#or is that like false teeth not a false jaw? that would make more sense with the fact that taking it off reveals his dents de perles

[coquelicoq]

everybody stop what you're doing i have a very important update on the fake facial hair situation!!!

De son côté, Lord Wilmore, après avoir entendu se refermer sur lui la porte de la rue, rentra dans sa chambre à coucher, où, en un tour de main, il perdit ses cheveux blonds, ses favoris roux, sa fausse mâchoire et sa cicatrice pour retrouver les cheveux noirs, le teint mat et les dents de perles du comte de Monte-Cristo. (p. 849)

he doesn't have a fake moustache. HE HAS FAKE SIDEBURNS

[spider-stark]

SWORN RIVALS

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!Reader

Summary - Taking up sparring with your sworn rival is likely never a good idea.

Warnings - barely edited, blood, implied fighting, suggestive language but no real smut, likely ooc given that the episode hasn't even aired yet lmao

Word Count - 1.1k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Pain splinters throughout your hand as your knuckles collide with his jaw. He stumbles backwards—just barely managing to keep himself from falling right onto his ass. 

“You fight like a girl,” you jeer, purposefully antagonizing him. “Though I suppose that’s to be expected of a Blackwood.” 

A raspy laugh rumbles through Benjicot Blackwood’s chest—a bitter, deep sound that sets your toes curling. 

“You’ve got quite a mouth on you.” Forcing his chin high, he flashes his crimson-stained teeth in a wry grin, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. He muses, “But perhaps we should put it to better use, don’t you think?” 

You cut your eyes at the bawdy implication. “You’re disgusting, Ben.” 

Another chuckle as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, inadvertently smearing blood along his bottom lip. The sight is entrancing—in a morbid sort of way. It glistens like pomegranate juice and, for a mere breath, you wonder if it would taste half as sweet. 

“C’mon!” Ben’s teasing tone slices through your thoughts, forcing some sense back into you. “Don’t act like you’ve never thought of it before,” he says, waving a hand between you both, “the two of us–” 

You don’t let him finish his sentence, cutting him off with a sharp glare. “I haven’t,” you practically snarl, taking a half-step towards him. “And you shouldn’t either,” you add, “I’d much prefer to be left out of your…" you blow out an exasperated breath, "depraved fantasies!” 

“Oh, but you are my depraved fantasies, sweetheart.” Ben’s grin widens as you groan, shaking your head at him. “You're also a liar, Bracken,” he adds, “and a shitty one, at that!” 

“You can believe whatever you want, Blackwood—but that won't make it true.” 

“Just admit it,” he continues. Swinging one foot forward, he takes a lazy step towards you—then another. “That’s why you train with me, isn’t it? ‘Cause you’re so desperate for someone to put you in your place—and none of those pansies along the Red Fork are fit for the task, are they?” 

You grit your teeth, knowing that his words aren’t entirely false. 

Training with Ben hadn’t necessarily been a purposeful decision. It was something that just sort of happened. Yet, in spite of the rivalry between your families, you’re willing to admit that you do prefer training with him over the Tully or Roote boys. 

He fought you like a true opponent—unlike the others, who felt the need to pull their punches or slow their own strikes, forever treating you like a helpless maiden rather than an equal. 

In many ways, you found Ben to be more tolerable than any other boy in the Riverlands, anyway. He was fierce and tough and undeniably skilled with both blade and fists, making him your ideal sparring partner. 

You still despise him, though—if only because that is what’s expected of you by your father, the Head of House Bracken. 

“Big talk from the boy who hasn’t gotten a single hit in today,” you smugly remind him. “Perhaps if you spent as much time training as you do thinking with your cock, you might actually stand a chance at victory, Benji.” 

Less than a foot-or-so of space separates the two of you when he finally stops, his grin souring like rotted fruit. 

“Don’t call me that,” he chides, his bottom lip jutting slightly. Your brow furrows, trying to discern if he’s pouting or if it’s simply swelling from when you hit him. “Besides,” Ben continues, “have you ever considered that maybe I’m just going easy on you?” 

You don’t buy his weak attempt at goading you—though you do entertain it, asking, “And why would you do that?” 

His shoulder lifts into a languid shrug. “Maybe I like it when you push me around,” he drawls, teasing. 

Another step and he’s towering over you, his chest mere inches from yours. His scent—a blend of leather and rich sandalwood—floods your nostrils, stirring your senses and leaving you dizzy. 

“Although,” Ben’s smirk returns, laden with his usual mischief, “I think I’d like you even more if you were on your knees-” 

A scoff rips from your throat, cutting him off with a rough swat to his chest. “Oh, go fuck yourself, Blackwood!” 

“Only if you’ll watch, Bracken,” he croons, mocking you. 

Every inch of your body is suddenly humming to life, an unrelenting blaze of rage—or was it desire?—setting your nerves alight. Before you can muster a response, a comeback, his fingers have closed around one of your wrists. 

“Go on,” Ben murmurs, his voice tantalizingly low. Your breath hitches as he presses your hand to his chest, feeling his pulse beat beneath your palm. “Hit me,” he dares, louder now. “Push me.” 

You don’t speak—don’t move, as those storm-cloud eyes dip once again. “Fucking do it—” 

You cut him off, fingers curling around the scarlet fabric of his tunic—you should kill him for being so crude, for acting so utterly lascivious! 

And yet, despite all logic and reason, you tug him closer. Pulling him down to your level in one swift motion, crashing your lips together in a kiss that is anything but soft. 

On instinct, your other hand slips to the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in soft, brown hair. You feel his heartbeat stutter beneath your fist, still gripping his tunic. For no more than a breath, you worry you’ve fucked this whole thing up. 

This is wrong! You scream at yourself. Wrong wrong wrong! 

But then he moves—hooking an arm around your waist, his nails sinking into your hip in an effort to bring you closer—and you loathe just how right this feels. 

Your legs tremble as his tongue slides along your lower lip, a soft moan spilling into his mouth. You feel him grin against you—can taste the blood on his lips, the bitter sweetness dancing on your tongue as he utters, “Eager, are we?” 

Tightening your grip on his hair, he hiss slips from his teeth. “Shut up.” 

He obliges—his mouth drifting from your lips to your jaw, leaving a bloody trail of kisses in his wake. You try not to think as he finally reaches your neck, earning a soft whine as he nips at your flesh. You try to forget who he is—that you’re supposed to hate him—as he shoves his leg between yours, offering you the very friction you so desperately desired. 

“This changes nothing, Benji,” you pant. 

He bristles at the nickname, letting his teeth sink deeper into your flesh, a deep bruise already blooming along your neck. “Sure." His own breathing is frantic and uneven as he rasps, “Whatever you say..” 

Your hand falls from his chest to his breeches, fingers already fumbling with the laces when you choke out, “I still think you’re disgusting, Blackwood.”

His own touch disappears beneath your tunic, fingertips trailing along every inch of your skin until his palms finally skim along your bare breasts. He gives one a rough squeeze before flashing that stupid, bloody grin of his. 

“And you’re still a liar, Bracken.”

a/n - writing fan fic for a character that hasn't even appeared on screen yet is wild. (hbo, this better be bloody ben or else I'll riot because this is perfect casting). anyway, I don't wanna be held accountable for how terrible, short, and rushed this is (I was bored and didn't feel like putting more effort into this than necessary rn) OR how wildly ooc this will likely prove to be come Sunday.

also---turns out that writing without actually knowing the character is hard! who'd have thunk, am I right?

[prettyboykatsuki]

✮ tags ; edging + sub!bakugou + soft dom!gn!reader, restraints, praise kink, no titles used 18+ | ✮ wc ; 1.2k

✮ a/n ; it really would be sub bakguou to get me at least a little bit out of my writing slump lol

"Fuck you," Katsuki can feel his voice starting to lose it's gruff. The words come out hoarse and choked - but in his defense he's miserable right now "Let me cum, fuck."

Your smile is wry as you put your thumb over the slit of his cock, a pathetic amount of pre-cum sliding down his shaft as you stop the motion in your hand completely. He swears at the lack of contact, tugging against his restraints to no avail.

You look delighted by him. Even worse you look hungry. It's the kind of bottomless lust that Katsuki is never confident he can appease. In every context he finds you unselfish and giving. Not like this though. Like this you look like you'd make yourself sick if you tried to satisfy your every desire.

You let your thumb touch against his spent cock gently. He hasn't cum once. Not a single time today. Hours of bringing him to the edge of frustration before stopping completely. You let him have his come down each time. Let him be lulled into a false sense of security before bringing him back.

He wants to cum. He's not asking for fucking much, he just-

You're not budging. You never do with him. There's a breaking point he has to hit before you even think about giving him so much mercy and he knows that. Even then, he hopes that you'll give in sometimes. That once you'll give into his demands.

You bend at the waist and get between his legs to blow on his cock, red and angry and flush - and it twitches like it's ready to spill. He hears you laugh, all bubbly and delightful and grits his teeth.

"Why should I do that?"

"B-because, you fucking," He shakes, shudders as your hand brushes along the inner part of bitten thigh. Marked to hell and back, he's sweating and sticky "Because it—"

"Does it hurt? Any pain?"

He shakes his head, tries to reason with you but you cut him off "So you're just frustrated."

Yes. Obviously. But that's not the answer you're looking for. He shuts himself up, a shuddery breath pushing out of his lungs. Before he knows what's happening, your palm wraps around his cock again, hot velvet over steel. He bites the inside of his cheek as you start to move, hard and fast.

But temporary, a spike of pleasure rupturing him from the inside out before pulling your hand away again.

"Fuck! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck."

You laugh again, placing the same hand on his shoulder. You smooth down the curves of his body. Stopping to squeeze at the fat of his chest, smoothing thumb over nipples and fingers over scar. He's shaking, core tight and tense as he chases a high that keeps disappearing. Maybe he can will himself to cum.

"I don't want to let you cum," You say with amusement, staring at him. Katsuki can feel your eyes on every inch of his face. The way they're tracing his expression, trying to commit his despair to memory. You're all kinds of twisted to him. "I think I'd prefer to leave you here like this. Undo your restraints, maybe make myself cum, and go to sleep. Sounds like more fun."

A sense of dread builds in his stomach. He looks at you in the face, in your eyes this time. Pleading, silently. You give him another smile, unreadable. Grinning so hard that you burst into laughter again, before putting a fake pout. He's going to cry. Son of a—

"Aw, what? No dice? Do you really have to cum that bad?"

Evil. You're evil, he thinks. He almost screams and it's like you know he's going to. You're planning on it, looking on with giddy delight. You bites his cheek, stops himself from doing it and you soften immediately. You coo at him, lovingly tender as you use your hand to cup his jaw. Tugging on his lower lip, he opens his mouth. You stick your fingers into it, and he sucks on instinct. It gives his brain something to focus on.

"Now you're being all well-behaved," You comment gently. He gives you a glare through his lashes but you don't budge "What do you want baby? Can you tell me nicely like a good boy?"

He's overwhelmed. It washes over him like a tidal wave, like his fingers are slipping off a cliffs edge. He's been holding onto it so tightly and now he can't get his footing again. He tries to glare a second time, but even he can tell he looks pathetic. He can see it when he looks at his reflection in your eyes.

You pull on his tongue with your fingers, letting the drool drip down your hand before pulling away. You touch his cock again, more mercifully this time but don't move.

"Now," You say, a single slow stroke up that leaves him shuddering "Is there something you'd like to ask me?"

Your voice is cool. Like a salve on his nerves. He wants to give into whatever abyss is waiting for him to drop into. He stares at you dazed, prideful and frustrated and wanting. You're grounding - expectancy swimming in your vision. Approval. He wants approval from you.

"I wanna cum," He slurs, choked up. You grin, another stroke.

"And how do we ask for things we want, baby?"

"S-sayin' please."

"That's right," You hum, another stroke. Precise with pleasure like you know every nerve of him, down the atom "So, what do we say when we want to cum?"

We. Like the two of you are intertwined. He feels fuzzy.

"C-can I please, hngh fuck, please cum? Please, needa,"

"Look at that," You say, picking up the pace as soon as the words leave his mouth. He braces himself for impact, hands gripping the edge of the chair with a harsh breath "Good boy. Good job baby, just incredible. My baby is so brilliant isn't he? Just a little misguided."

"Shit," His lower lip trembles, near tearful at the intensity of the situation "S-shit, shit. 's gonna, oh fuck - gonna,"

"A little more. Okay? Cum when I say so, think you can do that?"

He pushes out a breath "Y-yeah."

You lean forward to kiss him and Katsuki feels his spine melt. It's relieving and overwhelming - though the kiss itself is so gentle and sweet. He shudders, trembles under the weight of his own desire as he gets so harrowingly close to the edge. He whimpers this time, free of shame as you praise him through it.

"Cum for me baby," You say with finality. And he does immediately, not even a millisecond of time between you saying it and him doing it. He cums hard, feels his entire lower half lose it's strength as he fucks up into your hand. He feels something hot slip down his cheek, groaning as he finishes. He cums and keeps cumming - it goes on for minutes, forever. You talk him through it but the words don't make sense. He just listens for your voice and lets go until everything is out.

He slumps back into the chair he's restrained in, blinking open his bleary eyes as he watches you clean your hand with a nearby towel. You give him a warm look as he does, standing to your feet as you press a kiss to his hairline.

"You did so great this time. Such a prodigy."

He huffs.

"You get more evil every fucking time I swear."

You laugh.

"I can't help it when you're so cute."

"Don't make excuses, you bastard."

"Sorry, sorry. I love you, yeah? My good boy."

He flushes.

"Love you too. Now fuckin' untie me."

[a-heart-attack-ow]

The Arrangement. Part Three (Rewrite)

Part One

Part Two

Part Three: ***Smut,NSFW***

The camera lights were blinding. 

With each step, it got harder to see. With each step, it got harder to fake the smile on my face.But somehow I managed it. With Sam to guide me I felt somewhat safe, but I knew that feeling would fade away soon. I knew the moment he handed me off to Colby that sense of safety would fade. 

We both do our best to make it down the stairs with dignity and by the grace of God, we make it to the bottom and hit our mark for the photographers. The flashes of light grow more intense when I feel Sam’s arm unlink from mine and I feel Colby’s hand on the small of my back. His touch is firm as he pulls his body against mine. 

To anyone else, we look so in love. I glance over at my husband and sigh with fake bliss. He looked so happy as he peered down at me. His white teeth flashed the cameras. If I didn’t know better the look on his face would’ve fooled me too. 

But I knew better. 

Colby leans down to press his lips to my forehead. I lean into him for the sake of our audience. My eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment, knowing the look of false peace on my face would make the cameras go crazy again. 

“I love you.”

He rasps when he moves his lips from my forehead, his eyes finding mine when I glance up at him. The three words that fall from his lips are sickly sweet and I know they’re very fake. 

“I love you too, Colbs.” 

I reply through my fake smile. The nickname earns an ‘aw’ from the partygoers around us. I can tell by his blue eyes lit up that he’s pleased with my fake nickname. That he’s impressed I thought to do it. After a few seconds of staring at each other, Colby pulls his gaze from mine to the photographers. 

“Alright, that’s enough…”

His voice remains sweet as he continues speaking. 

“...No more photographs. Let’s get this party started and show my wife how the Brock family does things.” 

He sounds like the perfect host and the guests eat it up. The photographers disperse and the party resumes. The gaze of the audience was off of us for the moment. I feel Colby lean down to whisper in my ear, our bodies still firmly pressed together. 

“You and Sam looked cozy.”

There’s a jealousy in his words that I don’t feel should be there. Jealousy he didn’t have the right to have. 

“Is that jealousy that I hear Colby?”

I ask venom in my voice, a sound that shocks both of us. A sound that causes his hold on my lower back to intensify. He pulls me closer in against him, his breath hot on my neck. 

“You better watch your tone with me…”

He starts, his voice rough and deep. 

“... Mouthy girls get punished.”

He places his index finger under my jaw and forces me to look up at him, our chests rising and falling in a steady tension. Our eyes are locked together and I didn’t know if he wanted to kiss me or fuck me. Both sounded like pleasant options, but I wasn’t willing to give in yet. Not after this morning’s bullshit. I couldn’t forgive him, not yet. And he can sense that I’m not willing to play nicely, which intrigues him. 

“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you? I couldn’t see it before, but now I do and I like it.”  

My stomach flutters when he says this, my heart skips a beat. I didn’t know how I could be so turned on and angry at one person, but I was. Colby licks his lips and eyes me closely, knowing that he has me right where he wants me. Teetering on desire and frustration. But I decided not to let him stay in control. Instead, I pull my jaw out of his grasp and take a step back.

“My love…”

My voice comes out sickly sweet. Amusement moves to Colby’s face, clearly enthused by my willingness to stay in character. After all, wouldn’t a newlywed act this ‘in love’ with her new husband? 

“... I’m going to get myself a drink.” 

A part of me wonders if he’ll want to accompany me, but I’m thankful when he nods and gives me the okay to strike out on my own. 

“Go mingle darling. Everyone is dying to meet you.” 

I give him a small smile and attempt to turn away, but when I do I remember that he still has a hold on my lower back. He pulls me in against him once more and presses his lips to mine, my eyes fluttering closed. I feel my heartbeat quicken, but before the kiss can get too heated he pulls back. In less than a few seconds, he let go of me and retreated into the crowd of people around us, leaving me alone and breathless. To anyone else, we must’ve looked perfect, in love, and blissful, but I honestly felt confused. I knew we were stuck together through our marriage, but I felt conflicted by the very real desire I had for him. 

I shake my head, and any thoughts trapped inside of me so I can walk clearly. My eyes surveyed the downstairs of our home. In the daylight, things looked so different. White walls with black molding, marble floors, and stained glass windows. The house that was now my own was nicer than any home I’d ever seen in person. And knowing that I lived here made me feel strange. The downstairs of our home was open concept, each room flowing into the next. The entranceway was where I had been introduced to our guests, but as I moved forward I found a rather large living room, with a built-in bar. There stood a bartender, dressed in a tux serving three people that I recognized very well. Sam, Kris, and Celina all sat on barstools, and all looked like they’d come here to escape. 

Not knowing where else to go, I moved my body to slide in between Sam and Kris’ bar stools, giving them a small smile. Kris lays her head on top of mine like she’s known me for more than just today and sighs.

“You did a good job with the audience. You even had me believing that you were really in love with Colby for a second.” 

I move my head to rest on top of hers, welcoming the affection that I hadn’t realized I’d needed until now. The affection that was given to me without any expectation of something in return. To my left, Sam hands me a champagne flute and gives me the same tired look we all seemed to have. 

“Thanks Kris.” 

I respond when I don’t know what else to say. What could I say? I was forced to be married to the man they worked for. If I didn’t play along something bad would happen to my father. If I wanted to keep him safe I had to act my heart out, even if it killed me a little on the inside. I lift my head from hers so I can take the swig of champagne, chugging it down in one gulp. From the corner of my eye, I can see three sets of eyes looking at me with concern as I put the glass down and ask the bartender for another. I wait only a few seconds before the man behind the counter places the flute in front of me. I take the second drink from the bartender and finish it with one gulp like the first and ask for another which prompts Celina to say. 

“Maybe you should slow down a little, Emilia. When was the last time you ate?”

Her question causes me to pause for a second, my eyes focusing on the countertop, waiting for the bartender to serve me my third glass. I hadn’t eaten since yesterday evening, at my wedding and I barely ate then. I hadn’t eaten real food in days and I didn’t care at this moment. I’d married an utter asshole to save my father, I didn’t have the appetite, but I did want to drink. I swig the third, fourth, and fifth drinks in quick concession before Sam stops me. He places his hand on my back and guides me away from the bar. 

