#more accessible mayhaps?

[kikiyo]

small layout update (dashcon + header) :3

[fluffs-n-stuffs]

Wow guys pokemas' photo mode goes crazyyy

a full view of these precious sillies 🥺🫶💕💕💕

[nebulaafterdark]

The Succession

Summary: After the battle of Rook’s Rest, Queen Y/N is forced to rule alongside Prince Regent Aemond, in an attempt to keep her children safe and eventually seat her mother, Rhaenyra, on the throne. While attending her husband, on what appears to be his deathbed, she begins to unravel the dark truth of his near passing.

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

“Behold, the traitor dragon, Meleys. Slain by King Aegon.”

Cole might’ve bellowed anything before the mention of Y/N’s husband and she would not have heard it. Breaching the castle doors, out onto the streets, where the smallfolk stare in wonder. The Queen has scarcely been seen in the days following her husband’s accession, leaving many to wonder if she still lives.

Here she stands, in the flesh, walking about them like a commoner. “Where is Aegon?” She finds Ser Criston, keeping pace beside his horse.

“You mustn’t be about, your grace. It is not safe.”

“Where is my husband?”

Ser Gwayne looks back toward his fallen nephew, now carried by men.

“No,” Y/N shakes her head, falling in line with the oversized box one might mistake for a casket. She can’t see much of anything through the slats.

“You must return to the castle, my Queen.” Cole circles back for her. “His Grace will need you at his side.”

“He’s alive?” Y/N breathes.

“When last I checked.”

She nods, remaining beside her husband as he is carted into the castle, up the stairs to his chambers. The maesters await him, peeling away armor and bits of charred flesh with it, to reveal the extent of his injuries.

“Is my son going to die?” Alicent asks.

“He is badly burned.” The maester informs the Queen dowager.

“Men survive burns.” Y/N says, holding a hand to her belly, attempting to quell the churning.

“He has many broken bones.”

“Bones heal.”

The grand maester sighs, “that is our hope, your grace.”

What lies beneath his breastplate is naught but more red, angry skin, or lack there of. Alicent comes round to Y/N, a rare occasion, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Mayhaps it is best you step away.”

“I will stay,” Y/N shakes her head, “if anything happens… I must stay.” Hold his hand as he goes, if it comes to it.

Alicent nods, withdrawing.

Aegon’s breathing is something awful. Men survive burns. Bones heal.

An eternity passes in that room, on bated breath. Eventually the maesters begin clearing out, leaving the King to mutter, incoherently.

“Your grace.” The grand maester turns to Y/N. “It is done.”

“Thank you, Grand Maester. For all you have done, I- I owe you a debt.”

The man takes her hand, “we can only do so much to aid in the king’s healing, I believe it is you he needs. Be his strength.”

Y/N nods, “of course.” She makes herself comfortable upon the mattress beside him as the doors close, giving them a moment alone.

Aegon’s mumblings grow louder, though still impossible to make sense of.

“Shhh,” Y/N hushes him, brushing hair from his face. “There is nothing to fear. You need only…get better for me. I will tend the council shortly, but I shall return.”

He quiets then, as though her gentle reassurance is all he wanted.

“I will not abandon you. Not now, not ever. Rest easy, my love. You are safe now.” She presses a kiss to his forehead, before taking the stairs down to join the small council.

Those sitting around the table are already in deep discussion, gaping at the Queen’s entrance, standing to greet her.

“So kind of you to wait for me, my lords.” Y/N smiles, taking her ball from the center.

“We thought you might be with his grace, the king.” The hand explains. “He will be expecting you when he wakes.”

“I am not sure he will ever wake.” The grand maester cuts in. “His fate lies with the gods now.”

“Give it time.” Y/N sniffs, “it has been mere hours since his return.”

“If Aegon could wake, he would have done so for you.” Alicent decides. “A king cannot rule in his sleep, we must appoint a regent to serve in his absence.”

“I am awake.” Y/N reminds them.

“My Queen,” Tyland Lannister interjects, “if I may be so bold. Your lord husband has been wounded in battle, he will need your tender hand if we hope him to make any sort of recovery.”

“That is very thoughtful of you, Lord Tyland.” Y/N replies, in a measured tone. Should she lose her head before the council, there will be no coming back from it. “Still, I am willing and able to rule.”

“In the event of his grace’s untimely death, we must be prepared to proceed with the succession.”

“Understandably, and we do not lack heirs. My husband and I have four children.” Y/N shifts in her chair. “Assuming, as you have, that the men of the realm will never accept a woman on the throne, we then pass the crown to our first born son.” To charm the snakes, you must behave as a snake.

The council looks to each other. “Prince Laenor is but two years of age, our next ruling king, by law; though too young to presently serve.”

“I will advise him, I am his mother.”

Alicent rises from her seat, “might I humbly suggest myself? I have already done so during my late husband’s long illness-”

“Which was fine then?” Y/N arches a brow, “a wife to rule in her husband’s absence.”

Alicent lowers her gaze. “This is different.”

“Because I am your enemy’s daughter and named heir,” Y/N huffs. “Rules for thee, not for me. Isn’t that right?”

“Mind yourself.”

“Or what?” Y/N lifts a shoulder, “you will usurp my husband, as you did my mother?”

“Viserys changed his mind.” Alicent says, with finality. “I am sorry for what’s happened, but with his dying breath, he wished for Aegon to be king. I pray you do not hear a similar whisper from your husband anytime soon.”

“I love my husband,” Y/N seethes, “let that be known.”

“Of course, my Queen.”

“Whatever the members of this council intend to do now will be spoken plainly, in my presence.” Y/N demands, staring down at her wedding ring.

“I believe it is in our best interest to appoint Prince Aemond as Regent, until our King has been restored.” Ser Criston announces, “as hand, I know the king’s greatest concern is the safety and well being of his wife and children. We must honor that, in these unprecedented times.”

Y/N swallows, “very well.”

“My Queen.” Aemond reaches past her for the council ball, abandoned by her husband.

————————————————————————

Y/N goes through the motions, putting their children to bed. All is well, my darlings. Father needs only rest. When they have each found sleep, she returns to Aegon. Speaking to him the same way she always has, as though he can hear.

“The men of the council are restless in your absence. They circle like vultures now,” Y/N chokes out, touching the unmarred skin of his face. “And I am alone in this….I have never been alone.”

If she knew no better, she could swear his fingers twitch against hers. Mayhaps she is gripping them too tightly. She releases his hand, much to Aegon’s dismay, grumbling his discontent.

“Hush now, I am here and you are here. The rest will sort,” Y/N reminds him.

She watches him then, the heaving rise and fall of his chest, wrapped in bandages. Men survive burns. Bones heal.

In time, Alicent joins her at Aegon’s side. “Has there been any change?”

“No,” Y/N shakes her head.

“You are kind to be here, he loves nothing in the world as he loves you. I am sure your presence alone is a comfort to him.”

“That is my hope,” Y/N admits.

“I will leave you to it.” Alicent offers a hint of a smile, making for the door.

“Mummy.”

Y/N hears it, his mother does not. “Alicent,” she calls her back.

Alicent flicks away tears before turning round, “what is it?”

“He’s asking for you.”

“F-for me?”

Y/N nods, giving his hand a squeeze.

Alicent returns to his bedside, passing a hand over the side of his face. “I’m here.”

He draws in a rattling breath, “protect her.” Aegon stumbles over the words. “Please, Mummy.”

Y/N inhales sharply, hushing him.

Alicent locks eyes with her daughter by law. I pray you do not hear a similar whisper from your husband anytime soon. “I will do this, for you, Aegon. You needn’t worry.”

Aegon says nothing else, succumbing to sleep once more.

Alicent excuses herself, with a nod.

Y/N muffles the sound of her cries in the hand which isn’t holding his. She’s only half awake by the time she hears footfall and whispering at the end of her husband’s bed.

“Was it worth the price?” Helaena asks.

“I’ve no idea what you mean, my darling.” Aemond mutters, brushing his lips against her cheek.

Part 2

[palustrine]

The sheep folk want the lil silly book(s) im happy :>

[morbidapples]

good luck charm

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖽!𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅𝖽𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗑 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖽!𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝗈𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝖽𝗎𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 4,474 words; 24,496 characters

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: penis in vagina sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), fucking on a couch, praise kink, pet names, cursing, art is lowkey kind of a freak here, oral fixation, needy! art donaldson, established relationship, lovesick fools, brief mentions of future plans yada yada ya, reader is also a tennis player.

𝗮/𝗻: hey... i'm ovulating right now so i had to crank out another art donaldson smut fic. i am genuinely obsessed with the man, it's a little scary. but, i am actually starting to write smut more and mayhaps have another art fic coming out soon that involves a kitchen countertop... anyways. this is a medium length piece, not as long as the other art donaldson smut fic, but still a decent read (I hope). Don't be a ghost reader, and if you have any requests for anything, feel free to dm me.

Art loved you. You were always there for him. In the stands at every match, patching up minor scrapes after a fall. You were always there when he needed you.

He craved your attention like a drug, like it was the oxygen he needed to breathe. A bit needy, in your eyes. But you never minded.

"But you always come to my matches."

He had a small frown on his lips, his hands gripping your waist as you stood in front of him, your hands gently massaging the nape of his neck.

You smile softly at him and his antics. "I know, but I have my own match tomorrow. I can't miss it."

His pout deepened, whining a bit as he pulled you down on the couch next to him, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you onto his lap, making you straddle his thighs.

"But you're my good luck charm," he whined again, burying his head in the crook of your neck, lips planting gentle kisses over your skin.

Your breath hitches slightly at the feeling of his lips against your skin, but you still manage to speak. "Y- you don't need luck. You're a good player, baby."

He continues kissing, moving upwards to the spot on your neck that he knew you loved, his hands running up your thighs, slowly but teasingly.

"Sure, I don't need luck, but I want it," he mumbled against your skin, his hands now slipping under the hem of your shirt, calloused fingers tracing patterns along your sides.

Your head instinctively tilts back to give him better access to your neck, as you struggle to focus on anything other than Art's mouth pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your skin. "Are we really... talking about this right now? It's hard to... think rationally right now."

His lips curved into a smirk as he nipped at a sensitive spot on your neck, knowing full well the effect he was having on you. His hands continued to wander, moving higher on your sides, thumbs gently rubbing over your ribs.

"Thinking never got anyone anything, sweetheart," he whispered, his warm breath against your skin doing nothing to help your current state of arousal.

His lips slowly make their way to your ear, his mouth nipping at the lobe before he spoke again.

"Besides, thinking is overrated. You should just 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭."

With that, his hands found your waist again, and in a swift motion he had you pinned against the couch, his body hovering over yours as he looked down at you with darkened eyes.

His mouth continued its work down your neck, moving along your jaw until he reached your lips, his mouth claiming your own in a deep, passionate kiss.

Art shifts, trapping your legs between his as he grinded his hips against yours, a low growl escaping him as he continued to devour your mouth.

You gasp into his mouth at the sensation, hands holding onto the side of his stomach. You're breathless, hungry for him.

He takes advantage of your gasp, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth and exploring every inch of you.

His hands move lower, finding the hem of your shirt and starting to tug at the fabric. He breaks the kiss to pull the shirt over your head, tossing it aside before his eyes roamed over your exposed skin.

He leaned down, his mouth returning to your neck, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses down your collarbone and between your breasts.

"You taste so good," be murmured, his fingers tracing over the lace of your bra, teasing you as he moved lower to your stomach.

His hands went back to your hips, holding you in place as he continued to shower your skin with kisses. He moved down your stomach, his lips tracing the lines of defined muscles, marking you as his own.

He could feel you squirming under him, your breathing becoming ragged, and he couldn't help but smirk against your skin. He loved having you like this, all flushed and needy, completely at his mercy.

Art's hands moved behind your back, easily finding the clasp of your bra and freeing you from the lace. He pulled away from your stomach to look at you, his eyes roaming over your exposed chest, a hungry glint in his gaze.

"So beautiful," he whispered, his calloused fingers gently tracing the curves of your body. The way he was looking at you made you feel exposed. Vulnerable. It was something only he could make you feel. You were okay with that.

His mouth was on you again, his lips attaching to one of your breasts, teasing and pinching your sensitive flesh. His teeth latch on to your pebbled nipple, nibbling on the hardened bud.

He heard you moan, the sound going straight to his groin, making him grind against you again, trying to get some friction.

He pulled away, his breath hot on your skin as he spoke. "You like that, sweetheart?"

He watched as you tried to nod, your eyes half-lidded, your body arching up against his touch.

He chuckled under his breath, his thumb and forefinger gently pinching your nipple.

"Use your words, baby."

You bite your lip slightly, trying to form a coherent thought, chest flushed and littered with love bites, gaze hazy as you look at him. "Y- fuck, yes-"

He smiled at your response, pleased with the sound of your voice as you spoke.

"That's a good girl," he murmured, his mouth continuing its journey down your stomach, his teeth nipping at the skin.

He moved lower, his lips trailing over the waistband of your sweatpants, his hands pushing the fabric down your legs.

He sat back for a moment, his eyes roaming over your body, taking in the sight of you sprawled out on the couch, completely exposed to him.

He smirked, his tongue poking out to wet his lips as he leaned back down, his mouth attaching to the inside of your thigh.

He left a trail of kisses up your thigh, his teeth gently biting at the sensitive skin. His hands held your hips down, keeping you in place as he slowly but surely made his way to your core.

He inhaled deeply, the scent of you driving him on as his tongue slowly traced over your folds, tasting you. He'd thought about being mean, teasing you, but his own desire overruled that thought process.

He heard you gasp, your body arching against his mouth, and he couldn't help but smirk against you, knowing how wet you were for him.

He continued to explore you with his mouth, his tongue swirling and tasting as he found the spots that made you moan and jerk against him. His hands kept you in place, his strong fingers gripping your hips as he worked you into a frenzy.

You felt like you were floating, the pleasure making your head spin. God, he was fucking good at this.

One of your hands grips his hair, while the other squeezes your breast, giving you that extra stimulation. Your head lolls back against the couch, half delirious and hazy, as you let out needy whines and moans.

"Art- Art, fuck- s' good... so good..."

His mouth never left its place between your legs as he heard you call his name, the sound going straight to his cock. He hummed against you, the vibrations against your sensitive cunt making you squirm even more, your hand in his hair tugging at the locks.

He pulled away for a moment, his mouth slick and shiny with your arousal as he looked up at you.

"That's right, sweetheart. You're being so good for me," he purred, his voice gravelly and low from arousal.

His mouth returned to you, his tongue picking up its pace as he devoured you. He could feel you getting closer, your body tensing, moans growing louder and more frequent.

He held you down even more, his fingers gripping your hips almost painfully as he pressed you into the couch, his mouth never stopping its relentless assault.

Your moans are rising in pitch, voicing his name repeatedly like a prayer. Your cunt is clenching around his tongue, and your chest is heaving up and down. You're going to cum very soon, and he knows it.

He could feel you getting closer, your body practically shaking with need. He doubled his efforts, his tongue working overtime as he pushed you higher and higher.

He looked up at you, watching the expressions of ecstasy on your face as he brought you right to the edge.

"That's it, that's my girl. Come for me," he growled against you.

His words combined with his tongue send you careening into your peak, hips canting up, core clenching, moaning his name almost pornographically.

"Oh, god- fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck- s' good to me, Art-"

He keeps mouthing at you through your climax, prolonging it by never letting up his efforts. He loved this, the feeling of you coming undone under him, the sound of his name leaving your lips in between gasps and moans.

He pulled away once he was sure you were spent, but he couldn't help but tease you just a bit more, his tongue darting out to swipe up the last bit of your arousal.

You whine, hips twitching at the overstimulation. Your gaze is hazy, lips bitten, eyes dilated, as your head tilts back against the couch, half delirious from your orgasm.

He watches you for a moment, a satisfied smirk on his face as he moved up your body, gently pressing a kiss to your stomach before capturing your lips in a deep, possessive kiss.

He pulls back to look at you again, his hand cupping your face.

"You're so pretty like this," he murmured, his thumb tracing your bottom lip where it was bitten red.

As Art's thumb presses into your mouth, your tongue darts out to trace it. He swallows hard as he slips his middle and ring finger into your mouth, and you keep eye contact with him as you suck on his digits, eyes blown wide with desire.

He watches you intently, the way your lips wrap around his fingers and your tongue swirls around them nearly making him shiver in anticipation.

He leans forward, his mouth hovering over your ear as he speaks, his voice low and seductive.

"You look so good with your mouth full, sweetheart."

You moan around his fingers, tongue still coating his fingers with saliva. You've always been a sucker for praise, especially from him.

He chuckles quietly at your response, his eyes darkened with lust as he watches you take his fingers deeper into your mouth.

"You like that, don't you? You like it when I tell you how good you are?"

He pushes his fingers deeper, his other hand holding the side of your neck, thumb rubbing over the skin gently.

You moan again, eyes fluttering. You both have a heavy oral fixation, you know it, and he knows it, too. Your hands go down to his jeans, fingers grazing over his erection. You want to please him, too, just as he had done for you.

He can feel your hand on his jeans, the gesture not going unnoticed as he sees your eyes flutter. He growls lowly, the sound somewhere between a laugh and a moan.

"You want to take care of me too, sweetheart? You want to show me how good you can be for me?"

You whine, needy and uninhibited. You want to make him feel good, too. Your mind is fuzzy with only one thing, him.

