV

She nudged open the front door with her hip, keys hanging from her mouth while both her hands carried boxes, the sight that greeted her was barren, or as empty as a fully furnished floor could be, not a single picture frame or pillow, no trinkets or little touches, barren. That would definitely not do.

A door on the other side of the room as open, walking in, there was only a simple double bed and an oak desk and dresser In the room, the person she was now sharing this apartment with was apparently not a designer, there wasn’t even curtains covering the windows, disgraceful.

It seemed Gwyn had a lot of redecorating to do, whether the other inhabitant of this household appreciated it or not.

-

Three hours later and she was finished, blue bedding and rug, and cobalt curtains—which her friends had insisted she pack even though she had stated that there would be no need of them—remind her to listen to her friends more often. Gwyn had no idea what she would do without them. Speaking of, she placed a photo frame of them on her desk, all three of them wearing goofy smiles, Emerie’s glasses slightly askew and Nesta’s braces shining with her every smile.

She heard the front door freak open and decided to investigate, walking into the room, Gwyn came face to face with single-handedly the most beautiful man she had ever seen, his whiskey eyes flicking to her instantly, his fluffy onyx hair—that she oh so wanted to run her fingers through—strewn about. The man frowned. Glaring at her, what was that about? “Can you move? My bedroom is in that direction,” he said flatly, how rude, she crosses her arms and glared straight back at him, he scowled, she smirked. Two could play that game.

He seemed to realise she wasn’t giving up so he just sighed and walked around her, Gwyn did not notice that his scent was of Night chilled mist and Cedar and leather, not at all, neither did she notice that he walked with a unnatural grace or that tattoos peaked out from the sleeves of his very tight black shirt.

His shoulder bumped into hers as he walked past, she knew he did it on purpose, to see how riled up she could get from the simplest thing, “asshole,” she muttered, though she couldn’t be certain, Gwyn swore she saw him smiling, his tired eyes lighting up as he entered his room, closing the door surprisingly softly.

-

Gwyn woke up to the sounds of the kitchen, clinking of glass, crackling of the stove, draws opening, ect. She groaned as she got up. Nearly falling out of the bed onto the floor, she sat there for a moment before the delicious smell of food flooded her senses, she slid into her slippers and padded to the kitchen, nearly slipping when she beheld the sight.

There he was, shirtless, cooking pancakes and squeezing oranges into juice, and holy Mother— his muscles were gorgeous, he looked like a god made man, for a second. She thought she was drooling. Especially when those whiskey eyes landed on hers, she could almost make out specs of green in them but she would have to get closer— “what?” He said, oh shit, did she say those embarrassing things out loud? He looked positively delicious but that didn’t mean she wanted to tell him that.

He was staring at her incredulously and she had half the mind to look somewhere else, suddenly finding the espresso machine to be far more interesting, was she blushing? Surely she was beet red by now, Gwyn wanted to shrivel up and die from the way he was still staring at her, perhaps if she prayed enough to the Mother a hole would open up in the floor and it would swallow her up. But that was wishful thinking.

He seemed to realise he was staring and turned around, flipping the pancakes, she grabbed two plates and glasses before pouring the juice into the cups, Azriel putting all the food onto their respective plates before flicking off the stove and leading her to the horribly bland table.

Gwyn didn’t dare make eye contact with her roommate as she uttered out a ‘thank you’ and started pouring maple syrup onto her food.

They finished breakfast in silence and then left, Azriel seemingly going to work and her a nearby cafe to study.

-

Yawning, she made her way back to the apartment, her keys jingling, she unlocked the door, immediately met with the sounds of a football game coming from the Tv and the sound of very-male laughter along with the clinking of drinks, she wandered over to the noise, immediately spotting Azriel sipping from a Beer as he shouldered the guy next to him, the very handsome guy with long black hair tied into a bun with a subtle stubble lining his jaw. Next to him. Was another gorgeous guy, this one more elegant than rugged, his short black hair combed back, wearing a slightly rumpled suit.

She met eyes with Azriel, his expression immediately changing into a cringe at the attention, the other men didn’t seem to notice her presence as they yelled at the Tv, but he did, Azriel seemed to always do that, he got up, dusting off chip crumbs from his pants before standing in front of her.

He nodded his head in the direction of her room and didn’t say anything as they made their way to the room, once inside, he closed the door, turning to her, “I’m sorry,” he started, “I should have told you people were coming over,” sorry? What on earth could he be sorry for? “It’s fine, Azriel. Really, it didn’t bother me at all, you’re allowed to have company,” she said softly, his expression was still pained but lightened ever so slightly. “I—I’ve had a lot of a roommates before all I don’t know why but they all had something against me, yelling at me for the smallest things, I kinda stuck with me, y’know?” She nodded her head again. Who could ever do such a thing? And Azriel seemed like such a sweetheart. . .

She grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly, “don’t worry about it, go, be with your friends,” she said, squeezing his hand once more for emphasis, he gulped, looking down at their hands, he didn’t say anything more before walking out of the room, leaving her with her own wondering thoughts.

The End.

Note: for my lovely friend, @cynthiesjmxazrielslover, I hope you enjoy this series.

-Taglist

@cynthiesjmxazrielslover

@azrielslittleslut

@shadowsingercassia

[moonshynecybin]

fco ‼️‼️

okay damn!! short fic (1kish) for forced coming out au set near the end of the story when vale has realized some THINGS ! (not everything. especially about marc's feelings for him...) and they ARE fucking again... which of course is righttttt when hondayamaha PR are like. okay you two can break up now ! and vale's like yall mind if i fall on this sword real quick. would that be fun.

“So, we think that at the end of the season you two should be in the clear to go your separate ways, we’ve built out a separation schedule for you both to use, and emailed it to you and Marc as well. As long as you keep it relatively civil after that, we think we can call the last year a success.”

“This is—“ Vale flips the page back over, finished with it. He looks back at the bland smile of the PR person. She's very nice.

He hates her.

But he knew what this was, going in. It shouldn’t surprise him when he’s reminded of what it’s not.

He gestures at the folder in front of him, smile still easy on his face, his pulse rabbiting anxiously in his throat. He asks for clarification. Finds he needs it, badly.

“This is permission to stop? To break up?”

“Yes!” She says cheerfully, like it’s exciting, and Vale knew that was probably going to be her answer, but he still feels like he’s been cut off at the knees, cold water trickling it’s way down his spine. He digs his nails into one of his palms, making sure his expression doesn’t change.

She keeps speaking.

“You two have done an incredible job, and we got together with the PR team at Honda,” She gestures at Marc, somewhere to the left of Vale’s elbow. “And they agree. After the season ends you can start to move apart. You can put it all behind you.”

Like it never happened, Vale hears, and he twitches.

He should have expected this, but he didn’t. He thought that it would be up to Marc and him, when they wanted to call things off. That they could keep up this equilibrium that had the two of them balancing on an edge as sharp as a razor. Push and pull, living in anticipation of a deadline that some part of him thought would never come.

Like it never happened.

What was his relationship with Marc before all this? He knows it well enough, created most of it. The shape that it took, those last few months of the season. All the resentment. What he did to it. The way Marc had folded in on himself for weeks.

He’s only started to act like himself again recently, open and happy with the press, with Vale.

What would it look like, returning to what it was? What would it feel like, to pretend it never happened?

He scratches at the side of his face. He wants to vomit. He doesn't. He shifts a little, glances over at Marc beside him for the first time since the beginning of the conversation. He needs more information on how to react, which way to spin this, where Marc might be, when he thinks about a life without Vale.

And Marc isn’t necessarily hard to read, at this point, though there are nuances that he can— and has—missed. Álex, for instance, always seems to know, seems to have a handle on the degrees of Marc’s smile, the tone of his laugh, when he’s upset or not. But Vale is a more recent student. Has only found it necessary to apply himself this last year or so, obsessing over the angle of his eyebrows and the lines around his mouth, the way he forms his words. The timbre of his voice. Anything to perform better, to gauge how he’s feeling, to perfect the picture, find out what Vale can do for him. A catalog of Marc. 

And right now— Marc’s back is ramrod straight, unnaturally so. He is fidgeting with his hands.

No part of him is touching Vale.

Vale’s stomach bottoms out, he flicks his eyes back to the page in front of him. Thinks. Reviews.

His face, just now. The slight pinch of his posture. The inches between their bodies.

Vale had pressed his knee against him earlier. He must have moved away, sometime in the course of the conversation.

Vale glances back.

Marc looks serious, like he’s staring down the beginning of a race. His face is calm, remote, and the PR lady doesn’t seem to notice, but Vale sees the cracks show through. A stark contrast to the way he was last week, sprawled out in the sheets of Vale’s bed, loose and relaxed, the sun playing on the muscles of his back. Vale had licked a hot stripe up his spine, and Marc had shivered, ticklish. When Vale had placed a hand against the spaces of his ribs, he had laughed, and Vale could feel it against his hand. Had pressed his nose to the warmth of Marc’s skin, breathing deep. Had almost let himself think it was something he could keep.

But here and now, there’s none of that, erased in the gray light of the conference room. Marc’s shoulders have inched their way up around his ears, and he’s jittery, frenetic, picking at his cuticles. His jaw jumps when Vale speaks, brittle, like he’s bracing for something. A hit, maybe. A crash. Marc hasn’t looked this way in months. Since— Probably since Sepang, last year. Maybe Qatar, this season, before that first press conference. Staring down the field of cameras ahead of him.

A thought occurs to Vale, sudden and sickening.