“Come on, let’s have you eat something.” 

A part of me wants to break out of his grasp and continue drinking. Anything to numb how I felt in this moment, but when I pull against his grasp he gives me a firm look. A look that tells me I was going to eat something or else. When Celina appears on the other side of me, her arm linking with mine, I know that I need to listen to their guidance. After all, how could I do my best acting if I was drunk? How would my actions reflect on the family I’d married into? These were all things I needed to consider.

 I needed to be smarter for my dad’s sake. So I keep my eyes forward and let my willing captors guide me through the party. I try to remain focused, but I can feel the five drinks already kicking in, my legs feeling a tad wobblier than I would’ve liked. For a moment I don’t care that other people are looking at us, and I don’t care if they think Colby’s new wife was a lightweight. I didn’t care about anything other than my reason for being stuck here. 

Kris cuts in front of Sam, Celina, and me to open up the kitchen barn door, sliding it to one side before sliding it behind us once we are inside. The kitchen is oddly empty, but Sam lets Celina sit me down at the kitchen table while he starts to make me something to eat. I studied the farmhouse theme of the kitchen and noticed how out of place it was from the rest of the house that I’d seen so far. The rustic elegance of the room looked flawless, but it didn’t look like something Colby would’ve liked. The sound of the stove turning on and the setting down of a cast iron pan takes me out of my thoughts and back to reality. The reality of me sitting at the table with Kris and Celina on either side of me. 

“I hope you like grilled cheese.”

Sam states over his shoulder, giving me a sympathetic smile. A smile that, for whatever reason, makes my heart sad. A smile that causes my eyes to fill with tears. 

“Why are you all being so nice to me?”

I ask, unable to keep any shakiness out of my voice. Tears fall from my eyes before I have the chance to stop them. Celina and Kris lean into me the moment they hear me speak, their bodies shielding me with theirs. I had managed to hold in my tears from the moment I arrived in this house and married into this family, but I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I felt like I was going to shatter and I’m sure the alcohol only made that worse. 

“Because you seem like a nice girl and you deserve to be treated better than you have been since arriving here.”

Kris whispers kindly. Flashes of this morning flicker through my mind as I recall how Colby had left me for her to find. Used and naked without any regard for me or how I felt. I knew that I was a glorified fuckable accessory to him and his new life, but that didn’t make the pain sting any less. A silence of unease washes over the room after Kris speaks and I do my best to not cry anymore because I don’t want to ruin my makeup. That and I didn’t want to risk anyone seeing me later and questioning why I had been crying. We sit in silence, except for Sam’s cooking, for several minutes until he finishes cooking the grilled cheese and plates it for me. 

“Please eat this. You’ll feel a little better with some food in you.”

Sam’s voice comes out as a plea when he puts the grilled cheese in front of me, his blue eyes hopeful. I didn’t want to eat, but I knew he was right. Eating something would probably help me feel a little more human. So I reach out to take the sandwich, my hands shaking, my eyes focusing on my enormous wedding ring. The sight of the ring almost makes me lose my willingness to eat, but I do it. I take a few bites before I realize Sam is waiting to hear how it tastes. He sat across from me, his head in his hands as he watched me, hopeful that it didn’t taste bad. 

“Thank you, Sam. It's very good.”

He smiled, pointing at Kris in victory. 

“Ha, I told you my cooking was edible.”

Kris rolls her eyes and laughs with Celina and Sam, the atmosphere of the room seeming to lighten up a little. I sit in silence and eat as the others start talking. Filling in the silence that was once in the room with us. Around the others, I felt like there could be a chance that I could enjoy my time here. They were a silver lining to all of this and I greatly appreciated it. They brought peace to this house that I could see myself enjoying, but that peace moved from me when I finished the sandwich and realized I would have to return to the party. 

The dread of realization locks with me from the moment Sam takes the plate from me and we all stand, knowing that we can’t hide in here forever. I’d never wanted to do anything less in my entire life, but I had to. There was no getting out of this. I try to focus as I follow my new friends out of the kitchen, and we return to the party. The crowd of people I’d seen when I first arrived downstairs seemed to have dissipated. There were definitely less people here now than before, but that’s not what caught my attention. 

What caught my attention was how closely Colby was standing with another woman. I saw them whispering to each other, in the corner of the living room. Safely tucked away from prying eyes, but I’d seen them. And so had Sam, who appears infinitely more annoyed with each passing second that he stares in their direction. 

There was no reason for me to be upset, our marriage was arranged, but for some reason, it did upset me. My eyes pull away from my husband and the woman he’s speaking to. The woman he’s leaned up against, his face inches from hers as they speak. Their lips are almost close enough to touch… 

“Nah, fuck this.”

Sam growls next to me, a tone I’d never heard before. Before I have a chance to process he pulls away from me, leaving me with Kris and Celina. Sam ignores everyone else as he plows through the crowd, his focus on Colby the entire time. My heart is pounding so hard that I almost feel dizzy. 

“I’m going to go somewhere else. I’ll catch you guys later.”

I whisper to Kris and Celina as I take a step backward. I didn’t want to watch whatever was going to happen with Sam and Colby. I didn’t want to deal with whatever fallout there would be. Kris and Celina don’t stop me when I turn around, my back facing the boys as I hear the crowd gasp and the faint sound of skin on skin. The sound of knuckles connecting with someone’s face. They don’t stop me as I navigate through the people attending the party. And no one notices that I’ve retreated up the stairs, back up to Colby’s bedroom-our bedroom. 

—

I don’t know how long it’s been since I’d excused myself from the party or how long I’d been soaking in this bathtub, but here I was. Surrounded by bubbles and the calmness of the water. The music from downstairs had faintly hummed when I’d first come up here, but now it was silent. The whole house was silent and I’d never enjoyed a sound more. Part of me hoped I was home alone, that Colby had gone off with the girl downstairs, and that my new friends had gone home. I didn’t want to face anyone or speak to anyone. I just wanted to sit in the warm bath and never leave. It felt so relaxing after everything, but with one glance at my fingertips, I saw that I needed to get out of the tub. In frustration I pull my body under the tub of water, my eyes squeezing closed as I keep myself under for as long as I can hold my breath. It was the first bit of control I’d had since arriving here, I realized the longer I stayed under the water. 

Control that I desperately wanted to have. I pulled my head from under the tub water and allowed a silent gasp to leave me. Reaching for the towel with my eyes closed, I felt comfort in the darkness behind my eyes. A comfort I wash away the second I rub my eyes with the towel. Upon opening them and allowing my eyes to adjust I realize that I’m no longer alone in the bathroom. 

“It seems you made quite the impression on Sam.”

Colby leans against the bathroom counter, eyes focused on the wall in front of him. He’s not wearing anything but a pair of black sweats, his muscles more defined in the bathroom light. On the crown of his head is a fist-sized bruise, a deep rich purple. Even with the bruise he still looked handsome, dangerously handsome. His jaw is clenched as he turns his eyes to meet me. The moment he shifts his gaze, I feel uneasy. He’s pissed that his friend hit him and I could tell he blamed me for it. He’s so angry I’m unsure of what to do. Even as his eyes move from mine to my body, that same uneasiness remains. When I’d sat up in the bath, my chest had fully been exposed to him, a sight that made him smirk. I don’t bother covering up as we watch each other, but when he takes a step from the counter, I side back further into the bathtub. My body pressed into the corner, with nowhere else to go. 

An undetectable look moves over his face when he realizes I’m afraid of him. Afraid of what he might do. But he doesn’t say anything, instead, he sits on the side of the bathtub. He leans down, reaching his left arm out to me. I don’t fight against him as he pulls me out of the water with one swift movement, standing me in front of him. I’m completely exposed to him, with only my knees down being covered by the bath water. He licks his lips and reaches his right hand out to reach around and give my ass a gentle squeeze. 

“Were you jealous darling? Is that why you sent Sam after me?”

I inhale deeply, as his right hand moves around my bottom and over my hip. He guides his hand on my inner thigh, chuckling at how stiff I become when he moves up my thigh.

“I-I-I didn’t send him after you…”

I stutter as his fingertips graze my clit. I inhale sharply as he begins to rub. 

“... I know you and aren’t really in love. You’re more than welcome to do what you want.``

As good as the sensation of his fingertips teasing me is, I reach my hand over his to stop him. An action he respects, moving his hand away. We look at each other with want, and for a moment I regret making him stop touching me. Because I knew that we didn’t love each other, but that he felt good inside of me. Seeming to read my mind, Colby pulls his other hand away. He stands from the tub and leaves me alone. 

Standing in the bath. 

I swallow hard as I watch him leave. He exits the bathroom and walks into our adjoining bedroom. I hear the sound of a chair scraping the floor. I breathe a deep sigh of relief with him out of the room and step out of the tub. I remain silent as I dry my body off and brush my long black hair. But the entire time, I’m thinking of how much I regret stopping his touch. How much I wish I’d let him continue. The thought consumes me as I drop the towel onto the bathroom counter and move to the door frame of the bathroom, peering into our room. Colby is sitting in front of the fireplace, his body leaning back in his chair, his head turned towards the flames. Looking at him there, with his abs and his tattoos exposed to me, makes me crazy. He wasn’t even paying attention and I still wanted him. Without letting myself think, I walked from behind the door frame. My feet padded across the floor silently, carrying me closer and closer to him. He’s so focused on the fire that he doesn’t realize I’m standing there, not until I will myself to touch his hand. 

Softly, my hand grazes him and he turns his head lazily towards me. If he’s phased by my bold choice to not bother to clothe myself then he doesn’t let on. Instead, he peers back at me with genuine fascination. I don’t speak a word as my hands reach out for his. He allows me to guide his hands to my breasts. With my hands over his I guide him to squeeze my breasts lightly. Our eyes never leave one another, both of us seeming unable to look away. My hands slowly dragged his hands down my torso. But the control that he lets me have stopped the moment he pulls me onto his lap, my legs straddling him. My lips are mere inches fromand  his, my breathing hitching. He gives me a look that seems to dare me to make the next move. My eyes never leave his as I slowly place my hands on his chest, trying to regain my nerves. I drag my fingers down his chest, trailing over his abs and inching lower and lower. He remained locked on me as I toyed with the band of his sweats. His smirk returned to his face when I slid my hands beneath his sweats. Taking his hardening cock in my hand, he groans as I move my hand up and down. 

“Fuck.”

He groans, a sound so beautiful that it makes me wet. At first, my movements were slow, his hips bucked upward in desperate need.  I pick up my speed, our eyes remaining on his. Another groan passes his lips but before he can cum, he stops me. 

“If I’m going to cum, it’s going to be inside of you.” 

He sounds almost feral when he rasps this, his lips finding mine. His fingertips glide up my inner thighs slowly, causing chills to move up my spine. I bite down on the bottom of my lip as his fingertips brush against my clit. 

“Come on baby…” He practically growls, his forehead resting against mine. . 

“... let me hear how pretty you sound when I touch you.” 

His index finger and his middle finger dip inside of me and, against any hope, I moan faintly. At the sound he chuckles, and pulls his lips back to mine. He hums against my mouth for a moment before I break the kiss.

I wanted him inside of me, I wanted to feel him deep inside of me, fucking me senseless. 

“Please, Colby.”

I practically beg against his lips. My voice sounds small, almost pathetically, but if he thinks I’m pathetic  he doesn’t let on. Instead, his hands move from my soaking sex, to my back. He holds me in place as he studies me in awe. As if the way my chest heaves up and down with serious need was something he hadn’t seen before. 

“What do you want me to do baby?”

He rasps, leaning in to place a light kiss on my chest, right above my heart. 

“Tell me what you want me to do darling and I’ll do it. 

He finishes speaking and feel my face redden. The desperate need inside of me almost getting intimidated under the gaze of his pale blue eyes. 

“Please, Colby. I want to feel you inside of me. I want you to cum inside of me. Please.” 

A single nod is all he responds with as he leans upward, lips back on mine. In a swift movement, he scoops me up into his arms and lifts me up out of the chair. In the few seconds he moves us from his chair to our bed, his lips never met mine. He placed me down onto the mattress carefully, softly, before pulling his sweatpants off. Once he’s fully naked, he kneels on the floor, his hands light along my legs as he spreads my legs apart. He looks at my soaking sex and smirks, his hands moving up to my hips. With a firmer grip, he brings me closer to the edge of the bed. Hoisting my legs over his shoulders, his head disapears between my thighs. 

A feeble gasp falls from my lips as his tongue licks my soaking folds. He chuckles at the sound that escapes me, his tongue skillfully pushing deeper inside of me. My head feels like it’s spinning as he does this, my body getting closer to the edge with his every touch. The bundle of nerves in the pit of my stomach starts to become too much to bear and Colby knows it. 

“Come on baby…”

He growls against me. 

“...Cum for daddy.”

The moment he gives me permission, my body is more than happy to comply. My orgasm feels so intense that my head is spinning, my body completely at his mercy. Spinning so intensely he gets on top of me. 

His lips find mine as he uses both of my hands to hold each of my arms down as he lifts them above my head. His grip is firm, but comforting all at the same time. I spread my legs further apart in anticipation as he guides his cock inside of me. He pushes in full tilt, pausing for a moment so my body can adjust to him before he starts moving. His lips capture mine once more as he thrusts inside of me. I loved how full he made me when he was buried deep inside of me. A guttural groan passes his lips with each thrust. 

“I could fuck this sweet pussy for hours…”

He groans against my lips. His pace quickens and I can feel my body reaching its second orgasm and while I don’t want it to be over yet, my body has other plans. 

“... It's like you were made for me.”

My body is thankful that he’s not going to make me wait for a release. Because I knew that I couldn’t stop myself from completely coming undone beneath him. 

“Does my good girl want to cum all over Daddy’s cock?”

He whispers against my lips, pulling back to look at me. To admire the mess that he’s made of me. 

“P-Please…” 

I started as Colby raised his eyebrows, expecting me to play along. 

“... daddy. Please let me cum.”

The same dark chuckle that has teased me the entire night, escapes him as he starts thrusting inside of me at a faster pace than before. He pounds into me relentlessly and it feels incredible. We don’t say another word as my walls tighten around his cock, my body releasing at the same moment his does. I feel his cock twitch inside of me as he stares down at me. His chest rises and falls faster than normal as he contemplates what to say next. 

“I didn't do anything with the girl at the party. The music was so loud and I was just leaning in so she could hear me.” 

His explanation isn’t needed, but it's greatly appreciated. He and I weren’t really in love, right? I try to speak but stop myself when he continues. 

“You’re my girl now. I’m not looking for anything from anyone else.”

He keeps his eyes locked with mine as he says this as if he’s trying to make sure I know he’s being serious. I didn’t know if I fully believed him, but it was still nice to hear him say it. 

“Mr. Brock. Talking like that could make a girl think you care.”

I whisper, moving my hand to brush some of his hair out of his face. He leans into the touch, closing his eyes briefly. A  smile moves to his lips and it causes my breathing to hitch because I’d never seen someone look so handsome without trying to. He opens his eyes after a moment and looks at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

“You’re mine to care about. Til death do us part.”

[freedomfireflies]

PART TWO OF THIS PLS?? LITERALLY SO SO GOOD

JACK SHIT pt. 2

“Fuck…please. Please, Angel, just—”

Jack’s plea is cut short by the sound of your insatiable whine, your head dropping back as you slip a second finger in and curl upward. You let the pleasure settle, mind fuzzy and eyes squeezed closed as you hear the familiar clink of the handcuffs tugging against the headboard.

“Angel,” comes his voice once more. Rougher. Angier. “Get the fucking key, or I swear to God—”

“What?” you find the strength to ask. “Or what, Jack? What are you gonna do? Tied to the bed and begging for me?”

His teeth grit but you’re not finished. You won’t be finished for hours after the way he treated you at that party.

You thrust your chin toward his cock, smirking to yourself as he refuses to look down. “So fucking pathetic, baby. Just dripping for me. Needing me. S’a shame, really. I would have loved to take care of it for you.”

And he knows you would. Knows there’s nothing Victory could offer you that’s sweeter than Jack’s cock.

He pulls again, strong muscles contracting as his veins press against his skin. To be honest, you’re quite shocked he hasn’t ripped the headboard apart yet, but you suppose deep down, he likes being helpless. In fact, you don’t doubt it at all.

And this torture has been going on for at least an hour. You laid him down all pretty on the bed. Lured him into a false sense of security. Tied his hands to the bed the moment he’d become distracted by your tits and proceeded to get your revenge.

You started by fucking yourself with his cock. Because of course you did. And he was so miserable. So desperate to touch you, have you, take you. Make you his own personal plaything and you adored the fact that he couldn’t.

When you came around him, you swear he cursed every god in existence at the feel. Then, he nearly pulled a muscle in protest when you climbed off of him just before he had the chance to find his own release.

You figured this is exactly what he deserved. To sit there and behave the same way he’d made you just earlier this evening.

So, you indulged in his punishment. Crawled to his side and began to fuck yourself with your own hand, desperate for more. And my gosh, you were gonna kill him. You could see it. Written all over his face. The way he’d never felt so inferior to you. The way he’d never needed someone more than he needed you. The way he needs you. In this moment and all the others.

“Angel,” he murmurs, coarse and deep from the back of his throat. As if his own body is protesting the force it takes just to speak. “You don’t wanna play this game with me, I promise.”

You hum, lazy smile slipping free as you hit that spot, the hand that was holding you up now slipping away as your back finds the mattress. “Think I do.”

“You don’t,” he corrects but you can tell there’s nothing behind his threat. You own his ass and he knows it. “Unless you’re just desperate to get punished and I think I know my angelic little whore well enough to know you are.”

“How do you know this doesn’t hurt me, too?” you ask in an airy whisper, so caught up in your own pleasure you can hardly think straight. Your head rolls to the side so you can catch a glimpse of his face. That beautiful, outrageously pissed-off face. “Hurts me not to have you touch me, baby.”

He yanks his wrists forward, only to scowl when they catch on the chain still trapped behind the headboard. “So, let me go…and I’ll make it better.”

You pull your lip between your teeth, head shaking gently. “Then how will you learn?”

With that, you thrust to the knuckle, palm pressing into your clit as you come for a second time, jaw dropping as you whimper a curse and his name, back arching off the mattress as you vaguely hear him call out for you.

You still for a moment or two, just listening to your own pants for air and the thumping of your heart in your chest.

He’s quiet now. Waiting. He thinks this is it. Thinks this is where you give up and unlock him.

Jack Chambers is many things.

But bright is not one of them.

You sit up, scooting closer for just a moment as you watch the hope find its way to his eyes. You take your soaked hand and reach out to him, swiping your finger along his bottom lip.

He has the nerve to glare at you but he takes your thumb into his mouth and sucks, biting gently as your lashes flutter and your stomach flips. 

And he watches you. The entire time. Keeps his eyes on yours and never deviates for even a moment. Desperate to make sure you know that he’s enamored by you. Even now. And always.

Once he’s through, you let out a soft chuckle and lean back, swinging your legs off the bed before straightening up and moving for the door.

You hear him lean forward, confused and furious. “The fuck are you doing?”

You don’t turn back until you’ve reached the hallway, glancing over your shoulder to call, “Don’t go anywhere.”

And the flat, unamused look he gives you in response just about makes your day, and you suppress a louder laugh as you stroll to the kitchen to grab some water and rehydrate.

You spend about five minutes smirking between each sip of water as you hear him call out his threats, demanding to be released, or demanding you finish what you started, or demanding that you get your ass back in there so he can ruin it.