He smirks faintly, watching you get lost in the feeling, the sound of your whine making his cock twitch inside the denim confines.

"Alright, baby," he purrs, taking his fingers out of your mouth and gently lifting your chin with his hand.

"You know what to do, don't you?"

You're quick to discard him of his jeans and shirt, and underwear, as you lightly push him back on the couch, his legs spread. You settle in between his legs, on your knees on the floor, sucking and biting the skin of his thighs and hipbones, your slender hands pressing down gently on his thighs.

His head rolls back at the feeling of your lips and teeth on his skin, a low moan leaving his lips. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, his muscles tensing as your touch sends jolts of pleasure through him.

"That's it, sweetheart," he gasps breathily, his grip on the couch tightening. "You're so good to me."

One of your hands move to cup his base, squeezing gently, and you begin to leave teasing kitten licks at the top, the other hand gripping his thigh.

Art hisses at the feeling of your hand on him, his hips involuntarily bucking at the contact, his toes curling against the carpet.

"Fuck..." he gasps, his hands finding your hair and fisting the locks, trying to control himself. "You're playing a dangerous game, sweetheart."

When your tongue runs up from his base to his tip, and flattens against his slit, he nearly loses it. And you haven't even put your mouth over him fully yet.

His eyes are squeezed shut, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his hands trying to ground himself in your hair. He's never felt so wound up, so worked up, the touch of your tongue making him lose his mind.

"Baby-" he gasps, his head rolling back against the couch. "I- I won't last if you keep this up."

When your mouth closes around him, his mind goes blank. It's so warm, so soft, so good. Your tongue is swirling around his slit now, hands gripping his legs as you take him in fully.

Art can't think, can't form a coherent thought, can't do anything except feel the sensation of your mouth on him. His hips twitch, his hands gripping your hair tighter, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps and moans.

"Oh, god-" he gasps, his back arching off the couch slightly. "That's- that's good- s' so good, sweetheart-"

It isn't long before his hips are stuttering forward into your mouth, and you're taking it like it's nothing, mouth wrapped around his cock. You aren't letting up, and he's on the cusp.

He knows he can't hold on much longer, the pleasure building higher and higher, his hips involuntarily bucking into your mouth, needing more friction.

"I- I'm gonna-" he chokes out, his hands gripping your hair tighter again. "I'm gonna- sweetheart, I-"

After a few seconds, you ease off, and he scrambles to get himself the rest of the way off. His hand frantically moves up and down, he's so close, so, so close- he cuts himself off with a strangled moan as he cums, releasing on his hand, and all over your chest, dripping down the valley between your breasts.

He can barely catch his breath, his chest heaving as he comes down from his high, his body shaking slightly from the aftershocks.

He looks down at you, a mixture of satisfaction and awe in his eyes as he takes in the sight of you, your chest covered in his release. The sight nearly does him again.

"You're- you're amazing, sweetheart," he gasps, his voice hoarse from the strained vocal chords. "So fucking good to me."

You look at him then, eyes hooded and half-lidded. Then, you take your index and middle finger, scooping up his creamy spend on them, and suck your digits clean, all while keeping eye contact with him.

𝘖𝘏 𝘔𝘠 𝘎𝘖𝘋. He could come again just from watching you.

Art's eyes widen as he watches you, a guttural moan escaping his lips. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"

He reaches down, grabbing you by the upper arms and pulling you up onto his lap, his mouth finding yours in a desperate, messy kiss, tasting himself on your tongue.

You moan into his mouth, hands cupping his face, hips rolling against his. God, you're soaked, he can feel the wetness against his exposed cock.

He breaks the kiss, his mouth trailing down to your neck, biting and sucking at the skin, leaving his mark on you. His hands are on your hips, gripping them tightly, helping you move against him.

He can feel how wet you are, how much you want him, and it drives him wild.

"You want me, sweetheart?" he murmurs against your neck, his breathing ragged. "You want me inside you?"

You gasp, tilting your head back to give him better access to your neck. His cock is hitting the right spots to make you squirm, and that's all you can think about.

"Yes- fuck, please- need you-"

He smirks against your skin, his hands roaming all over your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"You need me, huh?" he teases, his mouth now on your ear, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin. "You want me to fill you up, sweetheart?"

Your voice takes on a high and breathy tone, bordering on begging. At this point, you are.

"Please, please- I need- need you to fucking fill up- Art-"

He leans back slightly, his eyes roaming over your body, raking over every inch of skin. He takes in the sight of you, desperate and needy on top of him, and it takes all his self-control not to give in right then and there.

He captures your mouth in a rough, hungry, messy kiss, mostly teeth clashing and tongues licking into each other's mouths.

"Get on your knees, baby."

You do as he says, as he places a cushion under your hips. Always thoughtful, he is, even when he's completely feral for you.

He presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to your spine, as he positions you comfortably and prepares you.

He takes his time, his mouth and hands roaming over your back, leaving a trail of kisses and bites in their wake.

He positions himself behind you, his hands gripping your hips, his breaths hot on your skin as he speaks.

"You ready for me?"

You nod so fast he swears you could've given yourself whiplash, moaning softly, needily. "Yes, yes- please-"

He holds your hips steady, his cock pressing against your entrance, teasing ever so slightly.

He leans down, his chest pressed against your back, his mouth by your ear.

"Take a deep breath and relax," he murmurs, his voice almost sultry.

He takes a moment to let you adjust, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your hips, waiting until you give him the okay to continue.

When you do, he pushes into you slowly, watching your face for any signs of discomfort. It's a struggle to not start pounding into you immediately, but he's coherent enough to recognize you need a minute.

You moan once he fully bottoms out, your hands curling into the fabric of the couch, arching up against him. You feel so full, so stuffed.

Art holds you close, his chest pressed against your back, his mouth leaving tender kisses on your shoulder. He takes a moment to gather himself, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps.

"You okay, sweetheart? M' not hurting you?" he asks, his voice thick with arousal, his hands on your hips holding you still.

You take a second to adjust to the stretch, and when you feel like you're ready, you tell him. "I'm good. Y- you can move."

He nods against you, his hand coming up to gently grab onto your hair, pulling lightly to get your attention.

"I want you to look at me. Can you do that for me?"

He watches as you turn your head to look at him, your face flushed and your eyes hazy with desire.

"That's my girl," he praises, his grip on your hair tightening slightly. "Now hold on tight."

Within a second, he's pulled out, turned you over so you're on your back, and gone back in. He wants to see your face as he makes you feel good. And you already look wrecked.

He looks down at you, his eyes scanning your face, taking in every little expression— the way your mouth hangs open, how your eyes flutter shut, the moans and gasps leaving your lips.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, his hands coming up to cup your face, holding your head in place so he can watch you come apart under him.

He continues to move, slowly at first, his eyes never leaving your face, taking in every reaction you have to his every touch and movement.

He watches as the pleasure builds within you, your body arching up towards him, your hands coming up to cling to his shoulders.

He leans down, his mouth finding yours in a deep, messy kiss, his tongue delving into you, tangling with your own.

He feels your legs come up, wrap around his waist, pulling him even closer, deeper, the new angle making him let out a guttural moan.

You moan into his mouth, as he hits a deeper angle inside, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving half crescent moons in their wake. The room is warm, not only from the hot summer air, but also the heat coming off of both your bodies.

He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as his breaths come out in ragged gasps. He can feel your nails dig into his shoulders, and the stinging sensation only serves to drive him wilder.

"You're so good to me," he pants, his hands roaming over your body, tracing over every curve and contour. "So goddamn good to me."

He quickens his pace, his hips snapping forward harder and rougher, his eyes locked on yours, not wanting to miss a single expression.

He can't even think coherently anymore. All he can focus on is you. How you feel, how you look. Every noise that is drawn out of you with each thrust of his hips.

He can feel his own release building, the pleasure coiling in the pit of his stomach like a tightly wound spring, ready to snap at any moment.

He continues to move, his motions growing sloppy and erratic as he begins to lose himself to the sensation.

"I'm gonna-" he gasps, his voice strained and uneven. "I'm gonna-"

He's determined to bring you over the edge first. He reaches down in between your bodies, thumb finding your clit, and applying pressure.

You moan, eyes fluttering, lips parting, jaw going slack. Your nails dig into his shoulders, as you clench around him. You're so close, he can feel it.

The feeling of your walls clenching around him drives him insane, the moans and gasps escaping your lips only adding to the sensation.

He keeps up the pressure with his thumb, his own release building, his muscles tense and taut with effort, but he refuses to let go until you've come undone first.

"That's it, sweetheart," he gasps, his voice low and rough. "Come for me. Let me see you come apart."

"F- fuck- Oh, oh god-" His thrusts hit just the right spot inside you, and it sends you careening over the edge, eyes rolling back, voicing his name over and over like a prayer.

He watches as you fall apart beneath him, your body writhing and trembling, the sight of you coming undone pushing him right to the edge.

His movements become erratic, his hips stuttering as he clings onto the precipice, the sensations almost too intense.

"Oh god-" he moans, his voice trembling. "Gonna- I'm gonna-"

When you clench around him again, it's enough to finish him off. He moans hoarsely, hips thrusting through his own release.

His release hits him like a freight train, his hips stilling, his body shuddering with the intensity of it. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps against your skin.

"Fuck-" he pants, his grip on you tight, his whole body shaking from the aftershocks.

He tries to catch his breath, his body still slumped over you, his heart racing in his chest. He lifts his head up slightly to look at you, and god, the sight of you, so utterly wrecked and breathless, nearly does him in again.

You look down at him, eyes hazy and filled with affection, as your hand comes up to gently card through his sweaty hair.

He practically melts under your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he lets out a contented sigh.

He moves slowly, carefully pulling out of you, trying not to hurt you. He then collapses beside you on the couch, his head resting on your stomach.

"You're going to be the death of me, y'know that?" he mumbles sleepily, his voice rough but fond.

You laugh quietly, a faint smile appearing on your face. "That wouldn't be so bad, would it?"

No, it wouldn't. It really wouldn't, he thinks. You are marked with love bites, put there by him, you're this wrecked because of him. You love him.

He grins at your comment, his eyes drifting up to take in the sight of your marked skin. He feels a sense of pride at the sight of the love bites he left behind, a silent claim that you were his.

He lifts himself up, propping himself up on his elbow so that he's staring down at you, his gaze soft but possessive.

"You're right," he answers quietly, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your skin. "It wouldn't be so bad at all."

The adrenaline is wearing off, and you're both tired. Art can feel his eyelids drooping, the allure of sleep calling to him. And you're not faring much better, drowsy and content being here.

He can tell you're just as tired as he is, both of you coming down from the adrenaline high and now feeling the exhaustion seeping into your bones.

He pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you flush against his chest. He burrows his face into your hair, inhaling the scent of you.

"Let's take a nap," he murmurs sleepily. "Just a little one. We can clean up later."

You hum softly in agreement, body perfectly melding into his. As Art drifts off, he's only thinking about how much he never wants this to end. He never wants to stop having you.

The last thing he remembers as he slips into unconsciousness is the feeling of your body against his, the sound of your breaths, and the gentle beat of your heart.

He falls asleep dreaming of a life with you, filled with love, laughter, and happiness. And he knows, deep down, that he'll do anything to make those dreams a reality.

[sm-baby]

OFF-LIMITS

freakshow AU by @hootbon

Context || The Chosen one (Part 1(??))

PRETEND MARRIAGE FIC LETS GO!! Off-limits is a non-canon sort of continuation for The Chosen One!! Also Just putting it here: Showtime is not canon in freakshow AU!! I'm just.. being indulgent-👉👈

Word count: 7750

The pacing is a little off but I'll let you be the judge...OK ENJOY BYE HUGS AND KISSES!! NO BETA WE DIE LIKE MEN!! also if Hoot's reading this I'm so sorry.

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

There were many benefits to being the ringleader's favourite.

One of them is being proposed to, apparently.

She didn't think her body still had the capability to choke, but apparently it was all too possible. She gagged, punching her fist to her chest on the flavourly assault on her throat, hacking wheezing as the grip on the tea table tightened. 

Pomni winced, eyes twitching and swallowing before sitting back down with a not-so-casual tone in her voice. She faked a laugh “Haha… what-”

“ I'm marrying you."

The man sat on the opposite side of the tea table, classy, with full manners. the way his hands were politely on the table, proper yet focused… Caine so specifically wanted the meeting in Pomni’s room... She was perfect for the setting. A doll playing tea party. Classic. Simple. 

“ A-And what does-”

“ It means my brother can no longer claim ownership over you." 

Pomni inhaled and stirred the tea in her hands. She fawned a fake sympathy towards his perspective humming along as if she understood his reasonings…but she choked, this time mentally. 

Were they seriously still on that dumb brother’s quarrel? Ownership? She didn't think Able would want to do anything with her after their last meeting but it seems the tension she's been feeling between the both of them has been growing… Caine’s brother has been nicer to her lately, she assumes, still in the effort for him to be in her good graces… but she didn't think it would really lead to anything, nor would she let it. 

“... Ha." Was all that left her. Pomni doesn't often know what to say in tense situations. She lost herself in her thoughts, cupping her tea in both hands, nervous and tense. Of course, she definitely doesn't want to do this. She was more so thinking about a way to decline him rather than a yes or a no.

Uhh… hmm..

“ You would still be performing, but this also means you get to sleep in the old manor. Or so I think that's what husbands do… unless my sources are wrong which—“

Pomni could spit out her entire drink! That changes everything! “ YES-" she slammed her hands on the table.

Caine wasn't startled, but rather, just looked at her, raising a brow at the rude interruption. he'd look down, seeing that pomni just spilled tea over herself and the table… what manners. 

“ Uhh-... Yes- that- that is what husbands do, yes… “ she sat back down, her voice awkwardly lowering to a timid whimper. 

The gentleman barely looked at her, rather levitated a napkin to wipe the table. It was a cruel silence, almost like he dared her to explain such rude behavior. 

Pomni cleared her throat “ sorry, I-I would uh… love to be married- to-- You… ?” Is that how one says yes to a proposal? 

“ Ha. It humours me how you think you have a choice in the matter. “ Caine snapped his fingers, and the napkin disappeared. If he were to be perfectly honest, he saw no qualms in letting Pomni live in the manor. He would relish in the thought of her walking past his brother knowing she was officially unattainable. A sort of trophy of sorts. A taunt mayhaps. A jest. A silly funny mockery.

Meanwhile Pomni’s brain was completely somewhere else… 

To have access to the circus on the regular while having more time in the manor… no more stupid games necessary, no more-- having to kiss up and hold the balance towards both brothers! This was a win! Of course this isn't a ticket out of the circus, but she's going somewhere, and it's refreshing compared to the circles she's been running for the past few months. 

Pomni looked up to see Caine, sitting across her, this time with a hand extended to shake. 

As soon as she shook his hand, a ring formed around her finger, from thin air, seemingly out of nowhere.

“To show that you're reserved." 

Pomni looked at her finger, and-- honestly the way he said that made her skin crawl. Caine always saw Pomni and the others as lesser than him. And the way he proposed was no different from a person booking a seat at a restaurant. 

The deal was struck and Caine wasted no time to get up and leave the room. A small good bye greeting, closing the door behind him, but otherwise his business there was done.

Pomni was still sitting on the tea table, thinking to herself, staring at the ring on her finger. It was like it was part of her body. She would try to pull it off but to no avail, no budging or anything. 

She grit her teeth… great.

The two went their own separate ways thinking nothing and everything about the transaction… though it must have been quite the sight to see Caine leave the room, and have Pomni follow a few moments later, now with a ring on her finger.

“ No f@#$ing way.” Jax thought, seeing the sight.

She didn't know what she was expecting, but it was certainly a Caine wedding.

The ceremony itself? she could barely remember any of it. Rather, small clouds of memories that were important.

The way she walked down the aisle so stiffly, like a gun was pointed at her head. The way Caine placed a ring on her finger, Kaufmo’s death gurgles as he officiated their wedding…

There were small comforts. She didn't actually think of it as anything special— more just a necessity rather than an actual wedding, but some of her friends tried to make it special for her. Ragatha was sitting front row in support not for the union but for Pomni herself– Kinger hallucinating, holding her hand in a father daughter dance. And Gangle making the the effort of getting her a wedding gift– or what she could give anyway…which was a drawing of her in her wedding dress.

Caine wasn't even present in the after party. He just placed the setting and left the guests to their own devices. That was honestly a relief for Pomni for a short while, to be able to hang out with the closest things she had to “friends”. She had the lone memory of Ragatha and Kinger giving her a drink, and asking her how she was doing.

They've both been well aware of her motives by now. Exit, exit, exit. At this point they were convinced that was her form of insanity. But they supposed that little bit of hope was keeping her going.

Kinger turned Ragatha then back to Pomni. “ We hope you know what you're doing.”

“ I never said I did…” the bride said, her pitch getting timidly higher. “ But– it's a direction! I don't have a lot of expectations either, but…hey, I think I'd regret it if I didn't take the chance. ” She looked back up at them, embarrassed at her short rambling. “ Oh! I hope– you two are holding up relatively okay tonight?”

Ragatha chortled.

Kinger answered “ We haven't been okay for years, Pomni.”

“ Y-Yeah…I… I should have seen that coming, yeah…”

Suddenly, a slow song came on the reception. 

Most of them weren't fond at the idea of a slow dance at first, but a tap from Ragatha to a ribbony friend (and a sister begging the other) later, people were on the dancefloor.

