#the monster designs even pop off sometimes

[scoobypineapple]

The new Scooby Doo mysteries is actually so good like we need to give them more credit

[13uswntimagines]

I'll Take Care of You (Alessia Russo x MMA!fighter R)

Request: Could we maybe see some slightly more stern dom alessia dealing with r (doesn’t have to be smut) in front of the team because reader starts acting bratty with them?

Part of the same universe as the come down.

Warning: Slight touching but not actual smut. Also D/S fic

Author's note: Hey Y'all, i really hope you enjoy this. I want to point out that D/S dynamics are based on trust and communication, so that's what I chose to focus on. Alessia is a soft dom, and chooses a punishment that she knows will be effective. If you want to chat or have any ideas or comments, feel free to hit me up.

Gearing up for a fight was the equivalent of stretching out a rubber band to its limit. It was 8 weeks of nonstop training, 4 weeks of conditioning your body to shed water so you could make weight, 2 weeks of cameras following you around for UFC embedded, and 1 week of media bombardment where you had to listen to grown men act like 5-year-olds talking about who was going to beat who.

It was utterly exhausting. 

The only upside was that at the end of it, you got to step into the octagon and do what you did best. 

You got to put the plan your coaches drilled over and over into your brain into place. You got to release all of the built-up anxiety and frustration from camp. 

You got to fight. 

It was like coming up for oxygen after being trapped underwater. Sometimes the cage felt like the only place you could really breathe on your own. 

It had been your safe haven for almost as long as you could remember, which was kinda strange considering your health was put at immediate risk every time you stepped inside. It had been your escape from your family, and your only coping mechanism for as long as you could remember. 

To go through training camp, and fight week and the weight cut, only to have your fight pulled at the last minute was fucking devastating. 

It was like when Alessia brought you all the way to the precipice of an orgasm and then pulled away just before you could tumble over it, except far far far worse. 

It made your blood boil. It made the monster in your chest roar that your opponent couldn’t do his end of the job to make the fight go on after all of the shit he was talking. And there was nothing anyone could say or do to make it better. 

Dana promised that the fight would be rescheduled. He even threw in that if you won, you would be next in line for a title shot. 

But it didn’t help. 

The fight was set to be at the O2 arena, meaning your girlfriend and all of her teammates had been set to see you, and now they couldn’t. You couldn’t get your 10 training weeks back and you would have to do the weight cut all over again. 

It was a shit sandwich, and it made you feel completely out of control. It made you crave for someone else to put you right again. For Alessia to remind you that she had control always. 

Maybe that’s why you chose your satin button-down shirt to go to dinner with your girlfriend and her teammates and paired it with tight black skinny jeans. 

It wasn’t often that you liked to push Alessia’s control. That you toed the boundaries that she set, but tonight it felt like the prize comparable to stepping into the cage. 

With the little black dress she had worn, you really couldn’t blame yourself either. You could never resist when she showed off her legs. You were obsessed and she knew it. It was probably why she had chosen the outfit, to begin with. 

It was probably designed as a reward of sorts for after your fight, except you weren’t having a fight. So you supposed it was kind of like a consolation prize. 

Except you felt wound too tightly to really enjoy it.

“So that’s it, they just call the whole thing off?” Ella asked leaning forward to rest her chin in her hand.

“Yep,” You popped the p, your finger running a gentle circle on Alessia’s exposed knee. “I can’t even sign a paper that says I’m fine fighting him despite the failed drug test, and it’s too late to find a replacement even if we allow a catchweight,” 

She let the movement continue, the hand wrapped around your shoulder gently squeezing the arm furthest away from her. 

While she was relieved that the rules prevented you from fighting a man on steroids, she knew how gutted you were about the cancellation.

“Probably for the best mate,” Leah said, sipping her wine. 

You shrugged, letting your finger trail a little higher on Alessia’s leg. 

It was slightly too… forward for the steakhouse her teammates had chosen, but with the dimmed lights you figured no one could see your hand under the white tablecloth anyway. Not with how close you were sitting to your girlfriend. 

“I already made weight, so it’s kind of a waste,” You muttered, dragging your nails up the inside of her thigh to just below the hem of her dress. “I’ll have to start camp all over again unless I take something short notice,” 

“Can you do that?” Mary asked, from your other side.

You shrugged again. “I told Dana I was game if he needed someone to fill in, so we’ll have to see,” 

Alessia’s eyebrows pulled tighter together “You didn’t tell me that, love,” 

“Didn’t I?” You asked, feigning dumb, as your fingers finally made it past the hem of her dress. “Must have forgotten. I’m excited to see you all play on Tuesday though,” 

You ran your nail across the sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh, dangerously close to her center. But before you could make it any further, her free hand caught your wrist, and repositioned you so your hand was resting very innocently near her knee again. 

“Ireland is always fun to face,” Ella smiled at you. “Should be a bit chippy,” 

“I’ll definitely be rocking my MacCabe jersey,” You matched her expression, your thumb again beginning to rub circles into Alessia’s skin. 

Leah frowned, dropping her menu. “You will?” 

“Absolutely,” You smirked, wiggling your eyebrows and slyly trailing your thumb back up Alessia’s thigh. “Gotta support my favorite foul-mouthed Gooner,” 

Leah’s eyes went wide, and Alessia squeezed your shoulder. 

“And what about me?” Your girlfriend asked, a pout pulling at her lips. 

You wiggled your eyebrows, a witty remark at the tip of your tongue, knowing it would piss her off, but the tension in your chest made you unable to stop yourself. 

You wanted to push her. To force a reaction, even when you knew all you had to do was ask for what you wanted. 

“Are you ladies ready to order?” A waiter asked, appearing behind Leah before you could let it fly. 

You let your smirk widen, closing your menu with a thud and making eye contact with the waiter. 

“Since she’s not on the menu,” You started, leaning closer to your girlfriend for just a second, edging your hand even further up her thigh until it was again past the hem of her dress. “I think I’ll have the tomahawk, medium rare with a Yorkie and the roasted carrots please,” 

You winked at the waiter for good measure as the table giggled and Alessia’s cheeks turned bright red. 

The waiter cleared his throat, turning his attention to your girlfriend. “And for you ma’am?” 

Alessia opened her mouth, probably to order, but you cut her off instead. 

“She’ll take the sirloin, medium with the Orzo and kale salad,” You said, reciting her normal order with perfect precision. “And she’ll be having me for dessert later,” 

More giggles erupted from your friends, and you dragged your hand impossibly higher, extending your pinky so it brushed against her underwear. 

She inhaled sharply next to you, sending you a warning side eye as the rest of the table continued to order, but she didn’t immediately remove your hand. 

You ignored her warning, letting your pinky slide over the satiny fabric of her underwear. 

It wasn’t what she normally wore, and you couldn’t help the wolfish grin that took over your features. 

She had worn lingerie for you. 

Maybe that should have stopped you. Made you consider that you wouldn’t get anything if you kept pushing, but again you couldn’t seem to help yourself. 

“Will you be in the Ireland friends and family section then?” Leah asked, wiggling her eyebrows at your girlfriend. “Cause I don’t think my family or Less’ will enjoy you wearing the opposing team’s jersey,” 

You made a noise like you were considering it as you finally slid your hand up and cupped your girlfriend’s heat. “I don’t think I’d feel at home though. Surely your family can deal with it right Less?”

Alessia nodded once, very stiffly. “My family loves you no matter what you’re wearing,”

You smiled impishly at her, adding just a little more pressure to her core. 

She shifted in her seat, leaning very close to your ear, as Ella started talking about some movie she and Joe had watched, taking the attention of the rest of Alessia’s teammates. 

“They’d even love you if you had to wear your collar at the game,” She chuckled darkly in your ear, her voice soft enough to get lost in the noise of the restaurant as her free hand yet again caught your wrist and pulled your hand back to a much more innocent position. “Now behave, or I promise you’ll regret it,”

You pulled away, your devilish smirk only getting broader. “No,”

Her eyebrows furrowed her expression something between anger and concern and warning, like she was trying to figure out why you were pushing the boundaries when you never did before. 

You wiggled yours in return, offering her nothing else before joining the conversation of her teammates. 

You weren’t ready to talk yet. 

You were too content digging yourself deeper and deeper. 

*****

You continue to push Alessia all throughout dinner, taking every opportunity to make her blush or to creep your hand further up her thigh. At one point you had even wiggled a finger beneath her underwear before she could stop you. 

And your behavior hadn’t stopped once you left the restaurant. 

You definitely placed your hand far too low on her waist as you and your friends walked back to the hotel the UFC had rented for you, and winked cheekily at the fans as you entered the building, spending far too long signing things and flirting just to annoy your girlfriend. 

You knew from the “come on darling,” and the way she wrapped her arm around you, her fingers closing gently around the back of your neck that you were in serious trouble as she led you into the hotel and to the elevator. 

“Good luck mate,” Leah nodded towards you as she stepped into her hotel room after Mary and Ella. “Think you’re gonna need it after that show,”

She tilted her head toward your girlfriend glaring a hole in Leah’s doorframe. 

“Good night Leah,” Your girlfriend bit out, pressing her thumb into the space at the very center of the back of your neck.

Leah rolled her eyes at the movement, well aware of the dynamic between you and your girlfriend. More aware than most of her teammates for both club and country because of how long you had known her. “Right you two, do have too much fun,” 

You stared at the door for a long moment after it closed, the tension in your chest bleeding down to your stomach.

You knew your time was up. That you would have to pay the piper so to speak, and it had guilt swirling along with the unpleasantness. 

You knew that all you had to do was utter a word and it would all be over. 

You knew that Alessia would stick to your limits, no matter how hard you pushed her, but you couldn’t help the… lingering anxiety that came from your past relationships. 

The ones that took advantage of your submissiveness, and the unhealthy way you had always chosen to deal with stress. The ones that ignored your pain for their own pleasure. 

 “Come on then,” Alessia said, very gently running the nail of her thumb down the length of the back of your neck, and squeezing your shoulder. 

You hummed, allowing her to lead you down the hallway to your own hotel room door, but she paused before she opened it. You looked up at her, realizing suddenly that you were trapped between her and the door. 

She stepped closer so your noses were nearly touching. She dragged her hand from your neck to your chin, using her thumb to tilt your head to where she wanted it. 

“I love you,” She said, her voice soft and sincere. “No matter what,”

She leaned in the last centimeter separating you, connecting your lips in a very sweet kiss. 

You leaned into it, opening your mouth when her tongue poked out, welcoming it and meeting it with your own so they spun in a slow dance. 

It was the reminder that you desperately needed. 

The promise that she would take care of you, even when you acted like a brat. 

She pulled away just enough to disconnect your lips, and your mouths separated with a low pop.

“Remind me of your colors,” Alessia said, her thumb running across your cheek. 

“Green for good, yellow for slow down, and red for stop,” You recited, your voice breathless. 

“Good girl,” She hummed. “Open the door, and take off your shirt and pants once we get inside,” 

You swallowed hard at the change of tone. 

“Yes Miss,” You said, already pulling the key card from the back pocket of your jeans. You didn’t look away from her as you fumbled until you heard the lock on the door beep, and clumsily pushed it open. 

You stumbled backward, unwilling to break eye contact with your girlfriend because you knew you would probably get very little of it tonight. 

She turned away from you as soon as the door slammed shut, busying herself with something you didn’t know. 

“I believe I told you to do something,” She said, not even sparing a look over her shoulder at you, and you realized you had been staring for too long. 

You cleared your throat, your fingers trembling as they unbuttoned your straining shirt. 

You carefully pulled the satin materials from your shoulders, folding it neatly and laying it on the bed before you started on your pants. 

It took you three tries to undo the button, the zipper getting caught in the stretchy material of your boxers. You peeled your tight jeans down your legs, folding them and placing them next to your shirt. 

You felt Alessia’s presence behind you as you pulled off your shoes and socks. 

As soon as they had been placed in their rightful place, her hand found its way to your bare back. 

The touch was soothing and grounding and exactly what you needed to combat the slightly floaty feeling in your brain. 

The hand slid up your back, all the way to your neck. 

“Kneel,”

The soft squeeze on the back of your neck was like magic, as was the soft, but stern order. 

You sank to your knees without question, your butt resting on your heels, your hands facing palm up on your thighs, your back straight and your head bowed, as the tension in your chest slowly ebbed away.

“I think we need to have a chat,” She continued, the hand on your neck sliding up to run through the hair at the base of your skull. Her nails scratched soothingly at your scalp. “Because your behavior in the restaurant is not the behavior of the good girl I trained,”

You grunted, glaring at a spot in the carpet. 

You didn’t want to talk. 

You already had to talk to Dana, to your coaches, and to the media. You had nothing left to say. 

“Do you want to tell me what that was about at dinner?” She asked you, the fingers on your scalp wrapping through your curls. She gave it a sharp tug, forcing you to look up at her. “Because I’d really like to know what the fuck you were playing at,” 

Her blue eyes burned into you, concerned and… something else lingering below the surface. 

“I wasn’t playing at anything,” You grit out. 

She raised a perfect eyebrow at you, as she searched your face.

“Is this because your fight was canceled?”

You didn’t answer her, unwilling to admit how… off balanced it made you feel. 

But that was enough of an answer for her. 

Her eyes softened minutely. “Baby,” 

You shook your head. 

You didn’t want her sympathy or her pity. 

You wanted her to crush you. 

“Alright,” She signed, tilting your head back so far it was painful. “I’m going to give you 2 options. We can call Clarke and Lexa and they can run you through a workout,” 

You shivered at the mention of your respective striking and jujitsu coaches, knowing already that whatever the alternative was, you would be choosing it. 