When you return, now feeling much better, you make a show of it. Hips swaying as you stride toward the bed, hands pulling your hair down your back and out of your face, and fingers reaching for his thighs.

He tenses as if so wound up, even a brush of your skin against his will send him over the edge. And you imagine it just might. Which, of course, had been the goal.

You make your way closer, knees and palms deep into the mattress as you hover over his body, lips ghosting near his pathetically ignored cock, and he thrusts his head back against the wall in anticipation.

He doesn’t speak. He’s learned. Knows that if he wants you, he’ll be quiet. He’ll be good.

You reward this realization with a smile, head dipping until you swipe your tongue along the underside of him, watching the way his fingers curl into his hand to brace himself.

He sucks in a sharp breath, and you think to yourself how fucking beautiful he still is to you. Even after everything. He’s so beautiful.

Another lick before you move to the top, ready to take him down your throat when you hear the clang off the cuffs and his voice, murmuring a desperate, “No…wait.”

You hesitate, brow wrenching up as you meet his eye.

He swallows, hips shifting slightly. “I’m sorry.”

Your heart warms and your expression softens, your touch caressing his thighs to comfort him. “I know, baby.”

He huffs, but he’s not through. “You know I wanna fucking ruin that throat but not right now. Not…can’t do it that way.”

“What do you mean?”

His teeth clench together tightly, head thumping back against the wall once more as he struggles to get the words out. “Shit, can’t…can’t be anywhere else but inside you, Angel. Need to feel you like that. Please…please.”

And you swear you’ve never heard him sound more sincere and desperate, and your heart and your cunt go out to him. 

A second or two passes between his admission and your agreement, filled with the sound of his gentle voice whispering, “Please,” once more as his earnest eyes find yours.

So, you reach for the lock on the nightstand, despite the warning in your head that you’re gonna be fucking in for it the second he’s free.

And the moment you bring it back to his wrists, he exhales a heavy breath, so relieved that he rolls his head to the side to kiss your arm gratefully. Mumbling all the while, “Shit, I love you. Love you, Angel. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

The moment his hand falls free by his side, he reaches out to loop his arm around you and toss you onto your back, settling himself between your thighs as your head spins.

You gasp when his fingers find your throat, but you can’t help grinning with him as he nudges his nose against yours. You don’t care if he never lets you forget tonight because my god…was it worth it.

And Jack can see it written all over your face, desperate to fulfill the promise he’s been making all night.

“Oh, my sweet Angel…you’re gonna fucking regret that.”

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

[why-is-thinking-so-hard]

more superhero cadina au

this time its regina, once again it gets long, but this time because I got distracted while researching sharks and decided to add so many shark facts

⚠️spoilers for mean girls as always⚠️

I feel like vampire regina has been done a lot and I wanted to try something different so after throwing some stuff around with my friend, we've come to the conclusion of: siren!regina.

I wanted her to have an influential power over people like she does in canon, but, like I said, I didn't want to make her a vampire. this also removes the immortality problem.

general regina superhero cadina au details:

so, regina is a siren from a family of sirens on her dads side, Kylie exists in this au and is also a siren, her mother is not a siren(clearly). she has the classic hypnotizing siren voice, shriek, water breathing, human/mermaid physiology(especially when she touches water, so like she has internal fish stuff all the time but when she wants to have external fish stuff/touches water she can get it h2o style), and manipulation of water

in her h2o mermaid form, Reginas fishform is shark. shark regina. because of apex predator and also because I like sharks and I wants regina to have electroreceptors which sharks do have but we can leave that for a different essay/post

false actually, I cannot keep my mouth shut when ive learned new things and as I said above, I spent an entire afternoon researching sharks. I know that the point of her powers in this au is that she's a siren, but part of that is the whole mermaid physiology bit, so hear we go: ive decided regina would be a bull shark because I realized that if she was a shark, she would need to be near saltwater so she wouldn't fucking die UNLESS her shark part was euryhaline, which bull sharks are, and they've actually been spotted as far as Illinois when going up the Mississippi.

bite force of 5,914 newtons, jaws aren't attached to the cranium so imagine the shenanigans regina pulls to freak people out by moving her jaw in weird ass ways and snatching food without moving her head. sharks have multiple rows of teeth and regularly shed and replace their teeth with no rhyme or reason, so regina will randomly lose teeth with the new ones just immediately popping right up behind it, sometimes she spit them at people who annoy her(Gretchen secretly collects them). her scales reduce drag when swimming so when rubbed the wrong way they're extremely rough so she can literally rub people the wrong way. shark siren form regina is 13ft long. less fun, when food is scarce, sharks can slow their digestion, regina would do this when her mother makes comments about her body. bull sharks are more likely to bite humans than most sharks. extremely good sense of smell, like some sharks can smell one part per million of blood in water and they can determine the direction of a smell the way we can with sound and they're more attracted to the chemicals in the intestines of many species and shark hearing is extremely sharp and they can hear prey from miles away(their hearing sensitivity is in the range of 20 to 1000 Hz), so I can only imagine the migraines regina gets from being around teenagers,

night vision, nictating membrane, sharks have the greatest electrical sensitivity of any animal as they have electroreceptor organs numbering in the thousands that allow them to sense the electromagnetic field of their prey as well as orient and navigate using the magnetic field of the earth and the ocean currents moving within it and creating electrical fields, lateral line tactile sensory system allows sharks to detect changes in water speed and pressure nearby and frequencies in the range of 25 to 50 Hz and lets them distinguish the currents around them, obstacles in their periphery, and struggling prey out of view.

im not sure how some of those would help regina, maybe they help her rule the school, they'd definitely help in superhero situations, but they'd definitely end up with her being hella overstimulated at school and might be why she's so frustrated with people all the time. I get that. anyway, sharks that need to continuously swim in order to breathe do something called sleep swimming, in order for them to actually get some sleep, its their spinal cord that controls the action, not their brain, seeing as regina would be able to breathe like a human and not need to constantly move she wouldn't need to do this, but I think she would have this habit of sleep walking and sometimes she does end up in the pool and sleep swims.

while she's not proud of it because it was prompted by her mothers comments, regina has used her siren powers to curate her popularity at school but no one knows she's a siren so they dont realize that

recurring h2o jokes with regina getting pelted with water and running off screaming "DONT LOOK AT ME" while you hear the h2o theme play faintly in the distance along with a splash will happen be warned. like. the homecoming scene where she gets the water sprayed on her is the same, she does the hair flip and everything and then. realizes. so she runs off screaming DONT LOOK AT ME and in the distance you can hear the h2o theme playing faintly

Regina's "janitor caught cady with a mouse in her mouth" was back in middle school, she, janis, Gretchen, and Karen went to the aquarium and she got distracted at one tank because she was listening to fish gossip and then later they went to the dolphin show and regina had to be forcibly removed from the premises after she started picking a fight with one of the dolphins(it called her 3 different slurs and insulted her clothing) and is no longer allowed at the Chicago aquarium. luckily her mother has a friend that was able to keep, "middle schooler has mad beef with dolphin," out of the headlines.

is regina a superhero herself before cady shows up in Evanston? yes actually. I did think about making her a villain but I want to have faith in regina having even a a molecule of a soul before cady shows up, she does have a younger sister after all and how can regina not have a soul when even my older sister does? just usual sisters giving each other, shit you know, I love her tho 🫶

I may have just written miraculous ladybug minus the bullshit love triangle, so um, there's that... but it's a superHERO cadina au and I wanted them to both be heroes.

Reginas dad runs some shady shit, ive yet to figure out exactly what it is, but the point is it's shady enough that even regina takes issue with it and decides to do something about it(little does she know, her dad is not directly involved in what happened to cadys dad but he has connections and that's how cady eventually gets involved with regina). so she adopts the hero persona of shark girl, it was gonna be a placeholder until I came up with the lore that she was inspired by the classic movie shark boy and lava girl, so as shark girl she fucks with her dads criminal shit and if she's extra pissed off, she will beat people within an inch of their life because she's not a saint. she focuses mainly on her dads business, feels guilty when she watches the news and sees things she could've easily stopped and maybe she helps where she can if she has time but she doesn't make a habit of it, not til cady comes around.

this got extremely long because of the shark facts, which I hope you enjoyed, so um, have some all over the place hcs as a reward for making it this far, even though these make it even longer

because sharks are hunted not only for their fins and meat, but also for the oil in their livers(not exactly a fun fact, but a true one nonetheless), I think regina would joke about just how much her liver would go for on the black market

regina has tried to break back into the aquarium to kill that dolphin, she had the sense to do it with her shark girl suit on so the "shark girl has major beef with Chicago aquarium dolphin" headline did make it to print this time

bull sharks will also hunt birds and terrestrial animals they can get too, as they are opportunistic feeders, so I can see cady and regina going after birds and small animals together while their friends regret not bringing leashes

regina tells cady she's a siren by asking, "would you still love me if I was a fish?" on a random Tuesday morning

I just know that bitch reenacts little mermaid any chance she gets

if you read this far, thank you for indulging all of. this. you've probably just learned more about sharks than you ever thought you would. and I did this for fun. anyway, so these posts were just to get the basic details of their powers out there, the next post should be getting into where the actual canon starts. keep reading, dont, either way, I will be writing more of this and I think the spidey au will be separate from this one. goodnight, y'all

[olivescales3]

The Forgotten Legends of Chima, Episode 1

Writer's notes at the end of the post

I thought I knew him well, after spending my entire childhood alongside him, but now, he stabbed me through the back. No… It can't be—

This can't be him… He would never do something like this. Or so I thought – he has shoved me aside and stolen the Golden Chi from my grasp.

The furious crocodile stands tall, exuding resentment through every fiber of his body, from the tense muscles to the frowning eyebrows. The shadows projected onto him by hundreds of green leaves seem to discolor his vibrant scales. They form delicate petals that flutter at the wind's command; a force so fierce enough to sway his intimidatingly torn cape.

As I lean onto a nearby tree and regain my posture, I can't help but ruminate on emotion-driven doubts lingering in mind… How could someone hurt their childhood friend? This doesn't make sense! We haven't seen each other in years, but there is no way he would do something like this out of the blue. I'm certain that he is innocent – not because we were childhood friends, but because he was one of the kindest animals I have ever met. 

I don't know who hurt him, the criminal who slaughtered his child-like innocence, and worse… I can't stop worrying about what he did to my friend's eye. It was once brimming with emotion and life, but now the only remains I see is a lifeless pearl that can't shine anymore. It was slashed with so much hatred that wrath was buried underneath its scar, which ran from his left eyebrow down to the jaw.

"Cragger… look, it's been quite some time since we last met, right? We can talk it out, solve this problem and… Maybe make things clear?", I mumble whilst my arm trembles as I try to reach out to him, "I need to know what happened. Why did you do this?"

The struggle Chima had with the Wolf Tribe put everyone under stress, and that made the demand for Chi more intense than ever. Each tribe became more wary of one another…

"I know that the conspiracies surrounding you are false. You didn't know that Wilhurt was there. We fell into an ambush… nothing that happened during this was your fault!"

They made him expect forgiveness for something out of his control. They thought that my friend caused the incident, that he was responsible for everything that happened to me.

I am not like that, and I will do anything to prove this.

One slow step at a time, I expose myself, opening my arms, at risk of any attack.

We're at the Forever Rock. Cragger and I would play here almost everyday, and yet this is where I first see him in five years… five years since he was attacked, right here.

I glance at the old, discolored blood stains that mark the dry dirt beneath our toes. Although we are surrounded by bountiful grass and near a stunning crystal-clear lake, it is impossible to distract ourselves, with the miracle of nature, from the unnecessary trauma and misunderstandings.

The crocodile backs away, his claws clutching onto the shiny, gold crystal Chi, and on the other hand, his double sided sword. A long shadow, projected by his body blocking off the sunlight, occludes the Forever Rock, gatekeeping our lovely days behind grudges.

His single eye twitches, trying to pay attention both to the crystal in his grasp and me. His nostrils flare, he clenches his big, impressive crocodilian teeth.

"Laval… Don't- don't come closer, don't even think about reaching me. This might be the end of us." He warns me, slowly pointing his sword at my direction, "We shouldn't have met each other…"

His body begins to give up on him, weighing him down on his legs, but he resists his weakness and maintains balance.

His pupils constrict, "No. I shouldn't have met you, disgraceful lion! Ever since we became friends, your tribe has changed my life for the worst.", he kicks the ground in frustration.

To my dismay, Cragger stabs the soil multiple times. Not just once, but twice, thrice— I can't count how many times he shoved his weapon deep into the ground, but he repeats this brute movement with exceeding passion.

The sword is thrown downwards, and, finally, gets stuck in between dirt's crevice. Cragger grabs the handle that's sticking out like a sore thumb. He wiggles the object in despair. 

I can't stand up, but I slowly approach my friend, wobbling short hops with my right foot.

"I… understand it now. It's all politics— my childhood was just a tool. Like my status as prince."

I couldn't even reach him…!

No… no, no! Where did I go wrong— what didn't I do right? If my words were unable to reach him, then what am I supposed to do now?

He collapses onto the floor, sobbing from between his fangs, pleading for help. Tears flood from his right eye and rain on top of the dead, soulless ground, although it's not those crocodile tears that they have been mocking ever since the incident. These are the purest of waters, able to revive even the driest of land. Even if it means to add salt to injury.

I try my best to convince him to let go of the Chi. He's still too young to use it. No one his age should ever need to become stronger; a chemical this powerful will only bring harm.

He gazes at the orb surrounded by his fingers. One misstep and it will ruin our lives. Without his sword, the only way to hurt us would be—

"You foul lions never stop telling me what to do!… My childhood's blood spilt on this very soil and you scums call it a 'sense of justice'!"

I rush to Cragger as fast as I can, with all of the strength I can muster from my legs. My lack of coordination makes me trip. He, before my eyes, propels himself, and, without giving me time to even react, bashes his head onto me.

A blunt pain spreads throughout my entire chest, almost constricting my lungs, or so what it feels like, unabeling me to breathe properly. The grass flies towards me and barely softens my fall, but the aching on my back and gut now become one and the same as a sickening and paralyzing numbness.

Within my desperate and shallow panting, I'm able to hear Cragger's voice, but I can't understand what he's talking about.

My eyes keep closing while I try to stay awake. I can't breathe nor see properly… the only thing I feel is someone grabbing me and—

Is that water entering my lungs?...

I failed.

This is our story; of Laval, the prince of the Lions, and my friends, overcoming obstacles of misery and tragedy. A story of friendship, but also war, destruction, selfishness, and, amidst it all, a sprinkle of hope and kindness that made everything here possible. A prince who overcame violence without picking up a sword. And, before that, it started right at our childhood.

These are… the Legends of Chima.

As the moon rises, it reflects its light onto the nearby lake that surrounds us, forming a perfectly circular shape, only to be distorted afterwards by the water. My tiny lion cub body appears in the picture of the reflection as I try to get closer to the reservoir. The water here is so clear, to the point that its entire ecosystem, from plants to small animals, are visible. Ironically enough, the images mirrored on the liquid block the view of what's on the bottom. I lift one of my legs and I shake it left and right to mess with the image.

Suddenly, the water starts to tremble, deforming my mirrored self and the moon near it. A dark green monster rises to the surface… is it a swamp monster?

"Caught you! I win, I win! Scaredy cat!", Cragger growls, "Don't mess with the Master of Stealth!"

Water sprinkles over my fur and drenches my blue tunic… which is terrible! My body flinches in agony by the feeling of a night breeze hitting my wet coat.

He grabs my hand and climbs over to the surface. An euphoric grin surges on his face, his slitted eyes widen. Our friend group gave him a nickname due to his amazing ability to hide around here, in addition to his long win streak on these types of games. Cragger's dark green head is able to camouflage between the plants, and his olive green torso becomes invisible amongst the algae. Not only that, he's able to climb trees and hide himself there.

I rest myself on the surface of the Forever Rock after this long session of hide and seek with my friends. I leave space for Cragger to cut another line on the stone, marking his new victory.

Unfortunately, not everyone is content with his achievement. Our youngest friend, Worriz, is fuming with rage, hopping around, making the funniest faces during his temper tantrum.

"I am serious!", he swears from the top of his lungs, "Why should I play this if Cragger can just hide himself in water?! That jerk knows we can't swim properly!"

Worriz comes from the Wolf Tribe. He inherited his great sense of smell from his father, one of the wolf elders.

Cragger marches towards the pup. Mighty stomps tremble the dirt. He stands his ground, and pushes the fluffy little guy with his chest. They exchange glares and they clench their wrists.

Worriz shoves his paw onto Cragger's torso. "Unfair! I expected better from a… modest prince!"

The crocodile flares his nostrils and raises his eyebrow. He touches his moist, torn red loincloth, then, he proceeds to giggle.

"I bet you're just jealous that you can't 'swim properly'. Fight someone your size, you pa- pathetic puppy!"

The wolf snarls and begins to swab his tongue on his snout, over and over again. It seems that standing on his toes is not enough to make him look bigger.

"Learn to speak properly before starting arguments!

Worriz' pelt sprinkled with dirt emits a nasty, sickening stench, mixed with the muggy scent of adrenaline coming from the sweat dripping between Cragger's scales, like rain on a hot summer day.

I observe Cragger's face being showered by tears as they inevitably join the sweat on his tense body. I feel his indignation – no, even worse, his pain, his wrath. Worriz always had a sharp tongue, but this childish quarrel has escalated into a disaster of targeting someone's dignity and adding salt to their injury. Cragger fought to be able to speak, he overcame his difficulties so that he could express himself–

"You, Worriz, don't know how much he bore. You do not have the right to judge someone for the way they were born.", words escape from my lips.

Before I'm able to notice, my friends are staring at me.

"Hey, hey!", I intervene, "It's… it's not like my friend is innocent anyways! He also can't judge Worriz' height!"

I snatch my best friend's cold, thin arm. I cling onto him, but he pushes me away… and, in a matter of seconds, between our mutually fleeting gaze, he faces the forest behind us and propels his olive green scaly body in the direction of the bushes. The leaves rustle with his rapid steps until he disappears between the plants. My muzzle opens wide; how could he run away like that if all I did was attempt to help him?... 

No… Did I hurt his feelings?

Worriz barks at me, puffs up his chest and repeats the words, "Ooh, my bestie ran away! What am I supposed to do?", with a mocking melodramatic tone of voice.

I glance at Worriz; I know you're trying to insult me. And this is your last straw.

I chase after my friend, going through the same bushes as he did, almost tripping over on the fallen sticks scattered around the ground. Beyond this direction are roads that cut throughout the tropical forest, leading to the entirety of the lands west.

He's already fled with his Speedor. Mine and Worriz' stone unicycles are parked near a big tree trunk.

I hop onto my vehicle and, at maximum velocity, I track down the marks left behind. The nature around me becomes blurry as I continue down the path facing left, on a precipice trail curved inwards. My surroundings change drastically from grass to dry soil. The rapid transition is nauseating—  

Whoa!

My body flings forward.

The speed of my unicycle had decreased in the blink of an eye. I had forgotten that Speedorz don't work properly on lifeless terrain.

This is the Great Divide, an arid, mountainous land. It's called home by the Eagle Tribe, and this is where their domain, the Eagle Spire, is located; it's the summit of this thin, gray block mountain. The area here is covered with sharp peaks that scatter even throughout the horizon. A few greens appear here and there, but there is not much life here because rainfalls are scarce in the Great Divide.

