#red valley is now the only thing on my brain

[stiffyck]

While you were hypersleeping...

Okay so I started listening to Red valley and its currently the only thing on my mind 

[thelightintheattic]

Today is a love day

[suhsweet]

the compression shirt conundrum ⟡ kmg

wc: 1017 | pair: bf!mingyu x gn!reader | genre: fluff, slight cringe maybe, suggestive | tags: grey sweatpants and compression shirt, some swearing, reader becomes a zombie for mingyu pp, giggly!mingyu, just teeth rotting cuteness, reader is significantly smaller, mingyu is called a giant, pet names: honey, baby, babe, angel

summary: when mingyu comes home wearing a compression shirt and sweatpants, you no longer have any thoughts in your brain and become a zombie for him

authors note: the day we see mingyu in a compression shirt, god help us all… this is unedited, might be trash lmk

It was a quiet night in. You had a movie on, your place was clean, dishes washed, and your super hot boyfriend was on his way home any minute now with takeaway for dinner.

Mingyu had texted you that he was craving army stew and asked if you wanted anything from your go to restaurant. Sessions at the gym often caused him to develop a massive appetite afterwards.

“Honeyyy, I’m hommeee,” Mingyu’s rang.

“Hey baby— Oh. My. God.“

Your boyfriend looked at you confused. From where he stood, you were gaping at him, and somehow melting into the couch? He swapped his gym shoes for his house slippers and attentatively approached you.

“What’s… What’s going on? I brought food.”

“Who needs food when I’ve got a Mingyu buffet.” Your eyes raked up and down your boyfriend countless times. After such a smooth sailing night, you finally encountered your first problem.

Mingyu was wearing grey sweatpants.

And a black compression shirt.

A while back you told him that you wanted to see him in this combination. You knew he’d be hot as hell, however this was better than you ever expected.

It was just a plain, solid colored long sleeved shirt that was skintight. Every valley and ridge of muscles were clearly defined. You could feel your mouth water.

“Woah, woah, woah! I’ve got food here!” Mingyu whined as you rushed up to him while greedily running your fingers all over his body. You had half the mind to smash your face inbetween his pectorals.

Mingyu escaped your clutches as he headed straight to the kitchen, the hunger in his stomach making itself more apparent by the minute. He was about to pass out from starvation. His Hoshi-hyung really put him and the boys to work.

You were right behind him, following him around the kitchen as he went to plate up the food for the two of you. Your gaze never left his body. Was hypnosis by Underarmour clothing a thing? You were about to climb this man like a tree.

“B-b-baby?” He stuttered, looking at you with concern. You looked like a zombie.

You appeared to be a perfectly alive and healthy human. However, Mingyu observed your raised arms, reaching for him; and noted that you didn’t appear to have any thoughts in your head. All that was needed left was for you to moan ‘brains’ repeatedly.

“Must… Suck dick,” you said in a deep gravelly tone, putting on your best zombie impression. “Must… Suck dick.”

Mingyu let out a squawk of laughter as he backed away from you. His ears bloomed red. His toothy grin almost had you breaking character, but no! You were dedicated.

“I’m flattered that you think I look good, but an ‘omigosh babe, you look really hot’ would be just fine. This is… Wild.” Mingyu was slowly exiting the kitchen, and you were following him with slow steps.

He didn’t expect the clothes to have this much of an effect on you.

Was this what it was like to be you when you wore lingerie?

“No thought in brain, only Mingyu. Mingyuuu,” you chanted.

Mingyu managed to dodge a swipe you made at him. “Who are you? Where’s my angel gone? Give her back to me!”

“Right here, just give me them babies,” you replied with your zombie voice. Mingyu giggled.

He took a step backwards, and then another. You copied him but at a slower pace. With a final step backwards, Mingyu spun on his heel and dashed around the corner and into the hallway.

He dived into one of the rooms before you could even take another step. He had disappeared in an instant.

You wanted to laugh. With how small your apartment was, it was a proven fact that it would be impossible for him to successfully hide.

You ‘became’ your human self again and strolled towards the general direction your lover ran.

“Oh Mingyu… Come out, come out, wherever you are…”

Mingyu cupped his face with his hands, reducing any chances of you hearing him breathe. He couldn’t laugh, but you made him giddy like a child. He was a grown man playing and seek after all.

All that could be heard in the house was the movie that was still playing on the TV, and the light scuffs of your house slippers against the floor.

You finally reached the bedroom you shared with Mingyu at the end of the hallway. Little did you know, he was hiding behind the door. Not hiding, but ready to attack.

You pouted, looking around. “Baby? I’m not a zombie anymore. Just horny.”

As soon as you made it all the way into the room, the door slammed behind you. Your breath was stolen when a giant shadow grabbed you and pulled you onto the bed.

You found yourself on your back, caged in by Mingyu. He had a hand on either side of your head on the mattress, and a knee on the edge of it between your legs.

“It’s just a pair of pants and a shirt,” Mingyu murmured as he bent his head to kiss your cheek.

His nose traced patterns on your face, heading down towards your neck to take in your familiar scent. He loved when you wore this fragrance.

“Just a pair of pants and a shirt?!” You parroted in offence. You threw your arms around his neck. “It is more than that. It is the masculine version of lacey lingerie! It is the sexiest, sluttiest outfit you could put on. You look sexy as fuck!”

Mingyu blushed at your words with a very, very shy smile on his face. He knew that he was attractive, but to have you enthusiastically praise his appearance made him proud of the effort he put in at the gym. Your opinion of him mattered most.

He kissed your head. “Thank you baby.”

“Kim Mingyu, if you don’t lay on this bed and let me worship your body I swear on your dog’s life…”

“Not if I worship you first. Who told you these fluffy shorts are my weakness?”

[dragongirl642]

The eyes are the windows to the soul (part 4 - final)

Masterlist

First < > Previous < > Last

It's the final part!!!!

I know it's been a while but I've been working on lots of things at the moment.

Be warned, this is a long post, you may want to get some tea and a snack before you strap in for the ride.

Trigger Warnings: Body horror, gore, stalking, yandere (ish) behavior.

-----------------Start------------------

All goes still and, if not for the gash on their forehead leaking red and the blood drenching their clothes, Not-Cameron looks exactly as they did when they left you earlier today.

Except for their eyes. Glowing silver and devouring black, staring at you with an unreadable emotion.

You don't move. While your brain tries to process what your seeing, fear and a tinge of confusion keep you rooted to the spot.

Not-Cameron stares.

Heavy silence blankets the hallway.

Not-Cameron remains crouched beside the body of your now-dead ex-boyfriend. Pupils dilating and shrinking, dilating and shrinking. Hands digging streaks into the carpet.

They don't look like they're going to move any time soon, so you take the opportunity to focus on the shaking in your limbs and the pounding of your heart.

You take one deep breath, slowly in, slowly out. Followed by another. And then another.

You count to 10 in your head.

Your heart starts to become less noisy. Your hands slowly unclench. The shaking slows.

Waiting.

After what feels like an age, Not-Cameron suddenly shifts. A whine bubbles up from their throat.

"I just wanted...why? Was it too much to ask." Their voice suddenly drops and distorts, the sound vibrates right down your spine.

Not-Cameron twitches, one still slightly-clawed hand reaching forward as they crawl a step torwards you. "______" Your name comes out in a distorted growl. "I thought this would work."

Another step closer.

"So many failures. So many faces. Why!? Why was his the only face you wanted."

You can't help shuffling a little back down the hallway. Your body reacting with natural fear to the uncanny valley effect sweeping over you from how their blank expression contradicts the distorted distress in their voice.

"I just wanted to love you. Now it's ruined." They appear to be spiraling, their hands have definitely sprung claws again.

It is with herculean effort that you stop your shuffle backwards and instead lean forward, speaking in an even calm tone. "Not-Cameron."

They freeze.

"That's what i've been calling you in my head." You take a shuddering breath, forcing yourself to meet their predatory gaze with your own. "Since you first arrived, seven months ago. I knew you weren't Cameron."

A deep vibration begins to echo in the hallway, one you recognise as a growl. Not-Cameron's face begins to twist into a grimace.

"I didn't care."

The sound stops as their eyes widen, impossibly. You can visibly see all their muscles tense under their skin.

You slowly raise a hand, bracing against the wall to stand. Their gaze follows you up. "I..." You clear your throat, fighting the dull pain from the bruises you can feel. "I liked you more than Cameron."

You take one step forward. "I liked talking with you."

Another step. "I felt safer."

You're stood right in-front of them. "I'm not afraid of you."

"You lie!"

Your fight your body's urge to flinch when they suddenly stand. Their hands come up, the tips of their claws resting just besides your face.

"You. Are. Scared. Of. Me"

You keep your feet rooted to the spot. Focusing on the tears at the corner of their eyes to distract you from the fear bubbling behind your teeth.

A human trait, you think, to cry when overwhelmed rather than just for pain.

If the distortion in their voice is indicator enough to you that their emotional state is currently too much for them to handle.

A memory rises in your mind, unbidden. A memory of Not-Cameron comforting you when you were overwhelmed.

Not long after they arrived. Your mind was beginning to buckle under the stress and you would find yourself crying alone in the bathroom or stiffling a scream while in the middle of cooking. Eventually you found yourself crying along in your bedroom, bundled up beneath the covers, trying to muffle your sobs with a pillow. Not-Cameron found you like that, red-eyed and snotty-nosed.

They had silently sat with you, gently rubbing your back and talking about anything and everything until you calmed. They asked what you needed, ran you a bath, made you food. Reassurences and affirmations tumbled from their lips like water. They gave you space, asked before approaching you for anything, gave you anything you asked for.

Eventually, you started to feel like you wanted something certain to combat all the fear and uncertainty. So you asked for routine, for surety. And they provided. Slowly, you started to feel better. Started to feel less scared and uncertain. Started to feel safe.

Even slower than when you stood, you bring your hands up. "If I was scared." You wrap your hands around the back of their fingers. "Would I do this." You turn your head, gently manouevering their hands so you don't catch a claw to the eye and lean towards them, placing a gentle kiss to their palm.

You taste iron, internally cringing at the knowledge that his hands are still covered in the blood of Cameron. But the digust you feel at the wet sensation on your face cannot overshadow the relief you feel as their claws retract. You aren't dying today.

Tears are now freely flowing down Not-Cameron's face. "I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry." They choke out the words in between sobs, dropping to their knees and burying their face in your shirt. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. He hurt you. I'm sorry."

The distorted growl in their voice sends a jolt through you, but the broken choking sound that follows after dispells all your fear.

You bury your hands in their hair. "It's okay, sweetie. It's alright."

Not-Cameron lets out a broken whimpers at the pet-name. Turning their watery gaze up to yours. "I'm sorry. I lied to you."

They look completely normal now. If not for the blood and the mangled corpse lying not three feet away, you would have found this position suggestive.

Suddenly Not-Cameron pulls away.

"Oh no." Their hands hover over your shirt and sides, not quite touching. "I got blood on you. I'm sorry. I'll clean it. I'll clean it all."

Their distress tugs at your heart, and you drop to your knees. "Look, it's..." You sigh. Gently resting your hands on their shoulders, thumbs rubbing circles on their collar bone. "I won't say it's okay. But I will say we can work this out...I think."

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

You physically jump at the sound of the smoke alarm.

"The cake," you whisper. A hysterical laugh bubbles up in your throat. "I forgot the cake."

Not-Cameron's bones audibly crack as they suddenly racket up to stand again. They gently push on your shoulders, directing you to turn. "I'll fix it."

Once you start walking towards the stairs, away from Cameron's corpse, a feeling of cold brushes over your shoulder. Suddenly, their image at the side suddenly seems to blur forward and you glance sideways to see no-one there.

The loud clatter of a pan on the worktop downstairs prompts you to quicken your pace. The smell of smoke and the grey haze in the air calls you to go faster.

The kitchen window is open. Not-Cameron is waving a tea-towel around to dispell the smoke. The charred remains of your cake sit in the pan on the side.

Another little laugh hiccups out of you. The domesticity of the sight jarrs against the shocking turn you just experienced upstairs.

You stagger forward. The cake is scrapped out into the food bin, and the pan deposited in the sink to soak. You take the opportunity to run your hands under the hot water. Scrubbing at the red staining your skin until the water runs thick with it.

Not-Cameron joins you, slowly siddling up to your side. Soap is dispensed and red foam swirls. After a few moments of harsh scrubbing your hands are looking cleaner than before, but you can't see it.

The red still fills your vision.

You keep scrubbing. Hands rubbing together again and again.

The warmth of Not-Cameron at your side is both a comfortable reminder of domestic normalcy and sets your teeth on edge.

The water runs clear but you still see red.

You grab the sponge. Drawing it over your skin like you want to scrub the flesh from bone. You think you hear something but all the sounds have gone muffled.

The image of Cameron's eyes staring at nothing in your mind, and yet somehow they glare at you accusingly in your memory. Scrub harder. Wash it away.

"_____ Stop!"

The sound of your name startles you and snaps your vision back into focus. Not-Cameron's face fills yours, concern evident in the turn of their lip and the frown pulling at their eyes. The sponge is ripped from your hands and something thick and viscous suddenly engulfs them. You go to look down but one of their hands suddenly catches your chin, stopping you from looking down.

"Look at me. Breathe." Their silver eyes hold your gaze captive. The squishy substance holding your hands hostage drags your arms up, pressing your palms to Not-Cameron's chest. Their heartbeat is steady...and strong, almost like it's beating right up against your palm.

Your mind zeros in on the steady thump-thump of their heart. Like the pitter-patter of rain, or the steady beat of footsteps on a cobbled road. The calming effect is powerful.

You take one shuddering breath after another.

"There you go, love. Breathe." Not-Cameron's voice surrounds you with its lilting, soothing undertones. A sound you had grown to like over the past seven months.

You feel the squishy substance coating your hands retract and change, until you feel the familiar weight of Not-Cameron's hand on the back of your palms.

"Come on. Come take a seat." Step by step. Beat by beat. They lead you through the doorway to the living room.

You're gently lowered to sit on the couch.

Your eyes zero in on the wet stain on the furthest cushion. Cameron's face starting to fade back into your consciousness.

There expression drops, glancing between you and the stain. A feral snarl rips through Not-Cameron as they fling the wet cushion away. Lowering themselves to kneel in the space left behind.

Their hands don't leave yours, thumb rubbing back and forth over the back of your left hand. The gentle pressure serves to keep you grounded; brings you back to the present.

"It's over. You're safe. Nothing else will happen to you, I promise."

The words combine with the pressure on your hand to form a powerful spell, banishing the images of blood and death to the back of your mind to be dealt with later in the quiet of night by your subconscious.

You only register the fact that you were shaking once it stops...and Not-Cameron releases your hand. Withdrawing just slightly, giving you space. They turn their body to sit in a more relaxed stance, staring blankly at the dark TV screen.

They hold out a cup to you, and you take it. You don't ask how they suddenly produce a full cup of your favourite drink from the empty space behind them; either they have more hands (or aproximate) than you know or they can levitate objects and you don't know which would be weirder and how much more weird you can handle right now.

"Thank you." You don't know if your whispered thanks are to thank them for helping you calm down, for the drink, or for stopping Cameron from suffocating you upstairs. A little bit of both you surmise.