“Or you can take a punishment of my choosing,” She finished. “It won’t be an easy one,” 

“I’ll take a punishment,” You muttered after a beat. 

You didn't need easy right now. 

She hummed, holding you close for a long second, and you relished in the attention. 

That had been why you acted out at all anyway. 

She dropped her hold on your hair suddenly, and you crashed back on your knees. 

“On the wall,” She said, completely cutting contact with you, and walking towards the little kitchen area of the suite. 

You let out a shaky breath, pushing yourself to your feet, and shuffled over to the wall next to the television across from the couch. 

You turned to face the couch, wincing when Alessia pulled a wine glass out of the cabinet and a jug of water from the counter and returned to you. 

She carefully filled the glass to the halfway mark, before her attention turned to you. 

You knew immediately what punishment she had chosen. 

The rules were simple, you would balance the glass in one of the designated calisthenic positions. If the water spilled, or the glass fell then you would move to the next position. The punishment would be over when you made it through all 15 positions to Alessia’s satisfaction, or if you safeworded. 

It sounded easy, or like it wouldn’t be effective, but that was entirely wrong. It was the punishment that you hated the most. 

Your stomach never failed to drop when Alessia approached you with the wine glass and water. Just the sight of her with it was enough to have your muscles quivering at the impending fatigue. 

“Ready darling?”

You made a low sound, leaning back against the wall, bending your knees, and getting into the first position. 

A wall sits with your knees pressed together to focus the pressure on your quads. 

She used a hand on your shoulder to push you further down the wall until your thighs sat parallel to the floor, and then very carefully balanced the stem of the wine glass between your knees so the base just barely brushed your hamstring. 

You frowned. She usually balanced it on top of your legs further up your thighs so all you had to do was stay level. But where it was now meant that you would have to stay level and squeeze with your adductors so it didn’t slip and spill the water. 

“Tell me your color,” She said, her thumb sweeping under your chin, drawing your eyes away from the glass to meet her blue. 

“Green,” you murmured, leaning into the gentle touch. 

“Good,” She hummed, cupping your cheek for another long second before she pulled away. “I’ll be right there, reading my book,” 

Your gaze trailed after her as she settled herself on the couch directly across from you, picking up the 7 Husbands of Evelyn Hugo. She easily found her page and began to read. 

You glanced back to the balancing glass between your knees. It was already shaking slightly, the liquid vibrating around the bowl of the glass with the effort of your muscles to keep it in place. 

It irritated you that you could already feel your quads and adductors quivering. It was pathetic that they were already fatigued after only 30 seconds. 

You grit your teeth, letting your hips slip down further so you could squeeze with your glutes to take a little bit of the pressure off of your adductors. The glass shifted minutely, and the water inside sloshed dangerously before it settled. 

Your eyes flickered back up to Alessia, wondering if she saw it too, but her eyes stayed planted in her book. 

That irritated you too. 

The only upside to your fight being canceled was that you got to spend more time with her. You wouldn’t have to split your attention between her and not getting your face caved in. 

Now you didn’t even have that. 

You thought of safewording and forcing an early end to your punishment. It would be a violation of the rules though.

But when she found out that you broke her trust (the most severe infraction you could ever commit) she might choose a more… harsh punishment. One of the ones that was listed in the soft limits the two of you had agreed upon. One that would separate you from reality, and leave you feeling floaty and thoroughly controlled. Thoroughly owned. 

A part of you wanted her to forcibly put you in your place. To disregard how bad it would feel tomorrow and the bad memories it would bring up for you, and just demolish you. To crush your will and grind you into dust. To beat you into oblivion. 

It was what your opponent would have done anyway. 

You knew Alessia would never agree to it while you were this upset. She didn’t like to give in to your self-destructive tendencies. 

The glass between your knees shook again, drawing your attention back to the warm fire setting deeply into your quads. They would ache tomorrow you were sure, but then again wasn’t that part of the point?

It would be a reminder that even when she wasn’t with you, you belonged to Alessia. It was an invisible mark that claimed you. That reminded you she would always take control when you felt dangerously unstable. 

And then it clicked.

This punishment was Alessia’s favorite because it was based on your choice to obey her. Your choice to push your body to its limits to please her. Your choice to give her control over you. 

She didn’t need to use a belt or a paddle to bend you to her will. 

She just had to ask. 

You just had to relax and trust that she would take care of you. 

You let out a long breath, counting down from 3 in your head. You let it fall back into the wall with a low thump and your shoulders sagged, as the remaining tension in your chest drained out of you. 

“Good girl,” Alessia said softly, and the page of her book turned. Your eyes darted back to her, hoping that they would be on you, but they weren’t. 

She looked so composed, both legs tucked under her, reading her book. It was diametrically opposed to how you felt, completely out of control. A quivering mess fighting to stay in a simple wall sit. 

It further reminded you of your place, and the weight of it was enough to have your eyes sliding closed. 

You focused on your breathing, 3 seconds and 3 seconds out. Deep and slow. 

You lasted for more breaths before the glass slid from between your legs, landing on the carpeted floor with a light thud. 

Your eyes snapped open, and again you expected to meet Alessia’s eyes, but they remained trained on her book. 

“Next please,” She said softly, flipping another page in her book. 

You slid down the wall to the floor, sucking in another long breath as you nodded, wishing that she would just look at you, but you knew that was part of the punishment too. 

You took another breath as you rolled over to your stomach and sat yourself up on your elbows, squeezing your core. It was a slightly modified plank designed to show off the muscles in your back and arms for the benefit of your girlfriend and to give your legs a break for a bit. 

She waited until you were in a position to stand, slowly padding over to you and grabbing the wine glass off of the floor.

She paused next to you, and you felt the way her eyes dragged across the muscles on your back. 

“Always so pretty for me,” She hummed and you heard the water as she refilled the glass. “Too bad you can’t have the reward I had planned,” 

Her touch lingered as she carefully balanced it between your shoulder blades, and stepped away. 

“Let’s see if you can beat your best time on this one,” She said, talking more at you than to you. “Your record is 22 minutes, which isn’t quite championship timing. I think you need to make it at least 25,” 

You groaned. 

Her competitive streak was legendary and often a part of your punishment when you had been particularly ornery. You switched positions at her pleasure, so you knew you would be planking all night if you couldn’t break 25 minutes. 

It was like when she decided you needed to break your edging record. 

There would be no mercy unless you safeworded. 

You focused on your breathing as she sauntered back to the couch, fighting to keep your core and back muscles locked to prevent the glass from tipping. 

Your abs clenched, and you so badly wanted to roll your shoulders to relieve the tension building in the space between them. The space holding the glass. 

You focused on the sound of Alessia’s breathing. Each rhythmic inhale and exhale like the clicking of a metronome, broken only by the occasional fluttering of a page. 

You wished she had put the timer in front of you so you could see how long you had left. 

But then again that would probably be worse. 

You always found it harder to go the distance in a fight when you could see the clock ticking down. It always made you feel more exhausted at the end of the round, and made standing up off of your stool at the start of the next round that much harder. 

You sucked in another breath, refocusing on the sounds of Alessia’s inhales and exhales. You counted each one, letting them wash over you and lul the fog slowly seeping through the crevices in your brain. 

It let you forget the trembling in your core muscles and the sting between your shoulders. They didn’t matter. All that mattered was each of Alessia’s breaths, and your ability to please her. 

To be honest, you forgot about the water balancing on your back. 

You shifted, lifting your head so you could watch Alessia, and that sent the glass tumbling to the floor with a low thud. 

She looked up at the noise, pushing herself to her feet and grabbing the glass. 

“Good job darling. You made time.” She rewarded you by meeting her eyes for a long second and flashing you a winning smile. “Position 3,” 

You took another deep breath as she filled the glass. 

You pushed yourself up into a pushup position, slowly lifting your right arm and left leg so they extended. 

Your arms shook immediately, and it was then that you recognized just how exhausted you were already. Your core ached in a way that was edging on unpleasant, and your back felt like you had run 5 rounds with your jujitsu coach. 

It was strange that you felt so drained and you had only made it through 2 positions. 

Alessia waited until you were stable before she balanced the glass in the very same area between your shoulder blades. 

The spot that felt so tight.

You knew you weren’t going to last long before she even stepped away. But you tried to breathe through it. You tried to ignore the little beads of sweat collecting at the small of your back, and the cramp setting in just below the glass, radiating up to your neck. 

You deserved the pain. You had done your damndest to make sure Alessia gave it to you. 

“Tell me your color,” Alessia said, her voice dripping dominance, sending a shiver down your spine and causing the glass to tumble off your back. 

You collapsed to the floor. 

You hadn’t even made it a minute. 

“‘M ok,” You murmured into the carpet, each breath rattling as it left your lips.

You hadn’t even lasted long enough for Alessia to make it back to her seat. 

It was pathetic.

“That’s not what I asked you,” She said, crouching next to you, her hand resting on the throbbing space between your shoulders. “Tell me what your color is,” 

Your brain ran into overdrive, taking stock of the burn in your thighs, and the way the muscles in your back were locked up tight, and before you could even think through all the reasons why you shouldn’t safe word, “red,” was falling from your lips. 

You had been red before you even started position 3, you realized. 

“Good girl,” She said, settling fully down beside you, her hand running soothingly up and down your sweat-soaked back. “You did so well for me, and I’m so proud of you for knowing your limits,”

You groaned into the carpet as warmth spread through your chest, chasing away the last of the tightness that had been there since Dana caught you after the weigh-ins. 

“‘M sorry for pushing you,” You mumbled, your words nearly getting lost in the floor. “Didn’t know how to…” 

You trailed off, losing your train of thought. You weren’t even sure what you didn’t know how to do, only that antagonizing your girlfriend. Your miss. Had been the only way that seemed to make sense to achieve it. 

“I know darling,” She hummed, gripping under your arms and shifting so your head was resting in her lap and your upper body was between her legs. “Take some deep breaths for me, and then we’ll get you cleaned up and we can cuddle,” 

You made a low sound of agreement. You felt content with her completely around you, her scent enveloping you, and her hands running gently through your tangled hair. 

She was the stability to your rocky seas, and you trusted that she would take care of you, just like she had already tonight. 

A cuddle sounded perfect because it was perfect. 

It was everything you needed. She was everything you needed. 

[captainremmington-13]

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖆𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖊𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙

show!Luke Castellan x daughter of thanatos!reader

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own the image above or any of Rick Riordan’s characters/world-building.

⚠️Warnings⚠️: swearing, mentions of death, making out (not NSFW), a small argument, mention of a sexual joke but it’s not even actually said

A/N: this may be my favorite chapter so far

“I…I think you’ve got the hang of it, angel.”

“Yeah,” you laughed under your breath, wiping the sweat from your forehead. “Me too.”

You were standing in a clearing in the middle of the woods, at least a half-mile from any civilization. You were surrounded by shrubs, flowers, and grass, all of which you’d killed just by extending your hand and wiling it to die. 

It had been two days since you’d first discovered this new ability. You and Luke had made it to Nevada without many problems, only encountering a few weak monsters during the train ride. You were more concerned with figuring out the powers that had randomly appeared.

Luke had been nothing but supportive. He continued to prove himself as your greatest ally, and an incredible boyfriend. 

He had lead you to the quiet spot in the woods where you currently resided, doing his best to give you pointers regarding how to experiment with your powers. Neither of you had any idea what you were doing, but you assumed that if you were careful enough, you’d be fine. 

And you were. You’d successfully gotten a grip on your ability, which you’d nicknamed “the death thing”. You knew that you had to channel some form of extreme emotion for it to work, whether it was anger, fear, or hatred. 

If you could control those feelings, you could control your powers. 

Luke walked towards you, a small smile on his face. He gave you a quick kiss, and handed you a bottle of Gatorade. 

“I’m so proud of you, angel.” 

You grin, taking a big gulp of the energy drink. “Thanks. Honestly, I’m pretty proud of myself too. I almost passed out the first couple of times, but I realized that if I don’t overcompensate and channel more of my power than is required, I’ll be fine.”

Luke rubbed your back gently, and took the Gatorade bottle once you were done drinking. He finished it quickly, and placed it back in his backpack. “I’ll recycle this later,” he said, most likely to himself. It was an adorable habit he had, talking to himself to ensure that he remembered things.

“So,” you leaned down and grabbed your own backpack, along with your weapon. “Back to traveling?“

Luke nodded. “Yeah, but there’s no public transport that’s going directly to where we need to be. So…”

You smiled, linking arms with him. “Let me guess. You’re gonna steal us a car.” 

“Right as always, baby.”

You blushed, looking up at your boyfriend. Somehow he was cute and insanely fucking hot at the same time. You knew that he would tease you for getting flustered, but you didn’t mind. 

After all, when you did something he found attractive, he would get just as lovesick. 

So it all evened out eventually. 

.

.

.

Thanks to his knack for thievery, Luke managed to steal a nice Mercedes-Benz. You made yourself comfortable in the passengers seat, flipping your boyfriend off when he called you a passenger princess. 

“You’re the only one out of us two who can drive, Castellan,” you said snarkily, popping a piece of candy in your mouth. “Unless you wanna let me drive without having any practice, you’re gonna be the designated chauffeur.”

Luke rolled his eyes, but leaned over to give you a kiss. Thankfully, the light was red, or else you would’ve definitely ended up in a car wreck. 

“You’re lucky I love you so much, angel,” he said, giving your thigh an affectionate pat. “I wouldn’t let anyone else boss me around like that.”

You giggled, placing your hand over his, which still rested on your upper leg. “I’m honored to be the only person who can give you orders.” 