He must be nervous about the breakup. Worried about the media backlash. Vale’s fans. About what people will do to them if they decide Vale hates him again. About going back to that.

Vale thumbs at the paper edge of timeline, stares at the logical sequence of steps. Plan for the Dissolution of Relationship, he reads in clinical font. Calculated to let them both get out of this with minimal damage, please the advertisers. An amicable break up. Mutual, they’ll call it.

But Vale was listening earlier, and he knows it’s not good enough— doesn’t do enough to ease the way. It'll just set them back where they were in the off-season, when Marc was losing sponsors and everyone knew that a photo of him on his knees might be enough to keep him off the bike for good. All because of Vale. And he can’t— that’s not an option.

“What if I'm seen out with someone else, at a bar or a club?” He says, and the eyebrow of the PR lady shoots up. “Would that make it cleaner for us?”

She tilts her head, considering it. Infuriatingly placid. Vale wants to scream.

“Well, you would certainly be in the tabloids again for a few days, and you’d have to be careful not to be too public about it, but–” She ends it by giving him a knowing glance that makes him feel like live ants are crawling under his skin. He doesn’t want to be seen with anyone else. He wants— “That would send a message! If you think it would make things simpler and faster, we won’t stop you if you want to do it.”

“Two weeks you said?” Vale interrupts, before she can open up the conversation any more. He needs to know how long he has left, how long Marc will— how long before he has to see Marc with anyone else. How long he can expect to be able to roll over in the middle of the night and watch him breathe. Count his lashes until he falls back to sleep.

And two weeks is—that’s. That's no time at all. That's a blink, a heartbeat. And Marc will be able to leave, like he wanted to at the beginning, and it’ll go back to how it was. In the off-season, when they weren’t talking.

The world feels distant and immediate all at once, and Vale can see the future stretch out ahead of him—polite smiles on podiums. Spraying champagne anywhere but at each other. Bland platitudes about respect in press conferences. Pretending that he hasn’t seen the freckles on Marc’s back play against his eyelids every time he's closed his eyes since Phillip Island last year 

“Two weeks, yes, and then you two can go your separate ways.” She says, and Marc shifts beside him. He hasn’t pulled further away, hasn’t put any more space between the two of them, but he’s being very quiet. Deliberately so. Cards close to his chest, clamming up like he does, like he did when Vale confronted him after Sepang. When he told him he’d only be remembered for that. They’ve both made sure that’s not the case, now.

Vale leans back in his chair and lets their arms brush, trying to get a read on him, do something— and Marc’s drawn like a bowstring, the muscle of his bicep so taught against Vale’s it feels inorganic—steel or brick. Something hard and immovable. Vale doesn’t look at him, doesn’t want to see his face. That would feel like open heart surgery.

Marc will be okay without him. He was always going to go, competition was always going to find a way between them. But he’s just like Vale, was born to ride a bike, and Vale can’t—won’t— let himself be the reason Marc is getting torn apart by the press again. Won’t let himself be the reason Marc can’t be in the paddock. Can’t be on the track, getting in Vale’s way.

He can’t be the reason this is all Marc gets remembered for.

He takes a deep breath.

“I can find someone by then.” He says.

And he feels Marc shift, and pull away from him completely.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Falling Water Cease to Roar

Bones in the Ocean Masterlist

CW: 'It' used as a pronoun, references to past murder/abuse, captivity, referenced mind control/magic

The grandfather clock that stood along the wall by the fireplace in the study ticked, lazily but inevitably marking the passage of time while Ford stared down into the glass of amber bourbon he’d poured himself to stop his hands from shaking.

In an hour, he would hopefully be drunk enough to make dining with his father, his sister, the absolutely gorgeous woman upstairs his father intended to force him to marry, and his father’s beautiful monster something he could bear. For now, though, he was sober enough that the horror weighed too heavy. He was slumped in the overstuffed leather chair, close enough that the warmth of the fire touched him, but it could not fully penetrate his skin.

The worst thing, of course, was that the monster was in here, too.

It sat in a different chair, over by the window, staring at the sunset with a look of fixed intensity, barely blinking. It had every appearance of being an unnaturally beautiful man a decade or so older than Ford was, but of course it was at least close to two centuries old, and really… who knew how long it had lived before Guilford Wentworth had come across it? 

It wore the loose shirt and pants it had been given as if they were chains, shifting uncomfortably every few seconds. Its bare feet pressed into the softness of a plush rug beneath its chair. Ford stared as it… wiggled its toes, like anyone might at the simple comfort. Like any human, any… person.

The creature had been there his entire life, just one more tool in his father’s toolbox. The biggest and most useful one. He had watched with growing dread as he aged while the thing sang affection into his father’s friends, obedience into his enemies, and… love into Ford’s own mother, over and over, every time her mind threatened to stray away from it. 

Just as it would sing love into the mind of the woman upstairs, love into him, and even after that it wouldn’t be enough to please his father’s demands. No… time was running out for Ford’s own mind to remain his own. 

Once the wedding was done, and the monster had done what it was commanded to do, Ford would be nothing more than what his own true father had been. He’d be a puppet, going through the motions with a stupid smile on his face, until he was no longer needed and was tossed into the toybox to rot.

How would he be made to do it? He looked over at the monster again. It looked so… calm and peaceful, resting its chin on one hand, the light from the setting sun warming its brown skin and making its eyes seem oddly ablaze. It never looked all that dangerous, but… although Ford had been young, and the twins only just born, he remembered very clearly watching the monster sing a pretty song and then his true father walk into the pond in the garden to meet it. He remembered how its jaw had opened far too wide, how it had had too many teeth when it fell on him. There had been so much blood in the water. 

They hadn’t known he was watching.

Ford wondered sometimes if he’d have been sent into the pond as well, if they had seen him peeking over the windowsill in his mother’s room. 

Would Guilford Wentworth allow his so-called firstborn son to make requests on the manner of his murder, once his life became inconvenient to the grander plan? Maybe. Maybe he could ask, once he’d had a child of his own-

His stomach flipped, nerves and nausea battling within him when he thought of the look of fiery defiance in the eyes of the woman upstairs. She did not want this. He did not want this. But of course, that mattered very little when Lord Guilford Wentworth, second only to the king and with a terrible magic at his command, wanted it.

Not when he had a monster to remake the world to his liking, and all Ford had was his pitiful anger and no skill, influence, or fortune he could use to effect an escape. Had his true father been this frightened, before his wedding? Had his mother loathed Guilford Wentworth like the woman upstairs so clearly did, before the monster wiped her clean of everything but softness and light? Had his true father regained his mind at the end, when the monster’s teeth tore out his throat and he had only seconds to live?

And if he had, was it a mercy to die his own man, or simply a darker murder?

His fingers tightened around the cool glass until he worried it might crack under his grip. Thinking of his true father and the days after when he had screamed himself hoarse that it had been murder while everyone around him mourned the unfortunate drowning accident… it ached, and he had to shove the memory away as far as he could. He’d been shoving that memory aside most of his life, and he was an expert by now at how to bury it. He took a breath and then sipped the bourbon, letting the liquid burn down his throat and warm his shoulders, his chest. 

He took another drink, a deeper one, and this time he coughed when the liquid felt like it tried to go into his lungs and not his stomach, his chest suddenly felt like it was on fire within, burning behind his breastbone. He had to lean forward and pound his chest with a fist, coughing breathlessly and then jerking in air in graceless gasps. 

The monster did not move - but its head turned, just a little, to look over at him. It should be a crime, to be a creature of such evil and have such beautiful eyes. “... are you dying?” It asked, voice low and devoid of any real curiosity. 

“N-No,” Ford spat, finally feeling air enter his lungs more easily as he gulped oxygen down. It felt like spots danced at the corners of his eyes, fading as everything settled. His heart, though, still raced. When had he last heard the monster speak aloud? “I’m fine. Just went down the wrong way, is all.”

“Mmn.” The monster turned away from him. “Good. I would be blamed if you died here.”

“Why do you care if you are?” Ford’s eyes narrowed. He set the glass down on a small table next to his chair with a hard enough crack of glass on wood that he winced, hoping the pricey liquor wouldn’t leak onto the wood, make a stain, and get him in trouble. 

No. He was a grown man, and he would not fear his father’s beatings, not now. He would not let that creeping terror of Guilford’s rages keep him from standing, stalking across the room to the monster, and standing before him.

He leaned over, pitching his voice so low it wouldn’t even carry to any servant who might be lingering on the other side of the door, eavesdropping for anything they might take to Guilford to get Ford in trouble again. “We both know damn well, monster, that you’ll be the one to kill me eventually, anyway. So why do you care if it happens now?”

It did not stand, but its eyes flicked upwards to meet his where he loomed over it. From this angle, he could see the tattoos, the swirling loops and and arcane symbols that moved from just under its jaw down one side of its neck, disappearing into the neckline of its shirt, reappearing in glimpses along its wrist and hand where they came out from its long sleeve. He could see, too, scars around the unmarked side of its neck. They were so faint he’d never been close enough to notice them before. The scars circled, layered over each other. 

The monster held his gaze. “He will be displeased with me if his plans have to be changed. I will bear his anger again.”

“You…” Ford trailed off. The monster raised its eyebrows. Despite its posture reading as nothing more than lazy insolence, he could sense tension. When his eyes followed the line of its arm, he found its fingers were trembling, minutely, where they lay seemingly relaxed against the arm of the chair it sat on. There were scars faintly visible around its wrists, too. Its throat shifted as it swallowed, holding perfectly still. 