The sound of a purr starts and then stops just as quick. Even though Not-Cameron has turned to the side, you can see their jaw shift as they clench their teeth. "I'm sorry. You need normal right now."

You almost jolt at how serious they sound.

"More normal than me."

You ponder those words.

The solid weight to them. The sadness. The regret. The bitter twinge of jealousy. The quiet easy-to-miss upward-lilt of a question.

Like coins, you count up your memories with them; the scary and unnerving are outweighed by the happy and comforting. But the most recent coin is tarnished and in need of polishing, before it can be added to the wallet and put away in your pocket.

"Upstairs. When you..." You trail off.

"Killed him." Not-Cameron finishes for you.

You take a sip to clear your throat before resting the cup on one thigh, wrapping your hands around the ceramic and focusing on the temperature to keep your grounded state. "Were you going to hurt me." The word "hurt" almost sticks in your throat.

Not-Cameron turns like they've been electrocuted. Their hands reach out for you but hover just short. "No. Never. Never hurt you." Their voice distorts again, a tinge of black creeping in around their eyes, but this time it doesn't fill you with a feeling of dread.

Their head bows forward, shoulders hunching inward. Shame overtaking their features. "I...I'm sorry. I thought if I scared you..." They blink rapidly. Hands shaking as they pull back. "I didn't want to..." It's their turn to take a steadying breath. "I don't want to lose you now."

"Okay. Listen to me." You put your drink on the coffee table and turn to Not-Cameron, shuffling closer until you knee almost touches theirs. You gently reach out for their shoulder, lightly brushing the flannel. "These past few months, have been like a dream. I've felt safe and happy and I finally know what it's like to love someone who loves me back just as much. But I have to know..."

Not-Cameron turns to face you again. The black has vanished from the whites of their eyes. Their posture is tense, like their set to run.

"...Why did you replace Cameron."

At your words they somehow tense up even more. Not-Cameron's gaze twists and for a split second you think they're gonna burst into tears again. But then suddenly their face relaxes, all expression dissapearing. "You didn't want anyone else."

"What do you mean?" You question.

"I tried. Before, I mean. I talked to you. Tried to get close." The skin of their face ripples and for a few seconds it's like a slideshow of multiple different faces appearing and dissapearing.

You even recognise some of them; a bus driver, a homeless man, a child who sat one table over at your local cafe who you spoke to for a while while they were waiting for their mother to come back from the shop next door, a guy who stood to give you their seat on the train.

They continue talking even as their face shifts. "So many faces. I learned so much. But every time I tried, I couldn't get closer. You didn't want any of them. You chose him." Their face settles back into the visage you've grown used to seeing over the past seven months. "So I used his face."

"What do you mean you tried?"

Their face changes again, until you're looking at the cute stranger you'd met in a bar three weeks before you started dating Cameron. They speak with a drawling twang, a voice you haven't heard in months. "Well, then beautiful. Could I buy you a drink."

Their face changes again, becoming the stranger who'd lent you an umbrella last year. Speaking in a higher smooth voice. "Take it. I'd feel bad if you caught a chill."

You'd forgotten about those encounters until right this moment. You remember the feeling of 'something's wrong' that had struck you during them.

Their face starts to change again and you snap. "Okay, stop!"

The shifting immediately settles back into Cameron's face.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You blindly reach out, searching. When you find their hand you feel them pull back slightly before accepting the hand hold. You focus on the warmth of their hand in yours and quickly pull up your memories of cuddling on the couch and movie nights with popcorn. Once the beating of your heart has settled to a steady rhythm again, you open your eyes, meeting Not-Cameron's blank gaze with your own. "So, you became Cameron."

They nod.

"But...what I don't understand is...how did you know everything he knew."

They pull their hand out of yours, sighing before they speak. "I needed to ea-needed to keep him alive until I knew everything." Their voice cracks slightly when they correct themself. Their hand comes up to lightly brush the edge of your neck. "But you were hurt because he got out. I was too complacent."

"So you were taking his memories."

Another nod.

"He...the body upstairs. Um...will you forget, or..."

"No. i'll remember...." a sincere expression suddenly floods over their face like a wave "...and I'll take care of it. I promise."

The air grows heavy as a silence falls over you.

You sense no hostility in them but you find the silence uncomfortable.

A promise has been obtained that the immediate problem of the dead body lying in your upstairs hallway is not going to be a problem bringing police to your door and leading to a lifetime in jail.

And yet, an uncertain future hangs over your head, and the urge to set something in stone burns in your chest.

"I want you to stay." / "I promise I...."

You speak at the same time.

Not-Cameron's mouth snaps shut mid-sentence at your words.

You wait to see if they'll finish their sentence, but they seem to have frozen again like they did upstairs.

So, you continue. "I mean. Everyone would be suspicious if Cameron stopped going to work and, the neighbours love you, and as I said before...I think I might have...maybe...I love you."

Their breath hitches at the word love, but you continue.

"And well...the real Cameron can't ever come back so, it would make sense for you to stay and I would appreciate it if you would keep pretending to be him and..." You trail off.

There's something heartbreaking about the crestfallen expression making it's way onto Not-Cameron's face. He twitches each time you say the name Cameron, even as he nods along in agreement.

You switch track. "What is your name?"

"What?" Not-Cameron jolts, expression wiped clean for a second and pupils dilating.

"i can't keep calling you Not-Cameron. I want to know your name." You speak slowly to ensure the emphasis is clear. Keeping their eyes locked with yours.

For a few seconds, their pupils grow and shrink rapidly, like a blinker light. After a moment, they settle again and expression returns to their face. Their expression is reminiscent of a soldier, stealing themselves to face the firing squad. "Alright, love." They shuffle in their seat before suddenly holding out their hand to you again.

You take it.

"My name...my real name...is Dieter." Their voice distorts midway, becoming deeper and husky, like tv static given voice. "It was given to me. To be my own."

You repeat it. Testing the feel and flavour of their name in your mouth. You decide you like it, and say it again.

A lovestruck grin begins to spread across Dieter's face. Their teeth are slightly sharper than normal and their pupils turn into literal hearts, which they quickly blink away.

You grab their cheeks, lightly pulling their face towards yours.

Dieter follows like a sunflower seeking light, willingly shifting forward to kneel on the couch. Arms braced either side of you to not fall forward and crush you beneath them.

"If we're gonna make this work. Don't hide that."

"Hide what?"

"The hearts, they're cute."

With a single blink, the hearts return. "Okay," they breath. "Need anything else."

You take a deep breath and let go of their face. Warmth burns the corners of your eyes and tears begin to spill.

Your body has finally begun to register the finality of it all. Relief and the backflow of your emotions are all spilling from your eyes.

A distressed expression flickers across Dieter's face as you shuffle yourself back, leaning into the cushions.

"I need a hug or I'm gonna cry. Please."

It's a lie. Well the part about needing a hug is true, but the tears were going to fall regardless of whether you recieve the physical comfort immediately or not.

Dieter complies without hesitation, regardless of the truth to your ultimatem. Immediately following you into the corner of the couch and wrapping their arms under you. They turn, lifting you and settling you on their lap with startling ease.

You cling to them like they'll dissapear any moment. Burying your face in the crook of their neck and fighting the urge to scream out your emotions.

One arm coils around your legs while the other wraps around your back. A large hand cradles the back of your head, gently massaging your skull in a soothing motion.

A familiar humming vibration starts and stops again.

"I like the...the purring...t...too." You barely choke out the words against their neck through your muted sobs.

The vibration starts up again. The purr could put any motorcyle engine to shame. The sound is damn near ethereal, like sitting in an echo chamber filled with singing bowls playing healing vibrations; a feeling like liquid gold seeps through your battered frame.

"I love you. I will make it right. I promise." Dieter's voice switches between the familiar tones of Cameron and the deeper pitch they've revealed to be their real voice, but both carry the same weight of adoration.

Exhaustion rears its head and your eyelids grow heavy.

"You can sleep, meine liebe. Everything will be fixed when you wake."

The sobs wracking your body begin to lose their edge as darkness creeps into the edge of your vision. Dieter shifts, their body somehow becoming softer. The pull of sleep becomes too powerful to fight.

You begin to drift, cradled in warmth and soothing vibration.

Your last thought before darkness envelops you fully surpises you. The spark of your subconscious is as brilliant as a star in the void of the dreaming abyss.

How wonderful it is to be loved.

----------------------- End------------------

First < > Previous < > Last

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

SHANE MY BELOVED anyways gonna request based on an oc that i made/an ai chatbot chat that i did recently. selectively mute reader with shane, and how their relationship evolves? strangers to lovers probs. hcs or oneshot/drabble :3 -galaxy

WAHOOO

I got 5 hearts with him as we speak so this is perfect timing <3

......

Settling into Stardew Valley was certainly going to be a challenge, especially with the new life you wanted to build here..and of course that entails meeting new people.

For most of your life, you've been selectively mute, only ever using your voice if you absolutely have to.

You never used it much at your previous office job, but it was still quite soulless and didn't make you feel good.

Even so, Lewis doesn't think you should stay a stranger and insists you introduce yourself to folks in Pelican Town.

You couldn't ignore the letters stuffed into your mailbox forever..so you finally headed into town.

While some villagers regarded you as "quiet", many of them chalked it up to you being new and welcomed you anyways.

Although Shane is indifferent and annoyed--as he is to most strangers.

You accidentally bumped into him, and he thinks you're rude for not saying "sorry".

Your brain sorta panics as you sign the words...but from the way he stares at you, you realize he doesn't understand what you're saying.

By the time you get out your notepad, he's long gone, mumbling about being late to his shift.

Since then, you try being polite and wave to him anytime you see him in the street or at the saloon..but he just wonders why you're bothering him.

One thing he kept noticing at the bar was that you always gave your order to Gus on your notepad, and he starts thinking there is a reason you can't talk and you weren't just being a dick specifically to him that day.

Still, he doesn't ask you. You're probably gonna stop trying to befriend him sooner or later. So why should he care?

One day, you approach Shane while he's working at JojaMart and asked him where a certain food ingredient was, pointing to your shopping list..and you see that irritable look in his eye again.

He had customers mixing up things on the shelves and snapping at him for things outside his control--and you caught him on a rather bad day.

He says nothing and just points further down the isle, but you just smile and mouth "thank you", signing the words before continuing on.

Poor guy goes red, convinced you blew a kiss at him just now...and it's all he could think about for the rest of his shift.

The very next day, you show up at Marnie's place with a fresh pizza, asking if Shane was home.

He gets flustered as HELL when he realizes you were at the mart buying ingredients to make one of his favorite foods...and he acted like a total jackass.

You left a note inside the container, which basically tells him you're selectively mute and realized your farm was just down the road from his aunt's ranch.

After reading it, he awkwardly apologizes and asks for a fresh start, to which you just smile and nod.

Jas, at this point, can see he's got a crush on you.

After that was cleared up, you two become friends and hangout together at the saloon often or share a beer on the dock.

You don't talk, but tbh Shane appreciates the silence between you two. He didn't have to force conversation, and neither did you.

Although that also enables him to vent to you about how downtrodden and repetitive his life feels, with you simply listening and accompanying him home.

It doesn't change the fact he felt like a burden to everyone, and one night you found him on the cliffside, his face covered in mud and tears, ready to give up on the world.

In his drunken haze, he forgot you were mute and wants you to tell him why he shouldn't do it..

"No wait..I..forgot you can't-"

"Shane..I'm here for you." Your voice comes out low, hoarse, and a little shaky, but he stopped sobbing the moment he heard it..and he stares up at you in shock.

"S-So..you do speak.." He mumbles. "You sound....like--like an angel...fuck..maybe they do exist. So you'll...be here for me no matter what? Even if I did something stupid...?"

You simply nod, and that makes him change his mind.

He just can't believe that out of all the people in this town, you chose to open up to him--some sad sack of shit who was about to jump off the cliff--and decide he should be the one to hear your voice first.

You actually wanted him around. And you never hated him despite all the times he was rude to you..

After he nearly vomits all over your shoes, you take him to the hospital, knowing he needed Harvey's intervention, and since then you've been supportive of his recovery journey.

He only remembers bits and pieces from that night..although the one thing he couldn't forget was hearing your voice.

It was probably so difficult for you to find it again, and he appreciates you talking him down, even if you had to close up and go totally silent for the next few days or so.

If you ever go into why you became selectively mute, Shane will do his absolute best to understand (and maybe get a little overprotective in the process if someone makes fun of you for it).

But if not, he'll still defend you regardless.

You teach him a few general phrases in sign language, which he tries to grasp and eventually gets the hang of.

At some point down the line..he asks you out on a festival date after much pressure from Jas and Marnie, and you were so excited you nearly yelled out "YES"-

But instead managed to nod happily, taking his hand and dragging him towards the celebration without a second thought.

Soon that little date turns into a genuine relationship, with Shane eventually moving onto your farm to help you care for the crops and animals, switching to alternatives to beer and promising to cut back on the hours he spends at the saloon.

Some days you'll be away mining, fishing, slaying monsters, or helping the Junimos rebuild the community center, but other times you'll stay inside and just cuddle with him, your pet, and the chickens.

He was muddling over why you chose him (a lot of self doubt still festers inside of him), and you spoke to him again--this time to his sober-self.

That was "because I love you".

And yes...he did cry.

[izvmimi]

cw: potions mishap. as usual all my writing puts night raven college in a genuine College setting. preview to probably what will be a longer fic. minors dni.

"you realize this is akin to poisoning, right?"

despite the fact that you mean to be harsh - desperately so - your voice comes out tinged with a different kind of desperation and you can feel that familiar feeling of lust balloon in your chest, but it's different, painful to the point of bursting, and you double over, hoping that perhaps positioning your body to look at nothing but your own two feet will help.

it doesn't.

"not akin," vil starts, his own pale face flushed. "far worse."

you know that he's right.

"we're fools," you lament through your clenched teeth. your voice is as low as a whisper even though the laboratory is empty, but the intense sensation of shame you can feel from the tips of your fingers to the tips of your toes to the very vertex of your scalp only mirrors the lust you feel right now. thank goodness it's not for the man next to you, but for a different man -

or fae.

vil shakes his head, but he's still red, breathing heavily, his brain too flustered to come up with something intelligent to retort. the vials of would be hate potion are strewn across the lab bench, as the test mice in the corner of the room continue to chirp and squeak loudly, doing exactly what you want to do to diasomnia's housewarden right now, if you were to see him before the effects of this presumed passion potion wore off -

fuck endlessly.

"i cannot believe you made me trust you."

"will you just shut it? YOU worked on half of this potion's design!" vil insists.

"because i didn't think you would drop the ball so heinously!" you protest. part of your voice comes out in an uncharacteristic whine and your legs tremble. the two of you link eyes, and both of you know that the longer you stay here, the more ridiculous things will end up. the mice continue to contort and writhe together. you can't stop thinking about malleus' grin, or his height, or the size of his hands, or what he may look like underneath, or-

"i'm leaving," vil announces.

too afraid to sit in this ruined potions chamber alone you follow him, weak and breathing heavily with only one thing on your mind.

malleus. malleus draconia. malleus draconia of briar valley. malleus who says your name in a low voice as though he's forbidden to say it out loud. malleus who smiles at you even when you look stupid, even when you tell him to stop following you like a shadow.

malleus. malleus. malleus.