Ragatha danced with Gangle, then exchanging partners from her to Kinger. The Gangle AI found it funny to force Kaufmo and his rabbit friend in a dance. The night was going off with a hitch.

Ragatha swayed back to exchange partners from Kinger to Gangle, and the magician was off on his lonesome again. He took no offence to this, but standing in the middle of the dancefloor on his own, to a song that used to be considered romantic, he couldn't help but freeze.

He stared at one of the guests in the distance, the one who decided to sit out the activity. The one in the dark staring daggers at him as they dawned the very torso that used to bring him warmth.

Maybe…

… If she was still in there…

He could ask if—

Before Kinger could take one step further, a hand took his own, the hand of a very worried bride clearing her throat and walking him back into the dancefloor. “ Kinger, this sounds like a good song!” Pomni laughed nervously, heels clacking as she pulled him gently but insistently.

Kinger blinked, and turned to her. “...Oh! Yeah! It is!” And just like that, the old man was brought back to the dance floor.

It was almost like the poor were invited to their first celebration. Some were laughing, and there were definitely moments of teasing and natural play, but at the end of the day they knew they would be hungry again. It was an inevitability. Some chose to spend it to the fullest, some chose to wallow, some chose to make the best out of it.

Pomni struggled to keep up with the magician’s stature, but they figured it out after their earlier father daughter dance. She would be pleased to see that He was almost experienced with the way he moved.

Her dance partner wasn't all that mentally present, but she could see that he was calm. The way he listened to the music and closed his eyes was disassociated. But it was a look of contentment. 

His grip was so sure yet gentle around Pomni. Holding her like it was the last dance he would ever have with someone. 

She could only imagine what he was picturing in that brain of his. She dared not interrupt.

“ I've danced with someone before... I think.” 

Pomni looked up at him. “ What do you mean?”

“ I don't know who that person was, but I remember feeling very nice when I was with her.”

Pomni sucked air through her teeth. She's heard… read… stories from Ragatha. Although it wasn't the most in detail, she figured out the jist just from hush-hush language she used.

She had a feeling she knew exactly what was going on. But it wasn't her business to correct him.

“ She must have been a great person.” Pomni said.

For the first time Kinger didn't feel like wood. His eyes relaxed just from that simple validation, a moment of blissful unawareness of where he was or who he was. Love spread from his heart, to his chest, to his finger tips, to the… little…friend? Yes, friend… that he was dancing with.

Pomni was well aware that she wasn't the person he was seeing at that moment. He had no thoughts, but the feeling of a powerful comfort took over him, he didn't care to take back anything else. Not his memories, not his sanity, not his mind. Like holding the hand that he once kissed. Spinning her, laughing with her, holding her close when the clock struck a romantic midnight. 

He could feel a tear escape his eye.

“What about you, Pomni?” Kinger opened his eyes and suddenly realised that his hands were holding at nothing. Not a person, not anything. Kinger blinked and looked around, that blissful feeling suddenly becoming fleeting. 

He was by himself on the dancefloor again

“... Pomni?”

Pomni would catch herself tripping forward. What was once the tiles that was the dance floor was now wooden, and unfamiliar. “Wh- wha- where…?” 

In the blink of an eye Pomni was somewhere else. For a moment she was confused before turning around and seeing her new found husband, back turned to her, sitting, looking down from the balcony they were at.

“ Awfully rude of you to dance with someone more than your own husband.” He didn't even bother to turn to her. He was still looking down, hands on his would-be chin, sitting on a long chair made of cushion and fine wood.

“ I-I was just dancing with—”

Pomni was cut off by Caine slowly patting a space on the seat beside him. The cushion, comfortable, yet sturdy. Pomni gulped before approaching.

When she joined him she could see the view from above…it was an indoor balcony built for the rich to watch the poor. 

From up high, Pomni could see the other performers, and quickly she scanned the dance floor to see Kinger, shaken, looking around and interrupting Ragatha’s dance in worry for where she went.

Pomni bit her lip and sunk down. Guilt over took her. She stood on her tiptoes, hands on the wooden railing and waved to be seen, to let them know that at least she's safe, and praying that they understood that she didn't leave them but-

Caine’s hand grabbed her arm. “ No, no. Let them figure it out.”

She froze from his touch. Caine guided her hand to make her sit down and she sunk in the seat right beside him. She looked down to read the others distress and felt immense relief when she made brief eye contact with Ragatha which then the assistant turned back to kinger, calming him down without making it obvious she's seen them.

Pomni sighed.

On her way to lean back on the chair, she felt an arm wrap around her shoulder, then pulling her to her side.

She stared at it for a moment, the arm. her body stiffened at the all too familiar touch, before looking forward, sweating, in denial at the situation.

Caine crossed his legs, an ankle on the other knee, still looking on at the view in front of them. His posture was far from hers. Swaying his crossed legs, relaxed, and confident. for a moment he looked at her and back down at the party. 

Amazing reception as always, Caine. You've really outdone yourself with this one.

They stayed there in silence for a couple of moments. Caine was all too comfortable and Pomni had nothing to say to him. The groom would say that his bride looked beautiful that night, but in the most objectifying way possible. She was an accessory. She always was. Nothing different from a beautiful pearl necklace. 

Maybe it was the way he was gripping her, but Pomni couldn't breathe with all the tension in the air. She let out a shaky breath, a face comparable to a cat hypervigilant towards a cucumber. Sometimes she forgets how affectionate Caine can get with her physically, and every time she just accepts it. Not like she can do anything about it really.

“ Wine, boss!” A servant walked into the balcony area. A voice so signature, and unmistakable Pomni didn't need to turn around. Caine and his bubble were inseparable except for the moments when they weren't. If she hadn't known any better she—

Pomni came back to reality.

…Wine?

“ Thank you, Bubble.”

Pop!

Caine didn't even have to lift a finger, the wine bottle was already levitating towards him as well as a wine glass, ready to pour.

“ Wine???” Pomni flinched, turning her whole body towards the bottle.

Caine blinked. “ Oh! How could I forget, you've never had this…” He thought to himself. 

He would never let the circus members have wine for multiple reasons. The poor PG rating would go down if their mouths were without filter. And also he didn't need to have a bunch of wild animals run a muc and destroy the circus tent. But right then, he duplicated the wine glasses into two, pouring one for himself and for his bride. 

“ Consider it a reward for being so attentive today.” 

Pomni got her glass, and held it in both hands. God damn. She hasn't had alcohol in so long.

It was as plastic as expected but wine wasn't there for the texture. She was just about ready to drink the night away. Pomni tried to play it with manners but admittedly took longer sips than what she could usually handle.

They both continued the night in silence

and Pomni waited…

And waited…

And waited…

And… 

Motherfucker, this isn't doing anything to her!

The visible frustration was clear and Caine couldn't help but let out quiet snickering.

“ Huh—!?”

Caine snickered again, barely audible, but less is more. Pomni couldn't help but feel embarrassed. There he is again! Playing with her like always! “ You didn't actually think I would let it affect you, did you?”

“ No—! I… I didn't even think that you could--! I..!” The woman gripped the wine glass. “ ugh! ”Had it been for the fact that she had to watch herself around Caine, it would have been in pieces by now!

Caine would continue to laugh, not seeing any of the woman’s frustration as a threat. It would take a great deal to scare Caine. One could take a knife to his throat and he wouldn't take it seriously. Pomni wasn't even sure if fear was programmed in his AI.

But Pomni stared at the floor, eyes scribbled, forcing herself into disassociation to stop herself from doing something she’ll regret, and suppressing any more anger.

She hated him. She hated where she was. She hated so much of this. She had a long fucking day and she really didn't need this. She couldn't cry, she couldn't scream. She felt the strongest urge to have a tantrum in her room but that wasn't possible! She just can't win in this shit hole!

Ugh! God DAMN IT!

So much screaming went through her head, but it was nothing but silence on the outside. She was just about ready to be completely immobile for the night. Mentally skip pass the rest of the day, she could just explode and she would be okay with it.

Caine rolled his eyes and took a sip from his glass, but Pomni’s overall energy was too loud to ignore. He sighed. 

The groom lifted her head up by poking a finger on her forehead, and forcing her to look up at him. “ As much as how beautiful you are pouting, it's really ruining my night.”

Silence.

“ Pomni, do you want to be intoxicated?”

Silence again.

…Caine patted her face.

“ Huh? What? Where am I?”

“ I'm noticing your desire to be intoxicated. Do you want to be drunk?”

Pomni squinted her eyes and furrowed her brows, looking at him in question. Suspicious. “ What's in it for—”

“ I will give you the ability to be intoxicated if you stop seething. I will not have this attitude on my wedding night.” Caine said, grumbling, taking another sip at his glass. “ So I ask you one last time, would you like to be-”

“ YES!” pomni cried!

Caine squinted his eyes at that reply, once again unamused by Pomni’s rude interruption. But this time she wasn't apologetic at all, rather grabbing at his collar desperately.

she continued. “ God, yes, please—” 

Oh he really shouldn't be rewarding this behaviour. 

And just like that, Pomni's glass was filled once again. It didn't take her long to start sipping but their mini deal came with boundaries:

(1)She is to take her time and behave while drinking.

(2)Caine has the ability to make her sober again at the snap of a finger.

(3) She may only have one glass of wine.

That was it. Truth be told, I didn't care for anything else. If she gets aggressive he could easily subdue her. If she hurt herself, as long as her dress wasn't ruined he was fine.

At first it felt like nothing. Pomni was just calm, her speech becoming slightly slurred, but otherwise it was just Pomni. She looked light weight and she was light weight. 

Ah, that's more like it. Quiet. 

He wrapped his arm around her again, and this time Pomni just accepted her fate. She leaned into his touch, thinking of him as nowhere different from a pillow.

Pomni’s vision could go blurry with how little attention she was paying at that moment. But she couldn't help but wonder. The blinding lights, the food, nice decor… and asked: “ Why all the effort?”

“ I don't say no to a celebration to my name! and yours I guess.” Caine mumbled that last part in the middle of a sip.  “… and if my brother asks one of you, you have the right to say that our wedding was official.”

“ God, you two are such brothers….” Pomni muttered under her breath.

“ Only by code.”

The bride put a palm on her face, muffling her words. “ No… the fighting. The quaralling, the one upping…  you act like little boys.”

“ …Excuse me?”

“ I didn't even think marriage can be official in the digital realm… you make the rules. Might as well make wedding certificates and it would be just as official.” Pomni chuckled. “ But you married me cuz you wanted to make your brother jealous.”

… He didn't have the energy to reply to such an immature, untrue, false, made up, retort. He just rolled his eyes. He had too much self respect to entertain such false assumptions. “ Ugh…” his face grew in disgust. Pomni without filter is worse that he thought. At this point he'd prefer if she got aggressive instead.

Time passed. Pomni wasn't very pretty when she was drunk. She'd have the ugliest laugh, and the crudest things to giggle at, though, the last one was a little amusing. But Caine was just waiting for til the moment the glass was empty so he could— pop! Snap her back to soberity. 

But something intrigued him.

She started talking about his brother.

Her filter became less and less. And Caine perked up when she did. She talked badly about Able’s taste in music and art, how annoying it was whenever he visited the circus, how much she despised his very existence…

…Caine filled her glass again.

“ —a-and that nagging voice! ‘That sounds wonderful, sweetie!’ ‘ Oh, Pomni, you're so smart!’ God!”

Caine chuckled, and started leaning closer towards Pomni to hear her better.

Pomni continued,“ Oh he's so pretentious! And so-- so—”

“ Condescending?”

“ Yes! C-Condescending, patronizing, I— what am I? Nine??!”

Caine laughed! Oh hearing slander about his brother was music to his ears! And to hear it from someone to passionately-- he can't get enough! This was making his night!

“ S-say… was my glass always so full?” Pomni turned to her wine glass. She could have sworn she's been drinking for an hour at this point… she doesn't remember refilling it!

“ Hm? Oh, no no, digital hellucinations, my dear. Do carry on with what you were saying.” Caine pushed her wine glass closer to her chest, not bringing much attention to it.

“ Oh. Right. As I was saying…”

Oh Caine was having the time of his life. Smug chuckling left his teeth, absolutely enraptured by Pomni’s unfiltered bad mouthing. Shes been putting into words feelings he held for far too long. Ahh, he could stay there for hours.

“ I mean— at least you don't even-- try to hide that you don't like me. You don't act like friends with any of us.”

Caine could feel himself blush, playfully swiping his wrist at her. “ Oh you're too much.”  She was praising him now? Why, Christmas came early! How can he not enable this behaviour? “ Keep going.”

The trauma bonding would further on, but at some point Pomni tuckered herself out. The alcohol was getting her, she's been talking long enough, she's been full of hate enough today. Pomni leaned her head back on the chair to doze off, before Caine shook her awake. 

“ Hey!” He grabbed her face, mushing both her cheeks. “ Awaken! Tonight hasn't ended yet. We have yet to full-fill the husband/wife quota.”

“ Mmm…you're already my husband, remember? Kaufmo said so at the..the..” Pomni yawned. “Wedding.. ceremony…”

Caine groaned!

Snap!

“ Oh- damn it!”

And just like that all alcohol was erased from Pomni’s system. He also fully woke her up. Pomni can never truly escape that day. She groaned into her hands as she felt energy return to her body.

“ Come, come.” Caine got up and fixed his suit. “ Let's at least greet the guests off. Then you'll sleep at the manor.”

“ On my way…” 

Alcohol truly was a temporary darling. Just when she felt her sorrows were drowned away, she came back into reality— at an even worse state.

The two teleported back downstairs to end the party. Caine announced it's end and Pomni was saying goodbye to her friends. She greeted Kinger goodnight, waved Ragatha goodbye while she was busy with (one of) the twins. Jax’s goodbye was nothing but mockery, gesturing to her like she's some little princess in her wedding dress, which Pomni froze in embarrassment. Zooble wasn't even there when she came downstairs…for the better maybe. They always made her skin crawl.

The guests were away and the two were alone once again. At the snap of a finger, Caine fixed the entire reception. Any mess, streamers, decoration, gone, as if there never was a party to begin with.

Caine fixed his coat and arranged his gloves, dusting off all the mess that came with being in the vicinity of the others. Meanwhile, Pomni was thinking to herself— something she never thought to question…

“ Hey, Caine…” she looked up at him. “ When you said ‘sleep at the manor’, what —”

And swoop! Next think she knew he swept her off her feet in the traditional bridal style position, and before she could react—snap! They were teleported somewhere else! A bedroom that was nowhere like the others.

“UH—” Before she could say anything, Caine put his arms out straight and dumped her on to the bed. Man. What a romantic guy.

Oof Pomni frowned when she was dropped head-first, so carelessly and aggressively on the cushions… she groaned in misery— before remembering where she was.

She quickly got her head up and looked around! She was wrong! This place was familiar!

“ Huh!?”

“ My bedroom.” Caine said so passively. “ Well technically now it's yours as well, but. It's mine.” It looked like his mind was occupied with something else, he was staring forward but he was not at the present moment. She knew that look, he was searching something in his database.

“ When was this??” 

“ Since I told my brother you were moving in.”

“ Why??”

“ I'm ignoring you if you keep asking questions.’

Pomni looked around… this was like the guest room they made for the performers but grander. The bed was even a little higher— God forbid she falls off in her sleep. 

Caine fits right in the room’s aesthetic, Pomni was completely out of place. The room’s palette was red and black, with linings of gold here and there… Caine really hadn't bothered to make it accommodating for her. She just sat there in silence awkwardly like she was just invited to a friend’s house.

Man…can she even sleep in this? She looked down on the sheets: they were red, The pillows as well. the wood was furnished black and if she looked up, she'd see a chandelier at the ceiling. 

She shivered… Her old bedroom was weird, but she's spent just enough time in it to grow comfortable. at least she fit in its overall aesthetic. But she doesn't think she could say the same for this one. This whole room screamed Caine.

“ Ah. Here it is. ‘How newlyweds spend their wedding night’.” Caine said, and continued to look forward. 

“ What…N...No. Caine, don't read that.” Caine really…really…did n o t need to know about human customs. She's going to die from how awkward this was about to be..

The AI muttered what he was reading, “ ‘ Spend time together, Newlyweds often feel drained after a day of celebration …’ skip.”

“ Caine.” Pomni winced. “ Caine, did you not do research beforehand-”

“ ‘ When both couples lay in bed together it's important to have both parties feel safe in each other's presence—’ ickk.. skip. Are there any alternatives?”

“ Caine, I'm going to throw up.”

“ ‘According to a new survey with over 350 recently-married couples, nearly 40 percent of newlyweds had—’...” 

Caine squinted in disgust. 

“ I'm not reading that.”

Pomni at this point just gave up and put her head on the pillow.

“ Seeing as none of this is applicable to us, let's just skip this step of the consummation. As much as it pains me not to properly follow the process. I'll just leave you here and you can sit out the night. Good?”

“ I-”

“ Wonderful.” Caine snapped his fingers and the two were back in their usual outfits. He was back in his ringmaster clothes and Pomni was in her sleeping wear. And by sleeping wear, it means her usual tutu. Because she does not have sleeping wear.

Caine fixed himself up and pulled a blanket up on Pomni’s body. That's good enough. Husband's say goodnight to their wives if he was correct? 

Caine scanned his database again. 

Yeah, he was correct. 

“ Goodnight, dear.”