Ford had spent his life learning how to appear like a happy first son of one of the wealthiest families in the world, while secretly fearing his father’s every hint of disapproval for the violence it would bring on. He knew what it looked like to be frightened and yet determined not to show it. 

He knew he saw the same fear in it now that he knew so well. Carelessness was an armor, a magical cloak of invisibility for true feelings, but it was one that you could see easily if you’d worn it yourself. 

Its eyes narrowed and its top lip shifted, revealing sharp fangs for teeth, a hint of a defensive snarl.

“Stop it,” Ford commanded, but some of his anger had gone. 

“I do not serve you,” It said, its own voice holding both its human tongue and a lower, animal growl that rumbled underneath. “I will not kneel or lay down for you. Touch me and I will tear off your hand.”

Ford took a step back, and then another, almost stumbling until he bumped into another chair and didn’t so much sit as fall backwards into it. “You won’t what-”

Its bared its teeth fully, then, briefly showing him the full force of its razor-sharp fangs before it turned deliberately away, to look back at the sunset. Dismissing him the same way his father used to, without even speaking a word.

Ford stared at its impassive face, back to seeming utterly human now that it was no longer showing its surreal, hideous teeth. “... I saw you kill my father, you know.”

Those eyes moved briefly to him, then back to the window. “I kill all the fathers. A few of you have seen me. Your children may see me kill you. Every time is different. Every time is the same.”

Ford swiped his hand over his mouth and let his head drop until it hit the back of the chair, staring up at the ceiling, letting the simple mundane horror of the words flow over him like water. Dipping his head beneath the surface of such easily-spoken and awful truths. His heart pounded, thumping against the inside of his chest as though trying to batter its way out. “Have you ever not killed anyone?”

“Yes.” Ford looked back at the monster in surprise, but it only watched him now, evenly, with no expression on its face or in its voice. “I told a child to run, once, and she lived. The rest… even if I do not rip them apart myself…”

“They die because of you. We die because of you.” It nodded, face utterly blank. “Don’t you…” Ford gestured aimlessly, not even sure what the movement of his hands was meant to represent. “Feel the slightest bit bad about it? Regret? Remorse?”

“You are human. You are his blood, you are like him-”

“I am not like him!” The denial roared out of him - the shouting was so loud and seemed to come unbidden, and it took him until the end of the sentence to realize it was he himself who was shouting. He was on his feet in an instant, closed the short distance between them, and he had slapped the monster full across the face before he understood he had moved at all. “I am not!”

His palm stung, hot and buzzing, and he stared at the monster who looked at him with that snarl yet again, one side of its face flushing bright red already, eyes glimmering with the reflection of the dying day. “Are you not?”

Its voice was low, and its aim true.

Ford hitched in a breath, horror washing cold through him, sweeping away the anger that had driven him forward. He had never hit another-

No. It wasn’t a person.

But still…

If he resorted to his father’s violence so readily, turned on another what had once been turned on him, was he even a person?

Perhaps they were both monsters. 

“I-... I’m sorry,” He said, his voice slightly strangled, looking away. Something very like a scream was trying to claw its way up his throat and he had to fight with everything he had to keep his voice level and even. “I apologize. That was… I should not have-... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He all but fled back to his glass, drinking the rest of it in a few quick swallows, breathing harshly as the warmth spread but could not fight the cold loathing of himself that one small slap had brought to the surface. He set it back down with a shaking hand, putting the other up against his forehead, closing his eyes tightly against the hot rush of tears that he would not allow to fall.

Once he felt more in control of himself, he took the deepest breath he could, expanding his lungs until he felt they might burst, and then slowly exhaled again. 

When he found the courage - just barely - to chance another look at his father’s creature, the monster was watching him with the first genuine, open expression he’d seen it make. 

It was surprised.

There was a pause while it stared at him, and he stared back. Then, it said, in the same low voice always, “Help her.”

“What?”

“Kiraya Losna. Help her, and save us.”

“Save… you?”

It hesitated, and just as it opened its mouth to speak again, the door swung open. Ford turned on his heel to try and look unsurprised, but it was only his father’s butler.

“Miss Kiraya Losna and Miss Nathalie will be escorted momentarily to the dining room,” Babbage said, cheerful as always. If he was even able to sense the tension in the room, he seemed to ignore it. Although perhaps he couldn’t see anything but whatever Ford’s father wanted him to see. “Your father is already seated, Master Ford. You will join him now, you and your friend.”

Ford’s eyes shifted to the monster and then back. “My-... Ah. Of course, Babbage, thank you.”

Babbage bowed his head, briefly, and then walked away on silent feet. He always moved like that - he’d caught Ford at childish nonsense many times in his childhood, because he was impossible to hear unless he wanted to be heard.

Although Ford could have sworn he’d once or twice heard Babbage shouting in the night, incomprehensible, silenced before Ford had ever been able to quite understand what was wrong. And each time, he was right as rain the next morning, with a smile and a welcoming pat on the shoulder. 

Ford took steps that felt like walking to a gallows, the monster falling in just behind him, as if they were old friends. He could feel its presence at his back, goosebumps rising on his arms, but there was no threat, no danger. Only his own nerves pouring acid through his veins. 

“Help her,” The monster whispered once more. “If you are not your father, then be a man better than him. Free me and I will harm no more of you. Go to her room and bring her down to speak to me. Free me. Please. Please.”

“I do not trust you, monster,” He murmured, barely moving his lips. “Why should I believe your words at all?”

“Better to hope for my honesty than to fear your father’s anger.”

Ford’s teeth ground together. What could he possibly say to that? His father would be furious beyond all reason if he let his prisoner loose to roam the halls of the house or run away entirely. His rage would be all-encompassing. He might decide to marry Nathalie or-... god forbid, one of the twins off instead. Damning them to the fate he now faced seemed a worse sin than any other.

But…

The monster did not seem to want to be here. If it wanted only to escape, his father’s control would be shattered, and Ford could be free.

If it was only trying to lead him to the slaughter, well… That would be terrible. But if it was looking to escape and he did nothing, then… his father’s monster would doom him to lose his mind and then his life. It wouldn’t even care about the loss. Indeed, it would make sure no one cared about the loss in the end, the way his mother had mourned his true father only for a night before she seemed to simply forget he had ever existed as anything but a faint, lovely daydream by noon the next day. 

His life, all his wants and dreams and wishes for his future would dissipate like smoke, unmourned, unmissed, because of this thing that sat in a chair like a man and sang magic like a demon. 

But it was the same thing that was begging him for help.

Help her.

Ford squared his shoulders, straightened his spine, and stepped into the dining room like a man preparing for a fight.

-

Taglist: @grizzlie70 @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump @shrimpwritings @there-will-always-be-blood @latenightcupsofcoffee @angelsproject

[thefabulous-mostgroovy]

If I Make it Through Tonight (Everybody's Gonna Hear Me Out)

Martin saw his first monster at the age of ten.

He saw his second monster at the age of twenty-eight, and that monster was his boss.

Jon/Martin, 4.6k words, rated T, read on AO3. This is for day 5 of @jonmartinweek for the prompt Cryptids. pls ignore that i completely forgot to repost this to tumblr lmao

Martin saw his first monster at the age of ten.

He was in Brownies at that age, amongst a group of girls who could tell he wasn't quite like them. The scout leader had been talking about a camping trip for over a year at that point, and finally managed to organise it at a local site. A few girls complained about the dirt and didn't like the smell of the campfire and the portaloo, but Martin stuck with a small group of girls who he found huddled around a flipped over rock, looking at bugs.

He doesn't remember most of the night, in all honesty. They did the usual stuff you were supposed to do when you go camping: stories, songs, s'mores. Nothing too exciting. Then they all went to bed in their lackluster tents and sleeping bags.

When Martin woke up, he didn't know what time it was. Just that it was dark and the campfire had been put out. The girls in his tent were all still asleep. Sitting up and pulling his jumper on, he carefully pulled the zipper on the entrance down and poked his head out. He couldn't see much but the vague silhouette of the other tents and trees.

The woods at night were quiet. Martin closed his eyes and listened to chirping insects and rustling bushes. He's always liked the sound of nature. He lived near a woodland with a park sitting on the edge and he would lie in the basket swing and watch the spaces through the trees. Sometimes he would see deer or rabbits or foxes, or once, even a badger. He didn't have a sketchbook, but he would take some printer paper and a clipboard and draw the animals and plants he saw. Not very well, mind you, but he would sometimes convince his mum to let him keep his favourites stuck to the fridge.

Martin was snapped out of his thoughts by a loud rustle in the foliage, and a hush fell over the woods. A true silence was left ringing in his ears and he turtled into the neck of his jumper. He vaguely remembers, from a walk through that woodland with his father, being told that silence is the most dangerous sound in nature; it means everything that could be eaten has run away, leaving only the thing looking for something to eat. He fumbled for his glasses behind him, not taking his eyes off the treeline, and shoved them onto his nose. It didn't help much, but it wasn't as blurry anymore.

Amongst the black, he saw something shifting, heard the sniffs of a large nose. Heavy, yet careful footsteps made their way through the bushes, and into the campsite. Now out of the trees, Martin could see it clearer.

The creature was enormous, hunched unnaturally on four legs and covered in thin, dark hair. The skin underneath was pale and covered in painful-looking stretch marks. The paws didn't seem like paws at all. They looked more like hands, with elongated fingers and harsh, ragged nails. It was almost person-shaped. Almost. The hunchback made it look like a man trying to walk on all fours, on his hands and feet, but it moved so fluidly, like it was used to it.