"vil, where are you going?"

you already know where he's going. pomefiore. to find them.

maybe you should find the object of your desire as well, but that would defeat the very purpose of this whole debacle anyway.

he'd laugh... but then he'd indulge you.

and that still remains your greatest fear.

[inkblot-inc]

The Bigger Picture

Summary: See what happens when you undermine your boss AKA the one who's paying your bills...

Pairing: ???Wanda Maximoff x Hyena!Mutant!Reader

[S.S AU Masterlist]

Warning(s): This is an 18+ AU so MINORS DNI. Also Dark Themes in general. There's smut in the first half of this one: strap-on usage (r giving) oral sex (Wanda recieving). There's some pretty crass language as per usual on my end, I can’t think of much else but let me know.

Note(s): I present another the start of another AU, ladies and gentlefriends! Where did it come from? The deep reaches of my MIND not all that deep really, I just can't stop my brain from scratching like an addict- but it's pretty decent for fall/spoopy season I think. I hope y'all enjoy :3

Word Count: Just a bit shy of 2.1k

*squints* I give NO ONE permission to repost or translate my work. Make your own shit!

You remember seeing the world through younger eyes. The scene around you is blurry and out of focus with only the barest hint of awareness of tears running down your face. The only thing you can make out is a man’s back, his imposing stature, his cropped hair, and how his figure seems to get smaller and smaller as he walks away from you. His apathy is the clearest; his steps never falter, not does her look back at you. You feel like an outside viewer as you watch a hand, your hand, continue to reach for him. You fight in another person’s grip as you're being dragged away.

“Baba please! Help me, I don’t wanna go!”

The lack of response through the high winds only made your yelling feel louder before your vision was then blocked by a hood over your face. Even if you couldn’t identify with the anguish anymore it still hissed at your nerves, grasping and pulling at you like a desperate whore for your attention…

The continued thump, thump, thumping sound throughout the room brought you back into the moment as you continued pounding the woman beneath you into the velvety couch cushions beneath. The woman’s wavy red hair splayed out and her nails digging into your shoulders as she let her moans fall from her mouth in an unending stream.

She gave a shout as she hit her orgasm and you watched her green eyes glaze over as she gave you a hazy smile, you returned a smaller one of your own. One of her hands slid up your chest to caress your throat, fingers running over the scarring coating the entirety of it.

Her eyes scanned yours in open concern. “Is everything okay? Where did you go just now?”

You merely squinted, “old-times...’s still loud.” Your voice came out gravely and with a creek.

With your thumb caressing her waist, you leaned back to sit upright before using a hand to move her half-unbuttoned blouse further down her arms. With more of the redhead's skin exposed and your head still swimming, you went back in to leave kisses ranging from her neck, down to her collarbone, and even further to the valley of her breasts. You felt the woman's hand take the back of your neck to have you take one of the mounds in your mouth.

The hand you had resting on the woman's waist moved to squeeze her thigh while you eased your strap out of her with a few more slow strokes. You released her flushed nipple with a small plop, your saliva slightly glistening in the light of the office space before you slid off of the couch to the floor.

Getting to a kneel, you keep your gaze on the eyes of the woman in front of you while reaching down by her ankles and fully removing her already ruined panties.

A glint sparks in your eyes as you stare at her still dripping pussy. You lick a stripe up her entrance before lightly sucking on her clit, causing the woman above you to jolt with a gasp.

The woman watches you go back to eating her out with a small crackling chuckle. "You love this, don't you?"

You only look up to meet her eyes, your mouth still working on her. You blink slowly before doubling your efforts on her pussy.

Her head falls back as she continues to buck into your mouth. "Yesyesyes, hah, just like that baby," She isn't especially loud, but the pleading laced in her voice is what drives you to your own brink.

You sink into the moans that come from her lips, soon turning into breathless whimpers as she brings your head impossibly closer to her heat. As ribbons of red made their way into your ears, you let her fog invade your mind and take over.

Everything else melted away into oblivion. You were older now as you watched the tattered dirt path become peaceful grasses, the people became well-rooted trees in full bloom. Armored cars and loaded rifles dissipated into mere accents of a pleasant scene. And at the center of it all, was the same woman as now. her velvet greens staring back at you with a warmth that could make the Niganda sun seem cold.

The redhead's grip tightened in your hair as her movements became more erratic against your face. You brought a hand up to play with her clit and work to bring her over the edge again.

Things were much simpler this way. No confusing flashes of people you don’t remember, no random jolts of phantom pain. You were sure to live in the moment, and your most recent memories didn’t hurt you to think about and when the details became fuzzy you almost missed them.

Your head rested on her inner thigh after you helped her ride out her high. Her finger rubbed just beneath your eye as your eyes locked, reveling in each other. "There you are, right here with me."

And it was all because of her. Wanda.

Wanda held your chin in her hand before she swiped her thumb over your bottom lip and tasted herself. Even with a fresh afterglow setting in, the fire in her eyes never abated. Wanda's power was always there.

That same energy that let her linger in your mind and relieve you of that lost momentum and gave you stability to latch for. You’d do anything to keep that. You’d do anything to keep Wanda.

As you helped her get her panties and skirt back on and make sure the back of her skirt was the front again, your mind was calm at a gentle hum, distant screams of the past going ignored as you helped fix up the couch of her associate’s office.

----------

Wanda’s mood had noticeably soured since you’d had your fill of each other. Her face had become a mask of neutrality with traces of agitation she just couldn’t seem to remove as she flipped through the papers settled on the desk. It was less decorated than her own; she’d hardly spared a glance at the few picture frames placed on top of the hardwood either. She didn’t want to see more than she’d had to for the day.

Standing up from the leather couch settled on the side of the room, you wandered around the rather plain space aimlessly, looking at the fully stacked bookshelves, more than half the titles going over your head with disinterest. Settling by where Wanda was seated, you faced the door as you heard incoming noise before the doorknob could even jostle.

Murky blue eyes startled as he caught sight of the two of you in his office. The older man wheeled himself further into his office before having the door shut behind him. Your eyes stayed on him, unwavering. “Wanda, to what do I owe this unexpected visit? I was called out of a very important-”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Better yet, who do you think you are, Xavier?” Wanda wasn’t interested in wasting time with false pleasantries.

“What exactly are you referring to, Wanda? I’ve done nothing but do as you’ve asked.” Wanda carefully kept her face blank as she observed the bald man.

“Keeping a wire on not only my vehicles, but my associates’ as well. Getting your grunts to try and tap my phone calls. They’ve gotten especially sloppy within the past few weeks, by the way. You should talk with Scott about that. All this to gain the favor of one Mr. William Stryker,” She placed the photos one of her skulkers took from their meeting a few nights ago on the table.

“Is that exact enough for you, Charles?”

You watch the man’s shoulders tense, a crease forming in his brow. You can clearly smell his nerves building while Wanda is still deathly calm. Her hands stay steepled in front of her face by her mouth, her eyes squint every now and then as she continues to observe the man.

“I've only given false information I assure you-”

“I know it is, because I basically spoon fed it to you and your men. You know nothing I don't want you to EVEN with you haphazardly bugging my house. Now, what I want to know is how you didn’t think I’d catch on. Do you think I’m stupid, Charles?” There is a noticeable edge in her voice now and the hairs on the back of your neck began to bristle, reacting to her aggravation.

Charles spoke up quickly “It was a part of the plan to have eyes in higher places, for the sake of all mutants, Wanda!”

The accent of her voice grew thick as her tone dropped lower. “Do not try to insult my intelligence, old man. You’ve done things here and there to try and undermine my headship when you think I won’t notice, but you will not pull this. Stryker is a sad little leech who wants to eliminate us all and has no qualms about being vocal about it. You want to try and make nice, fondle the balls of a man who wouldn’t bat an eye to exterminate mutants? You simply won’t be classified among us.”

As Wanda spoke those last few words, you watched as a familiar red aura surrounded Charles, her eyes glowing bright as Charles howled in pain as a pale blue aura rose out of his body where he sat. You almost thought Wanda was going to kill him then and there before his screams settled down.

Charles was breathing heavily, his form hunched over in his chair before his eyes widened with realization. “My powers…”

“You wanted to appease the mortal man, now you can live and die counted as one of them. Your bootlicking wife will be too once my people find her.”

“Hee-he-hick,” A feral giggle erupted from your mouth as you watched him carry on belligerently.

“You leave Moira out of this! we’ve done nothing but look out for you, Wanda! Your father would-”

“What did I say about insulting my intelligence? You and my father were at odds throughout his entire headship. You know nothing of what he would do nor what he would want.”

She slid more photos onto the table, the other man in them tickled something in your throat as recognition passed through you.

Wanda tapped on the man's face with her pointer finger, "This man. Tell me where he is."

Charles peered over to look at the photo, his nerves a bit all over the place. "Pierce? I've no idea Wanda, he's been gone for days now. You have to believe me,"

Wanda tutted her tongue as she brought her hands back in front of her. "I don't have to do anything, but I do believe you. Unfortunately for you that makes you completely useless to me, Charles." She pursed her lips in a faux pout.

You could almost see the man shaking in his chair as he went on indignantly. You wound up tuning him out as he kept going on about loyalty and nonsense.

‘Do I kill him now?’

Wanda reached back for your neck, running her thumb over the scarring over your throat. “We’re just about done here, but Charles can see himself out, I believe.”

Charles couldn’t even properly understand what was going on right away because, one: He was in the middle of explaining how the original members of the syndicate needed to stick together, and two: He can’t read minds anymore. I mean, what’s he going to do now?

“You can go see if the college across town has any openings, but you’ve been relieved of your position with Maximoff Unlimited as well as the Scarlet Syndicate which will be vacant as of today, effective immediately. Now you can roll yourself out of this office, or I can have Y/n here escort you out. They don't seem too keen on being delicate with you.”

You tilted your head as a choppy rumble passed your lips. The prospect of handling the man yourself was very appealing right now. Charles likely recognized this as he made his way to the door himself. Red mist opens the door for him.

“Smart choice. So you do have some sense left. Oh, and Charles?”

The man stopped in the doorway, but didn't turn to look at Wanda.

“The next time you try to throw me or my company under the bus, remember who put you in that wheelchair.”

[acethephoenix256]

Ok so hear me out. Today at my flora culture class we were talking about how different countries have like a national flower. And instead of paying attention I thought of this. Rhodolite is known for roses. That is their national flower. What about the other three countries? So I’ve decided to take the liberty of making their national flowers based off of the country and their way of life.

Obsidian:

For obsidian I believe the best candidate is the red poppy. Not only does it grow in harsh conditions and low nutrient soils. They are most known for growing battle ridden areas. And that’s pretty self-explanatory of why I picked it.

Jade:

From what I’ve been reading about the country Jade is known for its fertile lands and not much of a military standing. I believe the lily of the valley is the perfect National flower. Lily-of-the-valley’s symbolize fertility, Sincerity and peace which kind of sounds like jade as a whole. BUT although the lily-of-the-valley is really beautiful just like jade. The flower can be pretty poisonous. It has the beauty and the look of innocence but can be quite powerful and deadly just like jade.

Benitoite:

This one was the worst for me but I have decided that blue sea holly is the best. Not only does the name make it perfect but the flower represents toughness and independence. They usually grow in the Sandy beaches of Europe. Sad thing is they’re really toxic to dogs😂

I really did not get to say as much as I would like to and it’s all over the place. but this is as much as my brain can handle right now.

[nothums-from-tj]

I am deprived of Rasey content bc brain rot is real. As they say: if you want content you gotta make it yourself </3

Unfortunately I have only seen up to early-ish s3 so Mona is not included as I have not met her. That said, I give u 2012 Rasey hcs:

at the start of their relationship they try to keep things rough/“casual” so like there was no gentle moments it was just essentially roughhousing (their usual things) with romantic intent until they accidentally fell asleep together once and Casey found out Raph is a sleep cuddler and his heart absolutely melted, even when Raph woke up Casey kept his arm around him and they just stayed like that for hours until Casey told him that he’s so adorable being all snuggly and he got so red about to push Casey off and dismiss this vulnerable moment but Case kept him close and kissed his head and now Raph can’t get enough it’s his favorite thing

Raph teases Casey so bad, like not even in a s/xual context he’s just so playfully mean and Casey sometimes pulls a scene and acts like it’s the worst thing he’s ever heard when it’s really just annoying at worst (“LOL Casey I can’t believe you have a crush on me” “you’re literally my boyfriend” “so embarrassing 4 u”)

Casey texts Raph while he’s in class all the time, sometimes it’s dumb selfies from ridiculously unflattering angles (typically from under his desk) though it’s usually complaining about a class, teacher, or classmate; if he stops responding suddenly, especially while he was still typing, he knows his phone was confiscated and he always thinks it’s so funny

I’m torn on whether they’d set one another’s contact names as super sweet/sappy things (“my darling🥰” “baby boy❤️” “babe🖤” “sweetheart💕” “my love” “my baby” “forever and ever” among other variations) or if they’d be legitimate insults in the most affectionate way (“dork” “loser” “dummy” “geek” “nutjob” “screwball” among others) bc Raph is the romantic however they’re also both besties and I at least think Raph could go in either direction; either way they’d both set contact photos as the least flattering images they could find if each other

based off of @cloudywithachanceofautism’s hc of them refusing to go to bed angry w each other: it happened One Time on accident after this rule was set, Casey was at a game that night and his phone died when he thought it was charging (bc we love technology /s) and having both entirely forgotten about whatever they got mad at earlier during the game and not realizing his phone is still dead, he just went to bed after getting home; meanwhile Raph was calling nonstop for at least an hour or two after the time he knows Casey gets home from his games and was nearly having a breakdown (not that he’d ever admit it) bc he doesn’t want their relationship to get ruined over something so dumb and he started spiraling a little; Casey realized his phone was dead after he woke up and once it was charged enough to turn on and saw like 114 missed calls from Raph he remembered the argument and he calls him first thing profusely apologizing and explaining the situation and they’re really fragile for about a week following

to go with the hc that ‘12 Raph can knit (from the ‘03 clip) I think he’d just knit Casey socks or gloves or something come the colder seasons, he picks on him a little for being a “softie” however he savors them as much as possible bc he thinks it’s the sweetest thing in the world (Raph knits socks for his brothers too, they’re all very appreciative)

April also got Casey into both Animal Crossing and Stardew Valley, Raph picks on him for that too and yet always watches over his shoulder when he’s playing (he’d prob marry Abigail or Sebastian in Stardew as they’re the most like Raph)