The road is slowly getting thinner, and it's becoming easier to notice the elevation between the ground and I. I glimpse at the road track left previously by Cragger.

Wait… it seems that—

He made a sharp turn towards The Fangs!

I follow the curve with a heavy drift. Parts of the cliff tumble down behind me– I swear I could've fallen too. 

My Speedor bumps into piles of debris. The stone unicycle rattling is unbearable. My wheel is chipping with the slightest collision. I should be more careful with my driving skills.

The sky is closing by the minute and I'm barely able to see where I'm going. How could someone be this reckless to run into the Fangs? He's risking his own life because of insults!

Everything is now black and white. The moon coats the land with light, and it bounces varying tones of gray into my eyes. Sharp, fang-like pinnacles are dispersed everywhere and form an disorganized barrier around the region. Not so far away, a slim and animalistic silhouette is leaning down near a crocodile head shaped Speedor. A silhouette so bright it could bear the appearance of a spirit.

I decelerate my Speedor and brake all of the remaining momentum by piercing my hind claws into the solid dirt, then I proceed to hop off my vehicle. I have finally found Cragger, but there is no time for relief now. My next move might put us at any risk. Of course, I still wish I could run after him. I can't leave him alone like this.

Step after step, I get closer to Cragger. He notices me, still upset from the moment before, and at this point we are at a comfortable distance away from each other.

"Cragger… None of us were expecting Worriz to act the way he did. I promise this won't happen again; I'll sort things out with him, and maybe he'll get grounded for what he said.", I murmur, "Please relax, okay?"

The crocodile hesitantly opens his mouth, and tightens his shaking hand.

He musters the courage to reply. He groans, "I'm trying to, Laval… I'm trying!

"D- do you think it's easy to let go of things like that? Or that words simply dissolve into the air like they're nothing? Tell me!" He covers his head with his hands. 

His cry launched itself from left to right, jumping off one pinnacle towards another. If someone was here, they would've certainly picked up on our presence.

"How're you able to simply 'sort out things' with him? Did– did you even understand what he said? Or what he meant? He insulted the effort of my parents– if it weren't for them, I would've been mute, or even dead!", he shouts again.

Words leaked through Cragger's lips; waves after waves of uncontrollable anger rose high until they hit the ground. I never expected anything like that to happen.

His grunts start to fade away, as my mind boils with intrusive thoughts; dead… what could this mean? Why was there a possibility of Cragger being dead, why would that even happen? What would I be without him, how would I live without his audacity distracting me from rigorous royal rules… How would his parents react to their sweet child dissolving into the air—

A petrifying chill rushes through my nerves; both of my shoulders stun by the pinch of a scaly pair of hands. In the blink of an eye, my entire body is shaken viciously. The constant brute movement mixed with the intense emotions make me dizzy. I'm unable to react properly; everything seems fuzzy, my head feels light, my body starts numbing. 

"Silly lion, when will you stop freezing like a cub and come back to reality? Toughen up a little bit!" he cackles in a sudden change of mood. Perhaps I lost the notion of time's passing.

My eyes widen and my muzzle droops into an awkward expression, though I can't stop myself from laughing too, "Haha… I don't know– do I really paralyze that often? Well, it's surprising how much you tolerate me", incomplete syllables mumble from my mouth due to my dizziness.

I sigh, "... I'm glad you aren't strict with me. My dad is already too much."

I stretch my arm onto one of the sharp pinnacles, then I firmly close my eyes.

"Just breathe, aight… You'll be fine, because I'm your friend! Friends are supposed to help each other.", says Cragger.

I've got my friend's back. Now, maybe we could travel on foot towards the Eagle Spire, get help there and go back home. Staying up late alone is not safe. Cragger stares at the moon. It's full, and nearby where we are rests the Wolf Tribe's outpost, which changes location ever so frequently. He points out that it looks quite purplish tonight; I can't see colors at night, but the moon's appearance is darker than normal. Strange.

I stick up my neck and look at the sky. Right now, it feels like a pitch-dark void is covering us. From sight alone it emits a silky, soft feeling on my paw pads. The round, allegedly purple moon stands out like a sore thumb. 

Oh—

My ears turn sideways. Screeching noises, like claws scraping on rocks, buzz inside my eardrums. The high pitch of these sounds itch throughout their way into my ear canal. 

This disjointed sound pulls the trigger of my anxiety and the adrenaline rush pumps throughout my veins.

I'm fed with these obnoxious panics of mine, but it unleashed a gut feeling I can't pinpoint properly. My body drowns with nausea; fired up aches spread inside me a bit, I sense some kind of dampness that flows from the stomach to my mouth. It's weird and uncomfortable, but I hope it won't last for long.

Argh! Hoarse cacophony vibrates all around the vast land. I… I can't keep up for long!

I move towards the sound, folding my ears to avoid hurting my eardrums. Everything's blurry again, and I'm unable to hear my surroundings. Far away, I glimpse at a shadow near a rock. Is it the same rock from the noises?

As I get closer, a strange ringing becomes stronger. The shadow's long, thin body twitches in my direction. Huh?

It dashes. Straight to me. Out of nowhere.

I let go of my ears for just a second, long enough to hear:

"Get away from my friend! Now!"

Cragger pushes me aside and I fall head first on the ground; there, I squint my eye for a last second, as I fainted, and the shadow wasn't gone.

My eyelids slowly open, my vision starts to regain strength. After a little bit of effort, I see two lions staring at me, their eyebrows raised and lips drooping down.

The lion on the right… is my dad! His shiny gray mane, meticulously separated in half into sleek bangs, is covered with expensive insect wax. I could define his expression as priceless. Though I'm barely recovering my consciousness. In fact, maybe I'm in deep trouble, as his sharp and well cared for teeth are exposed.

Besides him is my uncle; he has a blond, voluminous, messy mane, unique for a lion his age, with a mullet. His dark brown fur, tan caramel muzzle and paws make him eye-catching compared to the rest of my family. His tall and slightly muscular build stands there awkwardly as Dad's small eyes widen, placing his paws gently on my face.

Dad folds his muzzle into a big snarl. Even if I'm feeling kind of disconnected from reality, I know for sure he's ready to spill an hour long lecture. He's the King of the Lions, after all.

"Oh, thanks Mount Cavora, you're finally awake! I'm unable to believe you would get into such a mess, my son.", Dad sighs in relief, "Your arm was deeply clawed; all of that would've been avoided if you had called us. I taught you how to roar, why are you afraid of communicating with us?"

This is too much to process…

Dad continues, "Lavertus. An atrocious attack was targeted towards my son– the prince of the Lion Tribe, my heir, my future! Please, go forth and investigate the area. Search for eyewitnesses and identify this abhorrent criminal."

My uncle shrugs his shoulders, visibly confused. I imagine this is too much for him, just like it is for me. An attack… seriously? I don't remember much, but I can feel my arm numbing.

I try to get up, leaning forward. I place my left arm onto the comfy bed, but pain soon emerges and I'm forced to fall back. My dad's right, he's always right… 

Lavertus leaves the room, and now it's just Dad and I. He sits besides me, on my right side, grabs my hand and holds it fiercely. He doesn't know what happened before this accident, that I rushed after Cragger without hesitation. He's unaware that I almost fell off a cliff. I wished only time would tell, but shouldn't a prince always be honest?...

"Laval", Dad pets my forehead, "tell me what happened. I can't help you if I don't know what you went through.", he whispers.

"Cragger and I were suddenly attacked at The Fangs. A shadow scratched a rock with his nails and jumped on me…"

He itches his lion chin,

"I see. However, something doesn't feel right. How did you get to such a dangerous place, and were you near anyone besides him?"

I stutter in hesitation; how should I explain what happened? Dad's slim body is relaxed, but his eyes still leak concern. My answer was too vague, but I hope he understood what I meant. He needs context to help me.

"My friends were playing together… I was with them. It's just that Worriz insulted Cragger… and he fled to The Fangs. Oh– I almost forgot to tell you that the moon was purple that night.", I added, as my awkward voice trembles.

Dad gets off the chair, then tilts his head to the side, laying his index finger on his mouth. The balcony of my room is bright because of the sun. The sun, that's where my Dad's looking at.

He marches to the door.

His tone of voice settles down, and as he takes his leave, he takes a moment to speak, "I think I've got it. I'll talk with the Eagles, as this incident is quite peculiar and I need an outside perspective about this. They live near The Fangs, so perhaps they can help us. I'll see you at night."

The wooden carved clock, sculpted by my friend Eris, ticks a soothing rhythm each passing second. I follow one of its pointers with my eyes as it slowly circles around, passing by the time markings beneath it.

I hover my head on top of the wound; it's still fresh and shiny, even though it stopped bleeding. The bed sheet I'm laying on top of, covered with red light due to the harsh sun rays hitting my bed curtains, isn't dirty either.

Dull stone walls cover my room, with a few triangular arches carved on them. At least I'm able to view Mount Cavora from here. 

My dad really likes you, Mount Cavora. Even if you're a huge, floating mountain, you brought us life, you brought us Chi. The stone heads that bless us with Chi are what brings us all together, whether past or present, same or different species. Lions, Crocodiles, Eagles, Wolves… Ravens, Gorillas, Bears and Rhinos– we would not be what we are today if it weren't for Mount Cavora. The Great Story is a tale of old, marked by the Chi birthing a new civilization, and that's why Chima got its name– Chi knows it all; or that's at least what my dad says.

Steps reverberate all across the circular stairway up to my room. A shadow seems to emerge before the open door. My body jumps in response, dragging the curtain to hide myself and I end up squirming my injured arm.

The stranger moves towards my bed, as the light hits their body, projecting their silhouette on the bed curtains; they appear to be tall yet soft, resting their closed wings behind the back. I sigh in relief, because this animal does not look like the other shadow that attacked me. I shiver while opening the curtain. Mouth open, inhaling deeply.

I stick out my muzzle, and I am greeted by an eagle.

"Oh no! Please pardon me for startling you. That was quite rude of me.", the bird whimpered, "I'm the nurse your father entrusted to help you. My name is Ehboni."

She holds onto the curtain with her yellow scaled hands, adorned with black feathers that cover her wrist. Now that the blinds are open, I can clearly observe her appearance: her entire figure is covered by well-preened and smooth feathers, but they're quite dark, which made me mistake her for 'the' shadow. An expensive silver necklace, with sapphire jewelry, hangs by her fluffy neck. She smiles, opening her yellow beak.

Ehboni crouches near what looks like a box of medical equipment, and then opens it. 

"Come closer, Laval. I need to inspect your lesion.", she whispers while organizing her materials.

I sit down on the edge of the bed, then she holds my arm and looks at it. After that, she picks up a medicinal leaf, lays it on top of my wound and bandages it.

My ears fall down, my eyebrows frown; I won't be able to do much for some time, but Ehboni says that it won't take long for me to recover.

"Just make sure you don't put strength on your left arm, okay?", she pets my shoulder.

"Alright… but– did you discover anything about my injury? Is it serious?"

Ehboni puts away her utensils, gets up, and says, "Don't worry, sweetie! You didn't suffer any major damage. I'll let Lagravis know the rest."

She leaves before I can react.

Argh! What is this 'rest'? She barely answered my question. The cut's shape seemed suspicious, yet I'm not supposed to know what it is? I fall on my bed and close my eyes shut in frustration, though I don't pretend to sleep anytime soon. It's still daytime.

I– I don't want to stay all day inside my room because of an accident. Even if I need to, at least tell me why!

I squint my eyes to check out if there is anyone else here. The room is quite empty, especially when my toys are all back in their place. I jump out of bed and go to one of the wall's arches, ready to admire the view again. 

Someone knocks on the wall.

"Silly Laval, did you think you were going to be alone all day?", a soft voice murmurs from behind me.

I turn around, realizing that the voice comes from my friend, Eris. I'm confused on how she got here, although I don't doubt her sudden appearance is very convenient. Eagles are quite smart, so it's fair to assume that she somehow snuck into the temple.

She rests her elbow on the arch and leans her head on her wrist. Eris is a little older than my friends and I; her previously stippled bright blue feathers molted and she's starting to grow new white plumes. The sunlight irradiates her, smoothening her body into a cloud, free as the wind, going wherever she pleases. 

Her light yellow eyes shine with brilliance.

"Oh, hey, Eris… It's nice to see you today.", I fiddle with my fingers, looking at my friend with an embarrassing smile, "What a coincidence. I just saw another eagle leave my room."

"That's the reason why I came after you. I overheard the conversation your dad had with mine. Ehboni was there too.", she lets go off the balcony and pets my head.

Oh. So she knows what happened. Great. Never mind how she got inside the Lion temple; I now need to discover what's going on, and why is Dad so secretive about all of this.

"Do you remember what the conversation was about? What did my dad say?"

"Okay… so, they were discussing how to gather information about this case. Lagravis speculates that what happened might've been a targeted attack against you, and thus ordered Ehboni to inspect your injuries."

That's really a lot to digest– it kind of makes sense, and I understand that this situation is serious, but… Why would anyone attack a child? Is that the reason that I'm supposed to not leave this place?

"Eris… would you mind giving your opinion about the situation?"

She shrugs her elbows and bows her head; perhaps asking a tween to dissect a possible hate crime is too much of a stretch. 'Tis too soon to make big assumptions, although the best ye could do is not stay outside at night, she adds in a bittersweet tone.

My best bet would be to observe my surroundings and piece any clues I find. If my dad's suspicions are correct, I'll end up face to face with that shadow again. Let's go to the Fangs!

I hold Eris' arm and tiptoe downstairs.

Eris and I are driving our Speedorz on dry land. The sky darkens as the sun is shining less, but it is not nighttime yet. Pinnacles of stone remain in their place, sticking out of the earth in a pattern similar to a ribcage, more so than fangs.

"These natural structures curve inwards into a shape that facilitates the propagation of sound", Eris whispers. "If anything happens here, we'll be able to hear it clearly."

We are near the area of the incident; amplified noises of chattering and footsteps reach us, which means that my uncle, alongside lion guards, are investigating the scene. We park our Speedorz near a 'fang', and spy the animals there.

Lavertus is crouched, observing the bloodstain my injury left on the ground. A lion guard with light brown fur and long canines analyzes the claw marks of the damaged rock from before. Another lion with an orange mane is taking notes of every minor detail pointed out by his co-worker and captain. 

"Interesting. The slash left by the culprit has a distinct quirk– if we connect the scars, it forms a narrow curve", says the brown-maned feline. "The depth and position of the scratch hints that force was concentrated on the entire hand and arm, which means that they are not a lion."

My uncle replies, "I thought so, Longtooth. We put most of our pressure on our tendons to grip; my nephew's arm was hacked, and blood was drawn from him. We lions don't do that, neither do we hit arms."

Wind weaves the dust away, diffusing along the way the unnerving scent of blood– my blood. The shine no longer descends from the beyond above us, as mist starts to veil each of its rays. The shadows that hide our colors in blue are but a speck of our melancholy.

My blood's smell enters my lungs at every breath.

Each. And every. Breath. 

I take it. Inside me.

Who–

Who is that? Near the blood?

Is that Laval, crouching near the pool of blood, hiding his wound from the monstrous creature? An unrecognizable monster, shadowed by malice?

Its eyes ooze with a purple vapor. How dare it reach towards the innocent prince, with its open mouth, drooling without self control. Maybe it has self control– it has malice. Malice.

The moon blinds me with a dark orchid colored light.

Now… white. All is white. I am not dead, at least. Something yellow is a little too close… is it the sun? 

"Laval! Wake up!", that yellow thing screeches, "Wake up! Please…"

Eris? Is that you?

I latch myself onto her before falling.

It appears that a lot of time has passed– surrounded by a bunch of wolves, and Eris, I scream from the top of my lungs. 

I anxiously whip my tail behind me and I end up hitting someone.

"Ouch! You idiot, watch what you're doing! You slapped my face!", Worriz barks.

The wolves distance themselves from me.

Ahh. I feel much better now… the atmosphere, although humid, stinks no more. It freshens my insides. I let go of Eris, then I examine my surroundings.

This is the Wolf Lair; a giant truck-like vehicle, built out of metal, with a cockpit shaped like a wolf head.

I always knew that wolves didn't have a fixed home, but I underestimated how much space they lived in, and the amount of tonnage space they used.

"Pesky eagle! You came all the way here just for us to pity your friend? We don't have time for trivial incidents like this.", Worriz turns around and stares at me. "I'll tell my dad you're the one bothering me, Laval!"

A door of the Wolf Lair opens, revealing a gray elder wolf, trembling his hind paw to reach the ground. Worriz sprints at the feeble senior to hold his hand and help him gain balance.

His face is wrinkled all around his muscles. His bean eyebrows, due to old age, have loosened into a pitiful expression, accentuated by his dirty tear ducts. His white muzzle is unkempt, falling down on his chin, with long unused whiskers. Even though it's natural, the sight of the natural physical deformities that come with age is saddening. Most of the time, they're not fatal, but you can see the effort it takes to remain alive.

Their tight bond is enough to show that they're father and son. 

The wolves around us whisper, "Wakz! Wakz!"

Wakz smiles with his weak lips, while his son scowls with his teeth exposed.

"Oh Laval… are you feeling better now? Your friend brought you here, away from the scene. My people told me everything– I am deeply sorry for what happened."

I itch my eyelid a bit. A scene?... Ah, that scene. Of course, I came here to understand what happened. Maybe asking Wakz about it could help me reach a better conclusion? We aren't far away from the area of the incident, therefore it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to get information from him…

"Yup… I'm fine, feeling better right now– and, about what you said earlier… Has anyone in your tribe seen something like that? Or did something suspicious happen before that?"

He turns his head and faces the crowd before him, sulking his already gloomy face. To shun your own pack, huh… 

"Quite some time ago, there was a wolf. A big, bad wolf. Unfortunately for us, we didn't know how he became like that, nor why. He was a silent killer, taking others' lives without leaving any trace behind. However… I have yet to find any news of him in more than years.", Wakz grunts, as his voice sounds more frustrated than normal, slouching his body forwards. "I suppose this might help you. Take care, young one."

The elder returns to his base, followed by the others, in a single linear formation. I wonder if they're some kind of hive mind, given how they act like an ant colony. Though I doubt that they would call themselves a colony, and that's because they aren't one.

Eris and I stare at each other in confusion; is this a mystery worth uncovering, or is it just a dangerous dead end? We could come back to Lavertus and ask about what he found.

Weird enough… I was close to the shadow before fainting. Yet… I wasn't able to see it. It's frustrating– if I knew what trait the culprit had, I would've had at least one clue to solve this mystery. I need to find out who committed this crime against me; why would they do something like that, what happened to them? Are they the wolf Wakz mentioned?

Eris covers her beak with her delicate talons, masking her smile. What's all that giggling about? I hold her wrist with my two paws and hover it to me. She, using her unoccupied claws, points behind me, with an adorable expression on her face, almost ready to burst out laughing.

Ugh! This is no time to laugh! My life might be in danger… What are you thinking about—

My ears! Ouch!

I let go of her hand and a firm grip pushes my ears down to the ground. My thump mixes with her laugh and Worriz' barkings. The sounds spread all along the area.

The fall hurts my arm a bit, but I don't mind it, as long as I have my friends with me, seeing their mindless quarrels, funny pranks, crazy adventures...

...Friendship is truly something magical, and I believe we should try to be together as much as possible, because I don't know when it's going to end. Eris lays down on the floor next to me, chattering about the stars, her new discovery about water… She talks about gravity, and that she saw the water following along with the movement of the moon. Amazing isn't it?