Until it stood up.

The thing rose onto its two hind legs, pushing at the portaloo with its knobbly hands, towering over the thing by easily two and a half feet. The small stall rocked back and forth, clattering as its balance was tested. It chuffed as it tried the handle with clumsy fingers, then moved on to investigate a tent.

Looking back on it, Martin knows it was a terrible idea, but his mind had filled with the awful image of this creature—this monster—getting into the tent and ripping the girls inside to shreds, and he simply acted in instinct. He blindly fished the wind up torch he brought with him out of his sleeping bag, and turned it on. The crank made an awful, loud clicking noise and the light wasn't very bright, but the monster still squinted at it.

Big reflective eyes stared at Martin, the lumbering body frozen in a startled turn. Its hair stood on end, teeth bared in its snout and stained with something dark, and it stared. It stared and stared and didn't move a muscle. Martin stared back, suddenly cold with fear. It raised a long, slender finger, the tip thick like a paw pad, the nail curled and yellow, and it held the finger to its lips. Like it was telling—no, warning—Martin to be quiet.

The light faded out. Martin didn't rewind it. He listened to the creature disappear back into the woods. He did not go back to sleep that night.

The first monster Martin saw, he discovered many years later, was a werewolf. And it sparked what can only be described as an obsession.

From that point forward, Martin found everything he could on monsters, ghouls, and cryptids. He found books in the library about Mothman and the Loch Ness Monster and Krampus, and checked them out, much to the dismay of the librarian. He copied the anatomical sketches into the jotters he took from the supply bin in school and proudly showed his teachers, who replied with a concerned grimace.

(To be fair, he doesn't blame them. He was this specky little eleven year old holding up drawings that might as well have been props from The Shining. He once heard a teaching assistant mutter 'Redruuum' behind the teacher he was proudly showing a picture of Bigfoot to, and she was quickly sent off with a glare.)

The interest only got worse as he grew up. He set up trail cams in his local woodland, he went on ill-advised camping trips to unregulated areas, he had a truly awful vampire phase in high school and is rather glad he's not still friends with anyone who would remember it. He started carrying around a camera everywhere he went, just in case, deciding that his top goal should be to finally get a picture of one of the damn things. But one thing truly takes the cake for the lengths he's willing to go to get that shot:

After dropping out of high school and needing to support himself and his mum, he made up a lie about having a master's degree in parapsychology and applied to the Magnus Institute.

Working at the Magnus Institute had been a total dream for Martin for a few years at that point. The idea of being completely surrounded with resources, with proof of the supernatural was all he could ever ask for! Of course, he applied to other jobs as well, but he had all his hopes pinned on the institute. When he got the interview, he was practically vibrating with nerves the entire time. The whole thing was a bit weird, Elias is definitely a bit of a freak who learned what a smile is from a WikiHow guide, but he did get the job!

And ended up in the bloody library.

Sure, having very easy access to every book you could possibly want on supernatural creatures is great, but zero access to the research department is not great. It also doesn't help that there are actually very few books on cryptids, and most of his coworkers thought they were a load of rubbish.

All in all, Martin does what he can before simply returning to independent research (i.e. Reddit threads. Grim). That is, until he got moved to the archives.

It's all he could have ever asked for: two hundred years worth of statements and research packed away into a maze of shelves where no one can see him rummaging around and taking notes on the book he hides in his desk drawer. A boss who doesn't seem to mind, if downright encourages, employees staying late, even if he is a bit of a dickhead about it (a very handsome dickhead, but that's a matter for Martin to think about elsewhere). And two coworkers who are truly entertained by Martin's Origin Story and hand him files to read on werewolves in America, and vampire killers. He swears he was only a little disappointed to find out that vampires are not as sexy as they are, according to Anne Rice.

This is all to say, Martin is finally going on another proper Cryptid Hunt.

Now, Martin has never set foot in a proper research facility, but he thinks he's onto something. Statement after statement has been cropping up about a monster roaming London in the night, that speaks in static and has dozens of eyes. It's like nothing Martin has ever heard before. He's determined to find it. He's got his digital camera, he has a torch and plenty of backup batteries, he has a Polaroid camera, just in case cryptids don't capture well on digital—which he assumes they won't, if the statements won't even record without the tape recorder.

Speaking of tapes, he'll need to find some blank tapes to record anything important on. Not that he thinks a Polaroid wouldn't be enough proof, he just- he likes the Lo-fi charm, alright? It's—as much as Jon detests the word—spooky.

It's not his first rodeo borrowing (stealing) the odd item for one of his hunts, but this time he's more nervous. Jon has made it very clear that Martin is on thin ice, especially after letting a dog into the archives and it causing a mess on the floor. So, he tries his best to be very careful when he picks the lock to Jon's door and stuffs a couple tapes into his satchel. It's all going surprisingly swimmingly until he runs into Jon on the way out after getting his coat.

"Martin?" Jon calls as he spots him. "Did you see anyone going into my office?"

"Mm, no," Martin says, like a liar. He's always been good at lying. That's not great for his character, but it is great for him getting away with everything.

"Right, I must have forgotten to lock the door, then," he mumbles. Jon has his coat on and his bag over his shoulder, which is odd considering Martin doesn't think he's ever seen Jon leave on time. He shows up early and he leaves late; as far as Martin knows, he could bloody live down here.

"Are you heading out already?" Martin risks asking. It's not that he wants Jon to work himself to death, but could he maybe start his self improvement journey when Martin isn't trying to walk out with stolen Institute property?

"Yes, I have, uh—" Jon waves a hand as he thinks, "—plans. I have plans. Shall we head out together?"

The suggestion throws him off, as do many things Jon does. He has these odd moments of treating Martin no different from Tim and Sasha, then the next minute going back to calling him useless. Martin tries to cherish the few and far between acts of kindness Jon dishes out, but he tends to ruin it with his face going bright red and starting to stutter and fumble with what he wants to say. Then Jon will usually side-eye him and tut and the moment will be over and Martin has failed to woo his hot boss once again and—

"Martin?" Jon interrupts, head tilted and brow furrowed.

"Oh! Oh, uh, yeah, sure, let's- let's go!" Martin lets out a nervous chuckle and Jon sends him an odd side-eye, and tuts, and sets off towards the lift. Martin curses under his breath and follows.

It's a little awkward in the lift, tense in a way that Martin is sure Jon doesn't feel. He clears his throat quietly.

"So, what plans do you have?" he asks, hoping Jon didn't actually intend on walking side by side in silence to the front door.

"Hm?" Jon raises a brow at him, like he's said something truly outrageous, then his eyes widen a little. "Oh- nothing much, just- visiting a friend from my uni days. Anything planned for yourself?"

"Not much." Martin shrugs. "Hoping to have a nice night in, you know?" Jon hums and nods a little as the lift sings and opens to the ground floor. The chit chat is idle and dull as they make their way through the dwindling crowds filtering out of the Institute, and they share curt goodbyes as they part ways.

_____

Martin triple checks his bag for maybe the millionth time: he has a camera, digital and analog, his phone, water, a few snacks, a torch, a loaded tape recorder and an extra cassette, and some basic first aid items. He has everything. It's time to set off.

The grass is dry and crunches beneath his feet as he makes his way into the woods. He tries to walk confidently, as if confidence is all he needs to warn off a thing that one statement said could most accurately be described as a fucking dragon. This is an impeccably stupid idea to begin with, so who cares if puffing his chest out makes him feel a little safer.

He ditches the path and wanders off into the trees, knowing how bad of an idea that is, and doing it anyway.

The light from the torch sends stark shadows streaking along the ground and up the trees, startling animals off in the distance, but no dragon. Martin knows it's not close because he can still hear the vague chitters of squirrels and insects. He walks slowly, carefully, because it's not going to be any help if he scares them off himself. He swallows as his nerves start to get to him. Maybe talking will take his mind off of it. He starts the tape recorder with a clunky click.

"Okay, erm... documentation of Martin Blackwood going Cryptid Hunting, because he's a bloody moron, tape one. I've found the area that a lot of these statements mentioned, it's a pretty popular walking trail, so hopefully this will come up with something."

A breeze sends a shiver down his spine as he checks all around him, pointing the thin beam of light through the spindly trees. His footsteps are light as he can manage, barely rustling the grass and fallen leaves. He doesn't see anything except a grey forest, illuminated by shitty LEDs, and he hasn't seen anything for the last twenty minutes.

"I'm starting to think this is a lost cause. I mean, it's getting late, and it's bloody freezing, I might just turn back." And he clicks the recorder off. The quiet in the absence of the whirring tape makes him feel even worse.

He tries to follow back the way he came. He winds through familiar enough looking trees and broken branches and rocks and logs. Then he walks past the same bunch of trees twice, and sees a log that he swears he saw ten minutes ago, and a small stream that he thinks he's already stepped over. In what feels like no time, it's been an hour and he hasn't found the trail. He quickly and quietly curses under his breath, panic starting to settle in at the fact that he's lost in a woods with frequent monster sightings.

"See, kids, this is why you follow the walking path," he mutters into the recorder. "Don't do what I do, for Christ's sake." He turns it back off, to preserve space on the tape, but it clicks back on by itself. With a shaky breath, he turns it back off. It turns on again. "Shit, don't tell me the recorder's broken..."

He holds the thing up to his face, trying to inspect the buttons for damage, but he doesn't know how tape recorders work so it's not revealing much.

A branch snaps somewhere behind him. Not a thing branch, or a twig, but a heavy, crunching snap, that sends the forest into silence. Nothing fills the air except Martin's quickened breathing and the whir of the tape. And possibly a short shriek from him, but that's unimportant.