Raph manages to get into certain musicals and drags Casey right down with him (thinking “Mamma Mia!”, “Legally Blonde”, and “Mean Girls”; Mikey got him into “Hairspray” and “Heathers” too and he loves them, just don’t top the previous 3)

they do couples costumes their first Halloween together, Casey tries to get them in the dumb comedic ones though Raph keeps setting a hard boundary on that; they do gay ships instead whether or not they’re canon: Fred and Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, Michiru and Haruka from Sailor Moon, I have my own however I’ll stick to these common ones for now bc they r just as good

also when they started their relationship, while they were still adjusting to more affection they would cope by calling each other gay (“*smooch* that was gay” “you’re the one who kissed me, doofus”), and when they got a little more comfortable Casey would start saying “pog” or “that was so poggers” after they’d kiss bc he thought it was funny to see Raph so annoyed like that

behind Raph’s back, Casey would take care of or at least talk about Chompy like he were their child (Raph would probably cry a little of sheer joy if he ever found out)

from cloudywithachanceofautism’s other hc of Raph preferring words of affirmation and Casey preferring physical affection: while Raph absolutely adores having somebody who’s as affectionate with him as he is with his brothers, it’s especially when Casey says things like “it’s ok to be angry, y’know” “you wanna talk about it?” “I’ve got you, it’s ok” “I’ll take care of you” “are you ok?” “Want me to handle it?” anything to do w his mental health and anger bc these poor kids haven’t really known how to deal w it growing up, especially since Splinter isn’t the most emotional parent, and it just makes him feel seen and loved and he always melts in Casey’s arms (“if you wanted a hug you can just ask you know” “doesn’t mean you didn’t need to hear it”)

tying into the previous: Raph also still melts whenever he’s called cute or pretty however when it’s in front of his family he tries to call him lame and a sap affectionately and then he’d let himself be vulnerable with Casey when they’re alone

despite Raph being little, he’s significantly heavier than Casey given he’s nothing but muscle and his shell adds some density (plus Casey’s super scrawny), unfortunately Casey learns this the hard way by trying to be chivalrous and pick his bf up and nearly falls flat and Raph laughs for like 10 minutes straight; Casey isn’t always a fan of being easily lifted by his tiny bf though he’ll embrace it when he’s in a super sappy/affectionate moment and accept it when they’re doing like “couples’ exercises” together and Casey can be used as a weight for him to lift, it’s very funny in his own opinion

given Splinter’s time in America as a human was very brief, I would think he didn’t get to learn a lot of American customs so what the turtles grew up with was mostly Japanese culture and we know they know some of the Japanese language, probably more than what’s shown in canon too; that said, there are probably things they say or do that are confusing to both Casey and April and sometimes has to explain that they’ve just never heard of some of these things before

with that: romance and topics of love are much more conservative in Japanese culture, also the holidays are more for romantic partners rather than friends and family; so like Raph would sneak into Casey’s window Christmas Eve and be very surprised to see him not with his family for the night (not that he’s not happy to see him), or like he’ll try to find a tea stalk in his cup every single date and see if it goes vertical (superstition here) and Casey has no idea why Raph is smiling into his tea when he does, or even one of the most common showings of a couple are matching clothes so Raph will sometimes try to do it subtly when given the chance before they start dating and Casey has no idea why; Splinter thinks this is all very cute and is very proud of his kid

Casey’s the one who introduces hot chocolate to the turtles (“Casey, they’re turtles, they can’t be having that!” “Mutant turtles, April—I don’t think they even know what they can or can’t have!”) and has to eventually take it away from Raph and Mikey bc they became very hooked, Raph still tries to be extra affectionate to get it back which would probably work if it wasn’t for death glares from Leo and Splinter every time bc the last thing they need is a sugar addiction (though Splinter is very pleased about candy canes during the season bc they’re both very rare and very expensive in Japan)

Casey eventually starts to work out more for several reasons, one of which being able to pick up Raph so they eventually have strength and speed contests every time they see each other to who can pick the other up first and how high they can go (Raph tries to claim the “highest” part is unfair as Casey is literally over half a foot taller than him)

alternatively: “Why are you holding Raph like that?” “He likes to be tall.”

on summer nights, they’ll sneak to a closed amusement park just to walk around and Raph would probably play jungle gym on the rollercoasters so the two of them would just sit at the top bump of a track and watch over the city, otherwise playing whatever games that didn’t need to be shut down or need a lot of setting up so they could set it back up before they leave and maybe one or the other would steal just one stuffed animal for one another (not like a huge one, just like one of the “first tier” prizes that there’s a million of); maybe go see botanical/serenity gardens if possible, drive-in movie theaters, or like if Casey and April have some means of access to a public pool they’d probably sneak into that too (Raph getting so excited to go swimming with his turtle instincts and then takes a huge breath under water to come back up coughing and sputtering bc it’s not freshwater it’s chlorine and he didn’t know that was a thing); I just really like the thought of them doing public dates they r so cute

🚫TC//T DNI🚫 ANY MENTION OF AFFECTION AMONG THE BROTHERS IS PURELY PLATONIC

[mcskullmun]

What's red valley about

*takes you gently by the shoulder and looks deep into your eyes somewhere vaguely near your face*

Buddy I am so glad you asked.

In the hopes of this essay answer convincing you to listen to Red valley it will be relatively spoiler free and ambiguous. Full disclosure I am incredibly bias towards this show because it currently has a death-grip on my brain, mind and soul.

Broadly, Red Valley is a fiction podcast, similar to tma, spanning two and a third seasons plus three fun little mini series. I say "a third" because season three is split into three parts, and we currently only have the first. The second is due to be released later this year I believe.

The premise behind Red Valley, in a sentence is, "In all the sci-fi shows you see, where people can go into pods and wake up 10,000 years later just fine, how did we get there?" It's about the messy stage of theoretical science being applied in unethical ways, in the hopes of changing the world. Its about the early development (and testing) of cryonic preservation tech.

It follows two main protagonists, Warren Godby and Gordon Porlock (who are widely shipped throughout the fandom, though nothing is canon yet) as they investigate, and eventually endure the Red Valley seed vault. Although, as it becomes rapidly apparent, "There aren't a lot of seeds in the Red Valley Seed Vault". The show deals with themes of isolation, memory loss, distrust and mental deterioration. But also friendship, endurance, and uh... weird cruises.

It's characters include:

Karen Godby. Ngl I hate this bitch. She is Warren's controlling, abusive wife and she deserves everything that's coming to her. She uses concern as a way to guilt Warren, and seems generally dismissive of his concerns and feelings.

Aubrey Wood. Initially presented solely through tapes, she fits the "mad scientist" archetype. After something goes horribly wrong with her work, we get to see more sides of her. By the end of season three part one, she is an incredibly well fleshed out character with uh... quite the name for herself. She's also in a canon lesbian relationship, which admittedly does not get enough love here on tumblr.

Bryony Halbech. Cunt/aff. She is the mad scientist. She is the driving force behind the Red Valley project and truly the antagonist of the podcast. In so far as this podcast has one, at least. One brilliant thing about her, is that while she presents as your typical, "heartless, mind over emotions, complete control villain" this is a front that she wears, to hide how excited she is about what she does. How much she cares about her work. She is a "truly evil" villain who still maintains layers and depth.

Clive Schill. Now, if your asking me about Red Valley it's more than likely because you've seen the truly embarrassing affect Mr. Schill has had on me. If you want an in depth character analysis feel free to scroll back on my blog or look for asks I have sent to other fans, there's a LOT. In short, he is an irritating embodiment of capitalism with a flair for creative insults. He's like if Elias Bouchard was a fortnight adult/pos. But his character has so much more to it than that! He loves his family, he is deathly afraid of being forgotten, ect. ect. I'll spare you the essay. He's a morally fucked, incredibly likeable man. He's also responsible for the piece of official Redval merch named "Piss Mug" and Red Valley's sugar daddy.

And for the main events,

Warren Godby: He's just a Guy. Real wet cat of a man. Bitter about his place in the world with no idea how he got there. Of course that's not uh entirely true but just... just listen to the podcast.

Gordon Porlock: Fucking insane/pos. I mean not insane insane, but he is a conspiracy theory, nerdy redditor who canonically has no friends. He's also gay for Warren. He is a very interesting character in that he is Obsessed with cryonic preservation, and seems entirely unfazed by the more gory aspects. He is on the "good team", but isn't vastly different to the Redval scientists.

The podcast itself mostly takes place within Red Valley, a remote and seemingly abandoned research facility in The Middle Of Nowhere, Scotland. This is where some of season 1 and almost all of season 2 takes place, and where isolation is a heavy theme. I personally love it, its got great Vibes and possesses the perfect spooky atmosphere.

Season three is all over the place and follows (Soft, slightly irritated sigh) Clive Schill. It's a wonderful dive into his character, and the attitudes of the common man and the rich towards cryonic preservation. 10/10, no notes. The frogs are great.

Overall the voice acting and writing is amazing. At no point did I feel it dragged, and while I was initially confused when Warren and Gordon were talking (similar accents) they got easier to distinguish real fast. It's funny and sad, perfect combo. There's also some... gnarly sound affects.

Pay Attention To The Content Warnings. For The Love Of Schill Pay Attention To The Content Warnings. Please. There are some pretty heavy moments that took me completely off guard, big mistake.

Final notes, you will see me shipping Clive Schill and Warren Godby a lot. THIS WILL NOT MAKE SENSE WHEN (if) YOU LISTEN TO RED VALLEY. They are, at first glance, the two least shippable characters. I don't mean like Lonelyeyes crackship where it kinda makes sense, I mean AWFUL. TRULY DISGUSTING. My fic, "And I think we're all glad it wasn't me" explains everything, but contains just so many major spoilers for season 1. Just trust me, I'm not mad. The fic explains everything. I promise.

Anyway uh feel free to ask more or talk about it if you decide to listen. I uh. am normal about this podcast. As you can probably tell.

~ Peter

[anteroom-of-death]

Teacher's Pet part 17

Synopsis: The Doctor muses on the nature of what he could do, the reader is a willing accomplice to her own life.

A/n: first off, I'd like to thank @queerconfusionthings on the slightly darker tone of this chapter and our long talks about 12, it changed this chapter. You get me in a way precious others do...and to all my readers, yall are best. To my mutuals, I'd die for you. Especially those who don't share my needs here. Love u.

It started to border on experimental. So many untapped valleys and choices he could make now that his pet fawn was solidly by his side, and now bound to leave him, no matter how dire the situation or how many red flags or fears the ghosts of his past could bequeath to her. (Y/N) was firmly in his grasp. Perhaps indefinitely.

There were certain thought experiments that were hypothetical that he was taught at the academy. How to not just bind a weaker species to your mind not just in mind, but in blood. The facets of addiction was the singular universal trait of all sentient life in the cosmos. He admitted that he was becoming as addicted to her as she was to him, and those nasty substances she would take.

He was of half a mind to remove their influence on her body and substitute them for him. As they walked through Kew Gardens, he mused on that. Take the urge that crippled her for drinks and cigarettes to the point of clouding her thoughts at times, bind those starved out brain cells to the idea of him. The swap from nicotine and ethyl alcohol to the Doctor would he fairly easy to do.

Ultimately, after she flashed him a smile and kissed him on the cheek before heading to the loo, he decided against it. For now.

She was getting beyond handsy…almost to the point of him being begged to fuck her in public. Maybe the switch was happening naturally. The addiction to the physical was clearly getting stronger…

Wouldn’t he be so lucky?

He’d have another full-scale rifle in her mind soon to assess the current situation!

Maybe he was more like the Rani than he’d previously assessed…

Wouldn’t that just choke the life from Missy? Her precious parallels dashed in the face if him ending up much more like their estranged friend turned mutual foe.

Whatever the case in this poorly-plotted and infinitely nailed-out love story he was crafting, the Doctor was sure of one thing. His reputation as the universe’s biggest savior, it’s self-inserted martyr needed to stay intact. Missy knew to some extent. Missy could feel and reveled in his own self-corruption at the hands of this mere human.

Missy would, even if she wanted to escape, keep this secret. Their rivalry and comrades and millennia-long bond, despite how fucked up it was, or how many times they’d kill or fight one another was iron-clad.

Honor among thieves or something…

The idea of some sort of vivisection briefly clouded his vision as he saw her exit the toilets. She was beaming. She held her jacket in her hand and her teeth caught in the light.

He decided against that idea.

There were opportunities endlessly flowing out.

“Hey, I’m absolutely starving!” She pulled him by the ties on his hoodie. “Do you want to go to a pub after this? There’s got to be a really good one that does a lovely roast dinner or something.”

Totally clueless, totally obvious to the danger she was in. So fine-tuned to weird shadows and knew when a human man on the street was up to no good. She didn’t know that the real predator was getting the aglets of his hoodie flicked around.

Poor her. Poor little fawn. Fully in the wolf’s maw and her neck was already snapped. Lost in the too-dark woods, separated from her herd. Only the guidance of that would come had made a meal of her. And was toying her corpse out further…

He felt his cock stiffen.

Maybe he would take her tonight. Just until bleeding. See how far her dependence on her would go. Maybe degrade her a bit.

If he could, he would. Wasn’t it his right?

He did own her, after all. Everyone from the team at UNIT to that last scrappy remnant of Torchwood saw her over-the-moon, fully-tethered ache for him…

They all picked up on something far more grasping than mere companion in their relationship. He wasn’t risking her life and breaking her spirit on planets far outside her home solar system. A dark, full-bodied compatriot. An equal lover. Perhaps they would arrive at the conclusion of his idea of settling down on Earth.

Not like their human opinions mattered in the end…

“Yes, of course.” He returned her eager, lavish smile with one of his own.

He slammed these thoughts back in the dark chest that was his mind. For now he’d just play with her hormones and her mind. Just put them at maximum. Continue this charade.

Keep everyone and everyone in the dark…

It was a great rest of the day, a butterfly landed on her arm. She delicately picked it up to rest on her finger and it stayed put as if she was her own form of magic. The little insect crawled around and she led it to rest on his jacket.

“He’s probably picking up the sugar scrub I used last night.” She rationalized.

“Or you’re just preternaturally sweet.” He let out the cheesy line as it flicked itself off his being and flew into the air. She shot him a bemused sideways glance. When she finally got it off her finger and it was firmly on his being she slightly shook her head and rolled her eyes.

Obviously, it didn’t take a liking to him.

It’s instincts were far better tuned.

He took her to the closest pub. It wasn’t doing a roast dinner that night. She was put out, but ordered chips with a gin and tonic and some little sandwich thing.

His Earth girls really loved their chips.

Maybe that was his type? Little, bold Earth girls with loud minds that could devour nothing but chips for all eternity and be perfectly happy doing so.

He could live with that…

She went out for a cigarette and he mentally made contact with Missy.

She ‘picked up’ the mental receiver.

‘How goes London, you filthy old man?’ The words shot into his mind like an icicle from a roof.

‘Fine, just curious, how much attention did you pay to Professor Hedflonhorzthenethar’s lessons on groove-making in lesser species?’

‘Rapt, Doccy. Why?’

‘Send me your memories, I’ll Amazon a tuba to my office.’

Another betrayal of the morals he started this regeneration with…

‘Let me see you do it. I’ll only do it if you do it now and let me look through your eyes!’ It was sharp, it felt like she was beside him shouting it.

He gave her permission to see through his eyes. He sighed and whipped out his phone, ordered a tuba and closed up the connect to his eyes.

The entirety of her memories regarding the lessons pinged into his brain like an email or perhaps a text notification…

His little fawn slid back onto the barstool next to him as Missy closed the line…

‘Don’t break her yet! I want to be her friend! I’m so lonely!’

He could still feel her teasing pout lingering in his brain. Perhaps she left it as a taste of his own medicine.