I lie sideways, gazing at Eris while she continues her incessant ramblings, explaining how she likes to study, her major interests such as technology and culture of her tribe. She's truly a beacon of knowledge, and I admire her for that.

Moments of peace never last forever; Worriz groans and pushes us around like little toys.

"Oh, hey? What about me, huh? You lovebirds need to listen to others too!", he whines, "Do you guys not know who Wilhurt is, like, seriously? I mean, he hasn't been seen in ages… but if you ended up having your ass beaten by him, then, it's on you. Not my fault you ran up to that guy."

I let out a heavy growl. Why did I invite Worries to play with us in the first place? He's a bratty troublemaker. He bullied Cragger– if it wasn't for that, we wouldn't be here in the first place. Though, he's kind of right, because our fight doesn't have any correlation with… Wilhurt?

Never heard of that name before. It might be important later, though, so I'll keep that in mind.

Shaking movements alert us to three Speedorz approaching the Wolf Lair; they're Lavertus, Longtooth and the orange haired lion from before.

My uncle runs up to me and hugs me. We need to head back home now.

[NEXT]

For anyone who reads this until the end: I hope you enjoyed the first episode of TFLOC! I was struggling with how to end this episode, especially because I noticed that I was losing my momentum on the pacing.

Sorry if the formatting of this post is a little different from the first full sneak peek. It isn't possible to copy all of the paragraphs and paste them into another post, and I don't have the patience to copy each and one of them individually. :(

Please reblog to share my work :D

[insurrection-if]

With Mockingbird (I want to say mockingjay really bad, thanks Hunger Games) gift being so centered around biting and consumption, could it be easy to imagine some mcs have more mouthy behaviors? Like Mc has a subconscious/nervous tic to lightly bite at their own hand or bite at their close friends and families.

How the ros react to seeing it happen? And would they have a particular reaction to Mc lightly biting them casually in romantic relationships (never enough to draw blood)?

｡ﾟ ( ﾟ^∀^ﾟ)ﾟ｡ I can deeply relate to the tendency for biting and mouthy behaviors as a means of comfort . . . just not when it comes to biting other people, haha! Goodness, I bit and chewed on everything as a kid! Thankfully, I’ve settled down to only biting my nails and having a horrible relationship with gum, haha! (Seriously, give me a single piece of gum and I won’t be able to eat or speak the whole next day due to the soreness of my jaw.)

But yes, I imagine that mouthy and biting behaviors are super fitting for some MCs—I really love the thought of it! (　´∀｀)b

Akil

Biting Themself: His first instinct would be to chide against such behavior, thinking it unsanitary, unsafe, and simply a poor habit for self-conduct. He might try to catch Mockingbird's hand before it can reach their waiting teeth and open lips, careful to not hurt them as he does so, and guide it to rest within his own upon a table or their lap. If they had a penchant for biting their hair, he might form a (mindless) habit of brushing it behind their ear / shoulders so it may be out of reach from their mouth.

Akil would also likely gift Mockingbird gloves of some kind in order to prevent the skin of their hands from taking much damage or stress from this habit.

Biting Him: The beginnings of soft curses die out on his lips whenever he feels your teeth capture his skin, his instinctual resistance eased into a tired sigh when your bites prove to be curious and light. He prefers to have your bites on his hands when they are protected by gloves, and those that wander closer to his shoulders and neck are better received once the day is done.

If you must bite him to soothe yourself, unable to control this habit by sheer will, he would request you do so solely in private.

Kamiko

Biting Themself: From anyone else, she would assume it to be yet another eccentricity among the odd company she holds. She resists lifting a brow towards this unsanitary habit, and the fixation of her gaze as you engage in this behavior carries a soft layer of concern. It seems to be harmless physically and mentally. You seem to take comfort and satisfaction in those unconscious bites. She tells herself it is cuter than it is disconcerting, but these internal words don't always ring true.

If anyone else had anything to say about this habit, whether it be teasing or shaming, she would not think before rising to your defense.

Biting Her: It does not make sense to her. Your gift, strange and ever-changing as it is, has always longed for the bloody connection to your fellow Gifted alone. In the beginning, she had assumed your habit to be a manifestation of its insatiability . . . of the natural predator's instinct that laid behind the odd and alluring surface you presented.

But she is no Gifted. And yet, even still, it seems you are still drawn to nip and tug at her exposed skin with a gentleness both thoughtless and dangerous from a mouth so ravenous.

It used to frighten her. Beneath the false serenity she tried to wear when she first started to lose her heart to you, there had been a cold dread that weighed in her stomach whenever your teeth casually grazed and caressed her. Self-discipline had kept her still. A longing for trust, unquestionable and true, kept her vague horror contained to a stoic tension easily misread as shyness.

In time, in a process as gradual as it was subconscious, that fear had been lost. Instead, it has been replaced by the presence of the faintest blush as she "tolerates" the strange habit, only pushing you away with a light hand whenever a professional air needs to be kept.

Sigmund

Biting Themself: Once he recognizes this to be a common nervous tic, he will be vigilant in keeping an eye out for it.

He will ask if something is on their mind, if something is troubling them. If there is a burden they are keeping to themself, mulling over and coping with through this behavior, he would want the weight of it to be shared with him.

As he tries to coax them to speak on whatever matter might be worrying them, direct yet patient in his approach, he too would reach out his hand for Mockingbird to take hold, either so he can examine the extent of irritation that may have been caused to their skin or simply to hold their hand as a means of support / keeping it from their nervous bites.

If Mockingbird is not troubled by anything, simply having fallen into the act by absent-minded habit, he would be relieved to hear that is the case. Still, he would consider this a sign to perhaps distract Mockingbird with some shared company or activity in order to pull them out from whatever daze or mood urged them to bite themself in the first place.

Biting Him: He hates how much he enjoys this.

He hates how easily his smiles come as your teeth gnaw and cling to him without hesitation or thought. How laughter threatens to seep past his lips as you nip with the odd and dangerous cuteness of a pet.

It stirs something within him to know you are so comfortable with him, bearing trust in him to not hurt or reject you as you soothe yourself with these soft bites. Even when his pulse seems to spike when your teeth meet his skin, burning with a worry and excitement you must practically taste, he cannot help but enjoy the moment that would seem so strange to another's eyes.

He cares little for who sees this little quirk of yours. Whether your bites stay fixated on his hands or stray upwards to nip at his neck, it would be a rare occurrence for him to ever fully deny you this small habit of comfort.

Imka

Biting Themself: She would notably worry, from acquaintanceship to the crushing stage, over Mockingbird potentially hurting themself with such a habit. Then again, she possesses her own nervous tics that some of the others have occasionally tried to dissuade, and she knows how hard it is to quell something so ingrained and comforting.

If she saw them particularly distressed / antsy / rough in their habit, she would shyly request to hold their hand in hers. Her touch would hover lightly above the stressed skin, trying to observe potential irritation or scratches caused by the pressure of your teeth. If there is need to tend to it, she will. If not, then she will hesitate a moment before asking if there's anything she can do to distract Mockingbird, hoping to occupy them from the mindless habit as best she can.

Biting Her: Sometimes, a tickled yelp escapes her. Other times, a flustered gasp slips past her lips. But when it comes to her most common reaction of all, rarely does she manage to voice the shock of her scattered thoughts through more than a squeak.

Her face burns with the intensity of embarrassment and desire all at once, the simple habit to you feeling far too intimate for any returned casual indifference. Your lips graze and tease her. Your teeth stir her heart with an equal sense of fear and excitement. To know you are drawn to her like this, feel comfortable with her like this . . . it's enough to make her a little dizzy.

She feels all the more like a foolish, lovesick pup to be so flustered by what is little more than a thoughtless habit to you.

Elouan

Biting Themself: "You should not be so cruel to yourself, dear."

There is no seriousness to his tone, the words given with a smile more polite than it is genuine. "You are the most enchanting creature I have ever seen. To sully yourself with the stress of your teeth, marring your skin like this again and again . . . I fear you might not understand just what kind of perfection you are tearing at with those little bites.”

Instinctively, his own hands tug at the ends of his gloves, his own tic of comfort at the thought of any ruin you might cause to your skin. Yet his smile remains, as empty a gesture as it is.

He will not force an end to the habit, but he would not wish to encourage it either. A tense smile, a polite one depending on his mind and mood, would be all he gives before diverting his gaze from your little habit.

He would, however, insist that you clean your hands / skin before and after indulging in this quirk of yours. He will assist in cleaning your hands himself if need be to ensure that you do.

Biting Him: If deeper into your relationship, the pressure of your teeth, light though it may be, pleases him all the same.

Never will he let your little bites mindlessly nip and graze the bare skin of his hands—the aching memories of their scars too sensitive even for the sweet toying of your harmless habit—but, with gloves adorned, they are yours for the taking.

Sometimes he will pretend to pay it no mind, casually continuing conversations with another as you capture his hand between your teeth. Sometimes he will offer the odd compliment to the brilliance of your teeth, the light brush of your lips, or the skill of your bites that satisfy you without any true harm to himself.

It calls to mind the lost companionship of his precious little birds, the occasional nip and grip of their beaks as they climbed and sought to share their affection with him.

It is no wonder then that he takes much more to calling you pet once this habit has fully revealed itself in time, though he does not take conscious notice of the newfound fondness he has for this endearment towards you.

Jae

Biting Themself: Once, she would have laughed at the sight. Like an itchy dog, you nibble and capture your own skin between your teeth without care or concern for whoever might see this odd habit at play. How could she not consider a quirk like this to be so humorous a thing to see?

Friendship makes her question her laughter. Love, slow as it might be, makes her laughter cease, replaced by a fond smile and fierce resistance to any who may make a comment in judgement.

She is not one to force change upon you. If this brings you comfort, then she will stand by and allow you this little, if strange, respite from whatever might trouble your mind. Yes, she will do her part in cleaning yours hands from any stray stains of your spit or kissing your irritated skin so it might feel a little better after such thoughtless kneading beneath teeth, but she will not think to chastise you for this.

Cope as you wish, so long as it allows you to feel better in the end.

It also helps that you are too cute to chastise when you bite at yourself like this.

Biting Her: She bites down her grin, excitement and pleasure bubbling as she all but fawns over the light grasp of your teeth.

Yes, she cannot help how this excites her. To be caught in the grip of those teeth usually made so pretty with blood, knowing that no true harm will come to her when she so clearly lays claim to your heart . . . Her excitement is one rooted in her sudden awareness towards how lovely a beast you can be, yet you willingly—perhaps unconsciously—tame yourself to bite her only in a manner so indulgently harmless.

There is something quite attractive in knowing that, hypothetically, at any moment, your ambition, your craving, or your cruel desires could tear through the skin and steal her blood for your own sole gain. Yet you do not.

All you seek instead . . . is comfort. How cute a sentiment.

It makes her love you all the more.

"Please", she'd drawl through smirking lips, "I know you can bite harder than that."

Perhaps the challenge is genuine. An invitation to let yourself loose with her, free from fear of hurting her. Or perhaps it is little more than a harmless tease, a joke more so for herself than for you.

However she means it, you are never left to question the fact that she is ultimately pleased to be held and used by your teeth.

Niccolò

Biting Themself: He cannot help but be humored by the sight of your bites and nibbles. You resemble more a small critter of the forest, wild and free, than an imprisoned and blood-drawn Gifted whenever he catches you in this act.

"You must taste so sweet," he hums with a smile as he studies the faint trails of marks left upon your hand, barely perceptible to the natural eye, "I wish I could have a taste of my own as well."

At odd hours of the day, he reminisces upon this habit of yours. Theorizes on whether it is another clue towards the secret of your blood, the veiled and suppressed essence of your gift's purpose.

He imagines what it must be like to have a tongue that tastes, to have teeth that in some sense or another feel, and how it might be if he were the one to bite gently at you as you do to yourself.

He adores it, of course, for it is another curiosity for him to examine, unfold, and, ultimately, love as another eccentricity of yours.

Biting Him: “Does it not hurt?”

It is not a question asked with concern or reprimand. His tone is light, curious, and the intense focus of his gaze upon your lips and teeth (bared to his sight now and then) speaks instead of his unquenchable fascination for you and all that you do.

He knows that he lacks the softness of a human touch. He cannot offer a hand that is anything but cold, anything but tough and false. And he marvels at how you do not mind; you do not care. Your teeth persist, almost as if they were determined to mark or draw something from him. Sometimes light and slow in their touch with mindful caution, other times firm and possessive with distracted abandon.

It delights him. Amuses him. Never will he deny the grasp and touch of your teeth. It is a curious, beloved, habit and he would never wish to deprive you of it.

Mutya

Biting Themself: "Don’t.”

The command comes out more bluntly than she would have liked. She frowns, recollects her thoughts, and tries again.

“Please . . . don’t.”

Eloquent as ever, her frown twists into something a little more bitter as she internally scolds herself. She sighs through her nose and tries yet again.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” she begins with as much softness as she can force herself to muster when worry forces her to tense, “Your body is a temple, mahal. Biting at it, stressing it, hurting it without a thought . . . I’d rather we find better ways for you to reassure yourself. Healthier habits of control.”

She remembers her old habits. Rooting herself in the present with pain: self-inflicted bruises and aches meant to empty her from any and all thoughts. She had been little more than a child, as you must have been when this habit first began. And though she herself has not managed to fully erase those old reliances that promised her more long-term harm than short-term relief, she has come much farther than she once ever thought possible for herself.

As small a thing as your bites may be, she does not wish to encourage their frequency, much less your reliance on them. Especially with someone like Uriel across enemy lines, who can excite your emotions in the worst of ways, urging your methods of coping to manifest in as ugly and brutal a manner as possible . . . No, she would rather caution against the possibility of something like this ever becoming a source of true, self-inflicted harm upon yourself.

Biting Her: “Fuc—!"

Her curse is cut off by a hiss, the moment of shock quickly easing once she realizes it is only you. A grunt, perhaps a groan, rumbles into a relenting sigh as she forces herself to relax beneath the sudden hold of your teeth.

It is almost embarrassing how quickly she gives into this habit of yours. She worries now and then that it is dangerous for her to encourage it at all, knowing what an effect the mere proximity and pulse of another Gifted’s blood can have over you.

And yet, you do not seem to share her reservations or troubles. You claim it is a form of comfort, and other times that this is little more than a thoughtless urge.

When it is only her that you pose to hurt—though she knows you never would, not with intention— then who is she to deny you your nature? Worry may pinch at her brows, sighs may slip past her lips, but never will her hand push you away. She loves you for all that you are, and the strange habit of bites like those from a playful—if poorly trained—pet becomes easier to accept as time passes by.

Fyodor

Biting Themself: It is an adorable sight whenever he catches you nibbling at your own skin, leaving lovely indentations from your perfect teeth onto your perfect hands. It is all lovely because it is all you.

Perhaps he will begin to call you his little rabbit. That is what your small bites call to mind as he observes them with apt attention.

If you are his, then he will not hesitate to take your marked hands to caress, to coat them with generous kisses, hoping for their redness / impressions ache to be soothed.

Biting Him: He cannot deny you; not in this, at least.

It is a harmless habit to him. Your teeth tickle. They offer to him smiles and laughter, an expression flushed with joy and love as he feels your lips, spit, teeth, and heat caress him in pursuit of your own satisfaction.

It is cute like a puppy that teethes. It gives you comfort, and thus it gives him purpose. And if this succeeds in allowing your own skin some rest from your little bites, he is all the happier to offer himself in their place.

Though, in the presence of a busy public, he may at first fluster as your teeth pull gently and mark him lightly—without thought or intention—as an act so intimate to him is openly displayed for all to see. Deeper in a relationship, he would be incapable of paying mind to the presence of any others as his attention is solely captured by the touch of your lips and teeth against his skin.

[spideystevie]

Omg hi. I have an idea for a steve fic if u want to write that would be amazing coz you write steve really well. Ok its something after steve and reader are married and they go to some formal event or wedding or anything? And towards the end of the party reader is wearing steves suit jacket over her dress and steve loves it and is kind of turned on so he whispers in her ear about what he wants to do with her? Only if u want to

hi, thank you!! i changed it a little bit and also made it a little blurb instead i hope that’s okay!! (0.8k) [18+ for suggestive bits]

Steve’s been handsy all night. From the moment you’d stepped out of the bathroom, green satin draped perfectly over your body with your head tilted to put your second earring in.

His jaw had fallen slack, slightly blown away from your appearance and despite his best compliments and hints, you wouldn’t skip out on the wedding. 

He can’t really remember whose wedding it is. Someone from high school, an old friend of yours you’d stayed in touch with post graduation, he thinks. It didn’t matter. He’d crash an infinite amount of weddings if it meant seeing you dressed like this. 

His hand sits heavy on your thigh the whole drive, thumb stroking the inside of it. Steve has to be touching you at all times. An arm around your waist when you walk in, his hand on your thigh again while you sit at a table, fingers stroking your elbow as you hold a flute to your lips, gloss sticking to the rim. 

At some point, you shiver. The air conditioning in the reception hall has left the room almost icy when you’re not surrounded by a hoard of wedding guests on the dance floor. In an instant, Steve’s shrugging his suit jacket off and hanging it over your shoulders. You try to protest but it’s warm against your bare arms and smells like Steve and you end up tugging it tighter against you. 

There was something about the fabric hanging over you, swaying when you did, one hand always gripping the front of it to make sure it stayed snug around you. Steve felt his chest burning, adoration spilling over when he’d watch you talk to Nancy and Robin across the room. A hint of pride mingling with it all because it was his jacket that you were wearing. 

The jacket slips, exposing slivers of your bare shoulder for the briefest of moments before you’re tugging it back into place. His cheeks felt flushed, either from the buzz of the alcohol or how worked up he was seeing you in his clothes. 

You’re not much better. While you’d been cold, Steve was burning up making him roll the sleeves of his white button down up to his elbows. His tie had loosened around his neck, the top button being undone. You were ready to jump him right then and there. 

You don’t really question it when he pulls you away from everyone else. The place was buzzing with people, quick to drain both your social staminas. He just wanted a minute alone, you assumed.

He secludes you on the outskirts of the room, hidden in the shadows of the dim lighting. His arm is warm around your waist. The disco ball hanging in the center of the room casts broken fragments of light over your face.

Steve’s nose nudges against the soft skin of your neck, taking subtle inhales of your perfume. It’s one you only wear on formal occasions, something intoxicating, sensual. A little woody with notes of something floral and maybe it’s the pheromones but he can’t get enough.

His lips start to press against the spot below your ear, a mere brush at first. It tickles, your shoulder rising up to squeeze his face. You can feel his smile against your skin as he presses his lips more sure, more fervid against your skin. 

“Steve,” it’s a mix between a laugh and a gasp. His lips curl into a smirk, brushing against your earlobe. His teeth are a dull scrape against it. 

“What?” a false sense of innocence. Like he isn’t in the middle of sucking lilac below your ear, like his hand hasn’t slipped behind his suit jacket hanging off your shoulders to hug the curve of your ass. Your mouth feels dry, it’s a struggle to swallow down the soft mewl you want to let out. 

“You look so pretty, baby,” a hot exhale against your ear causes a heat to spread down your body, pooling low in your stomach. “‘Specially in that dress with my jacket ‘round your shoulders.”

A whimper catches in your throat, the heat of his words searing into your brain. He’s murmuring in between open mouthed kisses against your neck, warm drags of his lips against velvet skin. How pretty you are, how he’d take you right there if it weren’t for the people in the room. 

You dip away, feeling like you’re on the verge of combustion, like you’d explode at any moment. You kiss Steve’s pout away. A kiss you’d intended to be quick becoming anything but when he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth, kissing you deeper, slower. Your head spins. 