Martin shines the light in every direction, hand shaking as he frantically searches the darkness for a presence. The tape recorder clicks itself off, then starts to play. His own voice comes out garbled and backwards through the tinny speakers of the recorder. It crackles and starts to fade into static. The thing shakes in his hands and he thinks maybe he should put the thing down, when something comes out of it, through the cacophony of static.

"Martin..."

The man in question freezes for only a second before he fumbles to pull his Polaroid camera out of his bag, not bothering with the digital. With the shrieking tape record tucked under his arm, he stands with his camera poised, listening out for movement. He hears a rustle on his left and whips around, taking a picture in that direction.

In the brief second that the flash lights up the trees, he sees it: an enormous, black creature with sickly green eyes covering every inch of its face, twisted horns reaching up into the branches and taloned feet reaching over the bushes. A mane of fur covers its back and neck, tapering down its chest. A tail audibly swishes behind it. And it was looking right at him.

The camera spits out a picture and Martin barely even notices. He takes off in a run.

The creature doesn't make any noise as it follows, doesn't roar or growl or anything, but Martin can hear it crashing against trees and clawing at the wood and ground. He can tell that it's bounding towards him. The recorder is practically screaming and it hurts his ears. He looks over his shoulder, and suddenly understands why three separate people called it a dragon. The thing has six legs and it's leaping from tree to tree like an awful overgrown squirrel.

In his terror, watching it grow closer and closer, Martin trips over a branch and goes flying to the ground. He rolls onto his back, scrambling to kick himself away as the creature closes in. He doesn't get very far as it slams a giant hand down on his chest and stomach. Martin screams bloody murder, kicking his legs in the hopes of hitting anything within reach, pushing at the leg and pulling at its fur.

Martin has always wanted to see another monster, but this is just a little too close for comfort. The thing stares at him with its too many eyes, and they each start to glow, starting from the centre at radiating outwards, the pupils thinning into tiny slits.

Martin feels pinned (in a more metaphorical sense than how he is very literally being pinned to the ground). He feels like he's getting an x-ray, like this monster has peeled him open and is stripping him bare. He's completely frozen under its oppressive gaze. He doesn't know how he's so sure, but he is filled with the inescapable dread that it now knows every last detail of his entire life.

He doesn't realise he hasn't been breathing until the feeling stops, and he gasps in deep, gulping breaths, tears falling down his temples. The static from the tape recorder—which had been abandoned to his left when he fell and had still been screeching—starts to quiet down, evening out into a steady white noise. The monster blinks all its eyes in unison, and the pupils have each grown rounder, filling out most of the eyes.

"Martin," the recorder says again. That voice- Martin knows that voice, where does he know that voice? "Martin...?"

"H-... hello?" he whimpers. He wonders if this is recording. "Are you... is that you? Speaking?"

"The tape," the monster says, glancing to the recorder. It—he?—sounds almost more confused than Martin. "It hears me."

The voice is deep and a little bewildered. Martin can't help but think it's the kind of voice you could find reading an audiobook. There's a curious aspect to it, a need to know more that is impossibly familiar. How the hell does he know his name?

He squints, no longer convinced that he's about to be gored or eaten. He swears he knows that voice, that posh, over exaggerated accent, the way it says Mahhhtin- wait, holy shit—

"Jon?!"

The monster- creature- thing– Jon looks back at Martin, shocked for a moment, then he hurriedly sits back. The six legs fold up surprisingly easily into a cat-like position.

"Martin, what the hell are you doing out here?" says the voice coming from the recorder. Says Jon. Says Martin's boss. He's having a bit of a time, okay?

"What am I doing? What are you doing?" Martin spits as he scrambles to sit up. "You mean to tell me you're a- a what? A dragon? A monster? A giant ferret that can only speak through a tape recorder? You don't even have a mouth!"

Jon stares, very unimpressed.

"What I mean is, it's very dangerous to be out here this late, especially off-trail." Jon chuffs as the recorder speaks. There's an odd purring rumbling from his chest. "I'm taking you back to your car. Come on."

"Oh, like you know the way," Martin grumbles, but still grabs the tape recorder and straightens out his bag, standing to follow.

"Like this, I know everything, Martin," Jon says, voice low and gravelly in a way that makes Martin's face go hot and red. Jon shuffles around and nudges him between his shoulders with his snout. "Now, let's get a move on."

Martin trudges alongside the giant dragon-Jon, who stoops his head down to seem closer to Martin's height, head tilted at an angle to lay his horns flat against his shoulders, instead of catching them on the branches. Part of him wants to try and make conversation. Part of him wants to forget this ever happened. A massive part of him wants to pet Jon's mane—it looks very soft and fluffy, and this close, he can see tufts of very dark green and dull grey amongst the black and he just really wants to sink a hand into it and—

"Yes, Martin, you can pet the mane," Jon sighs, rolling his eyes. Martin flushes from head to toe.

"How did you- what!" Martin squawks, and Jon laughs a little.

"You were thinking it very loudly at me," Jon explains. Martin stops in his tracks.

"Wh– you can read minds?"

"That's one way of putting it, I suppose."

"Well, don't read my mind, please."

"I can't exactly help it much." Jon rolls his eyes again and moves his neck within Martin's reach. "Go on, I suppose. If you still want to."

There's an odd look in Jon's eyes, looking almost expectantly at him. Hesitantly, Martin raises a hand, checking his face for signs that he was joking, and it doesn't seem so. Jon isn't the type to joke about that anyway, so he carefully reaches over and strokes the fur. It is soft. He carefully pets the fur down with the back of his hand, then sinks his hand a little further into the fluffy mass. At the firmer touch, Jon swings his neck to press into Martin's hand, so hard that he stumbles back.

The purring starts up again as Jon parks himself on the ground and leans heavily into Martin's arms. Martin laughs as he pets Jon's—again, his boss—chest and the back of his neck, wrapping arms around his as far as he can reach. The fur tickles his nose, and Jon rubs against him, all his eyes closing as the purr vibrates under his hands. His backmost leg starts kicking at the ground and a contended sigh comes from the recorder. Martin then laughs so loud in shock that he ruins the moment and Jon shakes him off.

He clears his throat. "Sorry, erm... let's continue."

Martin follows him through the woods with a smug little smile on his face. A question scratches at the back of his mind, but he isn't sure how to ask it without making things awkward. He figures, Jon will just, apparently, read his mind and find out anyway, so he might as well ask himself.

"So are you, like... fully in there?" he asks.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're- you're conscious in this- form, I guess." Martin thinks for a moment. "Side question, is this like a werewolf thing?"

"Well, first, I suppose you could call it a werewolf thing, it happens every few weeks. And to answer your initial question, kind of?"

"So then why did you chase me down like you were going to kill and eat me?"

"I- I do apologise for scaring you," Jon starts, guiltily bowing his head. "Though, I will admit, it was my intention. I didn't recognise you. Or- I did, but it didn't register? Usually, like this, my brain is a lot more... simple. Straightforward, I suppose is a better way of putting it. Like my sentience takes the back seat to make room for something more- primal. Being able to speak through the tape recorder seems to put me back at the forefront."

Martin doesn't know what kind of answer he was expecting, but it wasn't that.

"So you've got some kind of... animal brain when you're—" Martin tries to find a delicate way to put it, and fails, "—this thing?" Okay, that was possibly the worst way he could have described it. He's totally blowing it with his hot monster boss.

"Sure," Jon huffs.

"That explains why you went all cat-ish when I pet you," he chuckles, and Jon pushes him with his head.

All in all, it's a rather pleasant walk back to his car, with the lumbering Jon next to him and his six legs thumping on the ground with each step. He's almost a little disappointed that it's over when he dumps his bag in the back seat and turns back to Jon with a quiet sigh. He has to tilt his head back all the way to look at his face. Sat back on his haunches, middle and front legs politely tucked in at his chest and stomach, combined with the long, slender horns, makes him easily ten feet tall.

(A far cry from his five-foot-five boss.)

"So," Martin says.

"So," the tape recorder says. Jon blinks his many eyes. "I'll see at work on Monday."

"Yup."

"Right. On you go, then." He swoops down and nudges Martin towards the car with his snout, then turns and heads back into the forest. Martin watches for a moment, then opens the door and collapses into the driver's seat. Jon looks back at him through the bushes. Even with the door closed, the recorder crackles out one last message: "Oh, and Martin?"

"Yeah?" He knows Jon Knows he's answered.

"Don't tell anyone about this."

And Jon disappears into the dark.

_____

By the time Martin gets home, he realises that his picture is still in the woods, and it takes all his will power not to drive back and hope Jon is still roaming around and will help him find it. But, then again, Jon probably won't want loose evidence of him being a were-dragon-ferret-whatever.

In a slightly foul mood, Martin goes to sleep.

_____

On Monday, Martin makes very awkward eye contact with Jon as he delivers his tea.

He tries to make small talk in the break room and fails miserably.

He gets no work done for the entire day. But, at five o'clock, after he's returned from washing the mugs, he finds a Polaroid of Jon on his desk, and a note.

The sticky note reads: 'Sorry for knocking you over. Still don't tell anyone.'

Martin keeps the Polaroid folded in his wallet. He doesn't tell a soul.