“The night’s getting cooler.” (Y/N) informed.

“Pity, you’ll need to cover up.”

Her mind was clearly projecting images of her taking him to the toilets and fucking him in the stall. Loudly.

Her mind was wandering, she kept admiring the line of his brow and the way his fingers crossed over as he held the glass of Fanta he was slowly sipping. She needed him in ways that would shock perhaps even Captain Jack Harkness or perhaps that smaller, dark shadow that used to follow him around, John Hart was his name?

A pathetic kicked dog that craved the Captain’s attention…

Just like him and Missy.

He shook his head at that particular parallel.

Probably the advantage of dating someone in her profession. She knew what was avant-garde in sex!

Or at least for a human of her time period that had never been off-planet…

The Doctor let his mind wander into hers. Despite her clear projection, he wanted to see exactly what the damage of the last night was. She was chattering on about a philosophy book she picked up for between clients and for downtime at work. She completed it and wanted to share her critiques of it and her ways she’d probably improve upon the messages. As well as what she liked from it- she wasn’t all kvetching, no appreciation, after all.

In all honesty, he loved the wild tangential spin she loved. He felt some remorse about how deeply he had rummaged in her brain. She still was, in a sense, her own. Just now permanently entangled in his web. Like a rat in a glue trap, but only she didn’t grasp how sticky the glue was…. She was fully mentally tethered. He’d have to be more careful, he didn’t want to lose her, or push these experiences too deep. Losing this spark of ingenuity and tired vivaciousness would be a sin worse than anything else.

He swallowed another sip of his Fanta.

It seemed a bit shaken, but he swept those away. Kept them as salacious afterthought. Bonded the memories from today that were pleasant to her already aching neurotransmitters. Amped up her hormones a tad bit.

Anyone around her, even a stupid human could probably hear her mind now. It was both very intrigued by the subject matter of the book but also so desperately needy for her Doctor. He could feel her aching cunt and body responding from here. Anybody with a pulse could probably get her drift.

He'd probably, if anyone was sensitive enough, have to start beating them off with a stick!

That could be fun, lure her further. Let her know that she was only safe with him…

He ran the possibilities and scanned the bar, seeing if he could play any games.

Sadly not.

He decided against that for the moment.

Especially since something told him that she’d have precious little trouble fighting for herself. Unless he purposefully put her mind in a state of freeze, he doubted that a pub brawl based on her appearance would faze her. She, like most human girls, had been numbed to that sort of violence.

She’d probably have to come in and save him, by the looks of a few of the other patrons here…

He dissolved that idea. He couldn’t risk breaking his promise to her and regenerating on the spot if she was frozen, meant to witness. His superior genetics and all that may come with was no match for a gone-to-seed ex-rugby player nor someone who clearly worked security. As he finished his assessment of the crowd in the pub.

His mind games would have to play out in other ways still…

Just adjust the plans that he had. And take in the information Missy had pinged him.

The illusion of free will still reflected true, right?

His old pal, Plato did some allegory with a cave…sadly he wasn’t paying attention when the man was speaking. Missed the point, invented a self-lubricating spatula for flapjacks.

Oops.

He’d never say he was depriving her of that outright, no too controversial. Too salacious. Guidance, yes. A dual corruption arc? Definitely.

Daddy knows best, rung through his skull. An old line he told Kate about the poison to kill the Zygons…

Paternalistic? Yes.

How could he not be? A human is so young and weak compared to most species out there. Let alone him and his!

After all, he was her teacher. Her educator.

These thoughts, mixed with how strong she was fantasizing about fucking him, and her natural allure…he was shocked that he wasn’t bursting through his trousers, exposing himself to all to see.

He'd fuck her tonight. Not only did she clearly need it, but if he didn’t give in, he would probably act out.

He had fully surrendered himself to current path he was on. Yes.

He’d not destroy her entirely. Take away what enchanted him to her. That would be a sin graver than killing her outright. She had goals and dreams. They had discussed at such at length. He’d let her have those. So long as she’d never stray from his clingy side.

He half-wished he could summon a past version of himself, or perhaps a future without risking too much. Just to confer and pass back ideas.

All he had was Missy.

Or to sneak off and search for the Rani.

And they’d destroy him with zealous help.

No! He was alone in this path. Only solace was Missy and her enjoyment of his fawn and petty need to be good and please reform for her release. He walked his path utterly alone.

The evening wound itself up. The Doctor had to pounce. To claim what little of his fawn lay left unclaimed. Ruin her forever. Claim her indefinitely…

He paid their bill and ventured into the night.

A pep laid in his step, his cock still semi-stiff. He’d destroy her to rebuild her.

Teacher’s Pet.

He’d have his fun next term. Make her into a professor’s aide. Push her servile nature to him into a possibly public place. Show her off, perhaps even.

But for now? He was about ready to explode. His balls ached, and his hearts were full.

All in the name of love, right?

Or obsession…

Either way, still to have someone as alluring with such a firm form like (insert a description of your body, reader…) and a mind as hard in her ideals, but so easy to toy with?

Ecstasy…

[writing-havoc]

Waves

♡ Summary: Kaz has thoughts about soulmates, and tests his suspicions.

♡ Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Reader

♡ Fandom: Six of Crows, Grishaverse

♡ Warnings: None

♡ WC: 5k

I am in love with soulmate aus and I don't know why I don't write them more often. They itch my brain in a way nothing else can. This is kind of a tattoo mark au where everyone has a personal mark that forms when they start on a path that will lead them to their soulmate(s), whether that path starts physically or mentally. They glow and move upon linking.

Please excuse any spelling and grammar mistakes. Hope yall enjoy <3

∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘

The irony is not lost on Kaz. It punches him right in the gut when he least expects it, leaving him a little winded and a bit more weary than before. So he learns to expect it. And that's when it eats at him. Gnawing at every hill and valley of his brain and taking what it can of his dispersed heart.

He doesn't allow himself to think how this could have been different if it weren't for Jordie.

It's not worth it, and overall does no good to wonder. Because the past is past and he can't change it.

So he covers, and covers, and covers. For both the sake of his mental well being and not feeling an ugly kind of anger wrap around himself when he has to stare at the mark that stretches up his arms.

He blames Jordie, he holds so much resentment towards him that at times it completely consumes him. But he moves past it, and fools himself for a little while that he's forgiven him. He himself holds part of the blame too for not working on himself and allowing it to fester and worsen as time stretches on. Covering is the only way he knows to give himself some relief.

But it's still always there. Sometimes the mark feels hot in his clothes. Every once in a while he'll roll up his sleeves, letting them breathe the not so fresh Ketterdam air, and go about his afternoon.

And when it's late in the night, after he's had one too many glasses of liquor and the feather pen he's holding shakes and makes his handwriting a little messy, he looks at them in the candlelight and they're burning against his increasingly warming and perspirating skin.

The only part of his hand that's free of a mark is his palms and the bottom of his fingers, but they feel just as clammy and hot as the rest of him, so it doesn't help much.

He knows it doesn't actually burn, but it definitely feels like it.

He's been around very few people long enough for them to make comments about it other than when he's on a job.

And that's where he currently sits now.

It's a bit of a private thing; Up in a penthouse with barely more than a hundred people attending, a gathering is taking place with multitudes of businessmen and traders from across the lands. For Kaz, and you, it's all reconnaissance work.

"My my, that's a beautiful mark you got there." The woman in front of him asked.. She was on the taller side, face covered in make up with her lips painted a bright red. "Who's the lucky winner?" A hint of desire sparks in her eyes.

He exerts a chuckle. "That would be my partner." He looks over to the right, nodding his head towards you.

You were dressed in crisp cream dress clothes, a stark contrast from the ocean of blacks and reds that differ from the colorful streets of Ketterdam. Barely any makeup was applied to you before you left, just some to cover old scars and open pores. Your lips were painted black, leaving a stain on the glass of champagne in your left with another stainless one in your right.

He watched as you chuckled with a man, his hand caressing your shoulder. You let it happen, and then moved along, saying your goodbyes.

The woman in front of him turns to look where he's staring, and shifts a little when you make your way back to sit beside him. He smiles at you, telling himself he's playing a part.

"Champagne for you, my love." You purr, handing him the one you were sipping out of.

"Thank you, dove." He picks it up, placing his lips directly on the stain you made and stares at the woman. She doesn't seem the slightest bit uncomfortable.

"You two are absolutely gorgeous together, you know that?"

You chuckle from beside him. "We have gotten that compliment before, yes. But it's never tiring to hear." She chuckles as you lean toward him in your chair, folding your arms in front of yourself with the glass still held comfortably in your fingers. "Surely you should know the same. Your wife is an incredibly lucky woman."

"Isn't she?" She agrees. "She's gone to get us some treats, but I fear she gets lost easily." She glances around, shifting again as worry creeps onto her features.

"I would suggest finding her, if only to ease your spirits. I understand the worry all too well." He smirks, averting his eyes towards you. "Ghezen knows how often I manage to lose this one."

You open your mouth, a shocked expression he notes is genuine spreads across your features. "I do not!" Your hit his arm with barely enough force to hurt, then retract it immediately.

The woman smiles and stands up, offering her goodbyes and pleasantries, and then leaves.

He waits a few moments before turning to chat with you.

"What's the status so far?"

"Can't I enjoy my champagne for a few moments?" You jest. "This place actually has the good stuff unlike your club."

He shakes his head, but keeps a smile up for the crowd. "My sincerest apologies for not ordering the highest quality of alcohol the whole of Ketterdam and Ravka has to offer to suite your tastes." He picks his own glass back up and drinks some, really analyzing the taste this time.

Its not bad, if a bit fruity for his tastes. Yet he stores the information in the files of his brain. He also notes that he's drinking from the lipstick stain. He takes another sip.

"Thank you. I appreciate it." You smile a shit eating smile, and then give him the update before he has time to respond. "Several of the traders you had your eye on are here tonight, disregarding the ones you've already talked to, however two of them couldn't make it due to abhorrent weather conditions and another fell ill with a case of the common cold and decided to stay home.

Of the few that did make it, again, disregarding the ones you have met, one wants nothing to do with other people and is making a point of staying towards the corners and eating his fill of the 'snacks' as our lovely guest called them earlier, and the others are too busy chatting up the woman to really have given a care what anybody else was saying."

He set the glass down, moving the fabric of the thin cloth glove he was wearing to take a look at his watch. Almost eleven bells.

Quickly he began to calculate the pros and cons of attempting to talk to these sexually insatiable men tonight. If they're as insistent as you say they are, walking with them could be a waste of time and resources. But if their profiles had anything to say about them, then he might be able to wiggle his way in and, upon choosing his words carefully, make at least a memorable impact before their next trip back to Ketterdam.

He was about to make a decision when your fingers ghosted over the skin of his arm. His body tensed, but gave you his attention.

"Incoming, four o' clock."

Incoming from his right, he was able to make out two figures walking towards him, their connected arms glowing.

He recognizes them as Mr. and Mrs. Belldock. They were well known for their displays of physical affection that could otherwise be seen as inappropriate. He's heard stories about them, but he's never seen them in person.

The lightshow between their bodies bounced off the glasses, creating a bit of a rainbow on the table. You hold your glass up in a feeble attempt to block it, but only end up giving your wash a colorful wash of color. It makes his heart clench.

"I'm so sorry if we're intruding, but we couldn't help but notice your mark."

Kaz sighed internally, giving a shy smile externally. "Ah, it is rather out there, isn't it?" He begins to roll his sleeves down just a bit, but Mrs. Belldock places her fingers on his shoulder and his entire body tenses.

"No no! It's beautiful. I was just wondering if you've found your Soulmate yet." She quickly retracts her hand, feeling the stiffness.

"I have." He tries a smile, feeling his lungs fill with water. "That would be my partner here."

She looks over at you, her smile only growing. She offers a hand to you. "It's nice to meet you."

You nod, offering her a thanks and shaking her hand.

"So, what's your story?"

You quirk a brow. "Story?"

"Yes!" She begins to take her seat, her husband following along. "I just love hearing people's stories about how they came to find eachother. They're never the same, always a new adventure."

He watches your face crinkle, head tilting to the side before it lights up in realization. "Ooh, how we found out we were soulmates." Mrs. Belldock nods. "It's rather funny actually, the way we came to be."

You launch into a fabricated story about his and your coming together, and Kaz can't help but watch as your hands move about, working numbers to exaggerate certain parts. There's a smile on your face, genuine as it tilts to one side. He tries not to focus on the painful aching in his heart as your story goes deeper in detail.

He can feel his mark begin to burn as it usually does while the residual water in his lungs freezes him from the inside out. It both makes the situation worse and better when he rolls his sleeves back to where they were, exposing the waves that drag along his pale skin.

It's sickening, yet he yearns to see it in motion. To watch as the arms that clutched his dead brother swim in the ocean of his Soulmates hold, of your hold.

Of all the people that have ever asked about it, you weren't among them. Aren't among them. And it's strange the way that fact hurts him a little.

Jesper has asked, Wylan has asked, Nina has asked, Matthias has asked, Inej has asked, that Ravkan king, Nikolai, has asked. All who have seen his mark has asked and have received an answer that will never satisfy them.

But you haven't. You stare and stare, memorizing it with your eyes and tracing it with your fingers in the air, even drawing it out in your sketchpad when you get really bored, but never asking.

He doesn't know whether it's out of respect or disinterest in the answer, but it makes him feel like a lovesick puppy and it gets under his skin. Because feeling like that is dangerous. It's a hook that anybody could grab onto and uproot everything he's worked towards.

And yet here he is, wanting. Wanting for more than he should no matter how much he already has, overwhelmingly aware that he's not going to get it.

As he listens to you, he wants this. Not the story you're conjuring up (which has evolved into meeting on the streets in Ravka during a circus-esque performance), not in a million years. But he wants a story. A story you can tell to others with a smile just as bright as the one you're exhibiting now, if not brighter.

He's not even a hundred percent sure you're his soulmate. But he wants you to be.

Your mark in question was a bit odd in terms of what's considered normal, and it's the main reason for his skepticism.

It's currently covered utilizing Nina's quickly improving tailoring skills. It won't last much longer, he can see your skin starting to turn oil black where the mark is if he looks closely enough.

From what he's seen, the part that's on your face resembles a cardinal compass, it's north and south faces tilted. The south face points towards the second part of your mark, which he's yet to see or even know the contents of.

The only reason he knows it's not two separate marks, meaning two separate soulmates (which isn't as rare as most would think), is because there's a line, almost like a crack, extending from the point and disappearing beyond where his eyes can follow.

His own mark isn't even separate. It cascades along his back, over his shoulder blades and encompassing a major portion of the back of his ribcage before going along each arm.

You pinched Kazs glove between your fingers, the whispers of a laugh on your lips as you look at the time on his watch.

"We should be heading out now, the nanny will be starting to get anxious."

He quirked a brow, but went along with it. "It was truly nice getting to talk with you both." He held out his hand, allowing one, two hands to squeeze his before grabbing his jacket and going to follow you out.

"I hope you and your kids have a wonderful evening!"

Kaz tripped over his own shoe at the same moment you responded with a thank you and a good evening.

Kids? Multiple? Where did kids come in? There's no way he zoned out for that long... or at all.

Fuck.