He smiled cockily. “You should be.”

It was your turn to roll your eyes. “You’re so arrogant sometimes, you know?“

“At leadt it’s warranted,” he replied, speeding up the vehicle slightly. “I mean, I am pretty fucking awesome.” 

“You sound like a dork.”

He snorted. “Okay, how else am I supposed to word it?”

“Maybe something more like ‘I’m an insanely good swordsman and a dangerously hot individual.’ It’s more obnoxious, but at least it’s not as awkward-sounding.”

Luke smirked, his lips curling upwards. “Dangerously hot, hm? I can imagine you drooling over me internally. I wouldn’t mind you doing it externally, though-“

“Castellan!” you shrieked, slapping him on the arm. “What the fuck has gotten into you?”

Your reaction only made his expression more smug. “I could make a very dirty joke, but I have a feeling you’d throw me out of the car if I did.”

You shook your head, avoiding his intense gaze to attempt to subdue the heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’re impossible.”

“You love me, though.”

“Yeah, I do, unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?”

“I’m kidding, Castellan. You know that I love you, and only you.”

Luke’s grip on your thigh tightened slightly, sending a warm shock through your body.

“That’s much better.” 

________________________________________________

Several hours of driving later, you and Luke were sprawled out in the roomy trunk of the Mercedes-Benz. It was wide enough that both of you could lie down without feeling too cramped. A couple blankets covered you both, insulating the body heat you radiated.

“Luke?” you whispered softly. “You still awake?”

You heard him groan quietly, and roll over to face you. 

“Yeah, angel, what d’you need?” 

Maybe it was the sleepiness getting to you, but you practically melted at his caring words. “You’re not close enough to me.”

He let out a short laugh, and immediately placed a hand on the small of your back, pulling you flush against his chest. “That better?”

“Mhm,” you murmured, your body finally relaxing now that you were in his arms. 

“You ok?” he asked, stroking your hair softly. “I know today was a long day, I’m sure you’re exhausted.” 

“I am,” you replied. “But it was worth it. I can finally stop freaking out about the death thing. I’m just concerned that the other campers are gonna start seeing me as a monster again once they find out about it.”

“I doubt that your closer friends will,” Luke said reassuringly. “I know for sure that Annabeth and Chris will treat you the same.”

“I suppose,” you said. “I’m still gonna try to avoid using the death thing when I can. It’s pretty safe at camp, there should be no reason to use it.” 

“Makes sense. And if anyone gives you shit about it, let me know. I’ll mess them up real good, I promise.”

You smiled, bring your face closer to his. He cupped your cheek, and pressed his lips with yours. The kiss was slow but heated, and you could feel the romantic tension rising rapidly. Luke’s hands, which were calloused and slightly rough from years of training, slipped under your tank top, rubbing circles on your back with his fingers. It felt so fucking good. The combination of his soothing touch and his soft lips, which were now placing kisses on your jawline and neck, was practically driving you insane. 

Luke let out a quiet sigh, moving his hands down to grip your waist gently. He pulled his mouth away from your neck to whisper, “Is this okay?”

You nodded quickly. “Please, please don’t stop.”

Luke immediately resumed kissing your neck, moving down to your collarbone. Your hand wandered towards his hair, running your fingers through his curls. 

For what seemed like hours, you and Luke exchanged kisses and loving touches. You swore that nothing, not even the Isle of the Blest, could make you this happy.

Finally, you felt your eyelids get heavy, and your mind become fuzzier and slower. When he noticed this, Luke removed his lips from your skin. They were slightly swollen, but as pretty as ever. 

“Time for sleep, angel,” he said lovingly, pulling the blanket tighter around your bodies. “If you have nightmares, don’t hesitate to wake me up, ok?”

You hummed in agreement. Snuggling closer to Luke, you closed your eyes and let out a deep sigh. 

“G’night, Luke. Love you.“

“Love you too, angel.”

________________________________________________

At the crack of dawn, you and Luke were on the road again. You only had about a day left of travel before you reached the Garden. 

As you finally crossed the California border, you decided it was time to start brainstorming a plan to steal a golden apple. Winging it would be a stupid idea, especially because of the fearsome guardian that protected the magical tree.

“We could create a diversion,” you suggested. “I’ll distract the dragon, and you get the apple. Then, we flee before we get our faces melted off.”

“No,” Luke said firmly. “You’re not putting yourself in that much danger by dealing with a full-grown dragon.” 

“Luke, I can handle it. Besides, I can fly, I can lead it away from-“

“You can’t out-fly Ladon. He’s incredibly fast, you’ll be killed within minutes.”

You huffed. “Why does everything in our lives have to be so damn complicated?”

Luke reached out to grasp your hand. “Angel, I understand where your frustration is coming from, trust me. But let’s try to focus on the task at hand, so we can come up with a rational plan.”

You averted your eyes from him, feeling slightly embarrassed at your small outburst. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Luke said, keeping your hands entwined. “I think it would be best for me to be the distraction. I’ll deal with the Hesperides and Ladon. Try to have a friendly conversation with them, pretending to just be interested in admiring the tree. Then, as soon as I see that you have the apple, we’ll retreat.”

“That sounds like a decent idea,” you said. “But what if we can’t retreat fast enough?”

“Then we fight.”

“I don’t like our odds. Besides, it would make Zeus and Hera very angry.”

“Since when did you care about how they felt?”

“I don’t! I just don’t want their wrath to get us killed, that’s all.”

“Fair enough.“

There was silence for a few moments, as you both struggled to come up with a better solution.

Then, you spoke.

“I’ll teleport us out of there.”

Luke let out a short bark of laughter. “Good one, angel.“

“I’m not joking. I did some research a couple months back, and my fath-I mean Thanatos can teleport. That’s how he gets around the world so quickly to collect souls. I think that if I try hard enough, I can-“

“No!” Luke snapped, making you recoil slightly. His face softened immediately, his expression molding into one of guilt. “I’m sorry, angel, I didn’t mean to yell. I just…I don’t want you dying because of a quest Hermes sent us on. You deserve to live a full life, and if it got cut off because of me-“

“Okay, okay,” you cut him off, looking down at your feet. “I get it. Forget I mentioned it.”

Luke sighed. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to lash out like that.” 

“It’s fine. I know you just want me to be safe.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But I’ll try to keep my temper under control. I don’t ever wanna take my anger out on you.”

“Me neither,” you admitted. “Especially since I know it can have some really dangerous consequences.” You rested a hand on his forearm, looking at him lovingly. “I promise I’ll try my best to avoid getting hurt, but you better keep yourself out of trouble too.” 

Luke laughed, giving you a teasing smile that made your heart flutter. “Is that a threat?”

“Maybe.”

“You don’t need to threaten me to get me to listen to you, baby.“

“Oh I know,” you replied, giving him a playful grin of your own. “All I have to do is bat my eyelashes and give you a pleading look, and I have you wrapped around my little finger.”

Luke’s cheeks turned a pale shade of pink, making you smile wider. “Where’d you learn that from?“

“Lola and Layla from the Aphrodite cabin. They’ve promised to teach me all their tricks eventually.”

He huffed. “You’re gonna be the death of me one day, you know that?”

You giggled, resting your head back against the headrest of the car seat. “At least you’ll die happy then.”

Luke chuckled, glancing at the sign overhead that read 300 miles to San Francisco. 

“Yeah, I’m sure I will.”

taglist: @orionspaperwork, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @marvelescvpe, @lovingjasontoddmakemewanttocry, @louweasleymalfoy, @stars4birdie, @stargurl-battleship, @daughterofthemoons-stuff

Thank you for reading! Pls let me know what you think in the comments!!!

Ok so I decided against adding another monster fight in this chapter, I just REALLY wanted to write fluffy stuff instead💀💀I promise there will be more action in the next installment

Let me know in the comments if you want to be added to the taglist!

[d34dlysinner]

Posession Leviathan x reader

Decided to post it after doing some thinking... Had this sitting in drafts for about a week.  This fic was made before the release of the game and ISN’T CANON. Just made for entertainment before the game’s release. ENJOY!!!

Here you were, sobbing, confused, and in a trance as you stared up at him. Levi is a man of many traits, but him switching from the role of a sub to a dom was something you didn’t expect from him. It made you question how you got into this situation.

You were walking away from a meeting. It was a boring meeting where the kings just talked about some official business. You were one of the topics they talked about. You were the descendant after all. They needed you to break pacts. It was all fine until certain topics popped up during the conversation. Like how a few demons had their fun with you. You didn’t know it yet, but at that moment the king of Envy found himself in a pit of anger.

Anger isn’t something he normally feels. Most of the time it would be this stinging feeling of jealousy. It only happened a few times, but the demons of Hades knew how bad Levi could get when that jealousy tipped over and became rage. It was one of the reasons why he decided to close himself off from the world. Of course, his fear played a part, but the anger he released at certain times was way more dangerous than his fears.

His coffin was the only place where he would and could be alone. There were monsters in there, but they all kept to themselves. They feared the king and wouldn’t want to cause anything that would cause their death.

It wasn’t until you entered the picture that he started to leave his coffin more frequently. He felt loved and seen in a way he never felt before. He felt sometimes satisfied with himself and not as horribly jealous as his past self would’ve been. It all built up to a point where he wanted you to be with him every day. He wanted you there so he felt good. He wanted you there to be more confident. He wanted you there to feel more at peace. He NEEDED you to be there.

He knows that you both weren’t in a serious relationship. In fact, it was more like a friends-with-benefits relationship. So why did he feel this immense pressure on his heart? The pressure only increased with every word that was told about your late-night actions with others. The pressure soon turned into a stabbing feeling as his jealousy became anger.

You wanted others to pleasure you? You wanted to know what others had to give to you? Wasn’t he good enough? No, you will accept him as your favorite. You will accept him as the best one out there. He’ll just prove it to you. Levi’s thoughts were just racing through his brain. His thoughts and ideas merged into this indescribable mess that even Jjyu wouldn’t be able to make out one sentence.

He had no plan, and he didn’t care. The only thing that was important was to be able to make you only remember him. So when the meeting ended and you walked out of the doors, he went to his designated room. He’ll just make you want him first as a way to lure you in. Right after that he’ll make you his.

He entered the room and decided to send you a video, instead of a normal nude. He set up his phone. Making sure that it was pointed towards his bed as he started to slowly strip. “Please~ Come here.~“, he says. Making sure that he called you his master before ending the video.

He sends the video and waits for you to run back to his room. In the meantime, he set up a huge mirror, toys, and handcuffs for him to use on you.

When you arrived, you found him on the bed, rubbing his hardened member through the fabric of his trousers. His entire display looked inviting as you inched closer to his position. It was then, when you tried to touch him, that he stopped your hands from trying to touch him. “Master. I need you to just watch.“, he says as he starts to unbuckle his belt. You quirked an eyebrow as you decided to listen and just watch him undress. “Master I want you to be naked too, please~“, he asked. If there’s one thing that this man was way too good at, it was making his ‘master‘ reward him, even if he barely did anything. He just had this aura that made it irresistible to deny this request. As you undressed you joined him on the bed where he lay on his back. Starting with giving him kisses. He slowly pulled away to breathe. It was then that he opened his mouth and said: “I bet you do this with the others too... Don’t you?“ He switched both your positions on the bed.

Now you were trapped under him as he gave you this fierce, condescending look. The demon that usually wouldn’t go against you, for once started to act out on his own accord.

“Tell me... Master. What do you do with the others? I bet they’re good enough for you to get it on with them.“, he says. He didn’t allow you to respond as his lips were on yours again. He reached for the cuffs and bonded your hands together. “It’s time for me to play with you.”, he says as he started to run his hands along your body. His lips were placing kisses and bitemarks on your neck. The bitemarks were so deep that you knew you would still feel them later. He made love bites on spots that were difficult to hide. You tried to protest, but that’s when he quickly gagged you. “You have no right to protest this. You better take what I throw at you.“, he said as he moved down to your nipples. He tugged, nibbled, and sucked on them as he listened to your muffled moans. One hand of his slides down to feel the wetness under there. He started to roll your clit while paying attention to your chest. Also making bite marks across your chest.

When he was bored of making marks, he pulled away as he took a rope to bind your legs. You tried to fight back to be a little brat at him, but it resulted in a hard spank that made you yelp through the gag. He made sure the rope was tight enough to make it impossible for you to run away from his next move.

He moved his fingers to your private spot as he started to finger you, preparing for you to take in a vibrator that he had laid there for you. He would normally thrive to hear you moan because of him pleasuring you, but this time he wanted you to beg and cry for more. He pulled out his fingers and replaced them with the toy. Starting it up on a low setting. He sat you up and placed you on his lap with your back to his chest. You felt curious about the sudden change in positions until your face was pushed up to look forward. Right in front of you was a mirror. You could see yourself and what Levi was going to do. He removed the gag as he needed to hear you beg.

“I know how you act in bed. I’ll not be gentle this time.”, he whispered into your ears. It sent a shiver up your spine as he cranked up the mode on the vibrator. Knowing which setting you liked. All you could do was moan out as you watched him play with your body. Rolling your clit or tugging your nipples. All while whispering obscene thoughts into your ears.  

He was doing well when it came to pleasuring you, but for some reason this new side of his made you feel even needier than normal. You needed to know what he would do and how far he was willing to go. You continued staring at your reflection and what Leviathan did to your body. The slow and teasing movements he did with his hands while a vibrator was going wild inside of you didn’t help you suppress your moans. Neither did the upcoming orgasm. Your legs started to close together as you felt that the orgasm was about to wash over you. The moment you thought it would hit you was the moment Levi took out the toy. A sadistic smile plastered on his face as he heard you whine at the loss of friction. All you could do was watch as he placed the toy away. He let you sit where you were. Still seeing your and his reflection in the room.