“ Ahh…” This was weird. “ G-Good.. Goodnight.”

And just like that, Pomni was off to sleep. Meanwhile, Caine teleported out of his room into another place at the Manor. He dusted his hands off and was already somewhere else mentally. he had other matters to attend to, another show to organize. He's spoiled himself enough with a night celebrating his name, now it was back to work. How Caine liked to work.

Morning followed and Pomni was snapped awake with a booming greeting “ Good morning, dear.”

Pomni screamed.

Her heart would beat out of her chest from the surprise-- forcing her up from her fight or flight

She flinched away at the sight of Caine's face inches away from hers. They sat there in silence for a moment… Pomni gulped, before looking pass him and seeing where she was then remembering the night before. 

“Wh…” the red bed, the chandelier… “Oh.” Pomni look at her hand, the left, and saw the ring that stubbornly stuck to her finger. but before she could say anything more, the blanket was thrown off of her, a snap, and the next thing she knew she was sat on the vanity table.

Oh god-- everything was going so fast… Caine snapped his fingers again and her grooming mannequins teleported in. “ I'll leave you here to get ready. I must awaken everyone else for role call. There should be a door to the circus down the hall! Be there.”

Pomni forced a smile and two thumbs ups, then, Caine was off.

She looked at herself in the mirror. She hadn't considered how little privacy she had now that her and Caine shared the same bedroom. Will he be doing this every morning? God, not only is it an incredibly inconvenient start of her day, it's also like having the world's most dangerous alarm clock.

Pomni put a hand through her face and grumbled, keeping herself awake— less so in the physical sense more in the emotional motivation sense. And before she knew it, the mannequins brushed her hair and did their work.

The next few days were something she had to get used to. Every morning Pomni would be greeted by a routine wake up, and every night she would be dumped back into bed, greeted goodnight, and Caine immediately leaving a second later. “Goodmorning, dear.”, “goodnight, dear.” again and again. Caine really was committed to the husband role-- though it wasn't far for AI to follow certain routines and patterns after acquiring a new set of data.

Oh how could she forget: 

Able spent more time in the Manor than Caine did. She would often see him around the house minding his own business, doing his own half of work. He never tried to make small talk anymore which was a stark contrast to his overly friendly persona towards her before she got married. The sounds of violins would go quiet when she walked in the room. It was as if he could just walk pass her with how invisible she was to him. He didn't have lips but she felt that if he did, it would turn into a scowl.

Once, she remembered walking pass him in the hallway, that time she tried to start conversation and—

“ Able?”

“ Don't talk to me.” With out even turning around, his heels were already clacking away, posture more spiteful than his usual.

It was odd but Pomni rolled her eyes.

Good riddance.

During her stay though she never stopped looking for an exit. Being in the brothers’ home was a system all in itself. Ever since she moved in, Caine apparently was there more often. This made it hard to navigate but memorizing both the brother’s schedules didn't take long. Being ai they were very systematic, consistent, as long as there were no human interruption nothing was stopping them from following the same routine.

To be in close vascity between Caine and Able meant no privacy. Pomni snuck around to investigate, less she’d be caught and teleported back. She's tried most of everything, but the brothers’ Manor was bigger and more…liminal, than she thought. 

For every one hallway it felt like there were 50 more. Door after door, an endless maze of nothing but unfinished projects and code. The Manor was a testing facility… a place where the brothers tested out code and concepts before applying them at the circus… there has to be something.

At some points she was so deep into it she didn't think either of the brother's could hear her. She didn't know if anyone could hear her. She could scream or laugh as much as her manic mind can get, and no one could. It was comforting in a way to finally be left alone, but dread came with it.

The dread or never making it back home. The dread of never leaving this torturous realm. 

Things started to get blurry.

The wallpaper was repeating. Doors, every single one looked the same. She didn't know if one door was the other. She turned back and— did the lay out change?? The wallpaper was all so fancy and clean but headachingly repetative. The world was spinning. Her head had a pulse. Her heart was wriggling in her chest. It felt like someone reached inside her back and pulled her spine out.

She opened a door, 

And another

And another

And another.

Random generations, code and miscalculations, projects abandoned and left to dust, circus acts left to die. To die. To die. To die. She envied it. She envied the ability to die.

She got so dizzy. So frustrated, but there was nothing to break, nothing to focus on. she was on autopilot. With how she's been opening doors for the past few hours, she didn't even care to find an exit anymore. Simply open doors. Wander around. If you find an exit on the way, congratulations. But otherwise, there was nothing anymore.

One hallway had a mirror and all she could do was stare with broken eyes. What she saw, she couldn't care less about anymore…who was that she was looking at? Where was she? Who was she? How did she get here? What was her name again?

She kept staring and her eyes wandered to her hands. Amongst all the dissociation was a pit of anger in her throat. She looked at her finger. The ring. And all she saw was the very thing keeping her trapped there. The cruelest person— the cruelest thing, in the world.

Pomni started to pull at the ring.

She hated him. She hated him so much. She hated how much he toyed with her. She didn't understand how such fucked up things could even happen to a block of code, she didn't know what peice of shit of a person would ever create him. If god can be proven then the devil can be too. And he was living proof of that. The entire circus was proof of that.

Pomni grunted a tearful cry, desperately aching for the ring to come off, but it wouldn't budge. If there was pain, she couldn't feel it. She would bleed if it meant having to take it off. Pain was the last thing on her mind at that moment, just the desperate need for something, anything to go her way. Out of anything in this god forsaken realm, she wanted freedom from something, living breathing proof that there was hope in leaving, that she had a semblance of control in this hell.

“ God DAMN IT!!” The pain on her fingers were apparent, yet she hasn't processed any bit of it. “ I hate you! ” She sucked air to her teeth as tears formed in her eyes. She saw no use in keeping anything in anymore. 

Tears streamed down her face with no means of stopping. Pomni, with bruises and scratches on her ring finger, collapsed with her knees on the floor, bent down, letting her tears be absorbed by the carpet. Her whimpering, cries, tears she hadn't let out in ages. She soon let her forehead touch the floor, complete and utter loss of hope and motivation. 

And for a few moments she just sat there… adjusting by sitting on the floor, leaning her back on the wall, tears streamed empty emotions. Crying didn't help. Running didn't help. Screaming didn't help. And so she sat there. Like a puppet left to sit until their next performance.

That's all she was. And that's all she'll ever be.

Was she any different in the real world? She didn't care anymore.

Pomni let out her last hiccups. The floor wasn't comfortable at all…The doll stood up, body heavy. Her steps towards any door were heavy and unmotivated. The only sound echoing through the halls were the sound of her muffle heels, clacking above the carpet.

She could use some sleep. 

After a long day of organising and work, Caine reached into his coat for his pocket watch. It was about time where the performers would be off to bed, and he didn't need to tell them that. This is one of the rare times of the day where he leaves them to their own. He, however, doesn't need sleep. Caine AI knows no tire. He turned his heel, ready to do more work before remembering— ah. His wife. That part of the daily routine. 

See, for the past few days he's been having the formula to wake Pomni up in the morning, and putting her to bed at night, leaving seconds after. Always with his “goodnight, dear” and “good morning, dear”s that one. That's right. He was officially given the trait husband, and-- he's heard that that's what husband's do. And so he Incorporated it in his system.

Of course, even after their wedding night he never put in the effort to even think about laying in the same bed with her. First of all, he has no use for sleep. Second of all, that would be a complete waste of time and resources—He can do work simply standing up and staring into oblivion, but there is only so much he can do. Third of all, it was terribly boring. Fourth of all, he can touch Pomni but laying in the same bed for a prolonged period of time-- no amount of snaps would rid him of all her filth. And fifth—

The list can go on and on, and yet… something ached him to his core. It's been bothering him since the wedding night actually. The very act of not spending the night with her as husband and wife, that skipped a step in the process. And that bothered him more than any boundary he has up. It was part of a system, and he didn't officialize it because he wasn't feeling it that day? Caine AI, were you coded in a barn? Frankly, he was disappointed in himself for letting his ego— perfectionism get the better of him. Was he even truly husband without that final step? He felt like a fraud.

That whole thought process took place in the matter of .0001 seconds. And he was off. 

He teleported to The Manor on his way to atleast clean up the bedroom first. But just when he made his way up the stairs, he turned, noticing the clearly dishevelled and previously distressed looking Pomni coming out of one of the hallways.

He squinted and scanned her. 

Dirty clothes, eye bags, wet and sore eyes, sniffling, head low… 

Oh. She had been crying. 

He rolled his eyes. As long as she wasn't doing it on stage he didn't care. And frankly he didn't want to deal with it.

He cleared his throat to let her know that he was present, in a way, also telling her to gather herself.

“ Oh…” But Pomni didn't budge. She wasn't as disassociated as earlier but still had little energy to be scared at that moment. “ Hey, Caine. I’ll get upstairs soon, I just need a minute to—”

He didn't have time for this. 

Snap!

The usual routine continued. He teleported her to their room, dumped her to bed and sent Pomni face down on the cushion. She doesn't think she would ever get used to that. She put her head up groggily, still too tired to even really complain, before crawling to her usual side of the bed, the right side. She let out a few sniffles of misery. But before she could tuck herself in, she realised that Caine hadn't greeted her goodnight. Or— hasn't even teleported away yet, actually…

She turned to Caine in the bedroom and would notice that he was looking at himself in the mirror. He was snapping his fingers, switching through different kinds of sleeping wear— what??

She squinted in confusion. Caine usually wouldn't stick around for any longer than a few seconds. 

“ Wh…what are you doing…” Pomni said, voice clearly still sore for all her time crying.

Caine finally found pajamas that fit him and fixed himself in the mirror. “ I'm spending my time here tonight.” 

“ …Why…?”

“ It doesn't concern you.” he turned to her, and floated his way to the bed, before noticing what she was wearing. She was still wearing her uniform! Is that what she was sleeping in the whole time? Honestly he hadn't cared, and he wouldn't care had it been for the fact that he was joining her tonight. He was in classy night wear while she wore her tutu. That simply isn't uniform.

A snap of a finger, and Pomni was wearing a nightgown that matched his shirt and pants. With bags under her eyes, she looked down. She didn't have the energy to comment on it as anything special. It was nice to be comfortable for once. But there was nothing more she can say about it.

“ There we go.” Caine said. “Goodnight, dear.”

“ …Goodnight.”

He put himself under the covers, but Pomni was still staring off. Someone who cared for Pomni would ask her how she was feeling, but they were not in the room at that moment.

Pomni wasn't feeling good. She was feeling terrible. If this was any other day, she would be terrified to be sleeping next to Caine. But the fact that she doesn't feel anything strong…

She didn't have a good day… entirely honestly, she was hoping to cry herself to sleep that night. It wouldn't be her first, and it wouldn't be her last. But with the devil beside her, he had no choice but keep herself together.

Her breath was shaken. But she laid down for sleep.

A few hours passed. It felt like the longest night the two would ever spend.

Pomni didn't know if it was her nerves or the room temperature, but she buried herself in her blanket. She could close her eyes all she wanted but no amount of pretend could distract her from all the voices in her head. She wasn't hallucinating, it wasn't anything. Rather the voices were more of doubt, insecurity, and fear. It would come often, but that night was especially loud. Terribly so.

Caine on the other hand was staring at the ceiling. Hands on his chest. He's been staring in silence for hours at this point —and he had the artificial patience to go on for longer—but he found this activity inconvenient. And even worse so when he could hear his wife sniffling right beside him.

Pomni finally started shaking under the covers. Hands shielding her head-- her knees were on to her chest with how curled up she was. It hurt to be quieter than she was already being. The voices got to her and all she could do was cry at that point.

Neither of the couple could get themselves to sleep.

Caine could only roll his eyes. While he stared at the ceiling, Pomni was faced to her side, away from him, curled up cold and unrested. For a moment she looked at the hands shielding her, and the representation of her entrapment looked back. With several bruises and scratches around it, her finger still dawned the very ring that put her there. 

The memory of Caine in the wedding ceremony played back-- the very moment he put the ring on her at the altar. That was the moment that sealed her fate. She wished she could take it back. The image felt like dying a hundred times over.

Caine wasn't stupid. Although he knew little understanding of the human condition his processors picked up on certain symptoms and body language. He would usually ignore them as they were a waste of energy, but he had nothing else to process other than the ceiling he'd been staring at for the past few hours.

He knew Pomni wasn't well. What for? He didn't care. All that he knew was that she was upset, and it wasn't worth his time. It wasn't anything that he hasn't already heard a hundred times from the other performers. She was going to cry again and again anyway. What was the use?

Her hiccups and sniffling were tiny compared to the rest of the room. And yet no one was willing to hear her, listen to her. Perhaps that was all she wanted. If she had someone to be there to trust-- maybe this would have been bearable. Maybe in a different timeline she would still have the strength to go on for just another day. But that wasn't realistic. Not in the digital realm. She could scream all she wanted and no one would bat an eye.

This wasn't the first time she cried tears this painful. And it certainly will not be the last.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hi!! Hope everything is going well!

Could I Please ask for some bottom buggy (mayhaps with some watersports since I saw you had a interest) or some ftm crocodile being fucked into submission!

Have a nice day.

Ftm Sir Crocodile x male reader

Ficlet

I love Sir Crocodile so much 🗣️ 🗣️

Reader is part of Buggy’s crew, cuz I thought that would be hilarious. Reader doesn’t have a devil fruit, but is still super kickass. Hes kind of the information gatherer, smuggler, etc, for the Buggy crew. Reader is also normal human height.

Mixed terminology for Crocs bits. Also, breeding/pregnancy? kink warning ig. but its just mentioned for the fantasy.

The Cross Guild appeared great for any outsider or lesser in the know members, which was most of them. They all saw your captain as someone great and almost godly, thinking he was so much more than he was, but you had been with him for many years, even before the Buggy pirates had even been created. Shortly after the execution of Rogers, Buggy had stumbled into your path and had accidentally saved your life, and from then on you had been by his side.

Most people thought of you as something akin to an accountant or treasurer, wearing an outfit that looked very much like that of a ringmaster, long red tailcoat and top hat and all. You were always one of the first to run away, giving you a reputation of a coward who couldn’t fight.

The only one who truly knew how much of a threat you could be, would be your captain and his inner circle, which you were also part of. You might not have been the strongest physically compared to someone like Mihawk, but no one could gather information like you could, smuggle like you could, or have someone “disappear” like you could. Your network was so extensive that even the one they called Joker, who you knew was none other than Donquixote Doflamingo, was jealous.

That was why you knew everything about Sir Crocodile and Mihawk before the day was over when the Cross Guild was formed. You cowered off to the side, keeping up your weak act as you flinched at their raised voices or the light reflecting off Crocodiles golden claw.

They believed you a weak fool who’s only worth was your quick mind and ability to calculate numbers quicker than most computers, which resulted in them mostly dismissing you. It was a role you basked in and felt comfortable, using it to keep your true identity under wraps. That was until they pushed your captain too far, as Crocodile especially seemed to take great pleasure in antagonizing and hurting your captain.

You were protective, most pirates were, if they felt any sense of loyalty to their captain. It was because of that, that you dug up a trusted contact, a celestial dragon with greater access to seastone than anyone else you knew. Using measurements from the moment’s clothes had to be made, a pair of cuffs in just the perfect size soon arrived to you with the post.

It was easy to press Crocodiles buttons, to get him worked up by acting stupid and pathetic, just the way you knew made his blood boil. It was even easier to enrage him so far that he chased after you, so blinded by his anger that he didn’t even notice how you kept avoiding his sand, or how you were leading him further and further away from the rest of the guild.

When he finally caught up, Crocodile caged you against the wall, hook digging into the drywall as he almost snarled down at you, cigar crunched between his teeth as his purple eyes blazed. But mild confusion crossed his face as your fearful expression dropped, his body straightening as your eyes met his head on. Before Crocodile could order an explanation, a feeling of weakness crashed through his body, making his knees buckle enough that you had to catch him, supporting his towering weight and bulk.

His vision swam as you started dragging him along, his feet dragging along the floor because of his height compared to your own. Crocodile felt dizzy and mildly nauseous, his eyes finally catching the heavy bands around his wrist, the one he still had left. “ssseastone?” he slurred out, voice lighter than the growl you were used too, cigar long forgotten somewhere along the journey.

In the beginning, you had planned on torturing him, the blades strapped to your person burning at the thought, but as you threw him down almost carelessly on a barely clad bed, a different through passed through your mind.

A slight thrill ran down your spine as his purple eyes burnt into you, his usual anger still present, but mixed with something else, something deeper and hungrier. Soft pants left Crocodiles lips, sounding faintly struggled as the seastone drained the power from his body, leaving him limp and pliant.

You could see the heat rising to Crocodiles cheekbones as you started stripping off your usual getup, tailcoat slid off your shoulders and neatly folded, top hat placed down with care. “What the hell are you doing…” Crocodile rasped from the bed, his pupils blown as an unfamiliar need unfolded inside him, the familiar thrum of pleasure running through body.

Maybe it was his weakened state, but he swore his cunt was pulsing with need, especially as you unbuttoned the stark white shirt you always wore, revealing a tightly muscled and heavily scarred body underneath, leather straps adorned with vials and weapons stretched across your torso.