[nikoisme]

i get what you mean about zeus in god games, i think generally it all boils down to “there is only so much time we have for each song”, but of course there are ways to work around that, probably, and i think if even he has his own song as an extension of god games, we could have had a bit more build up to his eventual actions

personally, i’m not overly salty about it, but i know i may be bias because i like the ending of the song a lot and have very mixed opinions on zeus. i also haven’t read the odyssey so i can’t comment on the fact it plays out differently in the musical. what i will say, if we look at this action in the contained context of the musical - okay, so, zeus likes to do choices, right. he gives odysseus the choice in thunder bringer and he seems to be relatively fair with it? (okay, not, like, it’s not really fair but in line with all the other gods we see in the musical, it makes sense, i guess?). and then here he does give athena a choice again, the other gods or him. and i think he hoped she’d choose them and lose. i think he just wanted to be entertained, and then she’d give in. but she doesn’t, she does this seemingly impossible thing, convinces them all, all for the sake of a mortal man.

and if kindness is weakness, if ruthlessness is mercy, then such a feat is something unnatural to zeus. how can his own, perfect daughter be willing to fight so desperately for a man who has (in the eyes on several gods) violated the will of the gods? she won, fairly, yes, but she wasn’t supposed to. she shouldn’t have wanted to. so, yeah, zeus still overreacts, but i think it’s sort of, like, that’s his daughter. and he can’t handle that she’d align herself with a mortal and he needs to punish her, somehow, because that is something the gods cannot do. i mean, athena initially rejected ody for his “weakness”, she probably got that mentality from her dad

all that is to say, yeah i do think zeus is still a bit over-the-top-villainous, but that’s my two cents on why that could be the case. maybe. i know you did not actually ask for this i’m so sorry this is so long. autism is a crazy thing, y’know? anyways. yeah. sorry. bye

Hmm, yeah! I do see all your points! I always keep in mind that epic is loosely based off the odyssey so not everything is going to be faithful to it. It's trying to serve its purpose within the story epic is trying to tell. I recognize that a lot of the changes in epic are made for that reason, and while i may prefer the odyssey version, i can enjoy it for the point it's trying to make. But this just felt a bit over the top for me, even for the epic format haha. So this is one of the changes that i generally don't like not only because it's a complete flip from the odyssey, but also because it felt very one-dimensional and fell flat for the musical itself as well (though i understand that not every character is going to be fully fleshed out,, that is expected)

So that is just my personal opinion, and obviously i'm fine with everyone who enjoys the route epic took :)

[yansimstorythatiwillnotworkon]

#13

Wednesday

__

Amise sighed, crossing her arms at Ayano’s request. “You want me to go track down Lorelai?” She asks, lifting an eyebrow at her. Based on her body language, expression and tone of voice it didn’t seem like she wanted to be seeing Ayano at the moment. “Why?”

The two were currently at the outside cafeteria, sitting in one of the spots. This early, no one else was usually in the area, although it tends to be quite crowded during lunch. Thanks to the lack of students for the week, there likely wouldn’t be too many people in the area anyway.

“I’m trying to… resolve or prevent the conflict between him and Frankie.” Ayano explains briefly. “And I need you to locate him in order to do that.” Despite her explanation, Amise’s expression was still nothing outside of suspicious.

Tilting her head to the side, Amise averted her gaze, seemingly thinking. After a moment, she sighed, “I suppose, technically, this is my job..” She muttered underneath her breath as she held her hand to her mouth in thought.

After a brief nod, Amise says. “I’ll see what I can do.” Before Ayano walks away, though, she then adds, “Actually, I need you to do something for me as well.”

Since Ayano still evidently needed time to think of a plan for Lori and Frankie, it wouldn’t really be much of a burden if she did some sort of task while she did so. The only idea Ayano had at the moment was to offer more than what the client was paying or ask Info-Chan what to do about it, which would no-doubt result in another winding task.

“I want you to do some research on Tokuko Kitagawa’s sickness. Her throat virus or whatever it is.” Amise explained, “If she doesn’t find a cure to it soon, she won’t be able to participate in the play, which will cause a lot of conflict by next week.”

“Mm… right. I’ll head to the library and see what I can figure out.” Ayano explains briefly, standing up and tossing her spare soda can into the recycling bin. Amise herself didn’t get up, instead sitting and watching Ayano leave.

__

After Ayano leaves, Amise sighs and leans back in her chair. Since Ayano had made the genius decision to kill Amai, there was now way more conflict in the school than likely needed. If more suspicious things like Amai’s sudden suicide continued happening, students would eventually end up leaving, which would mess up… a lot. Not specifically for what Amise has in mind, but it’d make a lot of futures for her peers crumble, or at least be held off. Especially if with Ayano’s… “events” it caused the school to shut down.

Amise hums to herself. Taro was generally a pretty plain guy, realistically speaking. He’s done nothing out of the ordinary to or for Ayano. Anyone would do the same- help a girl off the floor after bumping into them. In fact, several people in the school have likely done similar, if not nicer things for Ayano already.

“Gosh..” Amise sighs, picking up the sound of slow footsteps approaching her from behind. She casually undoes her hair, flipping it over her shoulder and tying it back into the bun it was previously. As she flips her hair back, she catches a glimpse of the person behind her. “Oh, Horuda. How are you today?” She asks, smiling at her.

Horuda offers a shaky smile back. Her default expression was usually her smiling in an awkward, almost unnatural manner. Oftentimes, she isn’t even feeling happy, and just smiles for the sake of seeming appealing. Frankly, Amise is worried that Horuda’s forgotten the feeling of being happy at this point, and that her face is just used to being shaped like that.

“Alright..” Horuda says in her usual quiet voice. Then, without a change in her expression, she continues, “Actually, I’m not alright. That’s why I came to you.” She giggles a bit, again without a change in her expression and a lack of emphasis in her voice.

Amise tilts her head to the side. “Alright, then… what exact…ly..” She immediately trails off as she catches a glimpse of Horuda’s hair, which, despite seeming to come to Amise because of it, immediately raises her hand up, as if to hide it. Horuda’s hair, where it would usually fall onto her shoulders, had a huge chunk missing just behind her left ear.

From behind, it’s likely that others wouldn’t notice, but if her hair were to fall out of that specific place, anyone would notice it. “Horuda.” Amise stands up with a pitiful frown, walking over to circle around behind Horuda. The girl in question nearly shrinks from Amise’s presence, likely due to her height feeling as though someone was looming behind her. Amise learned that this was where her fear of being approached from behind came in to play.

Thankfully, Horuda had recently gotten out of the habit of apologizing at every minor inconvenience. “My hair doesn’t grow back very fast.” She murmurs under her breath, “I don’t want to cut my hair..”

“You could keep it like this. Hope no one sees. But in the end won’t those girls just bring attention to it anyway?” Amise asked, to which Horuda sadly nodded. “What was their scheme this time?”

Horuda frowns, tapping on her thighs with an exhale before muttering. “...you know how Hoshiko’s ‘afraid of scissors’?”

Amise shakes her head in disappointment. Hoshiko in particular- known by several other victims of hers- enjoys abusing her peers. Or at the very least she likes cutting hair. It was obvious that Hoshiko claimed that she had a fear of scissors so that she would immediately be eliminated in the “who cut Horuda’s hair” question. If Amise were to speak in a full ‘bully conspiracy’ manner, she would accuse Hoshiko of constantly lying and putting up a fake personality in order to get away with her sadistic desires.

Amise knew this was true, a few other students knew it was true, and Horuda certainly knew that it was true. The whole problem in terms of bullying or abuse upon students via other students isn’t seen as that big of a problem in Akademi since nothing ever goes too far. Or, a better way to put it would be that whatever does go too far is kept under the radar from the staff, student council, and a select few students.

The only reason Amise doesn’t do anything about it is because she’s one of the select few students who the victims happen to keep their lips zipped shut around. Thanks to this, a lot of Amise’s free time is spent keeping an eye on the more victim-known students. Kokuma, Hazu, Otohiko…

With a sigh, Amise undoes her hair once more, this time using her own hair tie to tie a bun into Horuda’s hair. With the way she’d placed the bun, it masked the missing chunk of hair pretty well. “...that’ll have to do.” Amise mumbles, stepping back.

Horuda turns around, looking at Amise as if asking how she looked. Rather than waiting for a comment, though, she taps her fingers together with a nervous smile. “You look beautiful with your hair down.” She says, averting her gaze.

Amise smiles, although it’s more so full of pity than flattered. “Thanks, Horuda.” She says, folding her arms lightly. “You should consider different hairstyles. You look nice with your hair down as well, but I think a bob cut or something of the sort would fit you just as well.”

“I’ll think about it, Amise.” Horuda mutters, hanging her head a bit. She pauses for a moment in thought, before swiftly tugging down some strands of hair to hide her face a bit more. “I-I’m going to go…” She trails off, likely not knowing what she was going to do herself. “..walk somewhere. Thank you, Amise.”

Horuda bows her head respectfully before quickly walking off elsewhere. Amise sighs as the shorter girl scurries off. Before she could bring it to her to think, a text message came from her phone. At first she assumed that it would be Info-Chan, but thankfully, luck was on her side.

Haru: Hey, Amise ^^

Haru: I know you’re probably in school too right now buuuuut…

Haru: Can I ask you a favor?

Haru: Pleeeeease?

Amise: Why are you pleading before you even ask the question?

Haru: To increase my luck?

Haru: [Haruka gains +10 Luck]!!

Amise: Sigh… now I have to do it :(

Haru: Correct!

Haru: Ami, can you please check on my brother for me?

Amise: Oh, that’s a lot less fiendish then I was expecting.

Amise: Why do you ask?