That’s when you saw him starting to pleasure himself. Honestly, he looked so alluring. You wanted to touch him and help him out, but the restraints made it difficult to move around and help him. You were basically forced to just watch him touch himself. You whined as you felt a need to seek out your own and his pleasure. He leaned in and told you how dirty you were for just watching. He continued pleasuring himself, not paying you any mind as you were practically drooling at the sight that you could only view through the mirror. You tried rubbing your legs together, searching for any friction. It wasn’t enough. You needed him. You felt tortured as you watched how he came closer to his end while you were sitting there, denied of your own pleasure. You felt neglected. You wanted his attention. You wanted him to touch you and to pleasure you. You wanted to touch him back and get him to feel some pleasure.

You started to come out of your comfort zone and started to beg for him to touch you. You needed him to do something to you. He didn’t listen though. He was selfishly searching for his own release, while you were begging for his help. It was only until he got what he wanted that his attention was back on you. He saw you trying to rub your thighs, searching for some pleasure. He listened to you begging for some feeling and just smiled.

“Of course, sweetheart.” He moved you again so you were placed on your back. Pushing your knees into your chest. He looked down and saw how you were still wet. “You’re still wet... I guess you don’t need a lot more touching there then...“, he said as he lined himself up with your entrance. You felt the tip at your hole, it’s started penetrating you. Forcing a sigh of relief out of you. When he was fully sheathed you waited for him to move, but he just looked down at you. You were confused as to why he wasn’t doing anything. As you were about to speak up you heard him say: “Tell me... Do the others often have fun with you?... Be honest. I can tell when you’re lying.“ You were baffled by his question. Thinking that his jealousy was yet again taunting him. “... Maybe... but is this really the moment to talk? Can you please move? I want to feel you more-“, “You didn’t answer.“, he cut you off. All you could do in response was just nod to his question. “I bet they were good.“, he said. You were about to speak up again until he sharply thrusted into you. Taking your breath away at the surprise.

“Well then... I see that you had fun without me there. I’ll make sure you won’t remember anyone but mine.“, he says, maintaining fierce eye contact. A sharp thrust making you see sparkles.

He continued ramming into you while maintaining eye contact. It felt weird that you were for once on the receiving end. You tried to turn your head away, trying to break the eye contact, but he always took your face by the chin and forced you to look at him again. “Focus on me, I need you to only think of me.“, he said as he observed your facial expressions.

The eye contact while he was taking you like some feral animal in mating season was too much for you. He could see that you were crumbling under him. You wanted to look away to cool off a bit. When you tried to divert your eyes yet again he placed his hands on your neck.

“I said, focus on me.“, he started to lightly put pressure on your neck. Choking you, because he started to feel angered at you for diverting your gaze. “I’ll prove to you that I’m better.“, he said as he leaned in and hungrily trapped your lips with his. Not losing any pressure on your neck while still pounding into you. The stimulation and the lack of air made you feel dumb. You pulled away just to breathe which was probably the only thing he allowed at this point. He continued to make more marks on your body as you started to feel a familiar knot form. You breathed out his name, trying to encourage him to continue. You needed to have some release. You wanted to feel satisfied. He felt that you were near, but that didn’t stop him from teasing you yet again. As he stopped before you could release yet again. You whined out loudly and begged for him to continue. Your begs and whines made him feel satisfied. He loved that you needed him, even if it was for that moment. He wanted you to need him.

“Hmmm, I don’t understand what you want... If you need me you should beg harder. I want everyone to know how good I make you feel.“ It was clear that he wanted you to cry out his name while begging for more and you did. You needed more.

He gave you what you wished. He continued tormenting you and eventually giving you what you needed. He watched how tears welled up in your eyes. How your legs shook and how your back arched at the pleasure. You thought that it was done, but he didn’t stop. Pushing you past your limit as he continued to pound into you. Smiling down at your reaction to being overstimulated. Usually, you would torment him and make him cum over and over again before you both started with intercourse. Since there was none of that today, and since it was you being tormented instead of him, he felt like he could last a ‘little’ longer than usual.

He kept going and going. Dragging orgasm after orgasm out of you. Maybe he felt like he could last longer due to his jealousy too? Since he didn’t look like he was about to stop anytime soon.

It continued for multiple rounds until he felt satisfied with what he’s done to you. There you were, drooling, unfocussed, and dried-up tears stained your cheeks. He admired every hickey, bite, and bruise he left on your body. Knowing that they were a sign that in a way you were his and that they wouldn’t disappear too fast. It took a second for him to snap out of his trance as he started to worry that he maybe was too rough to you. You were human after all. He maybe should’ve let you take your breath before continuing.

He freed you from your restraints and wiped the tears away, asking if you were okay. He asked if he was too rough for you and if he could do anything. He allowed you to breathe for a second waiting for an answer. You just croaked out that you wanted a shower. He smiled and kissed your forehead. He gave you a sip of water, because of all the screaming that you did, before walking towards the bathroom. He filled a tub with water and checked if the temperature was good before bringing you into the bathroom. Placing you inside the tub. You asked for him to join you, which he didn’t refuse. He joined you in the tub as you shifted to make space for him. He was now sitting in the tub with your back to his chest. His hands traveled across your body, giving soft massages while washing off the sweat from you. He constantly asked if you were fine to which you only nodded and gave him a smile. “I’m sorry if I was too much just now...“, Leviathan repeated as you could only nod for the time being. Resting your voice a little before you turned around and looked him in the eyes.

“You should do that more.“, you said. He took a second to register the words before a blush appeared on his face.

“What-“, he was cut off with a kiss. Oh, here it comes. You both might have been done just now with fucking, but both of you started again. Except, this time it was just sensual lovemaking.

Both your hands were just exploring each other's body before it led up to another round. One where you were taking the lead. He only helped you out since you still were tired from before. Your lips were on each other's skin leaving a burning sensation. This time it was your turn to make marks on Levi’s body, meanwhile he just kissed the spots that he already marked. You both moved out of the tub to continue. He held you close, with your arms wrapped around his shoulders as he glided you along his shaft. Your lips connect yet again for a hungry kiss. One that you both wouldn’t pull away from. He moaned out your name before finally releasing yet again. You followed soon after.

Both of you panted out softly as you laughed at how sweet the lovemaking was. Both of you showered, giving each other words of praise before going to bed and embracing each other in a tight hug. Drifting off to sleep to see each other yet again in your dreams and the morning after.

[katarh-mest]

7th time loop vol 5 thoughts

Just finished volume 5 of 7th Time Loop. I don't want to wait until September for the next book! Can't believe I inhaled them all already....

Anyway, stuck some heavy spoilerific thoughts below a line here.

The reveal that the current Emperor has a massive bloodlust presence and he doesn't even try to hide it... He really is being built up to be a monster, no?

What I suspect is that in every timeline, he's been the instigator of the war, and even Arnold killing him has never been enough to stop it once the gears are in motion.

He's priming the rest of the world for a takeover - doing stuff like pouring poison into Dietrich's ears to create a failed coup attempt in that kingdom as a way to knock them out of the picture, weakening Domana by killing off their last remaining priestess (not caring that she's the cousin of his oldest son, since he views his own children as political tools.) The whole counterfeit coin business too.

Every plot has been a long con designed to provoke all the other nations into either being weakened, or into holding a massive grudge against Galkhein, all for the sake of creating a world war that can't he stopped, not even by his death, and leaving the mess for his son Arnold to clean up.

Canon vs Fanon stuff

There's a bunch of things floating around in fanfics that seemed plausible considering the series has supernatural elements, but I was slightly disappointed to find weren't in Vol 5. Maybe they'll be in volume 6????? (Spoil me in comments, go ahead.)

Arnold can take off Riche's clothes with his mind (now wouldn't that be amusing!)

Arnold has super healing powers inherited from his mom (TOTALLY believable) - this one pops up and seems to definitely be in volume 6th so I'm saying this one is probably canon, but I don't know 100% for sure

Arnold is stuck in his own time loop (I'm seriously leaning toward this, it's just his loops have been stuck as a personal hell where he can't stop his dad no matter what he does.)

Wacky things that absolutely are canon:

Arnold's eyes glow sometimes

Rishe and Arnold both have super senses. Love the way the anime depicted her picking out Count Lavinne in the crowd. They're practically Force sensitive.

Rishe is a quick study and has an eidetic memory. In modern day terms, we'd call her gifted. She doesn't forget names or faces that easily. That's it's own super power.

Rishe did study a lot of her interests as a kid, so if Arnold sent Oliver to do homework on her asking "wtf how is my future wife so amazing" the mundane answer was "she actually did do stuff like archery, horseback riding, sword training, etc., but the prince of Hermity told her to stop every one of those activities because she was better than he was."

Fan Theories I've seen

Arnold in a Loop: The reason I tend to agree with the fan hypothesis that Arnold is in his own time loop is because 1. He seemed to be under the impression that she was slightly afraid of him up until the last chapter of volume 5 (I mean, he did stab her in the chest last go round) and 2. He's way too brilliant for even a determined, workaholic 19 year old. Like Rishe, he acts like got an extra few lifetimes of learning under his belt.

He's also several steps ahead of Rishe at every turn. He already knows what's happening, and he seems genuinely delighted at how fast she catches on. And he grabs her suggestions with two hands and runs with them because they're good and valid and often present the solution to the problems he himself wasn't able to find, like a way to make Coyelles an equal partner instead of his first target for invasion.

Was her 5th loop really the first time that he encountered her? He made the gesture toward his heart that she interpreted as "Shoot me if you can" but what if in a prior loop, say the 2nd or 3rd, he saw a cute scholar in Coyelles and wanted to try to encounter her again in later loops but didn't again until the 5th? What he he's bumped into her in every life before, but she only developed her own hunter's sense in the 5th life so never realized it? What it he's been crushing on a girl for 30 years and only by chance in the 7th loop did she choose a different escape route and bump into him?

Dream Vision Arnold: Another fan theory I've seen is Arnold having dream visions of all the wars started in all of Rishe's lives in the future. And that, too, would jive with him having inherited the blood of the goddess and having majority and some notion of events that haven't come to pass yet. (And also why he insists on calling Rishe his wife even though they aren't married yet. Probably saw enough visions of her that the moment he saw her jump off the balcony, he went "oh. That's the girl from my dreams I'm gonna marry. okay. get her. GET HER NOW.")

My own pet theories:

Arnold's mother and the Crusade Church - Fan theories center around the idea of Arnold getting his super powers from his mother's side. (Although his dad is a monster too.) What if the Goddess picked Arnold as her champion of revenge against his dad and that's why he's stuck in a loop (and Rishe is the one getting dragged along with him cuz she's a soulmate?)

Opposing forces: Arnold's father works for another god/goddess (maybe a war god or something) and believes it is his mission in life to bring the world war about, and that's why Arnold feels like he has to stop him

Possible prophesies: The fact that Arnold's father committed straight up infanticide and eventually killed or had all his concubines killed makes me wonder if there was some sort of oracle that told him that his death would come at the hands of his own child with hair of a different color. (Arnold kills him anyway in the six loops so far.) This opens the door for RISHE (daughter in law) being the one to get to murder him in loop 7, which frees Arnold of the sin of patricide but has her committing regicide instead.... Not that she'd care, she's already killed plenty in all of her loops, especially the last two. But since Arnold seems to be getting ideas of involving the Crusade Church, maybe having her take on the role of the champion of the goddess might absolve her of that crime. Especially if the new Emperor Arnold Hein forgives her.

Rishe actually is one of the chosen of the goddess, and Arnold is the only one that knows.

Final Thoughts

Rishe so worried about the public kiss during the wedding ceremony that she hasn't stopped to think about what comes after is kind of amusing. Granted, she trusts Arnold not to hurt her and that he won't do anything she doesn't want him to. But still.

(Also, getting kissed senseless is a pretty nice birthday present.)

Even if it's his first loop or his seventh too, Arnold is absolutely besotted with her. He's a lovesick fool and he's trying so hard to keep it together in public.

SEPTEMBER CAN'T COME FAST ENOUGH!

[nixtwix]

"Mother fucker , don't you dare break that camera it's the fifth one"

This Au...has been stuck on my for you page.... For 3 WEEKS! I don't even look this stuff up! It started when someone I followed made a sea creature version of Silver which was awesome...then Shadow... THEN MORE KEPT POPPING UP! And I just finished reading the Rewound comic which you should definitely check out when you have time. So I thought "screw it, lemme have a swing at it."

Personality: Mighty at least in Rewound, is kinda feral. but I have a theory that deep down, when the fighting and danger is aside and you actually meet him. he's the known Strong lovable goober everyone knows and loves. However. I also took into account that given circumstances and the fact the ocean can be harsh. Mighty has some needless to say, Killer instincts and sometimes can get carried away with the hunt if it means providing for Ray and his friends. when it comes to the average Human or Mobian. Mighty can be highly hostile to them, given how most of the humans/Mobian's either hunt him, leave nets in the ocean to get tangled or capture him for experiments. so needless to say you need to have a lot of guts to try and give this guy therapy. He Travels the ocean with Ray, and they help each other hunt. Mighty has grown affection toward Ray from hunting pack, to his little brother. though unlike Ray's High sociability, Mighty is a little more shy, and thrown off guard if any other sea monsters /mermaids hear of him. Due to Ray falling into fishing or research boats often, mighty has to cause a few shipwrecks to keep Ray and any other creatures from being found out.