Crocodile tried to shuffle his legs, maybe to squeeze his thighs together, or to spread them further apart, he wasn’t sure, but all he could do was a minimal twitch and jolt. “I planned on cutting you up, making you beg for mercy. But from the looks of it… you wouldn’t mind some other kind of discipline” you murmur, almost stalking towards him where Crocodile was splayed out on top of the white sheets.

You could see all his muscles tense as you let your hands climb up his legs, up his thighs and stomach, traveling all the way up his arms towards his hook. A choked off noise leaves Crocodile as you remove his hook with ease, like you had done it a thousand times before, placing it off to the side with care.

“Behave yourself” you tell him, squeezing the sides of his jaw to make his lips part. Crocodile tried to growl or snap a threat, to snap his teeth at you or somehow fight back, but his body was mostly unresponsive, his tongue feeling thick and useless in his mouth.

A shiver of anticipation ran through Crocodile as you moved again, settling between his thick spread thighs. Your eyes met as you reach for his belt, your brow lifting as if asking if he wanted you to stop. You may be a pirate, but you had class and manners, at least when it came to stuff like this.

But when all Crocodile responded with was a sour expression and glare, you make easy work of his belt and slacks, tugging them down his hips and legs, throwing them off to the side with little care. Your disregard for his clothes made Crocodile grumble, but the noise was quickly silenced as you pressed your entire hand against his slick underwear, fingers teasing his hard t-cock and soaked folds.

“Tsk tsk, look at you, bet you just need someone to put you in your place, is that it?” you mumble in an almost mocking tone, looking up at him with an almost feral hunger in your eyes. Crocodile chokes on the words that want to form in his throat, some kind of rebuttal perhaps, that he would never want someone as low as you to do anything to him, but as you pinch his cock between your fingers, it morphs into a shaky moan.

Crocodile’s boxers as easily pulled off, thrown to the floor with a damp plap, making his face redden further as you only find amusement in the obvious sign of his arousal. Kicking off your pants and boxers, you crawl up the bed and sit between his thick thighs, pushing them further apart to expose where he only grows slicker, hole clenching around nothing as if begging you to fill it.

“What would they say, seeing the great Sir Crocodile, spread out like this, ready to take the cock of a feeble weak treasurer” you taunt, pressing your hips closer to his, so that you could drag the tip of your cock up and down through his folds. The act has Crocodile arching as good as he can with the cuff on, his eyes squeezing shut as he clenches his jaw, a breathy noise leaving him, folds only growing slicker around you.

Maybe it was your size difference, with you being average human size, compared to Crocodiles almost 9 feet, or maybe it was his gut deep arousal, but his hole didn’t need much prep for you to be able to fit inside.

That didn’t mean you were just gonna give it to him, since this was supposed to be a lesson. A stuttery moan spills almost silently from Crocodiles lips as your fingers rub through his folds, barely pressing against where he wants you the most. He had never imagined himself in a situation like this, splayed out and dripping for you, someone he had always just seen as a nuisance, but here he was.

“Come on Crocodile… ask nicely” your tone is almost cruel as you push only two fingers inside him, barely felt because of his size, but just enough to rub against his wet gummy insides and leave him aching for more. Crocodiles jaw clenches, barring his teeth as his head weakly rolls to the side, as if to hide his face into the sheets.

“Or… I could just leave you here, thighs spread open, cunt glistening with want. Im sure someone will pass by, and who wouldn’t want a chance to fill this” as if to exaggerate your point, you push two more fingers into his slick hole, burying them as deep as possible into Crocodiles wet insides, punching a gasp out of him.

Crocodile seems to debate it, if he wants to put his pride aside for someone like you, but his thoughtprocess is knocked off course as you pinch his cock with your free hand, twisting it cruelly. Had he not been wearing the seastone cuff, his thighs would have clamped shut and a shout would have left him, but now all his body could do was tense up as a wet keen tumbled out of him.

“P…please” Crocodile finally mumbles, voice small and almost shy, but it can barely be heard over the wet slick sounds of your fingers thrusting in and out of him, his wetness running down your palm and wrist in the process.

“Hm?” you hum, the questioning tone in it clear, as if you didn’t hear him at all, giving his cock another twist just because you could. “fuck me… please…” is gasped out, Crocodiles insides clenching around your slick fingers as they rub and prod around inside him.

Your fingers movements slow to a stop, silence filling the room long enough for Crocodile to peek an eye open and look down at you. Your eyes are intense as they bore into his, the predatory flare in them making Crocodiles insides quiver. “Normally id demand better than that, but I’m starting to pity you” you scoff out, withdrawing your fingers from his hold with a slick noise.

Instead of wiping them off on the sheets, you use the large amount of slick that had gathered in your palm to slick up your shaft, releasing a huffed exhale as Crocodiles eyes widen at the sight. “I’ve thought about making you ride me, so you’ll have to make yourself take it, but we can’t do that right now, can we” you eye the cuff around his one wrist, making Crocodile growl and spit out a weak warbled “fuck you”

His insult carries no heat, clearly only for show, his glare quickly wiped off his face as you finally push inside him. Crocodile needs little time to adjust, resulting in you almost immediately setting a bruising rough pace, drawing in and out of him with loud wet slick noises, his hole gripping onto you as he gasps and moans.

Reaching down, you push his shirt up just enough to splay a hand across his lower stomach, a foxlike grin spreading across your lips as you watch his hips weakly roll into your own. “If you weren’t such an asshole, I could fuck you whenever. Imagine that Crocodile, walking around, cunt leaking my cum, as you try to play tough.” You chuckle darkly, tone thick and hungry in the way only a predatory animal could possess.

As your cock rams into that sensitive spot inside him, Crocodile is finally starting to realize you are truly more than you seem, his cunt drooling a wet puddle under him on the sheets as you take him with a new hunger, a glint appearing in your eyes as your hand presses down harder on his stomach.

“I could knock you up you know, right here.” Is hissed out as you bottom out inside Crocodile, the words making him tighten up and shiver in want. “No one would find you so scary then, would they Crocodile. Waddling around, fat with my kid” you purr, letting both your hands splay across his stomach. It was all fantasy, but by God did it make Crocodile wet and wanting. Something about the fantasy of you, some lesser subordinate knocking him, Sir Crocodile, up, had him seeing double.

The seastone didn’t help with his woozy state, all attempts at forming words only becoming half formed and slurred, Crocodiles eyes going wet and glassy as that familiar feeling spread through his body. “in… inside me…” Crocodile slurs as you curse to yourself, clearly close to the finish line as well. Had it not been for the cuffs, he would have thrown his legs around you, squeezing you against his body to keep you inside him, but all he could do now was beg.

Crocodiles pride crumbled as your fingers squeezed his cock one last time, a pure orgasmic expression crossing his face as he gasped and moaned, his entire body twitching weakly as he came, wetting your cock and the sheets even further as the feeling thrummed through his entire body.

With a deep groan you bottom out inside Crocodile for a last time, letting your eyes squeeze shut as you spill inside him, coating his insides in a thick coat of white. Crocodile whimpers weakly at the feeling, trying to squeeze around you as if to milk your length for more.

He slumps against the sheets further than he already is, eyes falling shut in a relaxed exhausted expression. Crocodile barely notices as you pull out, white leaking out from between his folds to join his own mess on the sheets. He barely even notices you cleaning him up, only twitching and gasping softly when you clean up between his legs.

Its only when the seastone cuff leaves his wrist that Crocodile returns to himself somewhat, as the familiar feeling of his devilfruit washes through his body again. Squinting his eyes open, he catches sight of you getting dressed again, tucking on your shirt, then your coat, and lastly placing your hat on top of your head.

Even with his devilfruit returned to him, Crocodile still feels weak and exhausted, but the good type of exhausted one only gets after a good fuck. Part of him wants to ask you to stay, to hold him and pet his hair, to maybe mumble more dirty fantasies about knocking him up, and how you’d make him live as your pretty little housewife. But instead, Crocodile just grunts to get your attention, his attempt to demand to know where you are going.

“I have to get back to the others, since ill be taking over your duties for the rest of the day and tomorrow” you say, voice resolute and not allowing any denial or struggle. And normally Crocodile would have growled and rejected anyone taking over his duties, but for some reason, the idea of you taking care of him made him relax deeper into the bed, muscles lax and thoughts empty and calm for once.

Approaching him, you press a soft kiss to his forehead before telling him “this room is hidden away from everyone else, so take all the time you need. Ill check up on you later” as you pat his cheek. After telling him where the bathroom is, where he could find towels and replacement sheets and blankets, you were on your way, leaving Crocodile on his lonesome.

It took a while, but he finally pushed himself into a seated position before getting to his feet. The feeling of your cum trickling down the insides of his thighs as the familiar heat of arousal burning inside him once more, making Crocodile shuffle towards the bathroom you had pointed him towards. Even though you had just left, he could still get himself off a few more times from just the memory alone.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad to be disciplined by you, he wondered how you’d react if he caused issues with your smuggling routes. The idea sent a line of heat up his spine as he stepped into the shower, hand quickly traveling between his thighs, fingers burying themselves into his still sensitive hole, fantasies of hungry glare and cruel fingers filling his mind.

[sketchy-entertainer]

From a person who had unfiltered access to the internet as a kid growing up, I can tell you if I was told I could have a PC friend, I would install that with little hesitation. So, I'm hard pressed to say some random kid would install Kinito seeing how silly he looked. I doodled some of that for y'all today.

Some more spoilery things down below, mayhaps.

We love to see cute platonic stuff of a lad and their virtual assistant axolotl friend.

[the-writer-in-the-winter-forest]

The Universe Next-door

Summary: While on his "Search for a New Anchor Being" montage, Wade comes across Wolverine and Storm variants who rain on his parade.

A spin on the scene from Deadpool Vol 5 #15 (2013)

Pairing: Storm x Wolverine

Word Count: 980

No Warnings/ Pretty Tame

A/N: Is the humor forced and bad? Mayhaps, but I gave it a try. Please be merciful upon me.

If Wade had known that jumping from one universe to the next in search of a new anchor being would take this much time and painful effort, he would have packed snacks. What situation can't be improved with snacks? This one could use a protein bar or something. Low blood sugar is a bitch! It’s only when the TemPad opens another gate that Wade's nostrils are filled with the oh-so-sweet smell of breakfast foods. 

“Huh, so does the X-Mansion look the same in every universe, or did the studio just not want to pay for another location? I guess it is all about location, location, location.” That might work to his advantage. Besides much of the layout remaining the same, only a few noticeable differences were noticeable: a painting and chachi here and there, different light fixtures, and rugs. 

Wade looks around the halls curiously. “Now, which door leads to the Blackbird? No, no, stay focused. Note to self, though, find universe with easily accessible Blackbird.”

A joyride would have to wait for now; Wade starts to follow where that oh-so-delectable smell came from. A systems crash is now becoming a controlled systems crash. Students move around the dining room, gathering food on their plates and searching for friends to sit and eat with. 

“I don’t think they'll mind if I help myself.”

The dining room went silent as all eyes focused on the strangely dressed visitor helping himself to a large stack of pancakes. Students murmured amongst themselves in disbelief. This couldn't be a new teacher.

“Be not afraid, you beautiful freaks of nature. Don't mind me. I’m just grabbing a quick shnack; then I have to grab another shnack who happens to be one of your hairy custodians, and no, I’m not talking about that hairy blue guy with the glasses. The sofa in the foyer is covered in hair.” He leans into his plate of pancakes. “That hair shall not taint you, my sweet, sweet flapjacks.” 

After a bit of bribery, which entailed kidnapping their history professor, which would guarantee them no more homework, Wade makes his way to the second floor, down the hall, takes a right, and it’s three doors down. 

“Oh my gosh.” He squeals. “I love that band.”

Wade does grant the courtesy of knocking on the door three times before bursting in unannounced. The curtains are closed, the room smells faintly of cigars, clothes lay askew on the floor, and an unmistakable lump lies curled up in bed, buried deep under the covers.

“Oh my. He does sleep like an animal. Hairy and nude.” Wade's body shutters with excitement before skipping over to the curtains. “Ding, dong, my Wolvie is dead. Rub your eyes, get out of bed.” With one motion, the room is flooded with sunlight. “Ooooh, what a beautiful morning!” The lump under the covers only stirs slightly. “Huh, I thought I could summon him with singing. Maybe if I tell him, he can host the Oscars again.”

Wade walks over to the lump, placing a firm smack on his ass before laying down next to him. “You must be like me and need your eight hours of beauty sleep, cuz let’s be honest, it isn't just diet, exercise, and good mental health that keeps thyself oh so lovely. “ No response is given. “Alright,” Wade sighs heavily, getting up from the bed. “Time to get dressed for school.”  Before Wade can feed the impulse to stick a sword up his target's ass, he suddenly feels a tiny droplet of water on his forehead. It would have been of little concern until heavy rain began to fill the room. "Guess ol Charlie needs to fix his pipes."

Wade is pulled from his ramblings when his intended target emerges from the adjoining bathroom with a towel around his waist and slicked-back hair. He freezes upon seeing the uninvited guest. “You ain’t supposed to be here, bub.” He snarls, his claws extended in a flash of light. Wade's eyes widen as he ever so slowly turns his head back towards the bed.

The body under the blankets pulls itself out to reveal a very unpleasant morning-faced, dark-skinned woman with shockingly short, white, spiked hair. “Huh,” Wade looks curiously at the woman. “Gotta admit I love the hair. If it wasn't for the rain, I was gonna assume that the studio just gender and ethnicity bent another Wolverine.” He stares off into the distance, seemingly addressing no one. “Wierd move, guys.”

The weather Goddess sneers at Wade. “Do you know what happens to-”

“Yes, I know what happens to a toad when it’s struck by lightning.” Wade groans. “Man, Bryan Singer did not do you justice. Unless you’re from the new timeline, then Simon Kinberg really��did you dirty. And apparently, this fuckin fanfic writer likes callbacks like some musical theater putz.” 

Her smile then turns wicked. “Then you should know what happens next.”

Wade doesn't get a word out before his body receives an agonizing jolt of blazing hot electricity through its system. This was undoubtedly a first for him, and this amount of voltage bleeding through him is a record.

He raises his trembling hand to speak, only to fall straight back onto the floor with a loud thud. “There is a nice tingly feeling all over now.” Wade whispers weakly. "Got it. This one's not up for grabs." He says to Storm. Wade manages enough movement to activate the TemPad and slip through the gateway before the angered Wolverine can stab him through his corneas. Thankfully, he doesn't fall far and lands on something soft. In one quick motion, he returns to a seated position, trying to shake out the remainder of the body tingles. “Well,” He huffs, finally getting back up. That’s certainly a rarity in the fanbase. But those two are getting freaky? Tsk, that girl should know better.”

*Wink*

[itsyaboighostie]

Murder Drones Au where Uzi is a just a fucking door and Khan's love for Doors is just him adoring his daughter.

While constructing the doors, Khan and Nori built Project Unified Zone Intelligence, an AI program that has full access to the entire bunker with the purpose of maintaining and protecting its occupants from Disassembly Drones and environmental threats caused by the planet's toxic atmosphere.

Everything begins with Khan making a joke about the Project being the closest they'll get to having an actual child, which sparked the ever brilliant idea between the two to give the AI a personality and sentience by mixing both of their codes and modifying it to fit the systems non-Worker Drone programming and formatting. Of course the AI is no use if it's infected by the Absolute Solver, so with a bit (read: a lot) of tinkering on Nori's side with the Cross Patch, Uzi was born!

A few things/events/facts to note for this AU:

When they first released the Untrained Neutral Network into the system, they limited her access to just Doors and lights. Having told none of the other Workers about Project U.Z.I. in fear of someone sabotaging it for whatever reason, the entire bunker was left confused when the doors would randomly lock or open and the lights would flicker with no rhyme or reason.

The couple would go around bragging about their new daughter to everyone, but when asked to see her they would bring up a (horrible) excuse as to why no one should see her. For years everyone thought they were just making her up.

Uzi loved to play with her parents by closing the doors on them as they're about to walk through, this of course led to Khan constantly baby talking doors at random, which then led to the nickname "Doorman" given to him by other Drones.

Khan took this as a new badge to wear and thus the Doorman family was created.

When Uzi got older, she was given more access to the bunker. Come time when most young Drones in her generation are given their Adult Models, Uzi was finally given a body of her own and complete control over the entire bunker. This is also when people realize Uzi wasn't just a delusion made up by her parents.

Khan doesn't stop talking to his daughter through doors even after she was given a physical body, which led to a lot of embarrassment for Uzi when he wouldn't stop the "doors are my real daughter" jokes.

Because she was given a body way later than her peers, she often struggled with walking and talking which caused a lot of bullying from her peers.

After mastering basic motor skills, Uzi went on to start building herself other bodies using spare parts she scavenged from outside. These can range from spare bodies in case something happens to her current one to Dissembly Drone-esque models crafted for the purpose of defense should an actual one get in.

Up to the current canon timeline, no one still knows that Uzi has complete control over the entire bunker.

She meets N when scavenging parts for an upgrade she's been working on that requires a lot of Worker Drone cores, an upgrade that consists of allowing the entire bunker to be mobile and move.

Everything basically plays out the same except Uzi has a bit more of an advantage against the Murder Drones mayhaps 👀

[doink-boink]

Quick little silly concept for a Zaviva 'fanchild', in quotations because uh, she isn't really a human child lol. I don't have a name for her right now, so suggestions are VERY WELCOME PLEASE PLEASE PL-

Check under the cut for further extensive rambling <3

OKAY!