--------

The walk back was silent, a stark contrast to the bustling penthouse. Claws from stray dogs scratched the ground as they chased after their meal, the meal in question yowling as it clawed its way up a pipe, turning and arching its back before hissing and scurrying out of sight. His cane provided little stealth for the hungry mutts.

"I'm sorry for touching you back there." Your voice broke the air. "I just could not remember if we were supposed to be using code names or not."

That made him smile. He tried his hardest to suppress it. "Code names were not necessary tonight." He let the silence heal itself, and then broke it again. "Though I do wonder about the names of our kids though."

You chuckled beside him. "I'm sorry, I panicked! She wanted to know our story so I just thought of the first thing I could think of."

"And whose might that be?"

"My parents." A melancholy smile rested on your cheeks. "That was their story. I can remember it like its my own. They've told it to me at least a thousand times. Granted, half of those were me asking to hear it again."

'Ask.' Kaz's mind shouted at him. 'Ask them why. Ask them /why/.' His mind refused to specify the why, a gross thick kind of anxiety slowly filling his aching limbs.

You ask. You ask others, but not him.

"I agree with her in some sense." You continued. "Other people's stories are rather interesting, even if theyre of the most mundane variety. But going around and asking strangers their story just... isn't the way to go about it."

His heart raced. "I suppose you're going to tell me the correct way?"

You shrugged. "Well, that's just it. There is no correct way."

He stayed silent, allowing you to get your thoughts together. Your shoulders were bunched, not yet coming down from their earlier movement. And when they did, it was followed by an exhausted sigh.

"I used to be just like them, asking couples left and right what the story was behind their marks, what event led up to them meeting and finding out that they were a match." You kicked a rock up the street, weaving in and away from him while you followed it's path.

"And eventually, I met a man. A really sweet elderly man, and asked about his. His partner wasn't around, but the mark was just as blatant as mine is. A large cloud smack in the middle of his forehead with a pair of lips at the center. It looked interesting, I just had to know the story. And when I asked, the change was immediate. He became angry and erratic, yelling at me to leave and about how rude I was."

You wrapped your coat tighter around yourself, all traces of a smile completely gone from your face. "Later I had found out that he and his soulmate were on two different sides of a very intense family war that ended in his partner and his brother being killed. The only time the two got to connect their marks was the night before the two boys died. They met to see each other in private for the first and last time, shared a kiss, and then parted ways." You kicked the rock, watching as it plunked into the canal. "I've never asked about anyone's mark since, no matter how much I wanted to."

He allows himself to turn to look at you, not startled but completely and utterly dazed when your eyes look at him, open and blown and pleading.

'Ask.' His thoughts run again. 'Be the one to ask.'

Better yet. Allow them to ask.

"Never be afraid to ask the questions you truly wish to know." He begins. "Just prepare yourself for the consequences." He adds, feebly trying to frame it as advice over a direct invitation. He knows it doesn't work, not in the slightest.

The feeling he gets when you smile upon hearing those words... it's not like anything he's ever felt.

It's small, but your entire face holds and releases the energy you have built. All in one breathy sigh.

The whispers of loud talking and chairs moving roughly against wooden floors tickled his ears. He looked to the crooked building that is the Slat, then motioned you along to follow.

He was met with little cheers and questions when he opened the door. Some stared between him and yourself with raised brows. A few drunkenly told him they hoped the night went well and others gave him a simple welcome back. None of it mattered.

The door to his office closed as you entered in front of him, and he tried his hardest to go about his nightly routine. Just taking off his coat and hat, setting his cane on the sink and, undressing himself to give himself a wash.

But the entire time he was distinctly aware of your presence in his office. Everytime the water trickled back into the sink, piercing the air, he thought of you. Everytime the rough surface of the cloth scratched his skin, leaving a red swatch in its wake, he thought of you. Everytime he rolled his shoulders, feeling his muscles move against his bones and water bead down to his hips, he thought of you.

He could swear he lost his heart a few times.

He patted himself dry, then grabbed his cane and dirty shirt and limped to his office.

There he saw you standing, out of your dress clothes and into some of his own.

Now he really thinks he may have lost his heart. And his breathing.

He gripped his cane, leather gloves squeaking against the metal crow head. He gives himself one, two, three seconds, and then tosses his dirty clothes into the doorway of his bedroom and limps over to you.

You're seated in a chair in front of his make shift desk, playing with a ball of thin twine he used for keeping papers together. He relished in the way your eyes widened and your face no doubt heated when you realized he was bare from the waist up.

Yet you didn't stop, eyes glued to his skin.

He turned around, allowing you to look at the back.

"I never realized it was so large." He heard the chair creak.

"That would be because you've never seen the full thing."

You chuckled, his skin prickling when he felt your breath on his back. "No shit. I just thought that maybe you had two rather than one."

"I have told others in your company that it's connected."

"No, you haven't."

"I have." He thought back briefly. "Nina asked about it for third time whilst she was drunk. You were right next to her, as alert as ever, as I told her that it's one mark."

Your silence was telling.

He caught sight of you from the corner of his eye as you slowly walked around him, eyes trailing up and over his shoulders, over his collar bone, and down his arms, taking note of everything.

Marks don't necessarily have to connect, which is why theres an absense in his mark of where youre supposed to touch. They don't have to be of a certain theme or even be where your soulmate first touches you. The only constant it seems is that your mark is personal to you, yet linking somehow, in some way, with your partner- or partners. They form in response to a change that led you to meeting them.

His was rather obvious, the freezing waves of the Reapers Barge haunting his life, making him the leader and schemer he is today.

Yours had something to do with you leaving your parents, he'd reckon, and setting your course here.

But he didn't know for sure.

Something was on your mind though, he knew, as you worried your lip between your teeth.

"As much as I loved to ask others about theirs, I don't think I've ever willingly shown anyone what my mark is- my whole mark, anyway." You said, voice small and distant. "And it's not because I didn't want to, but I think the hand print on my face scared people off from asking about it for fear it would unlock some horrible backstory."

Your hands came to the bottom of the shirt, bunching it up in your hands.

"But it's not really anything like that. I hope it's not anything like that."

The shirt continued to rise until it was exposing your ribs, the rest of the mark on full display.

They were waves. Waves not necessarily identical to his but definitely similar. In the middle was a handprint. A handprint, he realized, that was very similar in shape to his own.

"I don't reckon it's anything like that either." He couldn't tear his eyes away from it. It had to be connected to him. It had to.

But he had questions. Questions that you seemed more than prepared to ask and answer yourself.

"I didn't say anything before because I didnt think youd want anything to do with it." You rolled the shirt down, but played with the hem between your fingers. "You have goals, goals that require your attention, goals I don't want to get in the way of." You hesitated, hesitated a long while, before adding, "and it's not like we could prove it with your phobia. I didn't want to get my hopes up only to have them crushed and trigger you all at once."

Your logic was sound, but still his questions felt unanswered.

"I do believe I should have a word in this since it largely involves myself."

You picked at the hem again. "Well, yeah. I guess so but..." He felt his cane move, your hand touching the beak of the crow head just inches from his own hand. "I just thought it'd be easier to not bring it up at all rather than go through the hassle of suggesting it in the first place. You're not an easy man to suggest things to. Or ask things from."

His heart beat harder at that, a twinge of guilt infecting his blood. Only for you. For anyone else he'd scoff and say "that's the point", but it hurts when it's you. He wants your suggestions. Your questions. Anything you could give him he'd take with no qualms.

"Still, I believe my point holds some merit."

You sighed. "Yeah... you're right."

"I would not mind if..." He lifted a pointer finger, just barely making contact with your own. He could hardly feel it through the leather. "If one of these days, now even... if you wanted to test it."

The moment the words were out of his mouth, his mind that was screaming for him to reach out split in two. One side continued it's begging, cheering him on. The other begged for him to retreat and sink into himself.

But you looked at him, shocked and hopeful, and the second half became just a little smaller, a little bit more manageable.

"Kaz." You breathed. "Kaz."

He pressed his finger a little harder. "I know what I want, and I know my limits. If you are willing, then I am too."

"So just to be clear you are agreeing to this of your own volition, right?" You used your hands as you talked, holding an invisible object in front of you. "You're not saying this because you feel an obligation?"

The corner of his mouth quirked up. He lifted his cane, hooking the beak in a belt loop of your pants- his pants on your body, and pulled you forward, slowly, gently.

"Yes. Completely of my own volition. No obligation."

You smiled, a delighted giggle bubbling in the air. "Then by all means, go for it."

His heart pounded against his chest so loud, so obscenely loud, he wondered if Nina could detect it from down the stairs. If she could, he was pushing any and all of his hope towards her ignoring it and moving on with her night. He clipped his cane to his own belt, leaving his hands free.

He may not be able to handle skin on skin, but he could handle this for a moment. He peeled off the leather gloves to reveal the cotton ones underneath, much thinner but still a barrier.

There were slits in them just like the leather ones, so when he finally got his hands, arms, and brain working, and touched your face, he could feel the texture of your skin running along a sliver of his finger.

It makes him want to hurl. But he keeps pushing, your mark and his glowing the faintest light. The other hand slides into position, fingers trailing up and under your shirt, and the room gets washed in a deep blue.

The color emanates from his own mark and the waves of your own. An orange color radiates from the compass on your cheek where it spins and rocks, and the waves-

The waves. They flow around his arm like a hurricane, no other course of action. If he thinks about it hard enough he can feel them ripple and move along his flesh, his back tingling like a limb just realizing it's fallen asleep.

Your face is glowing, literally. But the light that shines and bounces at you gives him a completely new appreciation for the little things.

The show lasts no more than a few moments before he pulls back, drowning and gasping for air. He feels like he's being pulled under, but there's an anchor. A stability that wasn't there before.

So he grips it, and is pulled out like a worm on a pole. Youre shoving the leather gloves back on his hands, careful to roll them a bit so your fingers don't graze his. He corrects them when two of his appendages try and fit into one slot, and then unclips his cane for security.

When he finally has his bearings, he realizes that he's just opened a floodgate.

If the marks looked like that muddled by cotton, what brilliance would they hold if he were to take the gloves off?

It's a goal. A solid goal that he could achieve one day. A goal that you could witness /with/ him.

But for now he really, really needs a shirt and some tea.

"You've still got a stain."

What? "A stain?"

"On your lips. From the champagne."

The champagne. The glass that he drank out of, purposefully placing his lips on the stain to peeve some random lady off. Stained his lips.

He looked at his desk, and grabbed a glass of whats probably days old tea and looked at his reflection. Sure enough, there was a faint yet noticeable black smudge on his bottom lip. That's why some people were staring earlier.

Huh.

"That accounts for the weird stares we received." He put the glass down, wiping at his lip with his glove.

"Probably made it worse that we immediately disappeared up here." You retrieved a shirt from his closet, handing it to him.

"Naturally."

The silence that followed was comfortable, his mind reeling at the fact that he touched someone and that someone was you.

As a child, he and Jordie used to wonder what their soulmate was like. At the time Kaz hadn't received his mark, only about eight or nine, but Jordie had his.

One day he woke up and it appeared. It wasn't until hours later that Kaz noticed it had formed on him, the sweat drenching the shirt his brother was wearing, making the oily black tattoo stand out. It was a flock of cardinals all escaping from a central point on his lower back, the point itself being the pads of four fingers.

He thinks, it was a thought Jordie had before he went to bed that made it appear. Opportunity. Freedom.

Soulmate Marks form as a stepping stone. A reassurance you're going in the right direction.

Right now, Kaz can forgive Jordie, if only for a moment, as his mark feels lighter.

∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘

Tags:

@b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r @a-candle-maker

[magicxc]

Hills and Valleys

Synopsis: Legend has it that Halloween is strictly for the scares. With ghouls and goblins, vampires and werewolves, witches and broomsticks, who could disagree?

However, all this friend group wanted was a little trick or treat. Sprinkle in a few party favors, loud music and a cabin in the woods, the myth was bound to come true.

Lurking around the corner is danger like never before, eager to bring this night to a bloody finish.

So join these friends as they fight to make it through a Hallween they’ll never forget.

Word Count: 2728

Warnings: realisation?

Chapter 5 - Lynnley’s POV

Series Masterlist

Stumbling through the blood my knees feel like they're about to give out. I have to physically swallow the vomit that creeps up, pushing through my discomfort for Steph.

Plunking down beside Lenny, I watch in horror the scene that meets me, screaming for answers he refuses to give.

“What the hell is going on Lenny, how did this happen?”

“I don’t fucking know Lynn, for goodness sake make yourself useful.”

“Both of you shut up,” Jason barks. “Dude tell me you got enough service to get us some hel- to get Steph some help.”

The quietness that bounces amidst the still air is deafening and my head starts spinning a mile a minute. There’s no way this is happening to us. Did the killer make their way inside the house? Did Lenny see who did this? But mostly importantly what do we do now?

Leaning over Steph, I beg her to tell me something, anything about how she got in this predicament.

“Stephanie, blink twice if you can hear me babe, please just hang in there for a little while longer. Can you do that for me? For us?” I pleaded. “You know you were always the resilient one of the group, can you please stay strong for a few more minutes? STEPHANIE, we need you,” I sobbed. “Just this once can you do what I ask? Do you always have to be this stubborn?

I so badly want to shake her awake. The slow fluttering of her eyelashes and the small smile that curves at the corner at her lips makes me want to slap her silly.

“Steph, don’t smile like that,” I begged. “Because you know as well as I do that you’re gonna make it out of here. You have to!”

Snot trickles down my nose as the tears race to my cheeks. I can't help the wail that escapes me as I watch Lenny’s hold tighten and his slow rock quicken.

Looking at Steph I notice that her skin seems paler and her eyes are sunken. Her lips are a cold tint of blue while the last bit of blood gradually oozes from the deep gash in her neck. And the smell - its pungency so heavy in the air that I dry heave uncontrollably. It’s an iron metallic type scent, much like if you were to sniff a paperclip. But however simple, I fear it's a scent forever etched into my brain, pulling me back to this exact horrific moment should I ever smell it again.

Eyes tightly squeezed shut, it does nothing against the onslaught of tears, the lump in my throat borderline painful as it swells in discomfort.

Hands clutching my chest, they do very little to ease the thumping of my heart. It feels like my body is caving in on itself, crushed by the literal weight of gravity and this fucked up night. Breathing seems all too distant and my attempts feel pointless. The only thing my body can manage is a desperate scream that tears through my throat once more.

I feel the room start to spin and clutch the bathroom sink for support to high tail it out of there. Bloody prints are the stamp I leave behind, stomach churning at what looks like a crime scene. Eyeing my knees, they’re drenched in the red liquid and I want so badly to crawl out of my skin. A glance into the mirror makes my belly do a backflip - splattered spots of blood lining my face, hair disheveled and damp and limbs that wont stop trembling; much like an addict waiting for their next fix.

Staggering into the hallway, Jason scoops me in his arms where I let out the last bit of tears my body has to offer. Hands firmly wrapped around my waist, he gently sways us, softly whispering words I can't comprehend.

After some time where all my body has to give is light hiccups and a throbbing headache I pull away, muddled and dazed.