Design: Mighty was inspired by a Variety of prehistoric armoured marine life. mainly the dunkleosteus so mighty can keep his shell. a cat fish, And (at least I tried to add) Caribbean Reef shark. Mainly because I looked up what shark species is fast but nice, and Caribbean shark was top of the list. and while this might not be seen in the picture, with mighty and Ray, to help with traveling, they're colors or in mighty'rs case skin tone are more vibrant the closer they are to the surface and the sun. including they're eyes. and about his Ear: He has a tag on his ear, but after a fight with a shark some of her ear along with the tag got munched off. though, his ears and antenna looking things work as a way to sense things in the ocean and to Amplify his Echo location (which mighty and Ray have to help find eachother.) which sounds like a whale sound mixed with an eery whistle. Ablilities: Mighty is a powerful swimmer and has his super strength with his tail,arms and of course jaw. Mighty's jaw is so powerful it has been known to tear into metal. The shell Armour on his back reinforces his strength kind of like a shield which is hard to nearly impossible to destroy. he also has tough skin which makes it so that it will take some hits to actually damage him.

[captain-mj]

Hear me out, Soapghost, Brahm's The Boy. Eh?? Eh??

I've been talking about this movie a stupid amount lately so... yeah, I'll eat this up. CW: This is based off a horror movie so it's the normal stuff, violence, stuff like that but also noncon voyeurism (Ghost watches Soap without him knowing but also listens to him) and Soap is just in general a bit of a freak

Made quite a few changes but it's the same premise

His interviewer had been a kind older man named Price. He was only in his 30's and was clearly capable of running the place, but he had been told to hire someone while he took a much needed vacation. Apparently, no one else stayed in the house but Price, which seemed a bit odd as he was clearly someone hired on, not the owner. Price had went through all of his duties and most importantly, he went over the lovely, lovely salary.

Soap had thought this job was just a bit too good to be true. He had to do some basic house sitting things and then he was clear. Also, he had to be nice to this doll.

The thing was... honestly kinda cute. His body was soft cotton over some stuffing and a skull design. Yeah, he wasn't the best of dolls, but he was a doll.

A cute doll. But a doll. nonetheless. His name was Ghost.

Regardless, he followed the rules. He had grown up Scottish and hearing of Brownies and other little folklore creature. Make breakfast. Give Ghost doll a kiss on forehead. Don't question any weird happenings, it's an old house. Make dinner, leave a section for Ghost. And always make sure to leave a cup of tea out at night. One cream, two sugars. Extra strong tea.

It tasted like tea, just rather sweet. Soap didn't like it. He had tried to make himself a cup to have with the mystery thing in the walls, but he ended up stopping and going to bed after a while. Each time, the food and drink was consumed.

Soap had... accepted that something was there with him. He was fairly certain it was a cat or something that could smell the cream. Most of the dishes were fairly meat based or had a lot of broth. It didn't make the most sense, but the alternate was a dog and he'd rather not think about some silent mutt walking around stealing food off the tables. Riley, the only dog on the entire property, was far too well trained for such behaviors. The little dog was odd, often staring at the walls for hours or sometimes disappearing around corners. Soap wasn't a big fan of dogs but he did make exceptions for her.

Things were a little spooky sometimes, but Soap never found himself being frightened. I mean... Ghost was a pretty good protector he always joked with the people that delivered groceries. Plus, whether it be ghost, monster or a dog, it hadn't come close to Soap yet. It occasionally made the floor creak or moved things, but nothing bad or mischievous.

The fact that he got to live in this huge house that sprawled out over acres of land and had it's own lake was excellent too. Every week on Sunday, someone would deliver groceries. It was clear they were being altered slightly, no two exactly the same although meals interlapped all the time, but Soap chalked it up to a delivery system that lets someone schedule different orders.

"Do you know anything about the man that hired you?" The delivery guy always spoke in hushed tones, looking around the home nervously, as if a man would pop up out of nowhere to bring death and ruin, but now, they werespeaking at barely above a decibel, glancing around feverishly.

Soap shrugged. "No. Just know how much I'm paid and what my job entails. Why?"

"Simon Riley was an odd guy, even before the fires. Some people insist he started them. He's an odd fellow. if he hired you, I'd tread lightly." The man looked at him uneasily before glancing at the wall directly behind Soap. His mouth fell into a grimace. "Fucking freak."

Soap felt a weird surge of protectiveness. Yes, he had never met Simon in person, but the entire place felt like a huge memorial to his family. Each room decorated like they'd come back to it and, if this guy was to believed, that meant he had to recreate each detail. He was also a very generous employer and he'd never wronged Soap or anyone that he'd talked to. Soap wanted the man out of the house, feeling a very strong sense of being watched thanks to the entire situation. "Haven't met him. Thank you."

The man looked at him with something strangely similar to pity before nodding. "See you next week, MacTavish." He left Soap alone to put the groceries away.

"Fucking asshole." Soap started to put the groceries away and quickly heard the floor creak. "Ghost?"

Complete silence.

He ignored it and put everything away. After stretching real quick, back popping and limbs burning just a little, he tried to decide what to do. His shoulder injury was acting up so most things were out. Damn thing had already gotten him discharged after only a year in the services, he didn't see the reason for it to keep tormenting him.

Riley seemed to have an idea so he took her on a walk. Most dogs preferred schedules, Soap knew, but according to Price, Riley was an ex military dog and had a mind of her own. Soap thought she was like him and after the military, they just liked experiencing each day as a new thing. Not just a repeat of the old ones.

She stopped at the edge of the property and kept glancing at him before trying to trot a little farther away. Soap whistled and she walked back, clearly displeased that he didn't follow her. Riley barked at him and circled him before tapping her nose against his thigh like she was trying to herd him. He laughed her off and motioned back inside. She followed, though clearly still upset about it.

Soap went and showered, letting the hot water filter over him. Price had assured him that the only cameras were on the outside of the house, but he always felt watched in here. Ghost, his little doll companion, always waited outside. It was silly, not wanting the doll to be able to look at him, but he couldn't help it.

Right now, the feeling wasn't there and Soap took a deep breath before letting his hand slide down. He had no way of knowing that Ghost was right on the other side of the wall, silently holding his breath.

His hand reached down slowly, just barely stroking himself. He bit his lip hard and stroked himself a little more earnestly, getting a tiny gasp that set Ghost's insides on fire.

Soap closed his eyes, going through a few different scenarios. The first thought was of being interrogated, but it felt a bit too harsh. His thoughts drifted to the masked men he had met in the army. The idea of their hands on him.

"Please..." He choked hard, thrusting in hands. "Oh, please." Soap tried for a few minutes, but the edge he needed wasn't there. He shifted his weight, spreading his legs a little so he could reach his hand lower down to press against his hole..

The name popped up in his head. "Ghost." Why he said it out loud was beyond him, but it made the person listening very happy to hear. And very hard.

With shaking hands, Simon undid his belt and tried to make his hand follow Soap's movements based on the grunts and noises he heard. He could turn his head and look through the small crack and watch. Really give himself a show, but he wanted to show some restraint.

Soap managed to get his finger inside and groaned. "Please, Ghost. It feels good."

Ghost's breath sped up and so did his hands. His hips moved of their own accord, jerking up and chasing the pleasure. He could only imagine how Soap would feel. Probably far better than his hand. As long as Soap stayed in his house, he'd take care of him. He got rid of that nasty delivery guy and he'd get rid of anyone else.

Soap was his.

His.

He whimpered and heard Soap stop immediately. Ghost held his breath again as Soap quickly turned off the shower and they both waited to see what would happen.

"John?" Soap called out, listening.

Ghost didn't dare move an inch. This particularly floorboard was creaky and he couldn't risk it.

After a moment, Soap turned the shower back on and quickly finished getting himself cleaned up. He didn't finish though, clearly too freaked out. Ghost scratched at his skin, pissed he had just fucked that up.

Ghost fixed the grocery list again and Soap was happy to get the groceries from the new person the next week.

They were very nice and handed him everything. One of the items was a bottle of lube.

Soap felt himself turn bright red. He had long forgotten about the shower incident, marking everything down as the house settling.

How embarrassing.

However, the lotion was a high quality kind and it looked... Soap had only had lotion and his spit, neither were that great for penetration.

Minutes later, after the stuff that would go bad got put in the fridge, he was using it. He was gagging for it, a little upset his fingers could only go so deep. Soap was rough with himself, liked it that way. His fingers kept going after he felt he'd explode from overstimulation before he finally let himself collapse.

Ghost enjoyed the show and wondered how Soap would feel about dildos. There was no way he'd be able to put that in the order without suspicion, but if ever came out...

No. It was a horrible idea. Despite how nice and inviting Soap looked right now.

Then he came. An ex boyfriend of Soap's. It made Soap stupidly angry just seeing him and when he tried to go in to grab him, he almost clocked him. However, it was clear he was drunk and he wanted to know how he found this address so he bit his tongue and let him in.

"Johnny! Johnny!" He moaned, stepping around and around before finally stumbling into the couch. "You disappeared on me, babe."

Soap took a deep breath to try to calm himself. "I broke up with you, Kent. Remember? I'm not interested anymore." Riley sat nearby, a watchful eye. She did not growl or bark or even announce her presence. She waited.

"Listen, I know I made mistakes. But come on. They were honest."

"Let's talk about this when you're sober in the morning, yeah?" Soap made sure to enunciate, not wanting to hear any snide remarks about his accent from him. "I have things I need to do. Just sleep here." He grabbed Ghost, always careful to hold him with both hands and to his chest. The doll wasn't the largest thing and he was sure he could handle being dropped but... well, it just didn't feel right to do so.

Kent sat up. "What's that thing?"

Soap paused and mulled over his words. "Nothing too important. Just part of taking care of the house. I'll put it away real quick."

"Freak owner wants you to babysit his dolls?"

Soap felt himself bow up, gritting his teeth. Instead, he just bit that back as well. "Don't be so mean to the owner. He seems like a nice guy. Just go to sleep and don't throw up on the carpet." He fled the room, torn between wanting to scream at Kent or just beat him. Regardless, he didn't want to deal with him intoxicated at all so he'd wait until later.

Kent finally noticed Riley. "Thought you hated dogs."

"I do but she's a nice companion."

"You must have to vacuum constantly."

Soap paused and frowned. "What?"

"German Shepherds shed a lot unless you groom them regularly. Do you groom her?"

Soap knew fuck all about dogs, but as he thought about it, yeah, he had always heard people complain about how much shepherds shed and he hadn't groomed Riley once. A few hairs had been stuck to his palm after grooming, but her coat remained pristine. "No. Go to sleep."

Ghost went to his bed and received his little kiss on the forehead. Soap like always pulled the blankets up to the dolls chin and then patted him before leaving.

He didn't sleep well. Kept feeling like someone was standing over him.

Soap made breakfast, two plates sat side by side. It didn't really register until Kent was thanking him for cooking and scooping up his plate that he had a guest. Explaining that he had a weird arrangement with the thing living in his house seemed... well a bit insane. As much as he willingly followed the rules, he wasn't sure he wanted to explain them to anyone else. So he stayed quiet and silently apologized to Ghost.

Soap made himself coffee and a cup of tea that he purposely put out of Kent's sight. "So how did you find me?"

"Your mom. Johnny, this felt a bit extreme don't you think? I understand if you hate me. But ditching your whole family?"

Soap swung around, gripping the spoon in his hand like it was it was an actual weapon that could do damage. "Fuck you, Kent. You don't get to fuck around with other people, take advantage of the fact I lost my job, my career, my passion."

"Jesus, Johnny. You lost the military. Big fucking deal. It's better than if you got blown up out there."

"Would've preferred it to dealing with you."

Kent scowled and grabbed Ghost. "So what? You prefer sitting up here, playing dolls than being in the real world? Your family misses you and"

"They can keep missing me. I don't want to talk with them. I don't want to talk with you. And I really think it's best you leave."

Riley snorted and put herself between Soap's legs to heel. Despite her relaxed appearance and peaceful nature, not even hunting squirrels in her retirement, she was tensed up. Clearly ready to maul if just given the order.

"Riley, stay down girl." Soap lightly tapped his ankle against her side in a move he had seen the K-9 units at work use. "Kent, put the doll down. I think it's a sentimental thing for the owner."

"No. This is ridiculous. You sit up here, acting like this. For what? Some guy? You two fucking or something?"

"No, I haven't even met the guy, just put Ghost down." Soap could hear the desperation creeping into his voice.

Kent paused. "Ghost?"

If either of them bothered to stop and listen, they'd hear the creaking of the floorboards. Angry tapping on the walls.

Soap paused. "Yeah. The guy who hired me called him Ghost so I just started calling him that. Just put him down."

Riley left her heel and Soap almost panicked before seeing that she was standing by the mirror she loved.

Kent stared him, suddenly seeming a lot more hateful than he did just a moment ago. He then grabbed the doll and tore it along the inseam on the back.

Cotton fell out but so did scraps of cloth and something metal that hit the floor with a clunk.

Dogtags. Soap would recognize the sound anywhere. It made sense. Simon was probably ex military, same as Riley and Soap.

They sat on the floor next to the cotton and then there was another crack, this time of the glass on the mirror.

Kent whirled around, freezing for a moment. The lights ahead seemed to flicker, but that may have just been his imagination. Soap watched mutely as Kent went to the glass and touched it, following the cut. "Weird. Probably change in air pressure or so-"

A gloved hand smashed through the glass to grab him. Giant fingers pressed into his face as he slammed him into the frame of the mirror, letting him go and making him stagger.

Ghost shoved through the rest of the glass and leaned down to step through.

Big.