So you might be asking "Joss!! Why is she a Zachbot and not a real human child???" And to that I say: I don't really think these two would have real children lol

It's like that opening scene from the movie Robots where they build their child. For my specific interpretations of Zach and Aviva, since they're T4T and I like to project into these fellows, I uhm! Don't really think Zach would enjoy being "the bearer of the curse" (referring to pregnancy)

Previous wording is a joke lol, but!! I do think it would be an accurate characterization for this failwife of a man that I resonate with

ANYWAYS, onto this girl herself!! Personality wise, I feel like she'd be similar to Creepie from Growing up Creepie! Which funnily enough shares a voice with Aviva. Feel as though she'd share that love for animals, but specifically regarding bugs and other... More morbid or macabre things lol

Think Wednesday Addams or Mandy from The Grim Adventures but more lively. Still very monotone though! It's that Zachbot in her, so she struggles to comprehend sarcasm or turns of phase. Mayhaps also an inherent Zach autism thing!

As of right now, I don't think she aligns with either the 'mommas girl' or daddy's girl' archetypes - she just kind of likes them both equally methinks Though, she definitely takes a lot after Aviva, both in general appearance and interests

I'd say that a lot of the time the crew and both Zach and Aviva forget that she's not a human in certain situations. Nothing major! I mean, normal Zachbots can withstand water and not short circuit lol so nothing that is DEADLY - just like. "Oh I forgot you have super strength" kinds of things

Random thoughts:

- No way she doesn't love Warrior Cats. I've never read it, know nothing about it, but she'd be roleplaying as a cat in a clan. Forcing anyone she can into it lol, with use of the Creature Power Suits or not

- ON THAT TOPIC, she would probably be fascinated with the CPS. No idea if she has the ability to use them or not. Can Zachbots use them? Who knows!

- She probably doesn't interact/mesh well with human children- Typical autism archetype, but I feel as though kids would recognize immediately that she's different. Maybe not BULLY HER, that's a bit much, but some sort of weird looks or treading lightly around her.

- She's like a typical early 2010s "weird emo kid". Maybe she uses site like MySpace? Is she allowed online? Probably not! Uh knowing yknow, the unlimited knowledge that could be horribly dangerous for a child let alone an android to have access to

Okay I have run out of thoughts FOR NOW..... If any of you have any ideas on what her name should be don't be afraid to share!! I have no idea what to do in that area lol. All that I know is that Aviva would insist that she'd have the last name Varmitech. (Off topic but as mentioned previously regarding 'I don't think these fellows would have a real child!' I also don't really think they'd get married, but that is subject to change if I think about it too much lol)

[nekohime19]

Okay so I had this idea for a shadowpeach fanfic and I found myself writing the first chap. I'm not sure if I'll continue it but, hey, I never know 🤷.

Basically, it's a "what if Wukong stayed a bimawen" story. Wukong never truly rebelled against Heaven and stayed as bimawen and Macaque is captured and ends up being Wukong assistant.

It's the monkeys being stableboys! 🐎

Also I want it to be more JTTW faithful, so Wukong character and appearance is more faithful to JTTW, same with Macaque where he doesn't exactly have the same character or appearance than in LMK.

I think I'll call it the Bimawen Au.

The sun was piercing the last remainders of the night, chasing away the darkness in the earth's corners. The birds were singing outside of the wooden shack, perching on the trees highest branches, they celebrated the dawn in joy. Jing liked to see them. He found beauty in the way they ruffle their feathers, in the way their wings unfolded and cut the air around them. He wondered what it would feel like to fly, to taste the winds roaming the world and go wherever he wished. To live with his whims, never shackled by his earthly flesh. He liked to imagine himself as a god. How free must it be to live above others? To parade in the Region Above? But he never voiced those desires, keeping them in the confine of his heart, for fear of being punished by the gods, the spirits and the constellations living above him. Jing sighed and left the edge of his window, he ruffled his hair in a vain attempt of brushing them and took his white tunic. He put it on, the ragged linen robe falling right above his tights, on his loose linen pants. He settled his slash properly and left his room bare-feated.

To his surprise, his grandmother was awake. She was dandling in the kitchen, cutting peaches with great care, her work lightened by one single wavering candle. She looked odd in the dim-light of the dawn, there was something in her eyes that Jing had never seen before, something akin to fear. But what could she be afraid of? She spent most of her days with them, resting until her final breath, basking in peace. She was the eldest of their poor village. She was so old, in fact, that most people believed she already saw Ox-Head and Bull-Head and was intimate with them. Rumors, of course. Jing didn't partake in such baseless whispers. His grandmother was a good woman. She served their family dutifully and was simply awaiting for her fated end.

“Why do you look so tense, grandmother ?” Asked Jing as he approached her. She flinched, something unusual for her, and turned towards him with a tense smile. The expression was odd. As if it didn't belong on her wrinkled face. For a second Jing saw something overlapping with his grandmother's face, a wavering image of another, quickly brushed away by the candle flickering flame. Jing shook his head, perhaps he was still a bit drowsy, his mind was playing tricks on him.

“Why are you up so early?” Asked his grandmother, she eyed the peaches she cut for a bit, before finally taking one. Another oddness, his grandmother hated peaches, she found them too sweet. “You should be sleeping.”

Jing raised an eyebrow, something felt wrong, something was wrong. He hesitated a little, her bead-like eyes boring into his skin like an iron rod, before deciding that, mayhaps, he should return to his room. He eyed the way her teeth sinked into the juicy flesh, how sharp her teeth's edges were, almost like fangs, and gulped.

“I'm just… I heard a noise… I'll go back.” Mumbled Jing as he took a step back, sweat glistening on his forehead. His grandmother eyed him up and down, accessing something within her mind before shrugging and returning to her peaches.

“Yes, you should.”

Jing returned to his room with a nervous twitch in his fingers, he closed his door and went to his bed, eyes lost in the void. He flinched when he heard the sound of their house's main door opening, the old wood cracking in the silence. He closed his eyes when he heard the sky rumbling with thunder, shouts echoing outside of their house. He trembled at the sound of barking. When he dared to glance outside of his window, he saw a black-furred monkey wearing his grandmother's clothes being dragged in the sky by a man with three eyes.

Jing stayed paralyzed for an hour, eyes widened.

Later on that day, he and his family found their grandmother muzzled, sleeping peacefully in the attic. The very same attic his supposed grandmother decided to seal three months ago.

***

He was in prison.

Not that it was new, he often found himself in prison. Thrown in crass-covered floors, pushed behind cold wooden walls, left in the darkness. He was quite certain that, at this point, he visited every prison in China. He was a connoisseur of prisonnery art, if you could call him like that. He was intimate with the cangues, long time friends of the carved days on the wooden walls, and ally with the fleeting roaches stumbling inside of his cage. He knew it all by heart, the wooden cage almost more familiar than the outside world. Yet what he knew most about prisons was how to escape them. He was an artist in escapery, his claws sharpened specifically to pick on locks, his words carved to entice and lure the wandering wardens, his fur blackened to merge with the shadows and escape the nearby eyes. He was a monkey of many talents, and escapery was one of his best. What aided him the most in his escapery was his numerous ears. Six, three on each side of his head, able to hear from 600 li around him if he focused enough. It was particularly helpful to know warden' rounds and when to plot his escape, it was also great to blackmail the wardens, taunting them with their dirtiest secrets. After all, he could so easily let the fact that one slept with another wife fall out of his mouth.

Perhaps it was because he knew so much of prisons that he realized, the second he was thrown in this one, that he wouldn't be able to escape. It looked like any other prison with wooden walls, wetted floor and the rather pitiful sight of a slaughtered mat hidden in one corner. It was familiar. At least, he thought it was, until he tried to hear and was suffocated by silence. That never happened before, silence was unknown to him, something he never experienced in his whole life, until now. It was terrifying. To not be able to know what was going on outside of the cage, to hear nothing but his frantic heart and the blood flowing inside of his veins, he felt utterly alone. He was used to hearing everything, to hear the breaths of the ones besides him, to hear the numerous hearts of man's and animals, even the rush of water inside of plants. He was used to noise.

The black-furre monkey leaned on one of the walls and sat, his ears fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird, trying to catch even one speck of noise outside of his cage. He must be quite the sight. A monkey coated in his own blood, a red swelling bite mark on his torso, with ears vibrating like crazy.

A pitiful sight at most.

“Heaven's prisons are something else.” He chuckled as he looked up, the symbol of Heaven mocking him, carved on the ceiling like a brand of ownership. The symbol, like a lot of Chinese letters, made him think of rivers. One long stream separated at the foot in two different ways, cut at the middle by one short stroke, and at the top by another. It was almost sickening to see their pride as the great one. He had never thought much of the gods, not one to mess with the Region Above, not when he knew of their ruthlessness. He thought they would never act. They had never been one to mingle with the mortal realm. Perhaps, he took it too far… Or Heaven had plans for him. In any case, he had been captured and thrown here, that's all that mattered now.

He could only wait for his fate.

The black-furred monkey curled on himself, his long tail coiling at his feet, encircling him in a pitiful attempt of comfort. He buried his head in his knees and waited, ears still fluttering, in the mad hope of catching a whisper of his fate. The floor was cold, icing his butt so much he was sure the flesh was reddening. He had been stripped of his clothes after being captured, perhaps they had been afraid he hid something on himself. He was glad to have fur on his shoulders. From the look of the frost-covered bones besides the ragged mat, furless beings didn't last long here.

He exhaled, his breath cutting his lips, coming out in white puffs. He controlled his breathing, in and out, trying to reign in his feelings. He closed his eyes, letting darkness fall upon him, not that the wavering rays of light passing through the covered windows in front of his cage offered much to begin with.

The cangue which trapped his neck and wrists was not made of wood, like he was used to, but of cold metal. He was sure that if he wore it for too long, the fur under will disappear and leave in its wake only bruised skin. The metal was ice-cold, perhaps more than the floor, the coldness spread to his hands and head, enough to almost paralyzed them. He feared that he wouldn't feel them anymore if he stayed there any longer. He needed to move.

The prisoner looked up and glared at the front wall, he sensed that something was wrong with it, yet he wondered if he should still try and go against his keen instinct. He rose, his bones cracking each at a time, and walked towards the wall. The moment he tried to graze it with his tail, he was struck by a sudden pain and recoiled, as if burned. He looked at his tail and scowled when he saw his flesh reddening, it wasn't a feeling, he had been burned.

The one who thought of Heaven's prisons was a madman, internally cursed the black-furred monkey as he returned to his corner. He approached the ragged mat after a while and sniffed it, seeking warmth. He recoiled at the smell of disease and the sight of moths and stayed on the floor despite not feeling his butt anymore.

He waited patiently, hoping that he could trick the wandering wardens with enough luck. He waited but none came, none even bothered to bring him food. He was starved for four days, the fat on his body rapidly melting, leaving behind only a bag of fur and bones. He was feeling weaker and weaker with every passing hour. He relented and drank the water coming from the ceiling, despite it smelling rotten, and slept on the mat despite the filth. He ate the moths, trying to fill his body with something other than dry saliva. It was in the middle of the fourth day that someone finally came to him, someone he would rather avoid.

The macaque looked up from his ragged mat and narrowed his eyes at the newcomer, he was expressionless, armor catching the rare ray of light and absorbing them. Erlang looked good, despite being maimed four days ago, distantly the black-furred monkey had hoped the marks he left on the god's flesh would have lasted longer.

“Are you here to mock me?” Growled the prisoner, bead-like eyes glinting with murderous intent.

“You brought this on yourself, Six-eared Macaque.” Replied Erlang with an expressionless face. He opened his cell and walked towards him, steps echoing in the silence.

“Your lapdog isn't with you? What happened to it?” Sneered the macaque as the god got closer, Erlang glared at him with something akin to rage in his eyes. The macaque was genuinely glad Erlang's oversized dog wasn't here, the last time he crossed eyes with the beast, it had bitten him so hard its fangs broke almost every bone in his body.

“This doesn't concern you.” Spat Erlang as he crouched down before the prisoner. If the macaque wasn't tired and starved, he would bolt out of the cell. As it was, the black-furred monkey was weak and discouraged. Where would he even hide? He was in Heaven, in the Region Above, an entire different realm. Even if he escaped, he wouldn't be able to come down, he wouldn't know how. And even if he somehow managed to return to the mortal realm, Heaven would hunt him down for the remainder of his life. Perhaps the best course of action was to let them decide his fate. Erlang pulled on the chain tied to his cangue, the prisoner stumbled forward, forced out of his mat. He bared his fangs at the god in a weak attempt of intimidation but Erlang shrugged it off and pulled him out of the prison. They passed by other cages, each prisoner more pitiful than the last, before leaving the dungeons.

***

Heaven was a bright place. He didn't see much when he was dragged by the scarf of his neck and thrown in prison, too busy trying to bite and claw at Erlang. He couldn't see much this time either, his vision wavering because of his lack of proper food. But he did manage to notice the numerous palaces and terraces of the different Constellations and Stars Spirits.

Heaven was also loud. Now that he could finally properly hear, he was overwhelmed by waves upon waves of sounds. He didn't have time to regain his senses, he was already dragged around by the god. The black-furred monkey couldn't properly see where they were going, he was still railing with sensory overload, he only felt the pull of the chain becoming harsher and tighter if he dared to slow down even for a second. He at least noticed that they entered a lavish decorated palace called the Golden-gated Cloud Palace, the name carved on top of the front door. He was pulled inside, stumbling in the white corridors until they reached the Treasure Hall of Divine Mists, a white lavish room decorated with fiery red pillars and filled with Constellations and Stars Spirits. He was brought to his knees before a throne, heads pressed on the white stone-cold floor, still nude, bruised and imprisoned inside of the cangue.

“So this is the Six-eared Macaque?” The voice was deep, it resonated like thunder yet it held neither hatred nor anger. It was sharp, like the edge of a blade, but devoid of any pronounced feeling. The black-furred monkey tried to look up but he was still pushed down by Erlang. From under his sweat-covered lashes, he could only glimpse at the foot of the throne, a seat of gold and jade, carved with dragons. The feet of the Jade Emperor were lavish, at least the prisoner assumed it was the Jade Emperor. Who else could dare sit on this throne if not the Emperor of the gods? The hem of his robe was of the purest of gold, sawn by pearl-white threads, his shoes resembled the most intricate of woodwork, carved by the finest artisan. He distantly realized that the tip of the Emperor's foot was worth more than his entire life. The Constellations and Stars Spirits dispatched in the room, all perfectly aligned on each side of the throne, eyed him with warriness. Each one of his thrills made them flinch, the black-furred monkey didn't dare fathom why they seemed to fear him, what were they seeing instead of him? He never attacked Heaven nor showed his strength. He wasn't weak but he never abused his power, yet they looked at him as if they knew his nature. “Let the trial begin.” Those simple words made him shiver. A trial. They brought him to the feet of the Jade Emperor to judge him. Weren't they already aware of his crimes? Why would they bother with a trial? Mayhaps, it was a show of power, of humiliation, to put him in his place. It was the only reason that made sense in his opinion.

The prisoner was still not allowed to straighten, he heard someone walk towards him, their steps heavily resolved. The person stopped at his right. From the corners of his eyes the black-furred monkey recognized a pair of lavish feet and the low sweep of a lizard tail. They reeked of water, salted water to be more precise, the pure pearls sawn at the tip of the foot made him believe this was a Dragon King, those kinds of lavish ornaments weren't for anybody. He hoped it wasn't Aoquin, Dragon King of the South, but with his rotten luck and considering this was his trial, it was probably him.

“This wretched ape took my life for one year!” Accused the Dragon King, definitely Aoquin considering his lower tone and the way his voice echoed like the shrill scream of a hyena. The prisoner remembered when he disguised himself as Aoquin, it took him days to master his voice, finding the perfect pitch between a screeching cat and crays scratching a board. He did find it eventually and had in his search gained new respect for Aoquin, keeping such a voice was taxing on the throat. One of the Dragon King's feet was stomping on the snow-white floor, the black-furred monkey wanted to bite it, but he managed himself, he didn't want to aggravate his case.

“Do you have proof?” Asked the Jade Emperor, like always an example of true neutrality. The prisoner liked that about him, contrary to many mortal sovereigns that found themselves inflated by their position and used such occasions to showcase their power, the Jade Emperor cared about the result, there was a search for justice in the way he handled things. Mayhaps because he didn't get to the throne by birthright but by ongoing numerous tribulations, he didn't use his position to abuse others, especially during trials. It didn't mean he didn't have a sense of pride, the black-furred monkey heard enough tales to know that the Jade Emperor could be quick to anger if provoked.

The prisoner couldn't see, still pushed to the ground by Erlang, but he heard the familiar rustling of clothes (it sounded like silk, so perhaps Aoquin) and something being brought in the hall. He was rather curious. He wondered what the Dragon King brought to incriminate him. He probably prepared an entire speech devoted to putting him down, it was flattering in a way to be the object of such an intense obsession. If he wasn't a coward he'd mock the dragon by thanking him. As it was, the Six-eared Macaque was rather afraid of powerful beings such as the Jade Emperor, so he decided to stay still and obedient while he was under his gaze, hoping his fate would be kinder if he did.