Haru: I haven’t had a chance to properly talk to him since his friend passed, and I won’t be able to for a while since I’m at our aunt’s right now.

Haru: How do you think he’s performing at school right now?

Amise: Weeeell…

__

“Sounds like tonsillitis.” Kuu says after Ayano gave her a brief explanation of what Tokuko complained about. When Ayano gives her a semi-shocked look, Kuu adds on. “That’s just an assumption, though.” She shrugs. “She could have gone to a poor clinic- maybe they gave her the wrong antibiotics or something. Just tell her to sleep more, gargle some salt water and live with someone else for a while.”

“That last bit sounds excessive.” Ayano mumbles, folding her arms with a raised eyebrow. Sure, Ayano herself probably couldn’t think of anything better, but it’s not like Tokuko could just up and move somewhere else. And if it were really that simple, wouldn’t she have done so by now?

Kuu simply shrugs at Ayano’s comment. “Well, it sounds better for a singer to leave an environment that ruins their voice.” She claims, handing Ayano a book on common infections in the body. “Just give her that and offer her my advice. If she doesn’t take it then oh well. I’m not going to the play anyway.”

“Hm.” Ayano nods with a quiet hum. “Alright. I’ll tell her that.” She bows her head briefly. “Thanks for your input.”

Kuu simply nods back and Ayano takes her leave right after. With impeccable timing as ever, as soon as Ayano closes the door to the library, she receives a message from Info-Chan.

Info-Chan: Your best way to get Lori’s interest is by offering him more money than his client, which I’m sure you’re aware of.

Ayano: And if I can’t?

Info-Chan: You could always do a life-lasting favor for me ^^

Info-Chan: Or you could take it up with his client in general.

Info-Chan: But in order to do that you’d have tooooo?

Ayano: Learn who his client is. I’m aware.

Ayano: I’ll ask Frankie about it.

__

Frankie taps her phone against her lips and slowly mutters a reply. “Well… I admit that I could probably just gain evidence and tell the police or something. But.. I mean…” She presses her lips together tightly before sighing. “..okay, so I used to know Lori in middle school. Not like a friend or anything, but he–” She coughs, likely to brush off that she knows his real gender, “--she and I were in a, uh… let’s say a similar situation with grade issues.”

“You and him were both getting bad grades.” Ayano says, sitting on the desk next to Frankie’s. The gyaru presses her lips together, contemplating if she’d let Lori’s real gender slip or if Ayano knew beforehand.

Whichever one she was thinking of at the moment, she ignores it and continues. “Right. So we were both assigned for after-school classes, but he either didn’t show up or was literally forced in by some teacher who caught him before he could leave school.” Frankie twirls a piece of her hair around her finger and continues in a low tone. “I was always kind of concerned because if he wasn’t subtly misbehaving in school, I saw him sitting outside of his house late at night, or just generally being alone.”

“So did you ever talk to him? If you noticed him so often, then I would assume that you did at least once.” Ayano asks, resting her arms on the desk as she leaned her head on her shoulder.

Frankie nods, “Yeah, no, I tried. And- I also… um..” She lifts a fist to her mouth in thought, her eyes shut for a moment. “Ugh… several incidents had me thinking that he needed help at home, and I still do think that. So… I talked to him to ask him about it, but he just got mad at me. He threatened me if I told anyone, but I didn’t listen and I told the police about it.”

It takes Frankie a moment, but she eventually inhales and exhales deeply, ready to continue. “The police looked into it, but apparently nothing was wrong and Lori never admitted to anything. Lori wasn’t in school for a week after that, but when he came back he hunted me down and- believe it or not- beat me up. I..” Her gaze drags down to her lap, “I thought I made it worse, but I didn’t exactly stop trying to help him. Whenever one of my plans didn’t work, my punishment was really just whatever Lori threw at me at the time. And I accepted it.”

Ayano folds her arms. “So… you assumed that something bad was happening to Lori at home- I’m going to guess some sort of abuse..” Frankie nods and Ayano continues. “...so, you tried several times to get him help, but each time it failed. As a result, Lori’s treatment would probably get worse at home, and in turn, Lori would attack you.” She exhales at Frankie’s seconds nod. “That’s a bit much for a middle schooler to deal with, huh?”

Frankie shrugs, her gaze not leaving her lap. “Sure, generally speaking.” After that comment, she continues with her explanation. “Since Lori is now constantly beating me up, I assumed that… I assumed that my nagging might have made Lori’s situation worse than before, so… I stopped trying to get help for myself.” She furrowed her eyebrows and picked at her skirt as she muttered, “Part of me feels like it’s the least I could do- like I deserve it for… possibly making his life worse. I’m willing to do… a lot to make up for what I did, but he just won’t talk to me.”

“But you don’t know if you did anything.” Ayano points out, only receiving a sigh in response from Frankie. “So, hypothetically, what did you expect me to do about your situation?”

Although tempted to just shrug again, Frankie sits up before leaning her elbows onto her desk. “I’m not really sure. My only thought process was ‘It’s not me, so maybe he’ll listen’. But that was just my wishful thinking. I’m not sure what to do, really.” She admits in a quiet voice. “Honestly, I don’t think that I could come up with any plan that didn’t contradict my own feelings. I’m sorry, Ayano, I guess I just wanted someone else to solve the problem for me.”

Ayano pauses for a moment, before saying. “I’m still willing to help. I think I’ll try talking to him just to see his reaction. Lori avoids everyone, but I’m sure I can get his attention… somehow.” She says, lifting a hand to her mouth in thought.

Frankie looked like she wanted to say something else, but in the end just bows her head. “Alright. Be careful, and thanks. Even if you can’t talk to him, any effort is appreciated.”

__

Ayano had just received a message from Amise saying that Lori was behind the auditorium building. A great place to be alone since no one liked dealing with all of the access foliage back there. It was either the Gardening Club’s blind spot or extra work to them since no one was meant to be back there anyway. The time was 8:22, right before classes started. Hopefully this interaction could happen quickly.

As soon as Ayano turned the corner that led to the area behind the auditorium, she nearly collided with Lorelai. He was leaning on the wall right beside the corner of the building with a lollipop in his mouth. He was texting someone, but immediately turned his phone off and pushed himself off the wall to walk away.

“Lorelai. I wanted to speak with you about Frankie.” Ayano started, thankfully somewhat grabbing Lori’s attention by mentioning his full name. Worried that this attention might be fleeting, Ayano quickly continued. “I know that you’re being hired by someone to attack Frankie. What can I do to keep you from doing that?”

“Hospitalize me.” Lorelai immediately muttered, turning to face Ayano with a glare.

Ayano was somewhat surprised at the voice that came from such feminine-looking features, but shook off the feeling. She was somewhat sure that Lorelai wasn’t being serious, but depending on how desperate Lorelai was, it might not be too far from the truth. Realistically, Ayano could by attacking him, but that leaves the problem of him defending himself and also simply telling the police about what she’d done.

Lorelai pulled the candy out of his mouth with a suspicious look. “Where’d you hear about that?” He asked, although his tone of voice sounded as if he were demanding rather than asking. “I know I didn’t tell anyone.”

“..My… informant.” Ayano replied hesitantly. Based on Lorelai’s further disapproving look, he either didn’t believe her or just didn’t like the idea of anyone knowing his business. “Can I pay you to leave Frankie alone?”

“Not likely.” Lorelai said, crossing his arms. “I’m paid 1K a week. Are you saying you have 2K to pay me every week?” He said, holding his hand out.

Ayano didn’t obviously have that kind of money. She looked down to Lorelai’s hand with a confused expression, and he shifted it so that it pointed to the pocket that her phone was in. Reluctantly, Ayano tossed him her phone, and after checking it briefly, he tossed it back. It’s likely that he was checking it for some sort of voice recorder, just in case.

“I… don’t.” Ayano shook her head, not to the surprise of Lorelai. “Could I talk to your… employer? Where would I find them?”

Lorelai raised an eyebrow at her, more surprised at that then her lack of money. “...one of the alleyways in Buraza Town. Around 3 in the morning, he’s usually there.”

Ayano nods. “I’ll speak to him then.”

There was a long pause, as if Lorelai was debating on adding something else to that. Instead, he scoffed, with some hint of a smug grin. “Right.” He began to walk past her, but stopped next to her. “I don’t expect you to say a thing about this.” He says, glaring at her.

After a quick nod on Ayano’s side, Lorelai walked back to the main building. As soon as he was out of sight, Ayano pulled out her phone.

Info-Chan: I know exactly who he’s talking about.

Info-Chan: Great job, Yan-Chan ^^

Info-Chan: You’ve been awarded many, many info points for this lovely information.

Yan-Chan: Who is he talking about?

Info-Chan: I think it’s best if you find out yourself ;D

Yan-Chan: And how many info points would it cost me to have you just tell me?

Info-Chan: All of them.

Yan-Chan: Right. Tell me.

Info-Chan: You were supposed to be opposed to the idea :(

Info-Chan: Regardless, no amount.

Info-Chan: You’ll thank me for saving you from debt later :3

Yan-Chan: Fine.

__

After Ayano finished her general tasks for today, including her business with Tokuko and Frankie, it was just a matter of waiting for the appropriate time to leave for Buraza. Ayano ended up leaving about half an hour early, and looked around, peeking into each alleyway, but obviously not seeing much yet. As she exited one of the alleyways, she heard a familiar voice nearby.

“I’m not letting you cheat me out of this!” Kokona seethed, grabbing her dress in frustration. Tears pricked her eyes as she glared at the man in front of her. “You- You’re not giving me the money you said you would!”