You pull back and immediately grip his hand, dragging him behind you to say your congratulations to the bride and groom. You ignore the knowing look in her eyes as she takes in your blown pupils and Steve’s less than subtle smirk, making up some excuse about not feeling well and bailing early. 

Steve’s nose nudges your temple as you leave, his seemingly permanent smirk pressed to the side of your face. You bite back a smile, cheeks burning as he babbles on about how pretty you look and how he can’t get enough of you. 

“Yeah, yeah Casanova," your voice has a teasing lilt, it makes Steve grin. He lets out a soft laugh. "Let’s just make it to the car first, okay?”

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

hi it's mermay and i'm thinking about sirens. i'm gunna do some looking of my own (at seadragons, probably) but can you think of any fish that look like their tails/features would make a cool mermaid?

Hello! I've actually answered a similar question before, here is my answer to that one:

But since your question is a little different, I'll feature some unique fish species you could find inspiration from!

The rockmover wrasse! Here is an adult, the juvenile is a little wilder:

Crazy patterns! Should go to good use :)

Eels! Just any type of eel, really. They come in such varied shapes and sizes, and have various abilities too! If you're the type of person who likes to give merpeople the features of the fish they're based on, just imagine a moray eel merperson with two jaws! Or a ribbon eel merson whose tail sways like a ribbon while swimming. I'd suggest looking into eels!

Electric eels too! Despite the name, they aren't actually eels at all, so I'm mentioning their genus separately here. Long fish that sense things with electricity and can generate it, even being able to cause prey animals to stop or start swimming with careful shocks... need I say more?

Here's one that could have many ways to be interpreted as a merson. Stargazers! They're ambush predators that hide in the sand, only having their eyes and mouth showing. I'd like to see how those would be interpreted as merpeople.

Mudskippers! The semiaquatic fish that live most of their lives on land.

Another one that walks, frogfish! Many species not only have a lure, but also walk along the bottom of the seafloor. How's that for an interesting merson challenge?

I don't think I've ever seen a merson who looks like a billfish, as in like a swordfish, sailfish or a marlin. The particular fish here is a sailfish!

I don't see some reef fish often, either. How about a moorish idol?

Perhaps the similarly-shaped butterflyfish?

Oh hey, maybe mandarinfish! That's one colourful guy :)

Deep sea fish are always a treat, too. They look very otherworldly compared to the fish we see often in everyday life! My personal favourite is the barreleye, but any friend from the deep is a friend indeed. The stoplight loosejaw who has a private red flashlight, the cookiecutter shark who sneakily bites chunks off bigger animals, bristlemouths with their large jaws and tiny teeth... I recommend looking into fish that have photophores, aka light-producing organs! They're fish that glow in the dark!!! Extremely cool and mysterious...

Lanternfish are a good example of this, I think. They're thought to be the most abundant group of vertebrates, they're deep sea-living, they have photophores, they migrate vertically in humongous schools that literally look like false bottoms to sonar.

Deep sea anglerfish are a classic, old but gold. Seldom used in merfolk! I've tried tackling anglerfish merfolk myself before, I'll feature my concept sketches below for possible inspiration... though they contain artistic nudity, so I'll only feature them under the cut.

And there you have it! I got kinda carried away, I'm sure no one minds. Have a fun Mermay! I'm gonna draw some art for it myself, but in the meantime, have this fish ramble :)

Once again, artistic nudity under the cut. Just some cartoon tits. Completely nonrealistic nonoffensive unreal cartoon bazookas, just wanna put them away from a direct line of sight because my blog isn't for art most of the time.

Her first initial concept on the left and some additional ones on the right. Anglerfish of all kinds use lures to trick prey, so I wanted to mix the lure aspect with mermaids to create a siren that lures in sailors with her human half and eats them with her fish half. The human half has working eyes, vocal chords and lungs to first spot sailors, then call and sing to them, but besides that all the other organs are in the fish half. No doubt similar merple exist, but this was my take on it! It's a lot of fun to be creative, I recommend just going with the flow and doing what feels the most natural or coolest. You've got this!

[localvoidcat]

"The Spider's Web" :)

alt thatcher time WHOO

That damn thing hasn't moved from its place on the ceiling yet, and Thatcher doesn't know if it's going to.

It's not like this is abnormal, by any means. Having a copy of you take residence in your home isn't normal either, he supposes, but it's hard to see it as strange when it's the way you've been living for several years.

But it's doing something different today. Ignoring it only makes it more unbearable, its head twisting at angles so dramatic it feels as though he'll hear a sickening pop soon as it watches him move, its long and spindly fingers sunken into the already stained ceiling.

Eventually, it becomes too much to avoid, and he turns his gaze directly towards the replica of himself.

"The fuck are you doing up there?" His voice hasn't been used in days - he hasn't had a need to use it.

The alternate's head moves in a motion not dissimilar from an owl, it's head rotating until it returns to its typical place. The grin upon its face only gets wider.

"Curious today, are we, Lieutenant?" It speaks in a voice too close to his for comfort. "I thought you hated speaking to me."

"I do. But you're on my ceiling."

"Am I? Maybe you've just gone insane." Thatcher grits his teeth in an attempt to hide the own fear rolling up his back.

"I can see you, dipshit. Get down or I'm getting the broom."

Its face melts into a frown, and it shifts position. "You wouldn't do that again."

"I would," he says, with too much confidence in his tone for a man staring down the thing that stole his face, "and I'll do it if you don't stop."

The frown curves upwards, not quite resembling a smile. "You're very bold. Where was that when she needed it?"

Thatcher's jaw clenches, and his teeth grind against each other painfully. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" It asks, feigned innocence dripping in malice.

"You know what I'm talking about, jackass," and the look on the alternate's face proves his point, "and I'm not doing this with you today."

"It's a touchy subject for you, is it? I understand. I'd be ashamed if I were you." Its false smile widens, revealing teeth merged with the gums below. "I will be."

"No, you won't," he says, and he forces himself to believe his own words, "and you don't know what you're talking about. Get down."

"I was there, you know," it begins, as if it's recalling some glorious tale from its youth, "when she died. It's a pity. She trusted you with her life, and you betrayed her." It cocks his head again, twisting it completely to the side. "You really are a coward, Lieutenant. Maybe if you put that gun to good use, you could join h-"

"I'm getting the broom," he shouts, walking away before it can finish its sentence.

Its face falls in a near-literal sense, and it grumbles something to itself as it moves away.

[badgirlswrld]

˚ ༘♡ CHARACTERS: Yunseo ‘Cloe’ Lim, Sanghee Park

˚ ༘♡ SUMMARY: In an attempt to mend thier relationship, Sanghee and Cloe discuss their problems. That simply doesn’t go as planned.

˚ ༘♡ WARNINGS: lots of cursing, Sanghee is a big bully, So is Cloe, arguing, yelling, suffocating mentioned as a metaphor, not anything else I believe! if I need to anything else plspls lmk <33

˚ ༘♡ ⋆ Sanghee shifted uneasily, feeling the room becoming hotter by the second. She took a deep breath and adjusted herself before fixing her gaze on the girl in front of her.

"So..." Sanghee began, trying to read Cloe. Cloe casually flipped her hair over her shoulder and crossed her legs, leaning back in her seat. She shifted her gaze from the floor to Sanghee, giving her a judgmental look. Sanghee was already annoyed with her.

"Why don't we just act like nothing happened? Go back to normal like always," Cloe insisted. However, Sanghee sighed and shook her head.

"Yunseo, come on. I can't keep doing this. I'm not going to pretend to love you every second a camera is on me because there's always a camera on me and I don't love you," Sanghee stated with a blank expression.

"That's fair. Then should I leave the group? Or should you? I mean, seriously, you're telling me that's easier?" Cloe marveled, arching her eyebrows sarcastically. She smirked, observing Sanghee's growing irritation.

"No, that's not what I mean. They sent us in here to fix our issue. So let's fix it," Sanghee sternly replied, tilting her head as a gesture for Cloe to respond.

"I'm not the one with the issue, Sanghee," Cloe assured, subtly rolling her eyes and looking away.

"Well, I guess I'm the one with the issue then, Yunseo," Sanghee began, raising her voice. "My issue is that I can't stand the way you act. You're a spoiled brat and the biggest asshole I've ever met. There," she smiled.

"I'm an asshole, huh? Which one of us is in a new scandal every week? Which one of us can't keep a boyfriend for more than a month?" Cloe retorted, with a cocky smile forming on her doll-like face.

"See? You're an asshole. You're rude, and you can't deal with the fact that nobody actually likes you," Sanghee continued, Narrowing her eyes at the younger girl, Cloe gritted her teeth and shifted in her seat.

"Everyone likes me, are you kidding me?" She snarled, her honey-sweet voice masking false confidence. A feeling of insecurity washed over her. That hit a nerve, Sanghee thought.

"Nobody likes you, Yunseo. Maybe if you were nicer and didn't get your job because of daddy's money, someone would," Sanghee taunted, a big smirk on her face. She leaned back and watched Cloe spring out of her seat. She enjoyed pushing Cloe's buttons, making her feel inferior and insignificant in this world. It gave her a sense of pride. Cloe scoffed, turning on her heel to face the opposite direction, unable to look at Sanghee any longer. Sanghee watched as Cloe wandered off inside the office, finding a spot in front of the large window and focusing on the view of the city outside. Sanghee's voice quickly pierced the calm silence, and Cloe hesitantly turned around.

"Yunseo, I know I'm an asshole sometimes, I know I have issues, but at least I'm making an effort to stop," Sanghee chided, pushing herself out of the chair and standing up. Cloe clenched her jaw, digging her nail gently into her palm.

"I don't have an issue, Sanghee. Stop trying to convince me that I'm the problem," Cloe warned, speaking in a low tone. She closed her eyes, attempting to shut out Sanghee's voice.

"Yunseo, wake the fuck up. You're so fucking entitled, like you're a goddamn princess. You're so rude to me, to Lisha, to Joohwa, to Taehee, to fucking Erena. I mean, seriously, you get everything handed to you on a silver platter and do nothing but bitch and moan that you don't have more!" Sanghee snapped. As Cloe heard the words drip from Sanghee's lips, she felt every muscle tighten. It was as if the words were meant to seep into every crevice of her being, taking over her every step, every thought, every breath she dared to take. Sanghee noticed the shift in Cloe's demeanor and continued, "News flash, Yunseo, you don't get everything you want in life. Do you think I want to be doing this right now? Seriously, Yunseo, you need a goddamn reality check. When did you become this fucking deluded? You're sitting here trying to convince yourself that people like you, when you do nothing but piss everybody off because you're so fucking insecure! So insecure that you act like a bitch because it's the only way to make you feel better than anyone else!" Sanghee roared, catching her breath for a moment as she got caught up in her own words. She stared into Cloe's teary eyes, smirking, as she gently caressed Cloe's cheek, she dared to move closer.

"You're such a miserable fucking person. So fucking miserable... I mean, you're a fucking train wreck, Yunseo, one that everyone wants to just clean itself up and disappear because your existence is that fucking unbearable to be around," Sanghee stated, her voice hushing itself as she accentuated every word. Each word held a heavy weight, dropping onto Cloe like a ton of bricks. Sanghee watched her closely, observing her body slightly twitch, her eyes widening just a fraction, her breathing growing erratic and uncontrolled. And she loved every moment of it.

Cloe was left stunned for a moment, staring at Sanghee, who was now inches away from her face. Cloe felt like the room had closed in on her. She couldn't believe Sanghee could stand there and read her like a goddamn book, making her feel so unbelievably helpless. A kind of helplessness you feel when you're all alone after a nightmare. A nightmare that leaves you sobbing, shaking, unable to shake away the disgusting images your own mind created. Her breath hitched as the silence grew unbearable between them. Cloe's expression of shock shifted to a scowl, and she shoved Sanghee's chest, forcing Sanghee's hand to drop from her cheek as she stumbled back. Cloe regained her balance, realizing she had to get out. She had to leave that room before she suffocated under Sanghee's presence. She quickly brushed past the taller girl, snatching her purse from her seat, and stormed towards the door.

"Do whatever you want, Yunseo. But remember... kicking me out of the group won't make you a better person," Sanghee commented. Cloe stopped in her tracks, feeling like she'd been struck by lightning. Her entire body and mind snapped like a stretched rubber band. Her vision went fuzzy for a moment. She took a shaky breath, looking at the floor in a daze.

"And you know I'm right, which is why you're so upset right now... You're pathetic," Sanghee sneered.

"Shut the hell up! Just shut up! Why do you never shut your goddamn mouth? It's just talk and talk and talk constantly. I don't care!" Cloe droned, turning away from the door and throwing her purse to the floor. The sound of Cloe's heels clinking across the floor painfully echoed in the office. Once again, the two girls stood face to face, but Sanghee was now the one with widened eyes and shaky breath. But not because she was scared, helpless, or shocked. No, because she had pushed Cloe to her limit, again. And she was proud. She was proud she had that effect on such a complicated girl. It fascinated her.

"I do not give a single shit about what makes me a better person, Sanghee," Cloe spat between gritted teeth, turning on her heel. She strutted back to the door, fixing her hair and brushing off her dress before leaving the room and snatching up her purse from the floor. The door slammed shut as she left, leaving Sanghee alone and bewildered in the office. Her mouth agape, Sanghee thought to herself for a moment. She didn’t enjoy that. That’s a lie, she enjoyed it more than she should've. But, a lingering guilt ached inside her stomach. She didn’t want this to turn out this way. She just can’t help it, Cloe is so very easy to anger, so easy to break. She’s fragile, she’s fragile like antique china dishes, and Sanghee enjoys threatening to shatter her, but never truly getting the job done. Yet, she felt the urge to hold her after, to make her feel better, to glue her back together as if nothing happened. Cloe just hasn’t given her the chance to try that yet. She squeezed her eyes shut for a split second, ignoring her lingering feelings and thoughts, before leaving the office room as if nothing had happened.

[the-widow-sisters]

Maybe “I don’t want you to go.” With Nakia and Kamala?

I really like how you write and I’m inspired by you, ❤️❤️❤️

A/N: Aww, thank you!!! You're the sweetest 🥺💗

This one turned out sort of angsty, but hopefully y'all enjoy! 💖 I enjoyed writing them! 🥰

Word Count: 1.4k+

   “Hey, wait! I don’t want you to go,” Kamala whined, and Nakia sighed tiredly.

   “What do you want?” Nakia asked, and Kamala shook her head as she gazed at Nakia pleadingly.

   “I want you to stay.”

   Nakia groaned, some aggravation in her gaze as she stared at Kamala. However, Kamala noted that Nakia was not making any more moves to head toward the door.

   “You should’ve thought of that before you decided to lie to me.”

   “Look, it wasn’t a lie! I just didn’t tell you!” Kamala told her, a lilt to her voice as she tried to at least attempt some semblance of cheeriness to maybe lighten the situation a little. But Nakia did not seem to be impressed in the least.

   “Why would you not tell me that you almost kissed Bruno?!” Nakia demanded, and Kamala moved her hands in a placating gesture.

   “It didn’t come up!” Kamala cried defensively, and she knew that was not going to work as an explanation for her best friend. She knew Nakia far too well to lure herself into that false sense of security.

   Nakia set her jaw, irritation pouring off of her as she crossed her arms, and Kamala stood up as she walked closer to her.

   “It didn’t even happen anyway! And I don’t like him like that! So why does it even matter?” Kamala asked, and Nakia’s nostrils flared a little in the midst of her aggravation.

   “Because you’re supposed to tell me everything!”

   “Nakia, it didn’t mean anything, and we didn’t actually kiss!”

   “You’re missing the whole point,” Nakia groaned, and Kamala furrowed her brow.

   “What’s the whole point?! Tell me so I’ll understand,” Kamala pleaded with her, a certain desperation in her tone as she looked at Nakia and searched her face for any clue. Nakia looked at her for a moment and let out a deep breath.

   “Sometimes I feel like I’m the last to know everything,” Nakia confessed, her voice strangely dejected and hurt. She only looked at Kamala for one moment more before she turned away from Kamala in favor of approaching Kamala’s desk and busying herself with looking at all of the items and pictures on it.

   Kamala just stared at her blankly, shock filling her as her mind raced. She had not realized that Nakia had felt this way.

   But as she thought about it, she could see exactly how she could feel this way. Kamala felt guilt overwhelm her as she thought about the fact that Bruno had known about Kamala’s powers before Nakia and how she and Bruno had kept all of those secrets from Nakia surrounding Kamala’s superhero side. And now Nakia was finding out that Kamala had kept this secret from her, too.

   Ultimately, it was no wonder Nakia was so upset about this.

   “Squishy,” Kamala addressed her quietly. Nakia sniffed, straightening as she forced a nonchalant look. She faced Kamala and she could see that Nakia’s eyes looked just a little more watery than they normally would.

   “You’re right. It’s stupid and it doesn’t matter. It didn’t even happen, so there’s no reason to make a big deal out of it.”

   “No, Nakia, I—”

   “It’s okay. I understand there’s some things you want to keep to yourself. I just thought maybe we were past keeping secrets,” Nakia stated, nodding once as she offered a tight-lipped smile. Kamala could tell her teeth were clenched, and that was always a telltale sign that Nakia was about to cry.

   Kamala shook her head, stepping closer, and Nakia tilted her chin up, looking down at Kamala as she tried to remain stoic. Kamala looked up at her, feeling tears enter her own eyes. She then moved forward quickly, grabbing Nakia in her arms as she hugged her. Nakia swallowed hard.

   “I’m so sorry, Squishy,” Kamala apologized, and it was then that Nakia loosened in her grip as her arms came up around her. Kamala rubbed her back, her head resting on Nakia’s shoulder as Nakia placed her chin on Kamala’s.

   After a moment of Kamala holding her in her arms, Nakia started to pull back a bit, obviously still needing to talk. Kamala tentatively let her go as she looked at Nakia curiously. Nakia wiped her eyes, sniffing again as she looked at Kamala.

   “It’s just… It’s been hard, Kamala. Before Bruno went to Caltech, you guys were practically joined at the hip,” Nakia confessed, and Kamala furrowed her brow as she looked at her best friend.

   “Wait… Did… Did I make you feel like you weren’t as important as Bruno?” Kamala questioned, and she was scared of what her answer would be despite the fact that she already suspected the truth.

   “Well, I mean… Kind of, yeah,” Nakia admitted, nodding with the tears still in her eyes. Kamala instantly felt as if she had been slapped.

   “My gosh, I never meant to make you feel that way,” Kamala expressed, trying not to cry herself at this point. Nakia shrugged.

   “I know you didn’t mean to. I just kind of felt like I never really got included on any of the really big, important things in your life that were happening. At least not included until it was old news that Bruno already knew,” Nakia explained, a tear threatening to slip down her cheek. Kamala shook her head. She felt absolutely awful about this entire thing, but she was glad that Nakia had finally decided to talk to her about it.

   “Nakia, you’re my best friend just like Bruno, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you things first. Bruno was just always there, and I know how you were going to feel about the superhero stuff… and that’s not an excuse, but I just,” Kamala trailed off, looking at Nakia as she tried to hold herself together.

   “I just want you to know that you’re my only girl BFF and there’s a lot of stuff that only you know that I don’t tell Bruno,” Kamala informed her.

   Nakia just looked at her, and Kamala took in a breath, starting to speak up again.