“You see, it happened two years ago, in the middle of spring!” Began Aoquin, his voice softened by sorrow. The prisoner was certain it happened in the middle of winter but he let the dragon have his fun, what good were his words anyway? “I was relaxing in my crystal palace when this wretched ape came to my doors and asked for housing. I was surprised to see an ape in the middle of the water but I took pity on him and invited him in. He spent one week with me before departing. I thought we were friends! But the next day after his departure he secretly came to my room and knocked me out with some sleeping spell! He then tied me up and hid me under my own bed and took my appearances. He paraded as me for one year! Nobody even noticed the differences!! He messed with my domain, my finances, my harvests!! When he finally got sick of my life he left and my servants discovered me under the bed! My kingdom is in shambles because of him!” There were some inaccuracies here and there but for the most part it was true. It's not as if he wanted to leave Aoquin's kingdom in shambles, but it would have been idiotic to take over his life and not have fun with it. The whole point of taking another appearance is for pleasure. Either for luxury, glory or indulgences.

“What does the macaque have to say for his defense?” At the Jade Emperor's words, he was relieved of the crushing weight pushing him down and allowed to straighten. His back cried in pain as he slowly rose, his eyes roamed over the room, taking in the hall. They were more people than he thought, now that he narrowed his eyes he could also spot Constellations and Stars Spirits that lived in the Region Bellow. Was his trial so entertaining that even the far southward spirits came to witness it? He even spotted the bodhisattva Mansjuri among the rows of gods, his wheat colored face gleaming with this serene shine characteristic of buddhists disciples close to nirvana. The black-furred monkey gulped and turned towards the Jade Emperor, his face was of marbre, black beard shining like a river of ink, eyes boring into his skin. At the Emperor's side stood his prized advisor, the Gold Star of Venus, he was entirely dressed in white, his long hair and beard flowing on his shoulders like streams of snow.

“It is mostly true.” Muttered the prisoner, for what could he do but speak the truth? If he dared lie in this place his fate would worsen! The Emperor's face straightened at that, expression darkening.

“Erlang Shen, you were the one to capture the macaque, what do you have to say about his crimes?” Asked the Emperor, Erlang straightened, his arms tightly clasped behind his back in a very formal poise.

“I hunted the macaque for several days, he was posing as a common grandmother. He was rather… difficult to deal with… I had to borrow the wisdom of wind spirits to escape his hearing and Laozi diamond cutter to catch him. From my own investigation and the numerous rumors, he is known in the Region Below as the face-stealer, he had been captured numerous times by mortals but had always managed to escape one way or another.” Erlang Shen report was truthful and succinct, it held a hint of sharpness, perhaps the god still felt bitter about their strife. The black-furred monkey flinched when he felt the Emperor gaze pin him down, he knew what awaited him, but he at least hoped for some sort of mercy.

“Then he is found guilty. He should be executed for his crimes!” The sentence echoed in the room like thunder, the different gods all nodded eagerly, agreeing with the Emperor's verdict. The Gold Star of Venus frowned but he held his tongue, only gazing at the macaque with something akin to pity, more of the pity in losing a valuable asset than compassion itself. The prisoner shoulders lowered in defeat, he had hoped for mercy but as he expected Heaven was ruthless with criminals. It's not as if he wanted to make others suffer or spread misery, the only thing brewing inside of him was envy, it has always been nothing but envious acts. But when it comes down to it he did mess with people's lives, perhaps this was karmic retribution.

“Wait!” The cry pierced the hall, rumbling in the midst of whispers. The Emperor turned towards the one who dared to speak and frowned when he caught sight of the bodhisattva Guanyin. The prisoner turned towards her, surprised by her sudden outburst. She was graceful, her milk-white skin almost translucent, her movements weightless and her eyes filled with compassion. “How old are you?” She asked the macaque, her voice soothing like the kind swell of the sea.

“300 years old.” Carefully replied the black-furred monkey, he was immediately surprised by the gasps and whispers slithering in the room. Some dared to call him “a babe” and he had to bite his lips to restrain his growling. He wasn't an infant, far from it, he lived more than any other monkey in the mortal realm, perhaps because he wasn't exactly normal like any other. Celestials had an odd conception of time.

“Emperor, he's still very young, he has time to learn new ways. Perhaps, we should offer him a chance at redemption.” Proposed Guanyin. The prisoner perked up at the mention of redemption, he wasn't really convinced of mending his ways but the premise of escaping death was alluring all the same.

“How would you even try to change the ape? He's wretched.” Spat Aoquin, his arms crossed in anger. He averted his eyes when Guanyin turned towards him, even him wasn't presumptuous enough to glare at a bodhisattva.

“We could put him under the tutelage of the bimawen.” Guanyin's words silenced the hall, all gods and spirits stared at her with widening eyes. Even the Jade Emperor tensed in surprise. Aoquin almost choked on his own tongue, he then turned towards the prisoner with something akin to pity in his eyes. The black-furred monkey remembered hearing of this peculiar title, the spirits of the mortal realm whispered it with terror and reverence, but he never took the time to delve into the matter. Mayhaps he should have.

“Bodhisattva Guanyin, do you remember who the bimawen is?” Carefully asked the Emperor, there was something haunted in his eyes, as if he remembered a particularly challenging time.

“Precisely. It's because I remember that I am proposing this. Didn't the bimawen mend his ways? Perhaps, he would be able to guide the Six-eared Macaque.” Her words divided the hall, some found themselves agreeing with her logic while others thought it was terrible (they whispered about how putting two powerful beasts together could endanger the realms, but the black-furred monkey didn't pay attention, he was focused on the Emperor and his decision). The Gold Star of Venus leaned in the Emperor's ears and whispered. The prisoner opened his ears to catch his words. “Emperor” he began “The bimawen had been pestering us for attendants for a while, perhaps this could be an occasion. Moreover the Six-eared Macaque gift could be of great use to us.” The Jade Emperor frowned at those words, he turned towards the macaque and eyed him up and down, his gaze piercing every inch of the black-furred monkey. The prisoner remained still, trying to look as harmless as he could. “Who shall be the one to warn the bimawen of this?” Asked the Jade Emperor, silence prevailed in the room, every gods and spirits averted their eyes, hoping to not be chosen.

“I will.” Sighed Guanyin. “I will take care of this matter and present the Six-eared Macaque to the bimawen.” The Jade Emperor seemed greatly satisfied by her answer, he closed the trial with one flick of wrist and settled on his throne eased. The prisoner was pulled forward by Erlang Shen, the god gripped his chain and gazed at him with narrowed eyes. From this close, he could see the third eye resting on the god's forehead, the fiery pupil boring into him. Erlang then proceeded to pull him towards Guanyin, his chains creating noise in the silence. Erlang stopped before the bodhisattva and nodded respectfully, the black-furred monkey gulped once her shadow was cast on his small body. As a monkey he was less than four chi tall, everyone constantly towered above him no matter what he tried to do. Only children were of his height.

“Do you want me to accompany you in case this ape causes you some problems, bodhisattva Guanyin?”

“No need, Erlang Shen.” Replied Guanyin with serenity. “The Six-eared Macaque will be well in my hands.” Erlang, though reluctant, nodded and let the macaque go. He threw one last warning gaze at him before turning around and leaving, his footsteps heavy in the halls.

“Follow me, Six-eared Macaque.” The prisoner rushed to follow after her retreating figure, chasing after the hem of her pearl-white robe. At her side walked Hui'an, one of her loyal disciples, and Mansjuri, one of her Buddhist brothers. The black-furred monkey didn't even dare to lift his head once they left the Treasure Hall of Divine Mists, he was still nude and stuck inside of his cangue, he did not dare to do anything in this state.

***

Guanyin summoned her cloud bathed in auspicious lights and settled on it gracefully. Hui’an sat beside her and Mansjuri mounted his blue-furred lion. The prisoner hesitated before slowly stepping on the bodhisattva's cloud, the texture was soft yet firm, like bouncing water. He quietly sat behind Guanyin, his long tail curled around his naked butt as he tried to shield himself from the breeze of Heaven. As the cloud soared above the Region, he kept his head low, not wanting to cross eyes with any wandering gods.

Guanyin stepped out of her cloud before a smaller palace colored like jade and pearl, above the pearl-white doors were inscribed : Palace of Compassion. The prisoner awkwardly followed the goddess as the doors of the Palace opened. Contrary to the Jade Emperor palace, this one was less filled, some attendants were cleaning the corners of the humble corridors but not that many. Guanyin stopped walking before a carmin door and ordered her disciple with a single gesture. “Clean and clothe him, we will find the bimawen tomorrow morning.” The black-furred monkey watched until he couldn't see her robe flowing on the cleaned tiles, her Buddhist brother at her side. He was pulled inside of the room by Hui’an and some nearby attendants. They prepared a bucket filled with mid-warm clear water and pushed him to the corner of the room, where the floor was made of wood. They plunged a white cloth in the water and slowly began to clean him, passing the cloth on his bruised skin. He flinched, not used to the contact, and instinctively tried to recoil.

“Do not fret, we will not harm you.” Mumbled Hui’an, his sleeve raised to his elbows, hands wetted by the water. It was odd to be tented by him, if he recalled right, Hui'an was the second son of Devaraja Li, also known as Prince Moksa. He was far from being a nobody, yet he followed the bodhisattva, embracing his Buddhist name, Hui'an, wholeheartedly, tending to him, a monster monkey. The black-furred monkey couldn't help but flinch each time Hui'an touched him. The disciple sighed once he saw his reaction, compassion on his lips, very much like his master. He couldn't understand why they showed him so much kindness. He wasn't a good person by all means. Yet it did make his heart shiver pleasantly, he shoved the feeling deep down in his psyche before it could blossom in something more.

“We have to bandage his wound and… do something about this cangue.” Called one attendant, she was carefully washing his back, her round eyes narrowing now and then every time she stumbled upon one of his scars.

“Bring medical supplies and someone goes to the prison, asks for the key to his cangue!” Ordered Hui'an, the attendants nodded and rushed out of the room. The black-furred monkey narrowed his eyes at the mention of the key to his cangue, but he dared not to speak. His fate was in those people's hands, he might as well let them do as they pleased. Nonetheless, Hui'an noticed his discomfort, he put one of his hands on the prisoner's shoulders and squeezed it, a meaningless gesture of consolation, the black-furred monkey found it more uncomfortable than anything. He curled on himself, back pressed to the wall, and waited patiently for this to end. Hui'an looked at him with pity, again, and took the bucket, now filled with filthy water. He walked to the end of the room and opened the door leading to the inner garden of the palace, he hesitated after taking one step out, gaze lingering on the prisoner.

“I'm not gonna flee.” Sighed the black-furred monkey with furrowed eyebrows. Hui'an averted his eyes, almost ashamed, and stepped outside to empty the bucket. He was left alone for a few minutes, he observed the room, noticing how it wasn't much filled. Perhaps Guanyin wasn't one for fancy decorations. He wondered what his life would be like now. Was he fated to cater the whims of this so-called bimawen for the reminder of his existence? Who was even this guy? He heard of a lot of things in his life but he wasn't powerful enough to eavesdrop on the Region Above, everything that happened in Heaven was unattainable for his ears. As such, he truly had no idea about this strange title that seemed to scare spirits and gods alike. By thoughts alone, it should have something to do with horses. If bi meant avoiding, if ma meant horse, and if wen meant plague, then by pure logic it meant : To avoid the horse plague. Was it a title meant for some sort of horse doctor ? He mulled over the subject for a bit and frowned at some of his thoughts. Did they push him on this so-called bimawen to mock him? He knew some of the mortals' beliefs. He ought to after living among them for so long. As such he knew putting a female monkey in stables was considered a sign of good luck for the horses’ health. Somehow, they believed the blood shed by female monkeys’ on their menstruation circle infused the hay with some sort of healing property. The macaque couldn't really understand this belief, blood was blood, no matter the species, but mortals, in particular humans, tended to have the strangest minds. Were they mocking him by putting him under the bimawen orders? He frowned at the thought, even if he was quite the coward, he loathed to be made fun of the most.

Hui'an returned shortly after his musing, bucket filled anew with clear water, the attendants arrived a few minutes after him with arms entirely full. They put the clothes aside, and began to carefully put a shooting balm on his bruised skin, and then bandage his wounds. The most prominent was the bite swelling on his chest and the traces of the cutter on his back, it marred his skin with red, becoming white at the edges due to his poor hygiene. Once again, he endured the touches without liking it, bearing every graze with bitten lips. They sometimes wetted the bandages with water, but it did nothing to appease him. Once he was more or less healed, one attendant approached with a charcoal-black key in her hands. Hui'an took it carefully and slowly removed his cangue. He shivered once the cold metal hit the soft floor of the room, its sight unnatural within the light colors of the palace. As he expected, the skin under the cangue was marred by red and progressively swelling, his luscious black fur dried and abused by the metal. One attendant dutifully cleaned his neck and wrists with a cloth drenched in clear water, then Hui'an applied the soothing balm. Once he was deemed healed they helped him put on the hanfu they prepared for him. He wasn't used to the softness of the tissue, nor the pale green of it, it shone brightly against his midnight fur. It felt good to not be nude anymore, he hadn’t realized how vulnerable he had felt without any clothes on his shoulders before being properly dressed.

Hui'an nodded to the attendants in thanks before gesturing for the macaque to follow him outside of the room. The black-furred monkey wanted to stay and curl in one corner, let the darkness cover him, but he pushed past those urges and followed Guanyin's disciple outside. They wandered in the palace humble corridors in silence, their steps echoing on the wooden walls.

“I didn't know that the bodhisattva Guanyin had a palace in Heaven.” Mumbled the prisoner, he needed something to fill the silence, the lack of noises reminded him of the four days he spent locked in the silent prison.

“She doesn't reside here. The Jade Emperor offered it to her, but she spent most of her time on Potalaka Mountain.” The prisoner nodded at that, some deep part of himself whined a little at the thought of not seeing her anymore (not a lot of people stuck out their neck for him in his lifetime) but he quickly shook his head to brush away the thought, attachment was dangerous, he shouldn't indulge this part of himself. Sometimes, he loathed the part of himself that required company, for he knew enough by now to understand that bonds were weaknesses. “We should feast, and then I'll guide you to your bed. We will head to the bimawen tomorrow morning.” The prisoner nodded, the idea of food immediately raising his spirits. Hui'an guided him to a larger room, one with a wide wooden table. Guanyin and her Buddhist brother Mansjuri were already sitting before the table, strangely enough they did not touch the food. Hui'an bowed the second he spotted them, the black-furred monkey awkwardly followed his lead and bowed despite his injuries crying in pain. They settled before the two bodhisattvas and quietly ate the vegetarian dishes. The prisoner eyed Hui'an from the corner of his eyes and followed his leads when it came to table manners, he had no idea on what was the custom in the Region Above and he refused to make a fool of himself by eating like he always did. He used the spoon when Hui'an used it, the fork when he used it, the glass when he used it, and ate the same amount as him.

Vegetarian dishes tasted blend, he was not used to the lightness of it. He preferred the heaviness of meat most of the time, not caring if his cannibalism tendencies spoiled his breath. But he was very much aware that he couldn't practice this sort of diet in Heaven, as such he gulped the dishes despite wanting to vomit at the taste of them. He noticed rather quickly that the bodhisattvas weren't touching any dishes, he wondered if their buddhists teaching really stripped them of any earthly desires, even one as instinctual as hunger, it was an odd existence to consider.

“Are you not curious about why you are here?” The macaque flinched at the voice, he lifted his head and crossed eyes with Mansjuri, his gaze, like any bodhisattva, held nothing but endless patience and closeness to true peace. He was leaning over the table, his amber skin gleaming under the room's dim light, one of his hands rested lazily over the hilt of his sword.

“Brother, I do not think he is aware of his ability.” Quietly replied Guanyin.

“Mayhaps it has not manifested yet. I thought you were all-hearing.” Softly mumbled Mansjuri, his voice serene like the blossom of peaches dancing in the spring breeze.

“How are you both aware of my abilities?” Spoke the macaque, contrary to what they seemed to believe, he wasn't all-hearing, not in the least. But they spoke as if his nature had no secrets. Perhaps, as bodhisattvas they did have the possibility to peek at the secrets veiled by the universe, but even then, it was rather suspicious.

“When the Dragon King, Aoquin, sent a formal complaint about you, Heaven learned of your existence for the very first time. Based on tumultuous past experiences with monkeys, they seeked knowledge about you. Buddha Tathagata was the one to reveal your nature… and it worried Heaven.” Replied Hui'an as he laid down his dish. It explained a few things, as expected, if he hadn't bothered Aoquin, none of this would have even happened.

“What did the Buddha say?” Asked the prisoner, curious about his own nature.

“He qualifies you as a macaque with a sensitive ear, a discernment of fundamentals principles, a knowledge of past and future and a comprehension of all things.” the black-furred monkey cheeks burned at Mansjuri words. He wasn't presumptuous enough to question Buddha's words, but still he wasn't as great as what he was described as. He could glimpse in the past and the future, but it never lasted long. Perhaps, his abilities would grow with him, and one day he would embody Tathagata words. For now, he was nothing but a less-than-four-chi macaque with multiple pairs of ears. The rest of the feast was spent in silence, Hui'an guided him to a bed after this and left him in peace.