Soap pulled back, heart fluttering from fear. He watched this stranger with a skull mask just like Ghost's grab Kent and wrestle him to the floor effortless. Kent struggled but this man was a lot bigger and more importantly, better trained. He struck out and broke Ken's nose, blood splattering on the floor.

"Ghost!" Soap quickly tried to get his attention. The stranger faltered and looked up. Giant brown eyes looked at him. Prettiest eyes that Johnny had ever seen. "Stop."

Just as well trained as Riley, Ghost pulled back. He stepped on Kent's hand as he walked to Soap, staring down at him intensely.

Soap backed up into the kitchen island.

"Johnny." Ghost... purred. The name felt foreign on his tongue, but the response it got from Soap made it perfect.

"Simon?"

Ghost's eyes crinkled from smiling. "Yes. It's nice to finally meet you." He kept advancing until they were pressed against each other. Soap was taken back by the size difference but Ghost fixed that by leaning down. His mask face rubbed against his jaw and along his throat before... sniffing him.

Soap gripped the counter and took a deep breath. He wasn't afraid. Not one bit and honestly that should probably scare him or even just bother him but....It didn't. It didn't at all.

"Johnny." Ghost pressed tight against him, hands finding their way to his hips before sliding them under his shirt. "Thank you, thank you."

Soap wasn't sure what Ghost was thanking him for but before he could ask, he heard the dull thwack of something hitting Ghost's back.

There was a moment of silence before Ghost caught the poker on it's second swing. He glanced at Soap, clearly pleading.

"Go for it."

Watching Ghost beat Kent should've done something. Maybe he should've ran. But Soap had missed the violence and he did not miss Kent one bit.

Watching Ghost move was alluring as well and Soap felt a flush get to his cheeks as his body reacted. He should tell him to stop. Kent wasn't moving.

Soap let out a sharp gasp and Ghost turned his head back to him, blood splattering on his mask now.

"I'll be good." Simon promised. "Better than him. I'll be your good boy."

Johnny stared at him. "I know you will. My good boy, yeah?"

Simon let go of the poker from the fireplace, letting it slide. "Sunshine, do you mind giving us the room?"

Riley ran, knocked her head against his leg, and then quickly ran out. Tail wagging.

"You call her sunshine?"

"Course. She's my sunshine and you're my love." Simon said it so earnestly. So big and so hot and then he was pressing Soap against the island again. "Kiss?"

Soap swallowed and kissed his cheek, making Ghost whine. "Please... Please..." He tilted his head, making it clear what he wanted but letting Soap lean in. Their lips meet, the soft fabric between them getting in the way but Soap could still feel Ghost's lips moving against his own.

Simon pulled away, eyes hazing and adoring. Almost obsessive. He rubbed his cheek against Johnny's. "I'll be your good boy."

[moondropstash]

Another WIP! Bigger this time, part of a larger project I hope to pick up again after the holidays.

SFW/only suggestive here in this chunk.

~2200 words, Moon x reader. No particular content warnings necessary! What about that hypnosis function, huh Moon? :)c

° • ¤ ☆ ¤ • °

You’re good at your job - or so you thought. 

Sure, ok, it’s not usually much of a job. There’s a 90% chance you’re only in the daycare for the benefit of the parents since Sun and Moon have this place on lock, but you’re not completely useless. You help. You pass out snacks. You clean up glitter (so much glitter). You spelunk into the depths of the ball pit after lost plushes and shoes while Sun comforts the wailing child, and emerge like a hero with your spoils. And after months, Moon finally let you help with naptime. 

He watches you like you’re handling a bomb instead of little Sydney’s favorite pillow, but at least he lets you out from behind the desk now. 

And you thought you were getting pretty good at it. There’s only one Moon after all, and sometimes there’s more than one really fussy kid. Most times, really. But goddamn. After the dozenth time watching Moon lull a screeching demon child to sleep in under a minute flat, upon whom all your efforts had been for naught, you finally snap. 

You drop down next to him on the plush tiles on the outskirts of the nap area, leveling your most determined stare at him as he twists his head towards you with a jingle and a questioning flicker of his optics. 

“Ok man. Spill.” 

His face clicks to the side, his nearly ever-present grin growing wider. Your eyes narrow. 

“Spill what?” 

“How you do that,” you whisper-yell, leaning into his bubble and waving towards the slumbering angel a dozen feet away that had been hell-bent on ripping out your hair minutes before. “That kid was out for blood and then you pick them up and wham! Out like a light - and don’t you dare say magic!” 

“But I am.” Slowly, with a series of purposefully loud snaps and clacks, he twists his frame at the waist to align his upper half towards you while his legs stay placidly crossed, his faceplate spinning once as you scoff. Maybe that would get a rise out of your coworkers, but you don’t spend months around these two contortionists and not get innoculated to a few uncanny angles. With a hissed chuckle and unmistakable smugness, he wiggles his fingers. “Metal - and magic.” 

“Bullshit,” you spit with mock venom, Moon giggling as the two of you lean ever closer. With a grin near as wide as his, you jab a finger against his chassis. “I have scrubbed glitter glue, paint, and substances unknown to mankind off every inch of you and I haven’t seen a single sketchy rune or magic crystal.”

Moon cackles low in his voicebox, swaying and jingling with each poke of your finger before he raises his own, claws extending with a crisp snk and tut-tuts back with a sharp claw. “Not looking close enough.” 

You blow a raspberry back at him, swatting at his hand with a smirk as it silently dances out of reach. 

The claws bothered you when you first started. The idea of giving the childcare robot literal razors in his hands was dumbfounding - seeing Sun pop them out to open boxes even more so - but after looking at the Glamrocks, now you just figure the designer has a thing. You’re not paid enough to ponder what kinks the artist has, after all, and there’s only so many times a person can have knives laid across their shoulders and still work up a fuss. And, frankly, if an hour of your shift goes by without either of these two not slipping a hand across your arm or leaning on you or touching you somehow, you’d think they were broken. 

That’s probably your fault. 

You’ve always been tactile, and then they gave you coworkers starved for touch. What little remained of your personal bubble died within the week. What kind of monster would refuse Sun a hug, or tell Moon to stop draping across them like an oversized cat? Not you. 

Doesn’t hurt that it’s fun. 

Moon’s eyes gleam bright, playful crimson as you lean even further into his space, dragging your other hand up his chest plating. Slowly. Following the seam of black and white, skittering the edges of his buttons with dull nails. You feel his claws settle across your thighs, points pricking just enough to remind you of their presence. 

There’s a moment of quiet. The two of you, watching each other with mirror grins, fingers dancing across metal and fabric. Then your hand darts up, grabbing his neck ruffles and yank him even closer. 

His bells jostle, jingling sharply, and you laugh silently in triumph. Barely two inches separate your faces now, his lanky form bent towards you like a willow branch. This close, you can see every chip and irregularity in his paint. The way his optics tremble in repressed delight, the red light that floods your vision flickering-stuttering in brightness as he hisses a near silent giggle, face twisting and clicking to the side until his gleaming teeth nearly touch your skin. 

Snap-snap. 

He clacks sharp teeth together twice, his large hands resting heavy on your thighs. Just enough for his claws to teeter at the edge of painful on your flesh; maybe enough to draw pin-pricks of blood. You’ll find out later. 

You ignore his little show. 

Instead, you make a slow, obvious job of looking him over. Scrutinizing every inch of his plating - ah, hell, that paint’s going to suck to scrub off later - until, finally, you close the distance between you, resting your forehead against his own with a smirk.  

“Is this close enough?” 

Moon cackles. Your hand releases his ruffles to slip around his shoulders, muffling your own laughter as he bonks his head against your own. It’s no surprise when his claws slip free, ghosting up your back to pull you close like a plush and drag you both into a sprawl on the ground, his shoulders propped up against a squashy, ancient beanbag to keep his loop from jamming into the floor. You rest your chin on his chassis, the two of you sparing a moment to glance at the snoozing kids. All good. No stirring, no fussing. 

It’s a fine line to toe - goofing off with Moon, but quiet enough to not cause a disturbance. His eyes scan the room a moment longer than yours do, but once they’re back on you, you knock softly on his plating with your knuckles. 

“No, but seriously Moon. I’m feeling inadequate here. Unable to equal your mechanical superiority etcetera. Can I have like, a tip? Pretty please?”

He hums. Low and slow, making sure you feel the hum of his mechanisms working away below you inside his shell, before he lifts away his hands from your back and raises a claw to his grin. 

“It’s a secret.”  

Before your retort makes it past your tongue, his claw rests carefully against your lips. 

“Shh,” he hisses, barely audible. His eyes flick to his other hand and your own follow silently. 

It’s raised. His fingers waggle at you before he twists his wrist strangely - and one of the bells on his wrist tumbles down, suspended on the length of ribbon. You raise an eyebrow at him, only for his claw to hook under your chin and turn you back to the hanging bell. 

The dim neon star-lights of the darkened daycare glisten across its surface. Brassy and flawless, it hangs limply until Moon slowly twitches his wrist and it begins to swing. 

Back. And forth. 

As steady as a metronome, a deep sea of stars glitters on the metal. 

And then he closes his claws around it with a low laugh. 

You blink. 

“Feeling sleepy?” 

His words slide off you at first, before they hit you like a truck and you gape at him, Moon giggling and terribly pleased with himself as he tugs the bell and ribbon back into place on his wrist. 

“No.” 

“Magic.” 

You have to bite down your words, remembering at the last second that there’s two dozen kids sleeping a few feet away and huffing out the yell you’d wanted to spit at him with a smack against his plating. 

“Moon, I can accept the ‘melatonin’ candies but are you selling me snake oil now? Hypnotism?” 

His face spins a circle, hat jingling against the beanbag as he resettles his hands on your back.

“Unofficial function,” he says, claws dancing a smug jig across your skin. 

That stops your retort. The claws are an unofficial feature. Unlisted and unreviewed, included for nebulous reasons. And now - hypnotism. Assuming he’s not just fucking with you. You prop your chin up on your arm, frowning. 

“You being serious, Moondrop?” 

He makes a vague hum, preoccupied with dragging a finger down your spine. You chew on the idea, but disbelief is definitely winning out. Hypnotism’s the kind of shit your friend’s weird aunt is into; the one who thinks placing quartz chunks in specific spots around her house ‘drains the negative energies’ of her neighborhood. You straighten Moon’s ruffles as you mull it over, before tugging them once more to pull his attention back to your face. 

“I’d notice if you were doing that though. That whole. Pendulum thing? That’s not subtle.” 

“Not the only way.” He pauses. “Don’t use it often. Only when they’re being… very naughty.” His voice edges deeper for emphasis, one arm wrapping around you to squeeze you like a plush. 

“Isn’t that kind of… I dunno, dangerous?” 

“Maybe. Sunny doesn’t like it.” 

“Can Sun-” 

Moon cuts you off with a sharp snicker. “Never tried. Says it’s cheating.” 

“Because it is! I’ve been trying to just talk and soothe them but you’re like,” you pause, lowering your volume as Moon’s eyes flicker brighter, his grip tighter in warning. “I don’t know. How are you doing it, if not the uh… The trick with the bell?” 

Moon cocks his head at you. His frame whirrs under you, fingers tap-tapping across your ribs before he silently brings a hand up and slowly draws the dull side of one his claws over the soft skin beneath your eye. And then - tap-taps - at your temple. 

“I look,” he murmurs. “They look back. I send them off to dreamland.” His hand dances away from your face, miming sparkles with a cheerful jingling of his bells.

You frown, silently resting your face against his plating as you think. 

Eye contact, then. That’d… be subtle enough. You guess it’s useful, if it’s true. You drum your fingers on him, before you flick your gaze back to his. It’s only then you notice his hands are still on your sides, his usual fidgeting and petting paused as he stares back at you, eyes shrunken down to sharp red pupils. 

You’ve seen that look before. Always when Sun and Moon get… nervy. When you admit that something can’t be fixed with a screwdriver and a wet washcloth, and the specter of the place none of you mention by name hovers in the room. 

You soothe your hand across the line of his chest, tweaking the bell of his hat where it sits draped over his shoulder. 

“Are you supposed to tell me this, Moon?” 

The single twitch of his face in answer tells you all you need to know. You exhale. Right. You’re just gonna chalk this one up in the ‘the designer is into some weird shit’ category. 

“Well,” you begin, pushing a grin back onto your face. “Now you’ve said that, you’ve obviously gotta prove it.” 

His optics widen back to bright seas of red in an instant. His arm squeezes you tight, fans whirring fast - before he pushes your face down against his plating. 

“No.” 

You squirm, smacking at his hand on your head before he finally lets you up for air with a wicked snicker. Perched on him, you reach to catch the edge of his faceplate, only for him to avoid your efforts like a stubborn cat. 

“Come on Moony~ Give me some sweet, sweet dreams. Don’t you want me to shut up for a bit?” 

Moon spins his face, angled away from you with another giggle, and oozes further up onto the beanbag as you paw after him - though he does pause. You can see his pupil on you at the edge of his eye before he raises a hand, tapping thoughtfully at his chin. 

“Hmm. Tempting.” 

“That’s right! I’ve been very naughty-” You voice edges into a poor imitation of his own, and you experience a brief moment of triumph as he trembles with repressed laughter before you both hear the sounds of fussing from the nap circle. 

You’re unsure if you got too loud, but it doesn’t matter. The two of you peel yourselves apart without a word, slipping back into work mode in an instant. One fussy kid leads to another, and the two of you quickly sink into a familiar rhythm: Moon stalking close to the loudest fussers, his music box chiming away and voice low, as you help settle blankets and plushes and pillows with soothing smiles and careful hands. Sometimes you hum along with Moon’s song, nonsense words on your lips, and sometimes you reach for a misplaced plush only for Moon to press it into your hands, his claws trailing naturally up your arm as he passes by. 