   “Like I can’t tell Bruno about my mad cramps. Well, I mean, I do, but he hates it, so I can’t tell him without him getting grossed out. But I can tell you all the details!” Kamala stated, smiling a little. Nakia raised an eyebrow, wiping her nose with her sleeve. Kamala quickly thought things over, trying to think of something else to say that would help her case.

   “And I can’t talk to him about cute guys. I can tell you all about that! You’re always the first to know about my new crushes!” Kamala claimed, and Nakia remained quiet as she gazed at her.

   “And I can’t reminisce with him about the things we did in kindergarten and first grade, because,” Kamala took Nakia’s hands, squeezing them, “that was you.”

   Kamala smiled at her, tears in both Nakia’s and her own eyes.

   “You’ve been my best friend since forever, Nakia. We’re like sisters and that’s not what me and Bruno have,” Kamala expressed, shaking her head.

   “Yeah… The first problem with that is that he’s a guy,” Nakia commented, and Kamala just huffed, unimpressed but nevertheless very pleased to see her normally so plucky best friend coming back to herself.

   “Well, duh, but you know what I meant!” Kamala took up a bit of a scolding tone. Nakia smiled just a little at her, and Kamala felt her heart swelling at the sight.

   “We’re ride or die. Bosom buddies. Thicker than thieves. Partners in crime. Sympatico Sombreros. Chummy chowder. Bacon besties—”

   “Okay, I think I’ve got it, Kamala,” Nakia wetly chuckled, a real smile gracing her face. Kamala shot her finger-guns with a grin.

   “See? We get each other because we’re the BLFT.”

   “Bacon Lettuce… Fries and Tomato?”

   “No! The best lifelong friends team!” Kamala excitedly clarified the acronym. Nakia just shook her head tiredly with a chuckle, and Kamala laughed.

   After a moment, Kamala sobered, looking at Nakia with something more caring and less joking.

   “Seriously. I’m sorry,” Kamala apologized.

   “It’s okay,” Nakia nodded, looking less and less like she was going to cry.

   “We good?” Kamala asked.

   “We’re good,” Nakia expressed before reaching out and bringing Kamala into a hug once more.

   They stood there just hugging it out for a little while before Nakia finally spoke up again.

   “Now you’re going to tell me all about this almost-kiss with Bruno,” Nakia informed her as she patted Kamala’s hair.

   Kamala instantly pulled away, already whining.

   “Awww, noo…….”

[inquisimer]

as misfortune loves orphans

for @febuwhump day 3 (bite down on this), some niche oc x oc content featuring Acacia Trevelyan and the Starkhaven Thieves' Guild

read it on ao3 here

Female Trevelyan/Original Male Character | Rated T | 1283 words | CW: torture, blood & injury, emotional manipulation

-

They dragged her down a maze of hallways, gagging around the fabric stuffed in her throat each time she tried to take more than a shallow breath. She’d not explored this wing of the den and by the time they shoved her into a small storage room, Acacia wasn’t sure she could find her way out.

Her captor lit a single candle, then hooked a long, dangling chain to the bindings on her wrist, and yanked.

Acacia’s pained yelp was lost in the gag; no more than a muffled whimper made it out. The chain dragged her shoulders back and up, nearly out of their sockets, and the angle pulled uncomfortably on the still healing skin across her chest.

When he’d lifted her high enough that her toes just barely brushed the dirt floor, her captor fixed the chain to a hook on the wall. He walked back to her and tipped her chin back with one gloved hand.

“Be a good girl and tell me what I want,” he said, “and this will all be over soon.”

His accent was unfamiliar and she could see only his eyes through the mask he wore. Green like emeralds, with a stare just as hard. She spat in his face.

Like a whip, his other hand slapped her.

“You will tell me what you know,” he said, dropping his grip. “One way or another.”

Her chin thudded against her neck and she watched through lowered lashes as he selected a small dagger and a strip of leather from his tools. He used the tip of the blade to remove the gag and lift her head once more.

“I don’t know anything,” she croaked around a dry, raspy throat. “I’m nobody, here!”

He laughed. The dagger traced down her neck and he tapped it over the forming scars that criss-crossed her collar bone. “Oh, lovely, you know something. People who are nobody don’t have such pretty necklaces.”

He was wrong, but gave her no chance to argue. When she opened her mouth, he slid the leather between her lips and held it there until her teeth clenched.

“That’s a good girl,” he crooned. “Wouldn’t want you to bite your tongue off, would we?”

Acacia’s heart thudded in her chest, echoing up to her ears. If he wanted quiet, that meant they hadn’t disposed of Lewis’ security—just snuck around it. Perhaps—

As if reading her mind, he pressed the dagger against her lips. “Spit it out or try to scream, and I’ll re-open those wounds so fast, you’ll bleed out before anyone hears.”

She clenched her jaw tighter.

“Now then, let’s begin.”

-

She’d never felt quite so weak. Escaping home, finding her way, it had given her a false sense of strength and power. But with every shallow nick of his dagger into her skin, Acacia realized how foolish she’d been.

Bruises were forming where his hands had gripped her neck and blood ran in thin rivulets down her arms. Muscles she didn’t even know could hurt ached with the effort to keep herself balanced on her toes; whenever she slipped, her weight fell on her shoulders and waves of pain rolled down her spine.

She was weak. She was wavering. And he knew it.

Surely one of Lewis’ guards had noticed the mussed up state of her quarters by now? It hadn’t been that long, but there were escape plans and exit strategies in place for this sort of thing. Surely they had already gotten everyone else out. Any information she knew only applied to this place—the local books and workings—information that would be stale and useless with everyone gone. She could give it to him without hurting the Guild.

She could make this stop.

The dagger pressed behind her ear, a whispered threat against her skin. No—a promise. That this would continue until she caved.

He must have seen the defeat settle in her heavy gaze. He dropped the dagger and tugged the leather from between her teeth.

“Well?”

Shame scraped painfully against her dry throat and she could not meet his eyes as she blinked hazy tears away.

“I’ll tell you what I know,” she rasped. He nodded once.

“Wrong answer, Casey.”

Confused, her head snapped up. “How do you know—“

He tugged the mask off, revealing familiar, unruly brown curls. His fingers went first to one eye, then the other, and when he looked up his eyes were once again the soft gray she knew so well.

Something in her chest twisted and she couldn’t help but glance down to see if he’d buried his dagger there after all. For it hurt as surely as if he had.

“Lewis?” she croaked. Her balance slipped for the last time; if this was really happening, there was no reason to try and get back up. She let herself dangle by her wrists, small puffs of dirt rising where her tears fell. “What—what the fuck?”

His shadow crossed the floor, but he did not answer. A quick clinking of chains and Acacia gasped—her shoulders relaxed and she crumpled to the floor, flooded with relief that confused her aching body. Lewis knelt by her side and sliced through the rope that bound her wrists.

If her arms weren’t so shaky, she would have slapped him.

“It’s the only way, Casey,” he said. Gingerly, he lifted her into his lap, ignoring how she struggled weakly to get away. He pressed his fingers into her shoulder blades, a soothing motion that felt like searing pain.

“The only way for what? What kind of sick, deranged thing—“

“You almost died!” he snapped. One of his hands slipped ‘round to her chest, making her hiss as it pressed into an unseen bruise. He traced the wounds on her collarbone with featherlight touch. “This would have killed you, if I hadn’t come by when I did.”

“And that gives you the right to do this how?”

“All of our agents know how to defend themselves,” he said brusquely. “They can all withstand a certain level of interrogation without breaking. It’s why we’ve survived so long, while other guilds fell to the Carta.”

From his tone, Acacia imagined that she’d fallen far short of withstanding that certain level. She cringed as Lewis swiped a dampened cloth over the shallow, stinging cuts on her arms.

“It had to be believable,” he soothed. “That’s why it’s done like this. And it will happen again.”

She made a noise of protest and Lewis grabbed her by the jaw, forcing her to look directly at him. The disguise had helped, but the shape of his face, the feel of his hand—it set her heart to pounding in her ears. She closed her eyes.

“Look at me, Casey.”

Reluctantly, she opened them again. Not one inch of his hard gaze wavered. This was not the charming, loving son who’d convinced her to leave Wycome. This was the Guildmaster’s right hand.

“You don’t have to like it,” he said quietly. “Actually, I’d be rather shocked if you did. But I won’t lose you, not like that. Not when I can do something—not when I can give you the means to survive.”

He exhaled a kiss against her sweaty, mussed up hair. It made sense in a twisted way of logic, but Acacia was too caught up in the adrenaline, the knee-jerk betrayal, the exhaustion. She couldn’t sort it out, not as she was. She turned her tear-streaked face into his shoulder and Lewis tightened his grip around her.

“I will keep you safe,” he vowed. “Whatever it takes.”

[skyyknights]

you feel like home

Ao3

~

Link hadn’t thought it possible that this day could get any worse. 

But, as usual, he was proven wrong. 

He had already spent the entirety of the day clearing out a fresh nest of monsters from Skyview Temple, which had earned him nothing better than a broken rib and a collection of fresh gashes on his face and torso. He was sore and hot and hungry and tired– no, not tired, exhausted – and all he wanted was to get back to the Sealed Temple, inhale the soup Zelda had planned to make for tonight, and crawl into his bedroll. 

The monsters might not have been so bad to deal with, but it had only been a week since Fi went to sleep, and the new sword the Academy had gifted him was nothing like hers. It was heavy and clumsy and rough in his hands, and no matter how much he practiced with it, it just wasn’t the same, meaning his daily swordsman tasks were harder and took longer. Meaning he sometimes fumbled with his new blade, an often dangerous mistake that only served to obtain him new cuts and bruises. 

He missed Fi’s sword and her advice and her kindness. He missed the sense of humor she had developed, and the gracefulness with which she danced, like she was made of air. He missed having someone to talk to about his feelings for Zelda. He missed her chiming voice and the warmth she had finally begun to display towards the end of his journey. 

He missed her. 

But, as he always reminded himself, moping about it wouldn’t bring her back. So he forced his thoughts to turn elsewhere, like how good Zelda’s soup would taste. How nice her hands, cool and faintly calloused from her own swordsmanship abilities, would feel as they bandaged his wounds. How wonderful his bedroll would be as he drifted off into sleep. 

His broken rib was beginning to feel like a knife digging into his body, and with every step he took blood oozed from the gashes on his torso, but he was almost to the Sealed Temple where he could rest . So with the last of his energy Link climbed up a set of vines, hauled himself onto the ledge at the top, and froze, his heart sinking into his boots. 

What looked to be half of Skyloft was gathered in the grassy area just outside the side door of the Sealed Temple. 

Link could feel exhaustion settling further into his bones as he scanned the dozens of cheerful faces and began desperately searching for an excuse not to join them, but “I’m tired” was the best he could come up with. He had to admit, the tables sagging with food at one edge of the space looked appealing, but even more appealing was the thought of drifting into unconsciousness, away from the pain. He’d have to ask Zelda to bring him a small bowl of soup and then he’d go to bed. 

First he would have to excuse himself to the veritable horde of Skyloftians in front of him. Link ducked into a shadow for a moment, doing his best to smooth his sweat-soaked hair and make his tunic look somewhat presentable, the latter being a failed endeavor due to the fresh bloodstains covering it. After a moment he gave up on his appearance, clenched his fists in preparation, and looked up to–

His whole body stiffened, and for a moment his vision washed red in anger. 

What in Hylia’s name was he doing here?! 

It was bad enough that most of Link’s acquaintance was grouped ahead, a social gathering being the last thing he needed at the moment. But it felt like an utter slap in the face to see that goddess-darned robot sandwiched comfortably next to Zelda of all people, buzzing and chirping about something Link couldn’t hear at this distance, as the rest of the crowd listened in what appeared to be…

Rapture?? 

Link’s teeth gritted together so hard his jaw ached. He thought he was free of Scrapper after his mission, after Fi went to sleep and there was no reason for the robot to want to associate with him anymore. And yet there he was, seated happily next to Link’s best friend, captivating the whole crowd with tales of…what? His own conceit and false bravado? 

Zelda laughed just then at something Scrapper had said, shaking her head a little with her eyes crinkled in amusement, and something twisted in Link’s chest. Maybe jealousy, maybe wrath, maybe an emotion he wasn’t even able to name, but he had to know what that odious little robot was saying to make Zelda laugh like that. He crept silently closer, no one bothering to notice him because their attention was fixed firmly on Scrapper, and caught his breath to listen. 

“So of course, zoo-weep,” Scrapper buzzed, utterly pleased with his rapt audience, “I told Master Shortpants that I’d handle the monsters myself, because he’s just the worst, zrrp, and in maybe a minute I had them all cleared out. He was in awe, bzeep, since he couldn’t possibly do any of that himself.” He paused, seemingly glancing towards Zelda. “Like I’ve always said, bzzt, some hero he is! Master Shortpants can’t even defend himself from a simple monster; he’s really just a coward, zweep–” 

“What did you say?” 

Link’s sword had flashed from its sheath before he knew what he was doing, and he wielded it with trembling hands, red swimming in and out of his vision. The Skyloftians’ eyes were on him in an instant, but the only thing he could register was the way Scrapper leaned backwards just slightly, his nonrobotic eye seeming to widen a fraction. 

That’s right, you little jerk, you better cower before me– 

His rib screamed in protest at his sudden movements, but Link ignored the pain– something his journey had made him successful at– and took a step forward, fury boiling in his expression as he shoved the tip of his sword directly in Scrapper’s face. “I said ,” he spat, teeth clenched together as spots swarmed in his vision, “what did you say?”

“Link–” Zelda started to say, but Scrapper cut her off with a nervous zweeeeept! “That’s right,” Link choked, bile rising in his throat, “you should be nervous, because if you ever say a thing like that again I’ll tear your very circuits out, you hear me?” He lowered his sword, entire body beginning to tremble with exhaustion. “Because I spent this entire day killing monsters, and I did the same thing every day these past few months; and whenever I was with you and there were monsters you begged and pleaded for me to protect you, you who were safe in the air as I got stabbed and punched, so don’t even try to say that I am a coward because I’ll rip the propeller right from your stupid little head–”

“ Link!” Instructor Eagus’s voice snapped out, sharp and biting, and Link flinched, sending a fresh spurt of blood from his side. “I think that’s quite enough, don’t you?” 

Link’s sword dropped to the grass with a metallic clang. He stood frozen in shock for a moment, feeling the weight of dozens of eyes upon him, and then set his jaw and limped past the silent crowd, yanking open the Sealed Temple’s side door and disappearing inside. He let the door slam shut behind him, the sound echoing in the ancient structure, and stormed over to his side of the temple, digging blindly through his belongings for a roll of bandages. 

He finally located one and stumbled to his feet, easing out of his bloodied tunic and chainmail and letting them drop to the floor before glancing down at his torso. A wave of nausea washed over him at the sight of the bruises and deep gashes mottling his skin– during his journey, he usually just swallowed a potion after receiving an injury, never bothering to stop and treat the wound properly. The sight of fresh lacerations on his body was something he still wasn’t used to. 

“Link?” 

There was a booming echo as the Sealed Temple door swung shut again, the sound nearly drowning out Zelda’s voice. Link flinched a second time, resolutely keeping his back to her and wiping bloody hands on his pants, and Zelda continued softly, her words laced in concern, “What happened to you?”

Link swallowed. “Only about six dozen Bokoblins and skulltulas,” he muttered bitterly, peeling off his gloves. “Oh, and three stalmasters.” 

“I’m– I’m sorry.” Her footsteps moved closer, hollow against the stone floor, and he could sense her hesitating as he started fumbling with the roll of bandages. “Do you…want help with that?” 

He rolled his lips together, tasting the dried sweat upon them, before relenting with a slow nod. “Yeah. That would be nice.” 

He turned to face her, and Zelda gasped, her eyes widening. Judging by her reaction, the front of his torso was much worse than the back. “Link, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, ears drooping slightly as she reached to take the bandages from him. “That must hurt a lot.” 

He shrugged, instantly regretting the movement as a spasm of pain flared in his ribs. “It’s fine, I guess,” he said dully. For the first time he noticed she held a bucket of steaming water in her hands. “What’s that for?” 

“To clean your wounds, silly. Were you not planning to?” Zelda told him faintly before pointing to a nearby stool. “Sit, please.” 

Link obeyed, settling himself carefully onto the stool so as not to jostle his injuries further, and Zelda knelt beside him, dipping a cloth into the hot water and then pressing it gently to the wound on his forearm. He tensed, teeth sinking into his lower lip as a grimace passed over his face. “Sorry,” Zelda whispered, cleaning the wound as gently as possible. “That must hurt a lot, huh?” 

He hissed out a breath, then nodded, head dropping slightly. “Not as bad as my ribs,” he mumbled reluctantly. “Stalmaster broke one.” 

“I’ll have to get you more than one potion when I’m done, then.” Zelda paused, one hand coming up to caress his cheek, which was crusted in dirt and streaks of dried sweat and blood. “Link, I’m…I’m so sorry you have to deal with this. I’ll come with you next time, help you–” 

“No.” It came out harsher than he meant, and she flinched, starting to pull away. Link swallowed forcefully and caught her wrist before she could, keeping her palm on his face and leaning into her touch. “I’m sorry. I just…I don’t want you going through this, is all.” He let his eyes fall shut as she stroked one thumb across his cheekbone. “I’m doing it for you, you know.” 

“I know,” she said softly, brushing sweaty bangs from his forehead. Her hand left his face, and he heard the cloth dip into the bucket again before she went back to the wound on his forearm. “I just wish you didn’t have to. If only I–” 

“Don’t go there,” he whispered, eyes fluttering open again. “We’ve been over this before. I would do it all over again, every time. Every broken bone and sprained ankle and slash in my skin. All of it.” He had scarcely any strength to lift his arm, but he did so anyway, calloused fingertips ghosting her jaw. “Don’t go there,” he repeated hoarsely, briefly pressing his forehead to hers. 

A sheen of tears filled her eyes as she rinsed the cloth and wrung it out, leaning to attend now to a wound on the right side of his chest. “Okay,” she answered simply, gaze meeting his for a brief second before it flickered away again. He knew how much she hated seeing him hurting, but she never let anyone but herself attend to his wounds. Her touch was always so gentle. It was as if she herself could feel his pain with every flinch that gripped his body. 

The hot water might have felt almost soothing against his skin if it weren’t for the burning agony of his injuries. Link clenched his teeth together, hands tucked beneath his thighs on the stool as he rocked slightly back and forth in an attempt to drown out the pain. When he had something important to fulfill or focus on, he was able to ignore it, but right now the temple was silent and there was nothing he could do but sit here and endure it. He forced himself to concentrate instead on the light brushes of Zelda’s fingers against his skin, on her left palm where it rested on his bare shoulder, on the deep breaths that filled and emptied his lungs as she moved from injury to injury. 

Zelda rinsed the cloth again after several minutes, but to little avail; the water in the bucket was already turning crimson, and the cloth itself was tinged red. Brows furrowed at that, she lifted it to his face, which was peppered with cuts and slashes. Cupping his jaw lightly in one hand, Zelda leaned in, dabbing gently at a particularly nasty laceration on his cheekbone, worry flooding her eyes as he flinched yet again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered for perhaps the hundredth time, her breath ghosting his lips. “I’m almost done and then I can bandage it and get you some potions, okay?” 

He nodded mutely, fiercely biting the inside of his cheek to keep from making any sounds of pain as she accidentally scraped the cloth against the wound. He didn’t want her to worry any more than she already was. At least, he told himself, she was close enough to him that he could observe the way her lashes curled, the way her bangs framed her face, the way her eyes were free and endless like the sky. Yet again he wished Fi were here so she could tell him what to do about his feelings, although she would probably just say what she always had– that he should just tell Zelda outright. 