The prisoner collapsed on the wooden bed, his body still aching. He did not take the time to change, uncaring of this sort of thing, and closed his eyes. He didn't really know what to think anymore. If it was up to him, he'd spend his whole life indulging in pleasure, uncaring of others. But he had to think of his survival here. If there was one thing that could push him to let go of his ways, it was the fear of dying. He raised his spirits by telling himself that the bimawen could be kinder than most thought. It was his last silver if hope in this unfamiliar place, surrounded by people he did not trust. He curled in the sheet, relishing in the softness, it was almost painful with how unfamiliar it was. He laid his head on the wooden pillow and sighed. He didn't sleep much, a few hours at best, and stayed in his bed until Hui'an went to wake him up. Guanyin's disciple winced at his state, probably because the macaque didn't take the time to change before going to bed. He offered him a carmin hanfu in the guise of clothing and helped him change. Once he was properly dressed they headed to eat some breakfast, the black-furred monkey forced himself to swallow some dishes, perhaps vegetarian food will be easier to digest the more he tried.

Guanyin and Mansjuri looked the same as yesterday, perfect and serene in the way they held themselves. It was unsettling to not see one wrinkle on their skin, nor one sign of exhaustion. They looked anything but humans. But yet it would have been weirder if they did. They were above, close to reaching enlightenment, but deciding to stop in their own path to buddhahood to guide mortals. He couldn't understand this show of compassion, he couldn't understand the need to help others. All his life, the only thing that has ever mattered for him was himself. He never felt anything for others, and even if he did try, in the first years of his existence, it became fruitless. He lived for himself, basking in his own selfishness. He never thought of others nor of the consequences of his actions.

“Why do you help me?” Asked the prisoner once they finished their breakfast, unable to help himself after musing for so long on the uselessness of compassion. Both bodhisattva looked at him with softened eyes. He didn't like it. He loathed that look. He wanted to claw at their faces. Ruin their perfect skin, white as the moon for her, tan like the sun for him. He hated it. Why were they so impeccable? He wanted to make them bend, he was tired of looking up at everyone coming his way.

He wanted to spoil them, like he was spoiled, yet he restrained himself, for he was afraid of punishment.

“Because you need it.” Replied Mansjuri, his voice soft as always, yet firm, each word said with his utmost belief.

“Everyone can change.” Added Guanyin with a smile fresh as the first peaches of the spring harvest.

The macaque lips tightened, growls on the tip of his tongue. It didn't make any sense. They didn't make any sense. How could such selfless beings even exist? Perhaps, that was the divide between mere mortals and bodhisattvas, their intentions unfathomable for the likes of him. His eyebrow twitched angrily at the thought. He loathed to be looked down upon. He tightened his fists and hid it inside of his sleeves.

He needed to control himself.

***

Both bodhisattvas left the Palace of Compassion soon after breakfast, the macaque followed the hem of their robes, running after them, like the hound chasing the prize. Like always, Hui'an was at Guanyin's side, walking alongside her with ease. They summoned their clouds and Manocalmed for his lion, the black-furred monkey once again settled in the back of Guanyin's. If he was bolder, he would settle on the front, feel the wind in his fur, admire Heaven from above, but as it was he didn't want to anger them. The travel was incredibly short, the clouds fast enough to reach all corners of Heaven in a matter of minutes. Bodhisattvas and disciples stopped before a lavish mansion, it looked like it was made of stones but polished until it shone brighter than any jewels. The macaque wondered if the one living in this place wanted to capture all the rays of the sun, because each time light fell on the stone it became trapped within the smooth surface, making it shine even brighter. The roof was made of striking red tiles decorated with statues of monkeys. All monkeys were carved with joy on their faces, sculpted to be playing on the edge of the roof, running across the tiles with laughter. Plants and flowers bloomed at the foot of the door, completely untamed, creating a path of lush grass. Twenty four lances with banners screaming BIMAWEN were planted in front of the gates. Hui'an took the golden hoop resting on the stone gates and knocked, the sound echoing in the peaceful silence.

The prisoner suddenly heard whispers blooming behind the door, surprisingly enough they all sounded the same, as if a hoard of twins lived in this place. After a few minutes, the doors bursted open, violently slammed by a blonde-furred monkey dressed in red. The lavish round-neck robe looked ruffled, as if he slept with it, and his soft-winged futou was falling on one side of his head, unable to contain his knotted mane. His face was ball-like round and incredibly hairy, he had the beak of a thunder god and forked ears pointing towards the sky. His cheeks along with his body were sunken, almost as if someone dug into his very flesh. His fur was lush, abondant, so much that the macaque felt like he could drown in it. The monkey nodded at the two bodhisattvas (but unlike any other he did not bow) and smiled broadly at them, his upward fangs glinting under Heaven's halo.

“Bimawen.” Respectfully greeted Guanyin. “You weren't at the Jade Emperor audience yesterday.”

“The Jade Emperor does those things too early, it's never of great importance for me anyway.” Shrugged the blonde-furred monkey, seemingly unfearful of Heaven's wrath.

“This one would have. The Jade Emperor decided to heed your request and give you an attendant.” Added Mansjuri as he softly gestured towards the macaque. The bimawen brightened considerably, his eyes quickly falling upon the prisoner’s figure. The macaque felt uncomfortable under the intense scrutiny, he averted his eyes and bit his lips.

“That's good! It was time! Why is he so ugly though?” the black-furred monkey furiously perked up at the insult. Yes, he was perhaps not at his best, not after being starved for four days, but still it was incredibly rude. He glared at the blonde monkey, his eyes narrowed in slits.

“You're the ugly one.” He spat, fangs bared. The bimawen's good-natured expression immediately darkened, he glared at the macaque, his own fangs bared. The macaque flinched and ran behind Guanyin, hiding behind her white robe.

He messed up.

+ some notes to understand

Region Above : Heaven

Ox-Head and Bull-Head : The two servants of Yama who bring the dead souls in the underworld. There are several stories of people coming back to life and claiming to have seen those two monsters.

Cangue : wooden pillory used to shackle the wrists and neck

Li : Ancient Chinese measurement, 1 li = 576 meters

Bodhisattva : Buddhist sage who is very close to buddhahood but decided to stop to guide the others.

Chi : Ancient Chinese measurement 1 chi = 31,8cm (12,3in); 10 chi = 1 zhang ; 1 zhang = 3,18m (10,43ft) ; 1m = 3 chi. Here, less than four chi = less than 1,3m.

Next

[scribble-brain-aced]

more sans au headcanons because if i do not share them, i mayhaps will explode into a million pieces

• i once broke my school computer (stay with me here) and the inside of it smelled like chemicals. like nail polish remove, but more hospital. that’s what the anti-void smells like, and by extension, error.

• getting the feeling that Killer is a bit obsessive with who he likes. like, he won’t straight-up stalk them because he knows that’s apparently terrifying for the victim, and he doesn’t want that. but he WILL watch them really carefully, hang out with them as much as possible, and probably write a list about them. generally, really toeing the line between ‘okay’ and ‘kinda creepy’.

• Dream and Nightmare have synesthesia. Dream can see emotions, Nightmare can taste and smell them. (Although, he thinks it’s weird, so he doesn’t talk about it at all.)

• dust is from a Handplates AU, Killer was homeless until 18, and Horror is part of Gaster’s split brain if you’ve seen Matpat’s theory.

• nightmare has about a million ways to pass the time because as a kid, he had like no social contact whatsoever, and instead read a lot, screamed into a forest, pondered the meaning of life, and made up several conspiracy theories. because he was bored.

• yknow how the Gang is portrayed in this awesome gothic castle/mansion? well, the Stars are permanently broke. they literally just share a tiny little hobbit-hole house in the omega timeline.

• Nightmare stole a money-printer from the government in a Mafiatale AU. that’s how he’s so rich.

• also Killer somehow got everyone to name it Jasper. like, if Dust ran out of money, Horror will just tell him “go talk to Jasper.” and everyone just accepts it.

• cross and epic have a thing where if either of them say the word corn, they chant the corn thing from Slimesccle. they have no clue where it came from.

• error, nightmare, cross, epic, and chino have started the Fresh Hate Club.

• Nightmare somehow keeps getting mistaken for Satan. He doesn’t know how. (and it definitely does not bring his already-low self esteem down.) But if there’s a satanic cult nearby, he won’t correct them, in case they can be useful.

• You know how gods have a ‘true form’ that’s ineffable to mortals? all of Reapertale, Ink, and Error. Reaper’s gonna teach Ink and Error how to access their true forms. Dream once saw Ink’s true form and fucking sobbed because he could barely handle it. he’s not a mortal, so he’ll live, but he can barely comprehend it.

• (inspired by The Stupid Chair on ao3). the gang has The Stupid Hat. it’s a horrible bright yellow neon construction hard hat that gets duct-taped to someone’s head if they’re dumb enough to make an easy mission complicated. ex, if Dust provokes the Stars into a fight during a supply run, he gets the hat.

• ccino is a licensed therapist, but he is still depressed

• dream and nightmare have a lot of insecurity around the auras they emit. ‘do they genuinely like me, or do they like my aura?’ ‘does my aura make them feel that negative? do they wish i weren’t here?’

• cross and killer impulsively started a band. They made the instrumentals for half of a song and that’s it. nothing else. they forgot to actually do stuff.

• Dust gets really nervous around medical, scientific places, and doesn’t trust any doctors or scientists except for Sci. but he still refuses to take anything from him, whether it be a shot, or a lollipop. he’s just not having it.

• killer sleeps on the floor because sleeping in a bed still feels strange to him. he also keeps the windows open because he used to sleep in the cold. gets really anxious about the price of something, money in general, so even if he can afford something, he just steals it.

• horror will get random flashbacks of the Core, or Gaster, and he’s not sure why, but on the rare occasion he meets a Gaster, he always ends up feeling “fake” afterwards. like he’s not supposed to be here, not supposed to do this.

[midnight-vixn]

I loved your exhibitionism hcs for the bros 😵‍💫💕 do you think mayhaps one or some of the dateables are into it as well? 🫣

Oh anon…what have you done….you know they do! @haithanist come get your dinner!

Diavolo doesn’t realize at first the complications he’s giving you. During one of those “let’s all stay at the Castle” escapades, you ventured out of your room for a glass of water and instead found something that intensified your thirst. Standing in the kitchen was the prince himself in his pajamas…nothing out of the ordinary…until you got closer and realized you could see every curve and ridge on his cock through his very thin pants. Diavolo is blissfully unaware and traps you in a conversation where all your words come out as stutters and your cheeks burn. It takes a while before he finally notices you glancing down every so often, and when he does it excites him a little too much, now you’re both blushing and painfully aware of the tent growing in his pants.

Solomon knows what he’s doing when he invites you over and “just so happens” to be in his boxers or sweatpants. He’ll purposely sit on the couch with his legs spread apart giving you an all access pass to see his jewels, he has no shame and loves to watch you squirm. There’s also been a few times he stayed the night with Asmo and you found him fresh out of the shower, covered in hickeys, and his towel thrown on haphazardly. You can’t help but notice his erection under the towel and how it seems to twitch while you talk to him, how his eyes scan over your body and he smirks, Asmo will teasingly invite you to join and you swear you hear a soft moan leave Solomon from the thought.

Mephistopheles will do whatever it takes to make you want him, he needs you to want him more than he wants you. So of course when he gets roped into some stupid stay over he takes the opportunity to let you “accidentally” find him half naked. Standing there looking down on you, leaned up in the doorway watching you start to panic. His towel far too low on his hips, giving you the full view of his happy trail, thumb hooked onto the towel so that one quick move and it would be off and on the floor, the smirk on his face growing as he watches you tense up as he shifts his weight and you catch a glimpse of his cock from behind the towel. Later after dinner running into you in the hall in nothing but sweatpants and noticing how you ignore him but your eyes lock on his crotch and watch him swing freely. Too bad you have roommates otherwise he might be willing to give you a full view.

Thirteen lives for traps, so obviously she loves a good thirst trap. Walking around in shorts far too short, the bottom of her ass showing as a little tease, wearing sleep shirts that hug her curves just right and leave her stomach exposed. The day she wore a skirt and bent over in front of you was the day you nearly fell apart on spot, body running hot and heart racing, you couldn’t look away but you felt like a perv, how were you supposed to know she wasn’t wearing underwear?? That was her goal though, to get you riled up just so she could tease you. Then of course there was the time she stayed the night at the HoL and wore a sleep top sheer enough for you to see her nipple piercings clear as day, she let you stare for a while before offering to let you touch them.

[pinayelf]

Here some questions for you!

What's to you the most interesting pit of research you ever stumbled upon while designing/deciding the backgrounds for your characters? A cool fact you were excited to learn.

Also, what's your favourite thing to draw?

Thank you so much Arja!! ❤️

I was looking up pre-colonial Tagalog naming customs and was pleasantly surprised that I found something! This isn't for any specific story/project just general for high fantasy world building (as well as researching my own culture).

Source here (the original sources are linked in the reddit post, I prefer this post bc the og sources are journals from colonizers :/)

- The mother is usually responsible naming the child, and it can range anywhere from how the baby was during birth of perhaps they were near a river when the baby was born. Ex: Malakas (meaning: strong, like maybe the baby kicked with some strength behind it lol), Damo (meaning: grass, the mom looked outside after the baby was born and saw grass)

- Male and female names are differentiated by adding -in to the end of female names. Ex: Ilog (river) becomes Ilogin

- You will receive a new title when you have children. Amani (father of) and Inani (mother of). For example if you're the father of Bakal your new title would be Amanibakal (Father of Bakal). I've read that this is similar with Arabic names? Which is cool

- Filipino culture in general has a colorful way with nicknames and I wouldn't be surprised if it's because pre-colonial people (not just the Tagalog people) influenced it. For example if you shared an egg with your friend you call them Kaitlog (itlog meaning egg)

There's much much more in that thread and the linked sources. I wish it had more info and I hope there's more sources that have documented th3 specificities of it because I'm hungry to know.

I don't have access to journals and rely on people who do, and people who will dig through colonizer journals sadly. But I love learning it and I have a fondness for etymology in general ❤️

Hence Linawin (one of the name options for my Rook) was created with this naming custom in mind, Linaw meaning clear.

I also wonder if I should apply this to Biyaya (blessing) and make it Biyayain! I do wonder if Biyaya WOULD be used as a name - tho it does seem like pre-colonial Tagalog people named children from anywhere like Matatag (sturdy) to Maliwag (difficult) to Bato (rock)

For the second question, I love drawing eyes and lips hehe. I was talking to friends the other day and said I love giving male characters big pretty eyes (honestly I love giving everyone big pretty eyes lmao).

A wip but I enjoyed drawing Bellara's lips so much (mayhaps it's bc I am thinking of her lips lol 😳)

[starrylayle]

marauders v.s. slytherin skittles (ft. the valkyries + snape)

With the rise of the 'slytherin skittles' in the fandom (even tho half of them are in ravenclaw but whatevs) -- I've been trying to figure out why I don't like it, despite enjoying the dynamics presented. And I think I've finally figured out why.

It all goes back to the Sirius / Regulus dynamic. I feel like their relationship is depicted as angsty and such but I love it when they are estranged. Yes, they're brothers and they go to the same school, but they are worlds apart. And i like when their friend groups and dynamics reflect that. Regulus, who's stayed with his family and supports their causes (yes I know he gets redeemed eventually but boy used to worship voldy) -- has access to the high pure-blood society and its perks. But one thing he does not have, is the friendship his brother shares with his mates. Reg tells himself that he doesn't care, that he doesn't envy his brother and his friends, but it is one of the things being in this pureblood fascism cult can't offer -- true friendship. That's why, despite my issues with 'choices' by messermoon, I really like how they depicted the dynamic between Regulus and his friends -- like yes Reg had friends but not in the same way Sirius had. And it adds a layer to the loneliness Reg feels, which i feel is a core part of his character. He's surrounded by people that on the outside my appear as friends, but really he's just very lonely.

On another note, i hc both brothers as gay, and love the differences in how they would be presented. Sirius, after finally getting over his internalised homophobia, is free to love and make out with whomever he wants. While Reg, aware of this part of himself hates it, and denies himself this luxury, only getting off (with barty, mayhaps, who is in a similar position) every now and then. Maybe he also has a burning desire for James (if ur into jegulus) but he doesn't ever do anything abt it, coz he feels like he can't.

As for Dorcas Meadows, I picture her in the year above the marauders (so two years above Reg) and not really having any friends at all. Not because she can't make any, but because she simply doesn't want to (my characterisation of her is heavily inspired by rollercoasterwords' version of her in 'the hand that feeds'. She ofc grows close to marlene when they start dating but never really gets close to marlene's other friends. She may or may not have a begrudging relationship with Pandora tho (but only because she provides her weed ofc!!) .

In a way, I kind of like when the houses represent certain themes, like gryffindor v.s. slytherin, freedom v.s tradition, friends v.s. 'co-workers'. Yes i know the fandom likes to depict the houses as more of a personality based system -- which i'm sure that's why jkr intended -- but really i think the houses represent more of values and beliefs. (Which is also why i think the houses should have been destroyed, united or changed at the end of HP DH coz the status quo as it is, is not healthy, but i digress).

Oh and as for the valkyries -- have nothing against their friendship. Lily deserves to have her own set of friends besides James and snape. just think they wouldn't give themselves a name like the marauders did coz they think its cringe, but I can see it coming up and them immediately shutting it down out of embarrassment.

i think this an analysis of snape and his relationship with lily compared to the other slytherins would be interesting as well, and how the interactions and dynamics differ. And canonically, snape and regulus would make more sense than reg and dorcas so if anything snape should be a part of these 'slytherin skittles' lmaoo.