“Listen. I was being generous with that amount.” The man said, although he tried to give some sort of sympathetic look, he really just looked glad to have received whatever he did at whatever price he was ripping her off of. “Girls like you get paid that much for more satisfying services. You can’t get mad that I’m giving you money you deserved. Even the money I gave you isn’t what I’d call money ‘well-spent’.” He claimed.

There was no one else around, really. Part of Ayano wondered what exactly Kokona would be up to with a man this late at night. Whatever it was she was doing, both the information and helping her out would benefit Ayano greatly.

The two continued going back and forth, with Kokona nearly in tears and the man just seeming to enjoy getting a rise out of her before he inevitably left. “Just face it, babe. I’m not giving you all that money.”

Ayano slipped a knife out of her pocket and jabbed it into the man’s back. “I think you will.” She said, her voice low and threatening. Kokona looked somewhat shocked but immediately changed her face back to anger. She held her hand out expectedly as the man stiffened up at the sharp blade pressed into his back.

“H.. Hey, now. You’re not really gonna help this skank out, are you? She is not worth getting violent over, I promise you.” The man said, attempting to reason Ayano out of this, his hands held up and his heading facing forward.

“You heard what I said, right?” Ayano hissed, pushing the knife further, although of course not enough to seriously harm him. At the jab, the man shakily reached into his wallet. Unable to actually pick out the necessary money he just slipped his cards and ID out and tossed the wallet to the ground.

He kicks the wallet to Kokona’s feet and she picks it up and takes a step back, still glaring at the man. “There’s your money. Okay? Now get off of me!” He says, immediately walking past Kokona and tossing a look back to the two girls. “This is robbery!” He says, but it didn’t look like he actually planned on telling them. “Crazy bitches..”

As the man walks away, Kokona’s face pales and she raises her hands up to her face with a moan of agony. “God, Ayano, we weren’t supposed to rob him! This is more than he said..” She mutters, kneeling down as she sniffed into her hands.

“It wasn’t supposed to be robbery.” Ayano said, kneeling down in front of Kokona. “And it wouldn’t have been if you hadn’t been out here in the first place. So?” She tilted her head to the side as Kokona peeked at her through her hands. “What were you doing with him?”

After a couple minutes had passed, Ayano successfully sat Kokona down and had her explain her situation. “I-I don’t do anything… revolting. Nothing sexual in any way, I mean. No extra requests, none of that.” Kokona mumbles, tears still swelling in the corner of her eyes.

“And what does Riku think of this?” Ayano asked, only making Kokona groan and hang her head again.

“Please don’t remind me… I haven’t told him yet. I… I’m not even sure how I would.” Kokona pulls her knees up to her chest and rests her chin atop them, similar to how she did at the funeral. “I’m sure he’d want me to stop… And I appreciate that, I want to stop too, but… I just… can’t… right now.” She shakes her head.

Ayano crosses her arms. “And why is that? What are you trying to pay for?” She asks, folding one leg over the other. As Kokona steels herself, Ayano briefly checks the time. 2:54AM. It wasn’t long before she’d have to meet with Lori’s mysterious employer.

“...my..” Kokona pauses, before muttering. “...it’s for my father’s debt. Every penny.” She whispers, her gaze low as her eyes glaze over. “That’s the only reason. I realized that people pay a lot just for dates, so… so that’s why. It’s also the reason why I haven’t officially… accepted Riku’s confession, yet.”

Ayano is silent, not emotionally moved, of course, but she figured that Kokona needed it. The purple-haired girl wipes her eyes with a sniff. “Please don’t tell anyone, Ayano. I’m not ready for anyone to know right now.” She said, her voice still quiet and full of shame. “Saki was helping me out with this, but… but she–” Kokona chokes on her words, tears spilling down her cheeks as she hides her face in her knees.

Reluctantly, Ayano raises a hand to pat Kokona on the back. “I understand, Kokona. I won’t tell anyone.”

Kokona mutters several ‘thank yous’ in between sobs. Somehow, only now, Ayano realized just how emotional Kokona was. Sure, in her situation, anyone would cry, but it was still such a foreign feeling to Ayano herself. Just now Ayano is successfully able to piece together why exactly everything affects her so intensely. Now that she understood Kokona’s situation, that is.

After Kokona finished with her second round of crying around Ayano, she noticed the time and panicked a bit. “Gosh… I’m so sorry, I was supposed to be home at 1.” She stands up quickly and wipes her eyes once more.

She bows quickly a couple times. “Thank you so much, Ayano. You’re a really great friend. Please get home safe!” She calls, nearly running down the street in order to get home quicker.

Ayano didn’t really get a chance to say goodbye, you too, or you’re welcome, but that didn’t matter much now. It was just a few minutes past three, so it was about time for her to find this suspicious man in an alleyway.

After 20 minutes of searching, Ayano didn’t find much. She was now walking at a more brisk pace, looking through every alleyway she could find. Eventually, she got to a part of the city that was a tad bit more populated. It was also the side of town that was closer to her house. She ducked into one of the alleyways and turned a corner, immediately running into someone.

It was a man in a suit, although he looked incredibly scruffed up outside of the fancy suit. “Hm?” He lifts an eyebrow, pulling down his shades in order to get a good look at Ayano. “You’ve got a pretty face, don’t you? What’re you doin’ down here?” He asks, standing up straight and turning his body to face her.

“I’m looking for Lorelai’s employer.” Ayano responds immediately, taking a step back but still facing the man, trying to show that she didn’t plan on running away. “Would that happen to be you?” She asks, folding her arms in front of her lap with her usual straight face.

“The crossdresser? No, I’m not but…” The man pulls his shades up. “I don’t recall him getting permission to spout our business out in the air like that.” The man says, crossing his arms, although with a lax smile.

“I didn’t hear it from him. I heard it from my…” Ayano’s gaze catches movement behind the man, somewhere deeper in the shadows. Another man stepped out from the shadows, and Ayano’s face lit up with recognition. “Mr. Y?” She calls, and the man in the back seemed to pause at the name.

The man closer to Ayano looks back. “You know this kid?” He asks, as ‘Mr. Y’ walked up closer to the two. He was quiet as he looked Ayano up and down briefly.

Mr. Y nods. “Yeah. You’re Ryoba’s kid.” He says, tossing out the cigarette he was using and crossing his arms. “Ayano. I haven’t seen you since you were… what, 12?”

Ayano nods. Mr. Y, as Ayano’s mother told her to call him, was a friend of her mom, apparently. She never explained to Ayano much about their relationship, just that he was a good friend from high school. “Yes, sir. I… I came to find Lorelai’s employer. Are you his employer?” She asks, keeping her posture polite, as that was one of the things he specifically had taught her.

Other things were self-defense and use of certain weapons. As a child, Ayano just thought that he was a rich martial artist or something, but hanging around dark alleyways and hiring people to attack others didn’t really seem like a ‘martial artist’ thing. Although, maybe she just thinks that because of her interactions with Budo.

“Lorelai Bier.” Mr. Y says, lifting an eyebrow Ayano’s way. “You know, we’re not exactly supposed to give this kind of information out.” He says, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it. After taking a long drag from it, he exhales and crosses his arms again. “But, your ma did a lot of favors for us. If we were that kind of business, we’d call her a part of the family.” He says, putting the cigarette back into his mouth. “So, I guess I can lend her daughter a hand. Just know that this doesn’t usually come for free.”

Ayano immediately bows her head. “Thank you, sir.” She says, before raising herself back up and straightening her back. “I wanted to find a way to stop Lorelai from attacking the girl you assigned him to? Francesca Komai?”

Mr. Y pauses for a moment, humming briefly in thought. “We could let that link go. We aren’t exactly getting paid much to keep that one going anyway. Not sure the boy would like it, though.” He mutters, but nods. “I can do that. A favor just this once, but if you ever found a way to pay us back, that would be welcome.”

Ayano bows her head again to say thank you, but Mr. Y continues with a question. “Why do you want this boy to stop anyway? Is she your friend?” He asks. “Some would call it stupid to meet up with random people for something like that.”

Frankly, Ayano agreed with that. She wasn’t entirely sure how she would repay them if this particular group wasn’t a past friend. Realistically speaking, something horrible could have happened to Ayano. …she didn’t know why she didn’t think this one through. That might be some sort of… bad habit of hers.

“Um, well…” Ayano thinks about playing a ‘it’s for my friend’ card, but figures that there was no use in lying- or at the very least, it wasn’t necessary, considering the circumstances. “..I’m trying to stay in her good graces.” She claims, folding her arms behind her back. “I want to have a good reputation at Akademi, and doing favors will help that happen.” She explains honestly.

Mr. Y nods. “Just like your mother. Same school, same plans.” He almost looked proud, but didn’t let his face show that too much. “Consider that Lorelai task a favor for Ryoba’s daughter.” He slides a hand into his vest pocket and hands a card to Ayano. “Keep that on you to stay in touch if you ever feel like doing business. And tell Ryoba to get back in contact with us.”

“Yes, sir.” Ayano nods, bowing respectfully. “Thank you.”

“Walk her home.” Mr. Y told the other man, who’d been sitting to the side as they spoke. The man stands up and stretches, before leading Ayano back home. It’s important that he’s the one who led- that definitely made it clear that they knew where she lived. Maybe that’s no too surprising considering Mr. Y and her mother’s relationship.

Tomorrow, Ayano would tell Frankie that the business with Lorelai should be resolved by now. After that, it was just a matter of hoping that Lorelai didn’t take it too badly.