But he couldn’t do that. He might battle horrifying monsters on a daily basis, but telling Zelda he loved her was another thing entirely. 

But, he thought as she moved closer, now would be the perfect time to just lean in and steal the softest of kisses from her lips, but then again, she was cleaning his wounds, almost directly after an outburst from him in which he threatened to essentially disembowel a robot. 

It might not be the best time, after all. 

Link kept his sigh behind his teeth, moving his gaze to the wall behind her before she could catch him staring, although knowing her, he was probably too late. She always caught him staring, unfortunately for him. And she caught him often. 

After what felt like an eternity, Zelda sat back and placed the cloth in the bucket for good, then picked up the roll of bandages. As she tore loose a length of bandage and began to wind it around the gash on his forearm, she shot him a nervous glance, looking as if she wanted to say something but was unsure of how to approach it.

“What is it?” Link asked her finally, after she started to speak and then backpedaled for a third time. 

She started at the question, embarrassment flashing momentarily on her face. “Well, I was…I was wondering about what happened…out there.” Zelda swallowed, shifting in slight discomfort. “The only other time I’ve seen you that angry was when Groose tried asking me on a date right after beating you to a pulp.” 

“Oh.” He should have known. It was pretty obvious someone would ask, sooner or later, and he should have known it would be her, but he was just so tired . He stared at the floor for a long moment, wincing as she knotted the bandage tight, sifting through his thoughts without success. “Um…” He wet his lips, trying to piece the words together. “Well, the simplest way to put it– Scrapper and I have…history.” 

“How so?” She looked up at him, genuinely curious, starting to wrap another strip of bandage around his chest. 

How to say it without calling Scrapper the foulest word known to exist in Skyloftian language– 

“He– I encountered him several times on my quest, and… he was far from polite or civilized or even decent in the simplest terms of the word.” Link huffed, already beginning to feel angry again. “I literally helped him start functioning again, but ever since then, he’s treated me like a child. Like he’s the hero, and I’m some bumbling idiot in his way. I never would have guessed a robot could have that much of an ego.” 

Zelda gave a half-smile, tugging the bandage tight. “I kind of gathered he had a lot of conceit from what he said outside. He kept going on about how he was the real hero of the story and all that.” 

Link rolled his eyes. “Hero, my foot . Once he bragged to me about how he would’ve taken down all these monsters if his hands weren’t full, and then the instant one breathed in his direction, he started wailing about how he hated monsters. He would practically scream at me until I had killed them asking if I was going to take care of them.” He scoffed, brows drawing together in recollection. “That time was pretty bad, actually. Some Bokoblins shot me with arrows once or twice, and then a Moblin knocked me unconscious and at one point I even caught on fire. And that…. danged robot had the nerve to tell me I wasn’t doing enough, that I should do better , after he malfunctioned when a Moblin touched him once.” 

“So… he was always deriding you?” Anger clouded her face. “Acting like you were…small and stupid and weak?” 

“Yeah, uh, pretty much.” Link swallowed, feeling suddenly ashamed. “I know it’s dumb, but I just got so angry seeing him earlier, because I did so much and then he had the audacity to call me a coward.” His throat became tight. “I wanted to rip him apart, gear by gear, right then and there.” 

“I could tell,” Zelda said softly. 

“Which…” He paused, uncomfortable. “That reminds me. Why were you all laughing at what he was saying? You– everyone seemed captivated by it, and you laughed at something in particular, and–” Link’s chest twisted for the second time that evening. “Was it…funny that he was making fun of me? Putting me down? I just…I don’t really understand.” He met her gaze, faint distress in his eyes at the thought that she had been laughing at him. 

Horror filled Zelda’s expression, and the roll of bandages fell from her grasp as she reached to grab his hand. “What? No! We weren’t– I wasn’t laughing at you! I was laughing because of how ridiculous his claims were. He was the hero, and you were just some coward shaking in the shadows? I mean, you vanquished Demise! It was just– utter garbage what he was telling us, and everyone knew it. We all thought it was hilarious because of how stupid it was, but he must have thought we believed him.” She bit her lip, her hand moving to cup his cheek. “I’m sorry you thought we were making fun of you,” she told him softly, pressing her forehead to his. “I would never do that, okay? Ever. I promise.” 

He let his eyes fall shut, leaning forward against her, and then her hands were sliding up behind his neck and his head was moving to rest in the crook of her shoulder. She held him close, her arms wrapped around him tight enough that he knew she didn’t want to let go, but not so tight she was further hurting his injuries. With her chin tucked over the top of his head, Zelda rocked him gently back and forth, humming one of their favorite childhood lullabies, her scent enveloping him like wildflowers. 

Link nestled closer to her, scarcely caring that he was half-clothed with a broken rib, that he probably needed to drink a few potions, that tomorrow everything would hurt like fire. Nothing mattered right now except for her. 

Earlier, he reflected dazedly, he thought his bedroll would feel like the best thing on earth, but he was incorrect. Because nothing compared to being tucked in Zelda’s arms, his head on her shoulder, her heartbeat thumping a bit rapidly under one ear as she held him close. 

Hylia, how he loved her. The only thing he wanted right now more than falling asleep in her arms was to lift his head and steal a thousand kisses from her lips. But instead he stayed still, just breathing her in. 

“I’m sorry….I was stupid outside,” he mumbled into her collarbone, already half-asleep as she combed her fingers through his sweat-stiff hair. 

“Don’t apologize,” she whispered. Was he dreaming already, or did she press a kiss to the top of his head? “You have nothing to be sorry for, and you weren’t stupid. In fact, I’m half tempted to dismantle that robot myself.” 

He grinned sleepily and somehow managed to twine his arms around her waist, pressing even closer. “Just don’t let Gondo see.” A yawn erupted from him, and he allowed the darkness to wash over him, floating him away towards unconsciousness. 

“Link?” 

“Mmmm?” 

There was a long pause, so long he wondered if he had imagined hearing her voice. But then, so faint he could scarcely perceive it, Zelda whispered a response into his hair.  

“I love you, Link.” 

He was so tired he barely registered what she had said, but he had imagined this moment so many times his own response came naturally.

“I love you too…my Zelda.” 

And then he was asleep. 

[haprilona]

A Stranger of Paradise fanfic draft

I wrote this like two years ago and never managed to finish it, but having reread it recently, I figured I might share it if there's any SoP fans starving for fanfics.

It's written from Jed's point of view.

.

The steady hum of complex machinery and the subtle vibrating in the sterile air were both welcome and distressing sensations. They meant everything was working as it should, but at the same time they were constant reminders of what was powering the great underwater structure.

While most Lufenians paid little mind to electricity as long as its supply did not run out, Jed had always been more aware of its presence than most. Due to retaining little more than a handful of vague and fragmented memories from his youth, Jed couldn’t tell where his fear originated from. He had long speculated between a past trauma, a learned response or an experience of long-term stress involving electricity. His imagination would attempt to fill in the blanks while dreaming. Sometimes he would have nightmares of being strapped to a chair and struggling against tight bonds in vain. Electric shocks would cause his muscles to seize up and nerves to explode in pain. And always, just outside of his peripheral vision, there would be the shadow of a Lufenian scientist that he knew was silently monitoring him. And when Jed woke up from such nightmares in the gloaming hours, it was often accompanied by a throbbing migraine and an ache in his jaws from imagined rattling of teeth.

Other times the dreams were less intense, but no less upsetting. Such as being left unsupervised as a toddler and chewing on a live wire. Whatever the origin of his fear might have been, one theme seemed to prevail in his dreams; he was always on his own—abandoned.

When agent Jack Garland invited him to be part of the Stranger program, and to become a Warrior of Light, Jed had jumped at the opportunity. A world in need of heroes, where technology was at its infancy, and machines and electricity practically nonexistent. A paradise, by Jed’s standards.

There was a certain irony in the fact that the man with electrophobia had become as intimate with every nook and cranny of the Sunken Shrine as he was with the back of his hand. Despite not remembering, Jed knew he had spent countless lifetimes and just as many cycles guarding the crystal within as the Fiend of Water.

Breathing in the artificial air, Jed squared his shoulders and took a determined step forward. His footsteps were echoed by clicking of heels a mere step behind him. Having always been led by others—Jack and Ash, mostly—and staying out of the spotlight, Jed felt out of place taking point for a change. He glanced over his shoulder, instinctively expecting Ash to be herding him forward as the Fiend of Earth was wont to do when they moved as a group. Jack at the lead, Neon impatiently pressing on, Sophia following closely and providing sage commentary, himself further back and less eager to throw himself at the unknown while Ash ensured no-one caught them off-guard from behind.

But instead of the tall man’s reassuring frame, he was met with Sophia’s inquisitive grey eyes. Realising he was staring, Jed flashed her a quick, uneasy grin before turning his focus on the glass panels separating them from a shoal of fish passing by overhead. He could tell by the hue of blue that the sun had reached its zenith. While some might have felt uneasy at the thought of being surrounded by tonnes of seawater, Jed found it comforting. He likened it to being wrapped in a warm blanket—or being a chambered nautilus safe inside its shell. It was enough to help him ignore the otherworldly technology and give him a false sense of calm in a certain Stranger’s presence whose mere proximity never failed to make Jed jittery and cause his palms to sweat.

The Fiend of Wind had caught his attention the moment she had introduced herself at the top of the Flying Fortress. Jed couldn’t say for certainty what initially sparked the attraction. It could have been the way she carried herself, not quite like the royalty of Cornelia, yet with a certain grace she must have spent at least a decade perfecting. Unlike Neon who was full of fire and brimstone and moved with the unexpected suddenness of a striking serpent, Sophia was like an albatross gliding elegantly in a fair summer breeze, yet as deadly and terrible as the fiercest cyclone on the field of battle. She fit in easily with the rest of them with her charming wit and insightful wisdom. Even their brusque leader respected her highly, never cutting her off in spite of his notorious impatience and single-mindedness.

It wasn’t until Jed caught himself thinking how lovely Sophia looked with laugh lines that he realised just how bad he had it for the woman. He would crack as many lame jokes as he could just to see her painted lips curve in an amused smile. At first Jed figured his feelings would go away once he came to terms with just how far below her notice and status in terms of age and maturity he truly was. But when the persistent butterflies refused to leave his belly like the Lufenians-turned-bats refused to leave Astos in peace, Jed conceded and opted to brush the matter beneath a figurative rug and hope the others would pay it as little mind as they usually did when his thoughts and feelings were concerned.

He would silently admire the older woman from afar—or specifically, ten steps or so from behind—and long for things he knew would never be. Was Sophia’s hair as silky to the touch as it appeared? Would her painted lips leave a mark if Jed dared to press his own against hers? It was a good thing Jed was light on his feet and had quick reflexes; he had lost count of how many times he had nearly walked into Sophia’s back while zoned out in fantasyland. And if she turned around to give him a curious glance, Jed would suddenly find the sky or the tips of his boots fascinating and demanding his full attention.

In spite of vowing not to let his foolishness distract him from the mission, Jed would always make himself available to Sophia and find excuses to get physically close to her—a small, insignificant stolen touch here and there.

An obstacle on the path? Jed would suddenly become the epitome of a gentleman and help Sophia over it. (If Neon raised a brow and jabbed a finger in his side, demanding to know where her princess treatment was, Jed would lightly jest that he was merely respecting his elders.)

A malboro seedling found in the girls’ tent? Jed would take care of it. (It wasn’t the putrid breath of the adorable bundle of vines that caused him to flush deep red from the neck up, but the sight of Sophia in her smallclothes clinging to Neon at the furthest corner of the tent from where the seedling had made its bed.)

Neon snatching the last fruit from their rations? Jed would take a seat beside Sophia and give his portion to her. It was purely accidental if his thigh happened to press against hers and the tips of his fingers brushed the naked skin of her palm during the exchange. (If Ash found it odd that Jed, who used to shamelessly take the last piece of fruit cake—on the King’s table, no less—suddenly lost his sweet tooth, Jed would shrug and mumble something about losing his appetite after watching Jack soulburst a wolf.)

Sophia receiving a shallow wound during a fight while Jed was practically holding his guts from spilling out? He would still insist Sophia take the last potion. (If Jack called him an idiot, Jed would point out that Sophia was their most talented healer and could patch him up easily enough once her own wounds had been tended to.)

It was all harmless, really, and so routine by now, that none of them questioned it when Jed would go out of his way to please Sophia.

Jack had no time for such nonsense—Princess Sarah could attest as much—and kept his focus solely on the mission. Neon didn’t seem to have much experience or interest in entertaining such thoughts. Ash might have noticed the change in him since their group’s expansion, but most likely mistook Jed’s attentiveness as nothing more than admiration and hero-worship, similar to what he held for Jack.

Whether Sophia ever took notice of the way Jed behaved around her, he couldn’t tell. She was far too smart and far too perceptive not to, yet at the same time too kind and compassionate to put Jed on the spot. While Jack, Ash and even Neon would often make light of his skittishness—especially when his phobia was brought up—Sophia never joined in. She would politely ignore the matter and change the topic to something else. Perhaps Sophia pitied Jed and saw him for what he was; a foolish young man out of his debt.

“A beautiful yet unsettling view.”

Jed winced and stared dumbly at Sophia who had appeared beside him. Painfully long seconds ticked by as Jed internally panicked over the possibility that Sophia could read his face as easily as if it were an open tome.

“The sea”, she clarified.

“Oh.” Jed cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “What’s unsettling about it? It’s really nice with the sunlight glimmering on the surface.”

“Indeed, yet you cannot admire it from elsewhere. Were it not for this facility, it would be the last thing I see before suffocating.” Even if Jed hadn’t seen the quirky smile dancing on the edges of her lips, he would have recognised the glum words for Sophia’s characteristic dark humour. “It is the danger that adds to the beauty.”

“I guess.”

Smooth, Jed. You have such a way with words.

He was rewarded with a faint chuckle for his half-arsed effort. Emboldened by the positive reaction, Jed hurried to add: “The real danger is above the waves.”

Water on its own did not do much. But with the aid of winds, even the mightiest kingdom would fall under the force of a typhoon. Jed rather liked to think he and Sophia fit together nicely when it came to being Fiends and causing elemental havoc. His water and Neon’s fire would only snuff out and evaporate the other. He had more compatibility with Ash’s earth when it came to rotting the soils, but Ash preferred the company of his undead followers during Fiendish duties.

The redhead’s stomach did a somersault when Sophia’s smile widened. “A matter of perspective, then.”

They continued deeper into the Sunken Shrine. The surface of the water crystal had shown strange cracks which Jed didn’t know what to make of. Its light was dim, and given a century or two, it would darken entirely as per Jack’s plan to summon the real Warriors of Light. Jed worried he had done something wrong and brought the matter to his fellow Strangers’ attention. Sophia, being the most knowledgeable in such matters, had agreed to offer her help. On her own. No need to drag the others from their duties until Sophia had given her initial verdict.

It was a rare opportunity. Just the two of them in his domain. And yet Jed couldn’t even think of how to make the most out of it. He was so used to being able to admire the object of his fancy while she was unaware and trudging along in front of him.

“Putting the matter of the crystal’s condition aside, how have you been, Jed?”

Jed nearly lost his grip as they descended the ladder. He paused to glance up at Sophia in surprise and swallowed a curse when her heel crushed his fingers. The pain was enough to erase the upskirt view of the woman’s shapely bottom and legs clad in grey tights from his mind’s eye. “Err… Fine! You know, still coming to grips with the whole ‘ruler of the seas’-part. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.” What hadn’t taken any time getting used to was suddenly having the ability to breathe and see clearly underwater, which was hardly surprising considering one of the memories he retained was his love for swimming and diving. Jed sped up his descent to avoid having more fingers stepped on.

They reached the bottom of the ladders. There were no glass panels here, only concrete walls and metal platforms, dim green and red lighting and giant fans to cool down the machinery running the facility. The fine hair on his arms and neck stood up from the static electricity. Jed resisted the urge to fix his hair, knowing the result would make it look like a red-spined hedgehog. Even Sophia’s heavy locks with curled ends were reacting to it, but she seemed to be entirely unaware of the fact.

“I hear you have numerous followers among the aquatic monsters. I trust they keep you company?”

“Sure.”

The truth was that Jed was starved for human company. The monsters were intelligent enough to hold a conversation, but Jed never felt he could bare his soul to one or expect them to truly understand him. The sahagin went as far as worshipping him as their deity—a fact that caused Jed much unease. It was the Lufenians who wished to play God. He had no interest in such a title or role and was content to let the sea creatures continue on as they always had without his intervention. Sure, if he saw a creature in need, the Kraken would tend to his own and keep his subjects safe from any who dared to threaten them too close to his domain. Most territorial disputes came from between the sahagin and the merfolk who had attempted to reclaim the water crystal.

Sometimes, when the loneliness got unbearable, Jed would swim to the shore as Kraken and take on his human form to walk to a dingy pub in Onrac. He kept a low profile, dressed up as a local fisher and took decade-long pauses between each visit so as not to attract attention. The last thing he wanted was to become a local legend. ‘The man who drank from the fountain of youth’, or better yet, ‘the immortal merman’.

“I guess you’ve got plenty of company, too?”

“Indeed. To the point I sometimes have to shut myself in the Flying Fortress to be able to hear my own thoughts. Sirena has made it her mission to report to me the movements of every human civilisation under the sun down to the most mundane detail. I have been keeping watch on the development of mankind and for signs of Lufenian activity, you see, but Sirena has yet to grasp the concept of priorities.”

Figures Sophia would find a way to make the most out of their new life. Jed admired her for that—among other unnumbered qualities.

“I consider this a welcome holiday to get away from the creatures and reunite with a friend.”

A friend. Warmth settled in the pit of his belly. Jed considered the other Strangers his friends and family, yet it had never been stated so matter-of-factly, let alone out loud. It was one of the many taboos among them. No talking about the past (it was too painful), no heart-to-heart unless it was to motivate each other to press on (they had to stay strong), no talking about Jack’s relationship with Princess Sarah (they couldn’t afford to be selfish), no talking about what will happen to them after the world is saved from Lufenians (they were willing sacrifices for the future of all humanity) and so on and so forth.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like! Plenty of room even for six-headed dragonesses.” Jed grimaced internally at just how pathetic he sounded. He was making a right fool out of himself. Not that that was anything new.

“Gladly, considering the issue with the crystal is unlikely to be solved in a day.” The corners of Sophia’s eyes crinkled and her mouth twisted in a teasing manner. “And I would not object either way. I have missed exchanging thoughts with a fellow human. It is not easy to keep distance, yet had I not, I would not be able to deal with my guilty conscience.”

Jed knew exactly what Sophia meant by it. They all had blood on their hands. The dimming of the crystals had not been achieved without sacrifices. But as Jack kept reminding them, the end justifies the means. Jed was perfectly aware the merfolk were not merely upset over the loss of the water crystal. They needed it. Without its light, they would all eventually turn into seafoam and die. Jed never attempted to get to know the people he mingled amongst in Onrac for the simple reason he might someday kill them, whether directly or indirectly. A fishing boat torn apart when the Kraken emerged, the village attacked by a shoal of angry sahagin who had been driven out of their spawning grounds, a trading ship caught in a storm of his and Sophia’s making. Other villages built on less sturdy foundations had long since fallen beneath the tidal waves Jed raised with the help of Ash’s earthquakes in their early days as Fiends. All in the name of spreading darkness across the lands, to hasten the coming of the true Warriors of Light, and to beat the Lufenians at their own game.