Scanning the room I see that Em’s still boxed into the corner of the wall, Steph’s still cradled in Lenny’s arms, and Jason looks as if he’s seen ten ghosts. This night has gone on long enough and it’s about time we get some answers and get the hell out of here.

“Lorenzo, for the love of chips what happened here?”

“Your guess is as good as mine Lynn, take a good fucking look around and stop being stupid for once in your life,” he answered. “I swear you ask the dumbest questions.”

“C’mon Lenny,” Em pipes up. “It’s no need to get nasty, I'm sure you can understand we’re all a bit frazzled here.”

“Well go frazzle us a way outta here cause all you’ve done so far is lost your shit.”

“Guys, I can’t be expected to be the voice of reason the ENTIRE night, please get a grip all of you,” Jason sighs.

“Just who the fuck do you think you are?” I fumed. “You think just because you had us look into a bunch of rooms, you’re the most level headed?”

Pacing the hallways, I open and slam shut every door in my path; screaming out obscenities and frustrations alike. Stomping my heart out, I barge into the coat room and fling about hangers, clothes, and whatever else found itself into my clutches.

“Oh looky here Mr. Seargant sir, I found all these goodies for ya, do yous think yous could help us out the house now?” I mocked.

“Lynn-“

“Six years in service and all you’ve accomplished is learning how to get maced in the face. Maybe if I put a gun in your hand that’d speed things along huh?

“I know even you aren’t THAT dense,” he snarled.

“Yo, chill!” Em shouts.

“And what if I am? Tell me just what the fuck you plan to do about it,” I egg on.

“Bodies of our friends are littered around the property,” Lenny sniffled. “How on earth do you guys find it in you to be angry?”

“HOW ARE YOU NOT? Someone is actively slaughtering us and that doesn’t piss you off even a little?” Emery barks.

“It scares me.”

“Well what scares me even more is that you haven’t said jack shit about what happened here,” she retorts.

“What do you all want me to say? I found Steph this way! The real question is where were all of YOU when this happened?”

“You guys are hopeless, good fucking luck,” Jason spits over his shoulder as he tramples his way to the front of the house.

“Your choice in men never ceases to amaze me,” Em snides.

“Fuck the both of you.”

Gently laying Steph down, Lenny places a soft kiss to her forehead and exits the bathroom, making sure to close the door behind him.

“Guys, who else is in this house besides us?” Lenny questioned. “I mean did y’all hear or see anything that looks like someone may have broken in?”

“Not that I heard off, I was too busy rummaging. But if someone did find their way in the house, they would have had to make their way past Lynn or Jason.”

“I think I would’ve noticed if someone barged through the front door since my face has been glued to the damn deadlock.”

And they say I ask the stupidest questions, pfft. Albeit school wasn’t my strong suit but I could definitely put two and two together. And by the sound of it, it seems like they think the killer is-

Ohhhhh my gosh. Eyes bulging out the sockets, I drag my hands down my face, surely smudging whatever makeup is left of it.Turning to the both of them I breathlessly try to deduce the situation at hand but all that comes out is stuttering blabber; their encouraging head nods urging me to continue, but to no avail. Stopping entirely and back now stiffened, I blew out a few deep breaths, making sure to inhale slowly to really gather my thoughts as insane as they sound.

“Lenny, are you seriously suggesting that the killer stayed behind after the party and is hiding in the house with us?”

“Lynn,” Em groaned. “I think what he’s saying is that one of US is the killer.”

“What-“

“LYNN, think about it,” he whisper shouted. “This is a two bedroom, two story townhouse with no attic or basement. With the five of us searching the rooms and no one breaking inside the unit, that doesn’t really leave enough space to hide now does it?”

“Go on,” I urged.

“Soooo, whoever got to Steph must’ve slipped away from their post while we were all distracted,” Em finished.

“Well it wasn’t me,” I blurted.

Could it really be? Is it possible that one of us is behind this? No, not even! I refuse to consider that. I’ll tear this place apart until I find that son of a bitch. I don't know where or how but I bet they’re burrowed into some cowardice hiding spot like the pussy they are.

Heat pooling in my face and hands squeezed into fists, I ready myself to march in the direction of the rooms, eager to strip it piece by piece, only to be pulled back by Lenny with a firm grip on my forearm.

“No one’s back there,” he reminded. “I think the best thing we can do right about now is wait it out. My parents will be here first thing tomorrow morning, key in hand.”

“Yeah I’m with Lenny, enough of this splitting up shit. Speaking of splitting, where’s your sketchy boy toy?”

“I’m real close to punching you in the face right about now.”

“Enough both of you, let's go,” Lenny growled, dragging us into the foyer.

We meet Jason there who’s at this point trying to pick the lock himself, his hands jittery as opposed to the steady ones I’ve come to know and feel - he’s clearly unnerved. I mean, who wouldn’t be in this situation? And Lenny seriously thinks the killer is one of us? For goodness sake we’ve been trying to tear down this door since forever now. Would the killer really look for a way out of here?

We get Jasons attention and go over the plan, which is about the only solid thing going for us right now. The idea is that one of us has done the deed, when really I think we should give the house another run through. If the person responsible for all of this truly stands in this room then if they try something, we can all attack at once. I’m no super soldier but even I can admit that three on one are pretty good odds. And since Lenny’s parents are set to come here first thing in the morning for one final walk through of the house, we can call the police and let them finish the job.

“So we’re all supposed to be sitting ducks for the killer?” Jason fumed. “Reallll solid Lenny, lets just all gather around and make it easy for em huh?”

“And what about peeing? Are we all expected to go to the bathroom together?” Em questioned.

“Who could stomach such a scene,” I muttered. “I think I’d be better off pissing myself.”

“All this rides on the fact that the killer is working alone anyway am I right? Suddenly two on two doesn’t seem like such a slam dunk after all huh?”

“Just a minute ago we could barely keep our eyes open, are we really expected to sit here fully awake for a few more hours?”

ARE YOU TELLING ME YOU’RE GENUINELY ABLE TO CLOSE YOUR EYES AT A TIME LIKE THIS?”

“All I’m saying is that we should take turns keeping watch.”

“And what happens when it's the killer's turn? Fucking dumbass.”

Firmly rubbing my fingers into my temple it does very little to ease the ache, their constant arguing hurling me closer toward the edge. Albeit, those were all good questions asked, but silly me for thinking that this would be smooth sailing.

Chuckling to myself, I slap my hand over my mouth before it turns into full fledged laughter. Smooth sailing? What the heck am I even talking about. I’m basically living with Em because she thinks she “cheated death.” We’ve found Julez belly up in the lake. Steph is bleeding out on the bathroom floor. Lenny is the closest thing we have to a responsible adult right now. And I’m pretty sure my relationship with Jason is just about finished after tonight. Not to mention all of this has happened in the span of a few hours. Doubling over, tears stream down my face in tandem - ohh boy, nothing about tonight, shit the rest of my life really will be smooth sailing moving forward.

Eventually their bickering dies down and each person settles into their respective corner of the front room. A stare down ensues, with tension thick enough for me to reach out and grab it. Nothing in my life could have prepared me for the day I’d have to look my friends in the face and wonder if they were capable of committing such crimes.

Some time later, Jason breaks the deafening silence, interrogating Lenny on exactly what he was doing before he found Steph, accusations heavy in the question.

“Jason this is what we’re not gonna do,” Em lectured. “Let's just focus on staying alive long enough to get out of this house before we start throwing suspicions on each other.”

“The fact of the matter is he and Julez weren’t exactly on the best of terms and from what sugars told me, he couldn’t quite finagle his way into Stephs heart the same way he could her pants.”

“Dude! I swear I love your inquisitive nature but NOT at a time like this,” I pleaded.

“All I’m saying is everyone who's had an issue with Lorenzo has somehow ended up dead tonight so I suggest we all stay on his good side.”

“Bro, I'm not even gonna argue with you. Just know, once we get outside that’s your ass.”

“What’s with the scrutiny all of a sudden?” Em challenged. “You know I could say the same for you Jason, the same for all of us really; cause where was anyone when our friends were fighting for their lives?” she sniffled. “All we have to do is sit here til sunrise and we can’t even do that.”

As awkward as it was, I actually prefer the quiet. If it means that a screaming match breaks out every time someone speaks, then I’m happy just sitting here.

But then again, left with nothing but my thoughts scares me even more. I haven't heard so much as a floorboard creak since we’ve been down here. Could it really be that no one else is in this house and one of us is truly guilty? I can’t imagine sitting here til sunrise with thoughts like that bouncing around my cranium. I need answers and I need them now.

“So, you’re telling me that you guys actually did that to people. Isn’t that like, illegal?”

“Only if someone were to find out,” he answered. “Besides they were bad guys.”

“Yes but Jason, that’s literally inhumane, how could you even stomach that?”

“When you have people that you care about and motherfuckers who threaten their safety and that of the country, suddenly your tolerance level drops a whole lot lower.”

“I see,” I faltered. “Did it at least help? Did you all ever get the answers that you needed?”

“Most times.”

“Most times?”

“Hey, it worked about 90% of the time and last I checked, that’s still an A.”

“Sure but even today I’m sure there are more tactical ways to get people talking, that’s just pure torture,” I cried.

“That’s the point sugar, it’s a form of torture, used as an interrogation technique. And it’s because of people like me, that you can sleep soundly at night.”

Though I understood where Jason stood on the matter, I never agreed to the ways they got people talking; until now. Eyes darting around the room, suddenly waterboarding seemed plausible.

It’s not a matter of threatening safety because that line has been crossed, now is a matter of surviving; and I’ll be damned if I don't.

[visionkept]

SERIOUS TALK. I'm heavily considering moving this account to a new one. This one is getting really cluttered between the awful tumblr changes not remembering my tags, not being able to find headcanons, old asks & threads accumulating, in general is a mess. Not only that but things as general graphics and aesthetics feel very outdated. Being pretty honest, Tomoya was supposed to be a "TEMPORARY BLOG" while I took a break from my previous main muse. That's why I didn't even bother to make pretty fancy tags, pages or really elaborated graphics. I didn't expect to get attached to them, surprised myself with the bonds they have created too ! Plus, I think I have grasped by now the direction of this muse, builded up a story I still have to talk about and AUs set that I sure do love exploring. So as soon as this semester is over, I'll start preparing a new blog to move this one and have a fresh start. Here comes a to do list for myself on what I should prepare before moving this account though. Will be done in the shadows as I continue using this one for the time being.

Look for a new URL ! If possible one that matches the spring aesthetic I want to give off. If not, one about fate / destiny or lighting / thunderstorms will do.

Make a new rules page and be more precise in the unfollowing / following section as well as some things I want to prevent while plotting and shipping with others.

Use a new formatting that uses purples and reds ! C'mon Berry, use to your advantage the new formatting options.

Make that mains / bonds page. But make it extra special by adding drawn chibis of Tomo's bonds: Chihiro, Tem, Satoru, Kaeya ( aka. I gotta start doodling them ).

GRAPHICS with a new aesthetic ! Mobile header, dash icon, not doing a theme this time tho, a header for asks and threads even. But especially a new icon border cause I hate the current one so much.

Draw. yourself. new. Tomo. chibis. berry.

Remake Tomo's dish.

New tags, with quotes this time.

BERRY, DROP THE TOMO LORE ALREADY. Glad it's all in your silly little brain but damn girl, get it together cause that new blog gotta have an ABOUT PAGE with Tomo's CHARACTER STORIES.

Also gotta work in an AU PAGE explaining the most important points about the following AUS ( besides those I have in that page already ) : modern, knight, star rail ( the two versions ), archon, stardew valley, spiderverse.

Yes, as you see I got A LOT to do but I'll take my time. Will be striking the things i manage to do in the shadows these weeks. Meanwhile this blog is still running like always ( aka. spotty activity but somehow here ❤ ).

NOTE: plot important asks as well as threads will be continued and answered in the new blog in case I don't answer those by the time the new account is ready.

[cubic-watermelon]

My Shining Pearl Artlocke Nuzlocke challenge

I did this when the games came out. I was trying to make the game hard because I already knew it was going to be too easy.

Here are my rules:

-Catch only the first Pokémon in each area; -Name them; (naming theme - villagers from animal crossing) -draw them; -fainting = death; -draw how they died; -no items in battle; -no legendaries; -level cap = to next leader’s ace; -game mode = set; -no in-game trades; -dupes clause, for the sake of variety.

Starter: Turtwig Name: Flora Nature: Rash Ability: Overgrow

Route 201: Starly Name: Apollo Nature: Naughty Ability: Keen eye

Route 202: nothing... a kricketot fainted to a crit by Apollo.

Route 204: Bidoof Name: Chip Nature: Gentle Ability: Simple

Route 218: Magikarp Name: Hopkins Nature: Gentle Ability: Swift swim

Route 203: Kricketot Name: Piper Nature: Hasty Ability: Shed skin

First Death: Chip I was grinding near Oreburgh Gate. Chip as already in the red and I wanted to go back to heal. ran into a starly and it didn't let me run. I was looking forward to using Chip more. His abiliti was good NGL. RIP

Oreburgh gate: Zubat Name: Celeste Nature: Sassy Ability: Inner focus

Route 207: Geodude Name: Renée Nature: Sassy Ability: Rock head

Oreburgh mine: Onix Name: Spike Nature: Quiet Ability: Sturdy

Piper evolved into DELELELEWOOOOOOOOP. Her ability is now Swarm.

going into the first Gym, this is my team. I have a flawless strategy, don't worry. (spam the "do grass damage" button)

I ended up just using Piper. She’s holding a metronome so I just spammed rock smash for an easy win.

Apollo Evolved and gained the ability intimidate.

Valley Windworks: Buizel Name: Marina Nature: Bold Ability: Swift Swim

Flora evolved.

Route 205: Pachirisu Name: Tasha Nature: Lax Ability: Pickup

This is my team for the grass Gym. I didn't catch anything on route 211 because Celeste decided to kill a meditite encounter, so, no new mon and no fire type...

Celeste and Piper had a little trouble with Roserade but we did it with my BIG BRAIN tactics! who needs fire types? then Celeste evolved... and a level later she evolved again! Now that I have a Crobat I can safely say this run is in the bag!

Hopkins evolved and now I have a killing machine with intimidate!

btw, I didn't catch anything on route 211 and 206 because Celeste likes crits.

Wayward cave: Bronzor (Gible spawns here btw...) Name: Clay Nature: Naughty Ability: Levitate

Renée evolved and I'm very surprised, I never used geodude before, she's quite good.

then, I remembered the old Chateau and went back to get me a mon.

Old Chateau: Gastly Name: Lucky Nature: Adamant Ability: Levitate

Mount Coronet: Meditite Name: Poncho Nature: Serious Ability: Pure power

route 208 - Psyduck died to a crit. route 209 - didn't find a new mon yes. Dupes Clause.

Route 210: Ponyta Name: Victoria Nature: Careful Ability: Flash fire

I went into the 3rd gym with this team but a bit weaker. Beat it with Apollo, Hopkins and Celeste but it wasn’t easy.

death 2 - Lucky. He died to a Mime Jr. of all things... I was leveling him up and I thought he could take on a shitty Mime Jr. RIP

A guy gave an egg to me in hearthome, it hatched:

Hearthome city: Happiny Name: Merengue Nature: Quirky Ability: Serene grace

Route 209: Bonsly Name: Coco Nature: Careful Ability: Rock head

Finally found a fossil undergrownd: Oreburg City: Shieldon Name: Rhonda Nature: Timid Ability: Sturdy

Happiny shoved a rock into her cooch and evolved.