By the time naptime ends, the lights flickering on and Moon shifts back into Sun, who immediately whips you up into a tight, whirling hug, you’ve all but forgotten what Moon told you. 

After all, he was probably joking. 

[itsavgbltpta]

Should You Watch Undead Murder Farce?

(Japanese title: Undead Girl Murder Farce)

A Brief Summary

In an alternate universe where demons and monsters still exist, one half-oni is living out his days in a fight club, just waiting to die.  That is, until a genius detective manages to catch his eye.  With promises of extending his life in an exchange to end her immortal one, the two pair up - along with the detective’s maid who happens to be handy with a rifle.  The trio solves some mysteries in Japan before going global, searching for the man who wronged them both and meeting some familiar literary figures along the way.

With so many scheming people together - friend and foe - it’s a battle of who can out-think and out-detective each other in order to win the day.

So, should you watch the anime?

Yes!

To be fair, I have a predilection for media (shows, books, whatever) where geniuses keep trying to out-do each other.  I love a person with a plan that’s thinking 30 steps ahead in 5D chess.  And this show is abundant with that character type.  I also like it when a show can keep me on my toes.  Undead Murder Farce kept up a lot of mystery throughout, which also makes it kind of hard to talk about in fear of spoiling things.

The season is made up of several arcs, each 2-3 episode arc involving a specific mystery to be solved.  There is also a general mystery tying things together and giving reasons for our characters to come together.  Our detective trio often clashes with an organization made up of supernatural beings, sometime works alongside vigilantes, and tend to end up meeting a whole lot of interesting folk.

I was a bit skeptical when the show made a change from the Japanese setting to Merry Olde England, and also wary for our detective hero party to suddenly be in the realm of probably the most well known detective in all fiction, but this show managed to pull it off.  Sherlock didn’t steal the show.  Lupin may have. ;)

One of my least favorite characters in Undead Murder Farce is the maid body-guard.  She didn’t seem to have much point in the plot-line besides being sullen and getting into certain… situations… but you know what, I bet there are people who really like her and those situations, so I’m not upset, lol.

The animation is really nice and action sequences flow well.  I am a fan of the character design so that gets a win from me, but I know that’s always a subjective thing.  But if you like any of the faces you see in the image for this article, then you’ll be good to go.

I have to mention the absolute banger of an OP this anime has as well.  It gave me big K-Pop vibes (in a good way).  I did a little digging and the group that performs the OP is part of the K-Pop world, so I guess that vibe makes sense.  It’s a song I can easily recall even half a year later (which is kind of a rarity with the amount of anime I watch), and it sparked joy every week.

For me, characters are a big part of what makes me enjoy a story, so what kind of characters does Undead Murder Farce have jam-packed within each mystery-solving episode?

A slightly perverted and laid-back Rakugo-styled half-oni experiment that can put up a mean fight with a smile always on his face (Tsugaru).

An immortal genius looking for someone to end said immortality - oh and also looking for her body as she’s currently just a very intelligent head in a cage (Aya Rindou).

A military-esque maid who can keep up with the monsters around her, though she also somehow ends up in rather sapphic situations (Shizuku).

A gentleman thief that’s always a few steps ahead of his detective opponents and tends to add a dramatic flourish to all he does (Arsene Lupin).

The big detective himself, full of snark and confident that he is the alpha detective in Europe, despite the supernatural competition (Sherlock Holmes).

The epitome of a polished lady who isn’t afraid to show off her assets and also sink her teeth - quite literally - into anyone who gets in her way (Carmilla).

Plus a whole heaping of other figures from literature and supernatural origins, including the mother-fucking Phantom of the Opera.  Just because.  

I skipped on a few key spoiler characters as this anime is all about mystery, and who am I to give it away?

Where does it rate on my personal scale?

S: I will buy it at full price (unless it’s released by Aniplex USA, because fuck their pricing).

->A: I will buy it on sale sometime down the line.

B: I had fun watching it, but don’t need to own it.

C: It’s not my cup of tea, but wasn’t awful.

D: Dropped it.

X: Finished it out of spite, but did not enjoy it.

Undead Murder Farce was a lot of fun to watch, so it gets an A ranking from me.  It was probably my favorite anime of the summer 2023 season, and the show I most looked forward to watching every week.  While some mysteries were solved in the 12 episodes that aired, we’re still missing a resolution for the over-arching plot lines.  I very much hope we get a season 2!

[adobe-outdesign]

Thoughts on the Spearow line? I feel like it needs something, like a mega or regional.

The Spearow line's always been one of those lines that just kind of Exists. It could be considered a meaner counterpart to the Pidgey line, but the Pidgey line at least has three stages (plus a mega) and a clear theme with the colorful long feathers, while the Spearow line has absolutely nothing.

Unsurprisingly, the biggest issue with this line is the lack of a theme or distinct visuals. The primary color is brown, and there's nothing that really makes the design pop in either stage. This makes both fairly forgettable and redundant in the face of the Pidgey line.

Anyway, Spearow's actual design is okay. I like how it's almost akin to a kestrel or shrike with the hooked beak, something usual for first-stagers. The red wings also provide a bit of color, though they're somewhat diluted by Gen 1's colors being under-saturated as a whole. I also find the underbelly interesting; it's drawn as if it were scaly, but as far as I can tell it's just meant to be feathery all around. Which is a shame, as a bird with reptilian scales on the underside would be a neat concept.

However, there are a few things visually that don't work that well. The black on the neck feels pointless, as you can barely see it underneath the head feathers. Said head feathers also feel very messy and awkwardly placed, screwing up any potential interesting patterns or colors it could've otherwise sported.

I think if you removed the bottom neck feathers and the black areas, made the tips of the head feathers red, and made the base of the tail feathers and legs black, you'd have a similar idea but with better color placement. As is, it's not bad, just kind of "meh".

Fearow at least gets a few point for having a really interesting body shape. It's a bird, sure, but it's a mix of various birds instead of just being based off one species. This unique body shape also prevents it from being too similar to the Pidgey line, which is far more hawk-like in its final stages.

However, Fearow still struggles with a lack of concept. Even the Pokedex doesn't have much to say about it, aside from the fact that it's a species that hasn't changed much over the years.

The visuals are also still an issue. It's got even more plain brown on it than Spearow, and there still isn't much of a strong visual focus. The red has unfortunately been reduced to only appearing on the head crest, and the black is gone completely (raising the question of why it was there to begin with). I could easily see it sporting a mostly black body with red at the top of the wings and on the tail, but alas. Like I said, the actual shape and monster-y look is fine, but it still needs something else to stand out.

I think the best thing to do with this line might be a regional. An evolution/mega evo/other gimmick from wouldn't be bad, but Fearow already looks pretty powerful and there's not a lot to build off of in a way that would feel justified. With a regional, the line could get a refresh and a theme, maybe even a new typing.

One possibility would be to make it flying/dark, as the line is noted to be aggressive. Maybe Fearow's beak is extra long and it's mentioned it stabs other Pokemon with it, like a bizzaro shrike. Or perhaps a regional becomes more color in order to mimic Ho-Oh; we've never gotten a convergent line that's a pre-existing species, so that could be a potentially interesting angle to look into. They really look similar already, and the colors and markings could ultimately be different enough to still make them distinct.

So overall: this line is fine, but pretty underwhelming. The concept (or lack thereof) and plain visuals leave us with two potentially interesting birds that are ultimately overshadowed by other, better bird lines. Hopefully GameFreak revisits this one sometime soon.

[itstokkii]

About Turkuzbek, do you associate them with any symbols or motifs? And also are there any au's for them??

symbols...hmmmmm

sometimes I call them the tea pair, because they both love chugging down that good good scalding hot black tea in the summer!

other than that.. not really? they do both have a crescent and star in their flags but like. so do a lot of other countries

aus..ok brace yourself for ALL the au ideas that popped in my head since shipping turkuzbek:

beauty and the beast au: takes place in a fictional world, but clothes + possibly palace is inspired off of 18th century ottoman empire. uzb is belle, turkey's the beast obviously, couldn't settle on a maurice so just made it her sibs, russia is gaston....??? I felt like the dynamic really works with them, my favorite movie for my favorite ship <3

cardverse au: ok so in this au uzb is a seamstress for the royal family of clubs. all of a sudden she finds herself between a rock and a tight place as she must spin straw into gold. enter turkey, a joker with no real loyalty to any of the main 4 kingdoms. he offers her help in exchange for something of hers, and helps her get the job done while also making small talk. she slowly finds herself laughing and having fun with this rando, and his occasional visits to her sewing room soon become the highlight of her day. she initially gives him her bracelet, necklace, any jewelry she has...

until she's given the ultimate task of spinning a whole roomful of straw into gold in one day. if she succeeds, she marries the king as his royal consort. if she doesn't she is executed. she hates both of these ideas and is freaking out, especially since she doesn't have anything to give turkey anymore. he helps her anyway, and then goes by the "if you don't have anything left to give, you can pay with your body" philosophy, and essentially asks her to elope with him. she agrees, and when the king opens the door the next day he finds a room full of gold and no royal consort-to-be.

college au: he's the business major to her fashion design major. he tried complaining about his workload once and she dunked on him for that. they regularly go on joyrides together. i was considering making them fiances? if it made the au more interesting...

if we're not going the fiance route, they both have a mutual friend(korea), who sneakily invites both of them to the campus's music and dance event on the basis of korea's club performing kpop dance. uzbekistan is so uncomfortable with the rave music and promises herself she'll stay for korea's performance and leave the moment it's over. she pulls her phone out to record korea and looks to her side and HER CRUSH IS THERE??? HUH??

so they both stare at each other like "what are YOU doing here??" turkey's even more confused since she's the last person he'd expect to show up to a rave and dance performance event. by the time the performance is over, korea pats them both on the back and goes "I'm so glad my 2 best friends showed up to support me!"

korea what a sneaky shipper....

monster high au: turkey's a werewolf(haha turan moment) and she's a werecat. they do NOT get along at first, but slowly their rivalry turns into something like romantic tension as they point tennis balls and laser pointers in each others' faces threatening to use them. next thing you know they're dating??? w,what

also important to mention: kyrgyzstan's an orange cat.

ever after high au: this was briefly considered, but I can see uzb being sort of like ashlynn "oh yea we gotta follow our destinies" and then dates the son of the huntsman(turkey) who is um. Not a royal

snow white au: so this was like a joke. she gets poisoned, he leans in to kiss her and then she immediately wakes up before he does the deed. "ASTAGHFIRULLAH YOU MUST REPENT WHAT WERE YOU ABOUT TO DO"

she marries him anyway

reverse snow white au: she's the prince, turkey's snow white, and the dwarves? 7 different azerbaijans.

non-country/human au: she gives me boy mom vibes. not like an unhealthy way, but it makes sense that she would have a son(??) also turkey definitely insists on having like 3 more kids.

uzb: first of all who's doing the giving birth part

and turkey as a dad defo gives me yusuf vibes from otoyomegatari

i...think that's it?? maybe I'll add more when i remember

[inveryiswriting]

Hi, so, I accidentally published this without editing well, so I deleted it and was so close to do something drastic. Now, English it's not my first language and I'm too used to narrate in Spanish, just in case.

Okay, now, this is a "tribute" to Wheel Bitten, a webcomic made by @toxooz (An amazing artist with such rich variety of designs, and creator of many of the blorbos that are, currently, eating my brain), because of that, if someone reaches this and hasn't read it yet, here's a link to it.

A tribute for a gentle giant "Tor Gith".

It is something that many of us don’t think about regularly, because we constantly move around, going to different places. But there’s this feeling when you go to certain places, just as your feet touch the ground nearby, looking at the first couples of details that are common to you. Sometimes is dreadful, your throat closes and every inch of your body feels like being pulled away from there.

That doesn’t happens when I go near the skating park. No… no, I feel so light, and it’s not like this place tries to drag me, it just feels right to be there.

The wire fences rise from the ground and stay as the hard skin of this gentle giant. The pavement extends, scratched by wheels and long forgotten falls. The rails, as I like to call those, the bones, have seen so much pain and bruises, but also every bit of comfort that came afterwards. Like everything, here I have dropped so many tears, but none of those were bitter, just empty reactions after the physical pain of it all.

As I get near, even with no lights around, I remember my way into this place. How my heavy tail sways from side to side and grazes the floor, the way my shoes hit underneath me and the wind goes against my long fur.

I skate around, feeling kinda lonely, but I just need to cool off. My balance is not the best to do many tricks, but I keep going, just like Ollie always tells us. For pain is another casualty that can catch you with every step, and now I’m lucky that it doesn’t go deeper than my skin.

It doesn’t feel that right to be here… it’s a weird feeling, like being around school after class. There’s no one around and… now, more than ever, I kinda hate being so shy, because I miss having them around.

I’m safe here, I survive because of this place, but it would be nice to live. The difference between living and surviving is how much you struggle to keep your head up at the sky, and now, the stars above seem brighter than ever.

It’s kinda stupid to be skating while looking anywhere else than the floor, so, naturally, I fell hard to the ground.

And now there’s no face peeking over me to make sure I’m okay, just the stary night sky. Somehow, everything feels more real here, in Tor Gith, or just our skatepark, where even the sensations are allowed to rise above the gray surroundings.

As I breath in, my lungs fill and my chest loses the grip it has on so much shit.