And that's the end of part one! To be continued!

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/cubic-watermelon/724830775856513024/my-trash-dump

[scorchieart]

A Midsummer Night's Scream | AO3

Genre: Angst & Fluff (& an attempt at romance)

Warnings: War, Blood, Death, Guns, Night terrors, Spoilers for Chevalier's route

Characters: Chevalier Michel x F!Reader

Summary: Under the sweltering summer heat, truth and fiction meld to a uniformity Chevalier cannot help to pick apart on his own

Word Count: ~3000

A/N: My gift for the Seasons of Love Exchange 2022 for the awesome @ikehoe. Mondo thanks to @aquagirl1978 for setting this whole thing up and helping me pick apart Chevalier's brain.

Just a heads up that I am still very amateurish when it comes to writing reader insert, romance, angst, action... basically this whole thing is a giant melting pot of stuff I tossed in from the back of the pantry. Hoping this experiment turns out a success, or at least enough to entertain.

**FINAL reminder to check those content warnings before proceeding. Nothing's super explicit, but things get dicey right out of the gate (but then it gets better, I promise!)

The red tinge of sunset bathed the land in an ethereal glow so mesmerizing it almost completely masked the splotches of blood scattered across the earth. Slain bodies clad in hefty uniforms of either red or black dotted the wasteland, but Chevalier steered through them all the same. Their colors all melted into a singular crimson under the blazing sky anyway. A sea of humans resting after a long day’s struggle. Side by side, united in death.

Chevalier ran his gloved fingers over the length of his sword, taking in his surroundings as he flicked the gory remains onto a nearby rock. Though he stood in the valley connecting a pair of adjacent hills, the receding summer sun still baked the air around him, overloading his sight with refracting waves wherever they bounced off a sizzling surface. The burning metal of the blade between his fingers. The blinding armor of a fallen soldier by his feet. The scorching stones that congregated the stage he stood upon. He shut his stinging eyes and swallowed breath after breath like the sky was a running stream, willing himself not to succumb to heatstroke. At least he had the foresight to wear cooling white and the fortune to be born with fair hair. No doubt his adversary would be having a more difficult time in this climate, he thought.

When he’d finally taken his fill of the imaginary water, he attempted to focus his vision again by zeroing in on the closest thing to him; the deceased soldier. Now that the horizon nearly succeeded consuming the sun, he could make out the details of the armor without needing to shield his eyes. A charred cloak loosely swaddled the heavily dented breastplate barely managing to restrain the mass of singed limbs so obviously bent out of proportion. Streaks of blood trailed the side of the hill behind the body, and Chevalier wondered whether it was the fire or the fall that did the man in. More probably the latter, he rationed as he sheathed his marginally-cleaned sword and bent down to get a closer look.

The sun-baked helmet seared through his gloves as he lifted it off the man’s head, and though it was badly bloodied and bruised, Chevalier still recognized the face that stared back at him. A prominent Rhodolitian nobleman, a supposed supporter of his faction no less, brandishing the Obsidianite seal on the clasp that barely kept his cloak connected to his armor. 

He lowered the helmet to the ground and studied the man more intently. A lord from the east, he was what one would classify as barely beyond the stage of youth, recently married and with a child on the way. Chevalier had only spoken with him on a handful of occasions, always in the company of balls or galas, though he never missed the lingering revulsion that clouded the man’s aura when he remarked about the state of affairs or scowled when the princes’ backs were turned.

The banged armor glinted dully in the final traces of sundown, and Chevalier scowled at his own bloodied reflection in the rough metal. While he wore red as a coat of victory, there existed a non-zero possibility that this man’s rouge wove into its fibers. Such was the consequence of betrayal. The man placed his lot and lost his life on the bet. It was the natural order for the weak to be conquered and the strong to rise atop their ashes and pave the way for the future. But what order lay for a future destined to repeat its past?

Then he heard it. The metallic click registered in his brain before the scuttle of boots scratching the dirt. A sound so new and unfamiliar, yet still echoing the call of a thousand dying screams yet to release.

Sword redrawn and back on his feet, Chevalier faced his assailant with renewed focus. Staring back at him from behind the shaky gun’s barrel were the raging eyes of Lord Flandre, all pointed squarely at his chest. Before Chevalier could even think to speak, a second click reverberated behind him. Keeping his sword pointed at Flandre, he shifted his stance to catch sight of the second gunman clad head-to-toe in ethereal black. His single vermilion eye, practically radiating hostility in the low light, smoothly traveled up Chevalier’s cornered figure before catching his gaze with an amused wink. Chevalier countered with a seething leer before returning to the panting Flandre. 

Outmatched in number, weaponry, and stamina. By all accounts, Chevalier should surrender and face his fate like a gentleman. But Chevalier was never one to ascribe to such frivolous notions as propriety.

The less stable of the two, Flandre was sure to crack and shoot first. Chevalier swapped his blade between targets, primed his knees, and narrowed his eyes on Flandre’s quivering fingers. 

“Look me in the eye, you beast!” Flandre bellowed, pulling the trigger, and it was as though he ignited a second fire in Chevalier’s limbs. 

Bang! 

In an instant, Chevalier dropped his sword, grabbed the forgotten helmet, and sprinted up the bloodstained hill. The incline steepened the higher he went, but he sucked in breath after breath, ignoring his screaming legs, and pushed forward until he heard the second gunshot.

Bang!

This was the moment. Following the line of the final ray of sun, he dug his boot into a rocky inlet and pivoted his entire body, swinging his arm with the momentum and launching the helmet in the direction of the incoming bullet. The metal whistled as wind swished through its various openings, but Chevalier tuned his ears to catch the one sound he’d been waiting for.

Clink! 

Bullseye. Chevalier exhaled and reverted his attention to descending the hill safely. The newfound chill of twilight began to temper his heaving lungs and racing mind, but as much as he wanted to ascertain whether the deed was done, he didn’t dare take his eyes off the jutting rocks threatening to trip him down the slope. If his calculations were correct (and when were they not?) the second bullet would ricochet off the helmet and change trajectory towards Flandre. And if the first bullet didn’t do the other guy in, then a rocketing helmet to the cranium surely would. 

Darkness enveloped the terrain by the time he skidded back down to the helmetless soldier, but he heard no noise other than the shifting pebbles that accompanied him on his descent. Blinking through the inky blackness, Chevalier retrieved his sword then cautiously made his way towards the more dangerous of the men. When his boot struck what he presumed to be a leg, he nudged it several times to confirm it was no longer alive. 

Such a shame, another two lives tossed in the lot then spat out like the rest. And one of them a prince, no less. He relaxed his sword arm and crouched solemnly by the head. The cool embrace of moonlight crept up the desolate landscape, and Chevalier wanted to look upon the anguished face that plagued his waking and sleeping nightmares in full view. But instead of bubbling with the warm rush of victory, Chevalier’s veins froze when the moon revealed not the lifeless visage of the first prince of Obsidian, but of you.

It wasn’t possible, it couldn’t be. You weren’t supposed to be anywhere near the battlefield. You were back at the palace reading books and sipping tea, just how he left you. Not lying in the middle of nowhere with a terminal wound blooming on your forehead. You were supposed to be safe. Safe with the princes. Safe with his brothers. Safe with…

“This is… all your fault…”

Chevalier automatically jumped to his feet and extended his arm, pointing his sword at the now twitching second body. He’d watched countless dying men in his years to recognize the futility of speech following a fatal blow. But even the raspiness of a bullet to the throat couldn’t mask the voice he’d imprinted over a lifetime.

Moonbeams glistened off the fresh stream of red trickling down Clavis’s paling lips as he struggled to sit up, staring golden daggers into his brother’s vacant eyes.  

“All your fault!” he screeched, and at once Chevalier felt the light of the moon taking weight, enclosing upon him and suspending his still-sore limbs, pinning them against his frame and contracting tighter and tighter. He tried to break free, to rip his arms away and reach both of them, one of them, either of them, but his thrashing only accomplished his sword slipping from his grasp and a splitting pain pounding in his skull, growing and growing until all he could see was endless white and hear an ear-splitting scream he couldn’t pin to a source.

As quickly as the squeezing began, it ended. Chevalier’s arms vibrated with the floatiness of surfacing from the saltiest ocean, drenched and stinging, as he breathed deeply in and out his nose and scanned his surroundings. Night shrouded his vision again but he couldn’t spot the moon. He tried shifting his legs when he realized he was sitting now, on something lusciously soft. He lowered his still-shaking hand only to discover it clenched tightly around the hilt of his sword. Didn’t he drop it? He swiveled his head to his other hand and found the whites of his knuckles clutched in the fingers of another. Your fingers.

The next breaths released easier than the firsts, and he could finally make out the familiar scent of his room. Just a dream, he thought. He rested the sword beside him on the bed and leaned over you, brushing his slowly steadying fingers through your hair. A nightmare, but nonetheless a dream. He looped a clump around his finger and tucked it behind your ear, the motion that never failed to make you giggle, your soft snores filling his senses and calming the last of his heaving breaths. But just when he thought he was about to puff out the last of them, it caught in his throat at the sight of the red bump poking from underneath your fringe.

No. No. It was all a dream. You never got hurt. He never hurt you. You were safe and sound here at the palace, reading books and drinking tea with…

Clavis.

Chevalier meticulously pried his fingers from yours and kicked the covers off. Now out of bed, he could see the measly moonlight shining through the high windows. It paled in comparison to that in his dream (was it really just a dream?), but he still easily maneuvered his way around his desk and chairs to the closet following his mind map. That was one memory he could trust, at least.

He peeled his nightclothes off his sweaty form and quickly dressed himself, mind running abuzz with all the locations he might find his marauding brother. He didn’t recall giving Clavis any instructions before retiring for the night, but on the other hand he certainly might have, so it was anyone’s guess where the third prince could be prancing at this hour. In the faction office catching up on work. In the garden laying his daily trap quota. On the grounds patrolling for trespassers so Chevalier could get some sleep.

Chevalier fastened his belt and slipped his boots on impatiently. He nearly clawed the door off its hinges, but stopped himself when he felt off balance. Pawing at his side, he turned back to the bed where he remembered he left his sword. He grumbled under his breath and restarted the process of weaving his way through the maze, but tripped and fell on his knees when his foot caught in something. 

Chevalier’s icy glare bore holes in the guilty chair that caused his fall, but he didn’t dare make a move lest you were on the verge of waking. Instead, he counted the seconds raking through his brain to determine the origin of the condemned piece of furniture. It wasn’t one of the usual staples of his room. Did Clavis leave it in the way as a prank? No, that would be too tame for his standards. Or was that just what he’d want him to think?

He pressed his fist to his temple as his mind swirled with conflicting thoughts battling to dominate his psyche. What was that chair doing here? Where was Clavis? What was he up to? Did he actually bring the chair? What was that chair doing here? Was Clavis hurt? How did you get hurt? Did you trip on the chair, too? What was that wretched chair doing here?

“My King?” you yawned, stirring. Chevalier stayed silent as a mouse while you patted his side of the bed, hoping you’d succumb to sleepiness and give up soon. But then he remembered the unsheathed blade sitting precariously close to your roaming fingers and leapt to retrieve it, making you sit up in alarm. He avoided your bewildered gaze as he secured the sword to his belt and marched back to the door.

“Ch-Chevalier?” you called hesitantly.

“Go back to sleep,” he commanded. His voice came out gravelly, but whether that was due to the summer heat or lack of use he wasn’t sure. 

“But… where are you going?”

“To see Clavis,” he almost barked. So many questions, why couldn’t you just let him do what he needed to? Why couldn’t you just trust him and stay put where he knows you’ll be safe? Far away from any stray bullets or blades or out-of-control flying helmets. 

But of course, you were never one to keep quiet when your perspectives differed. It was why he chose you to stand by his side, after all. You were eloquent and firm, able to see through the haze in those rare moments his mind clouded. And right now, you were the lighthouse on his aimless voyage through the thickest fog.

“But Clavis is in Obsidian for the merger negotiations.” 

Chevalier stalled his footsteps and dissected what you’d said. The words flurried around his skull, wiping away the chattering lies and unveiling the truth. You were right, Clavis left with Yves last week bound for Obsidian following the adoption of the four-way peace treaty. At the same time, the twins traveled to Benitoite and Jin accompanied Luke to Jade. A triad of delegations comprised of princes from both factions; a testament to Rhodolite’s commitment to cooperation and to the magnitude of this historic alliance. An alliance Chevalier devised long before the dawn of his reign and executed seconds after the title left the Belle’s lips. An alliance sentencing his brothers to the whims of three nations usurped by their smallest neighbor overnight.

The pounding in his skull returned, and Chevalier raised a hand to his temple to quench it. But this time, the pain erupted from a source of realization. The mysterious chair was a gift he’d given you when you’d officially moved into his room. The bump on your forehead came from when you and Leon baked him a “Chin up, King!” cake and you’d tried reaching for a bowl from a high shelf. And the fallen soldier from his dream was merely a character from a romance novel he’d read a few nights prior. The novel where the protagonist’s heartbroken younger brother was lured to turn on his family before tragically losing his life to fratricide. The novel with the colorful life-like illustrations that managed to burn into his consciousness as believably as reality. The novel that you recommended he read to calm down after the princes’ departures.

Chevalier involuntarily jerked his free hand when he felt yours curling around his fingers. He hadn’t noticed you slipping out of bed and crossing up to him, and though a tinge of fear flashed across your eyes you kept your stance and reached again. This time, Chevalier didn’t shy away as he allowed you to pull him toward the bed. He didn’t resist when you unclasped his scabbard and set it on the table. He didn’t protest when you rid him of his heavy white coat and pressed his shoulders to sit. He didn’t argue when you pointed at his gloves and boots then climbed back to your side of the bed. And he didn’t complain when you cupped his head and rested it squarely over your heart, tucking him back under the covers and combing your fingers through his hair as he leveled his breathing and nuzzled closer.

“We’ll write to him first thing in the morning. Promise,” you whispered. 

Chevalier closed his eyes and hummed in agreement.

“And you don’t have any meetings tomorrow, correct? Let’s take the day off.”

Chevalier nodded, catching a loose ribbon from your nightdress and twiddling it in his fingers.

“The weather’s been lovely as of late. We could take a stroll through the garden and have a picnic under the summer blossoms. Or we could head into town and visit the new café that opened up. Licht told me they make wonderful cream puffs. And we could invite Leon to come along, too—”

Chevalier grunted and you laughed into his hair, disrupting the work you put into smoothing down his bedhead. “Alright, alright. We’ll bring some back for him, then.”

You continued listing caboodles of summer activities into his scalp, pausing only to hear his wordless opinions before recommending something new. Eventually his responses ceased and you looked down at his sleeping form with a smile. Brushing his sweaty fringe back, you pressed your forehead against his, filling his thoughts with warm wishes and good dreams for the king who deserved nothing less.

Tagging: @atelieredux @queengiuliettafirstlady @violettduchess @ikemen-prince-gift-exchange