I stand up, reaching with a hand at the jaws behind my head, checking that the wires of my braces haven’t popped off. Just standing here, wishing for this place to open up and swallow me whole, keep me here until the morning, hoping for someone to come early and be here.

I can actually be here, waiting for company.

The skatepark sleeps at night, with no flow of monsters to keep it awake and thrilled. But now it stays with one eye open, watching over me. Maybe I’m just dumb and sad, but that thought feels nice. Something bigger… something special taking care of me.

This place was left alone to rot, from what I remember to hear, both from others and my parents. It grew bitter and alone, the stagnant water of rain filling the bowl like an empty stomach. With fallen trees that broke its skin. The floor used to be cracked and scarred from neglect. Until someone came and pumped life into it again, healing and working on every inch that was left alone.

It could’ve been forgotten and never explored again, but now the skatepark’s life comes along everyone that goes around and inside of it. The heart of a place beats for everything that exists within.

I’m just one, but thinking that I’m still capable of keeping it awake is a comforting feeling.

This place is nothing without its people, and I feel that I’m no one without it. For monsters bring the magic that made this place so warm and happy, keeping this air of family and belonging. For all that may desire to be somewhere, this skatepark stays day and night waiting for them, and many of us wait to be able to come here and live as if there’s nothing outside this breathing walls.

There was someone for this park, someone that saw so much potential into something that may have looked like an impossible project, or even a dead thing that should’ve been left to rot and eaten away. But it only needed someone to believe in it.

And I love that you did it, a beacon for everyone that needs it.

[jones-friend]

Kingdom Death

Today I had the chance to play Kingdom Death: Monster. KDM is a fantastic big box game with Berserk-like grimdark feels and a gnarly sense of humor. So CW, many parts of this game are soul grinding and depressing. If violence, gore, horrifying monsters with sexual overtones, hopelessness, these darker kinds of themes aren’t appealing to you then you should skip this one!

While I dont typically enjoy these things I liked what KDM was doing and I enjoyed the way it handled them.

In KDM you and three other survivors awaken in this dark land, its surfaces made of stone faces, with a great prowling beast that devours its prey bite by brutal bite. You take arms with your fragment of a face and a sash around your waist and challenge the great beast!

You’re going to die. And dying isn’t even the worst thing that can happen to you.

KDM fully embraces its grimdark nature. Injuries often come with intensely debilitating consequences like ruptured spleens and eye gouging. Everything comes with a risk, today trying to land an attack on my own turn caused me to get decapitated! Don’t get too attached to your characters, death is only two bad rolls away.

The gameplay loop is survivors go on a hunt for a monster, they have a showdown with a monster, and a settlement phase where players grow their home base.

During the hunt players advance across event cards, some unique to the monster some generic. Events can be positive but they can be negative, some can move the monster or survivors closer or further away. You have to catch the monster before you reach the starvation space or there’s dire consequences. You are never safe in this game. In one event one of our hunters died and we had to go into the fight already down one party member.

Then you have the showdown. KDM has a legion of beautifully designed mini’s that are part of the experience. Each turn begins with the monster using an attack off the Monster AI deck. Then players move in and attempt to land wounds. Each wound removes a card from the Monster AI deck and we continue until we land a hit and the monster can’t remove any other cards.

This removes attacks from the deck as we wound the monster. And sometime attacks pop back on the deck. The gorm’s hiccup puts the monster in this endless loop of hiccuping until you land damage and its hilarious.

When you DO land a hit you aren’t dealing damage yet. You flip over a Hit Location (HL) card. There is a threshold required to deal a wound. If you fail to wound often there’s a repercussion that can kill you. Like the monster getting an extra attack. Then there’s TRAPS in the HL deck that can have lethal consequences (and one did!).

You take about two damage to a body part before rolling on debilitating effects tables (like ruptured spleen!) and there’s a lot of tables with a lot of bad things that can happen to you!

You will use your items and gear in coordination with your allies to down monsters for parts!

You will return to your settlement with all gear and any survivors and enter this settlement phase. Events happen here (that can kill you!) and you start smiths, shops, form societal ideals for passives, you construct a settlement in this hostile world and gather new population to your settlement (which are essentially your pool of lives).

After managing your gear, making new stuff, and managing different events youre off on a new hunt!

KDM is an incredibly wide game. Its Berserk + Monster Hunter. Its got a hilariously grotesque sense of humor (if you crit the lion’s balls it only targets you) and despite all the bad shit the game throws at you its more about managing complications than just suffering.

KDM has an incredible price point of $400 because the developers are entirely behind its big box identity, having incredible mini’s and production value. The price point makes it a hard sell BUT there are black friday and gencon deals that can reduce the price. If these big box games are something you enjoy I would look into KDM! Its a great time!

[amoirsetpacis]

@punisheye

★ --;; Vash lets Wolfwood think that it’s all a small affair– which, really, it still is. He kisses him good morning, long and sleep-soft and sweet, quietly smiled ‘mornin’, birthday boy,’ murmured between them. Any eventual wandering hands get swatted away, laughing.

“You have work,” Vash snorts. He’s got their fingers laced together, pinned up next to Wolfwood’s ears in a quickly failing attempt at keeping them under control. “And I’m makin’ breakfast.”

“And I’m the boss and we got managers,” Wolfwood grins, matching his namesake. The hands against the mattress give a little jostle, a mere threat at upsetting the balance. “Yer’ the one who wanted t’ do stuff today anyway. Yer’ gonna deny me a birthday wish? Really?”

Ah; Vash has gone and created a monster of his own design once again. Incredulously, he laughs, “Now you’re just milkin’ it–!!” only to squawk and be flipped the rest of the way over.

They do eventually make it downstairs, and only a bit late at that. Vash makes good on his word as well; Wolfwood might be the one usually kicking him out of the kitchen for pilfering whatever ingredients are hanging around on the counters, but Vash isn’t half bad at cooking himself. He does have quite a bit of a leg up when it comes to how much time he’s had to practice, though. Not as much of a stickler for chasing the other body occupying the space, either.

“I’ll see you later,” Vash smiles with a peck, following their typical walk together to Cafe December before turning on his heels in the direction he normally wanders off in to head towards Cotes.

–Only to completely round on his route once he’s well enough out of sight, back in the direction of the housing they’d originally been put in. A ‘sneaky’ ( read: hasty ) request for the day off had been approved, even under short notice, and sometimes Vash thinks maybe there is a facsimile of a god somewhere.

He pops back into Kugisaki’s place to pick up the cake he’d left there overnight with a quick thanks and promise of being in debt before heading back home to deposit both it and the supplies he’d entrusted to her in his own kitchen. He’s out again just as quickly, gone to pick up any other thing he’d need at the store only to return yet again with probably too much.

In retrospect he probably didn’t need the whole day to prepare everything; if anything, he’s quickly realizing that having the entire day off is only giving him more grounds to get anxious over preparation instead. Still, he waits as long as he can stand ( which still isn’t that long ) before getting to work. 

It’s… a task. This part he’s not as familiar with; dishes he’s not a practiced hand in but he knows are some of Wolfwood’s favourites. He’s got about six different tabs open for each for comparison purposes, along with his own fairly detailed memory of what he’d seen Wolfwood do before, and slowly but surely familiar smells start to waft through the house. In comparison to the morning, though, the resulting messes are far more prevalent. Taste tests prove similar enough results to what Vash has had before, but he’s ultimately not going to be the judge, here.

Whereas before time felt as though it were akin to molasses, it flies as Vash is getting everything together. A few hours later sees the last deep pot simmering on the stove; the only reason he hadn’t started panicking at how little time he had left was because there was only one thing left to do. 

The frosting is… an arduous task, at best. He’d had Kugisaki’s help when it came to the cake itself, but even following the directions as closely as he can it takes Vash more than one attempt to get the butter cream concoction right. The cake decorating doesn’t go quite as smooth as he’d hoped, either; any cute ideas he’d had for frosting shapes very quickly go out the window once the first one or two or five little flowers going around the edge end up looking far too wobbly. He’s almost tempted to squash them flat, but winds up keeping them anyway.

Besides, time is still rapidly ticking down, and he’s still got an absolutely demolished kitchen to make look somewhat-presentable before Wolfwood gets back. Saving graces appear in the form of invitees peeking their heads in through the door, though, and Vash can handle a bit of teasing if it means getting everything back in order– no matter how much he might whine about it.

One big, fat candle gets stuck in the middle of his creation, chocolate on chocolate, before one of the lighters lying around the house gets snatched up and the lights turned out. There’s no hiding the lingering scents hovering in the air as the invisible timer nears zero, Vash’s phone pinging with an ‘on the way home’ text not too long prior. ( It’s only then that he realizes his near radio silence the entire day had probably been some sort of giveaway as well, but it’s too late now to do anything about it. )

"SURPRISE! Happy birthday," the younger Stampede cheers with full enthusiasm, alongside his fellow party-goers. It's possible that Wolfwood might've spotted the guy's party hat atop his head before he's popped out from behind the kitchen island; so caught up in his excitement, he's forgotten to remove the giveaway of his hidden presence. 

“SURPRISE!” The cake gets held well off to the side of the explosion of confetti, candle already lit and its soft glow definitely not making their hiding place any more obvious along with any of their other giveaways. Vash’s smile is big enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes; despite the stress he’d put himself under, the fact that they get to share this moment in the first place, that he gets to give this sort of love and care back, makes his chest feel full.

Before anything else, Vash rounds around the counter corner; it wouldn’t do to have the wax start to melt too much, after all. “Thought I’d be nice and spare you the singing,” he grins, eyes bright as he holds the cake out for the flame to be extinguished.

During the dinner itself, the younger Stampede's appetite seems to be in full-force. He'd be busy reminiscing on hangouts with Wolfwood if his mouth isn't full. Either way, his plate ends up clean. 

While Meryl's just as chatty as always during dinner, she's also content to simply sit among her friends, enjoying the peace and domesticity and feeling grateful, as always, that they get to have this in Spirale (usually). And afterwards, she cleans up her confetti disaster!

Being familiar with the household, the other Stampede helps out with further clean-up and putting food away, handwaving off any offers to take leftovers home—he happens to have "plenty stored away in advance" back at Home, and promises he's been eating well these days.

Gifts are opened, eventually, over slices of cake that turned out not half-bad, thank you very much. Meryl's gift is covered in several layers of tissue paper to protect what's inside: a set of colorful ceramic berry baskets to hold fruits and vegetables in the kitchen! She feels like Wolfwood probably has a penchant for practicality above everything, so the multipurpose containers are bright and colorful to have just a splash of something interesting.

The younger Stampede’s is something with weight to it; wrapped in a slightly-excessive amount of taped-up bubble wrap, and placed into a small blue paper gift bag. He emphasizes, with body language and words both: despite its heft, what's inside is fragile, and should be handled with care. 

Inside: a glass paperweight in the form of a wolf, sitting with its head tilted upward. Its mouth is open; looks like it could comfortably hold a standard ballpoint pen between its little glass jaws. There's a business card from the Umber glasswork craftsman who created it, hole-punched on a corner and tied to the handle of the bag. If asked, he’d would bashfully explain that Paulo's a wonderful artist with a reputation for being a local Umber bar's arm-wrestling champion—well, up until recently. He'll have to explain the full story sometime!

Vash’s comes last– though he’s quick to swipe the card away, face a bit pink at the realization that it could very easily be read by other nosey parties; “This can be read later,” he laughs. The wrapping on the gifts themselves is a bit plain, considering who’s giving them, but it’s clear that it was done crisply and neatly with care and attention to detail. There’s plain twine around them as well; two boxes, one marginally bigger than the other. Inside one sits a case full of a new set of wood carving tools of all varieties– both in the form of knives as well as ones with handles that allow for more precision, as well as a few blocks of varying wood types. The other holds a set of various paint brushes, just as finely made as the tools. Later, he’ll pull out a few canvases he’d managed to squirrel away without getting noticed.

Eventually their guests get shooed off from the front porch after much thanks and well wishes to get home safely and to message when they do, and finally the door closes on comfortable silence instead of the cozy drone of friends around a table. Any PDA having been kept to a ( relative ) minimum, Vash immediately turns to wrap his arms around familiar shoulders and kiss the man he loves silly.

“I love you,” he smiles when he finally pulls away. “Happy birthday, Nicholas.”

[hyperlexichypatia]

Hypothetical and Actual Autonomy

 Did you know that you have the power to make hypothetical scenarios pop into being faster than the most prolific of novelists could dream of?

Just say "forced medical treatment is always wrong," and people become instantly creative, coming up with convoluted scenarios in which they're absolutely sure that forced medical treatment must be necessary.

It's important to remember that these bizarre hypotheticals are always, invariably, made in bad faith. They are never genuine attempts to parse out ethical lines. They are rhetorical traps designed to imbue false "nuance" into the abolitionist position -- if you cede that involuntary treatment might be justified in whatever bizarre scenario they've dreamt up, they claim that it's therefore all just a totally hazy gray area no one has any room to judge! And if you deny that their bizarre hypothetical is justifiable grounds for forced treatment, you're proving that abolitionists are rigid and heartless monsters who don't care when "real people" (bizarre hypothetical constructs) die for our ideology! (Actual Real People suffering and dying from forced treatment are, of course, quickly dismissed as irrelevant or the products of "a few bad apples.")

Despite their transparent bad faith, some of the hypothetical arguments I've encountered most frequently are worth examining for what they reveal about their speakers' underlying beliefs about neurodivergent/Mad people.

The most common hypothetical I encounter is the person about to jump off a ledge to his death. The ledge itself is an oddly specific motif -- sometimes it's a bridge or a cliff, but it's always an imminent death by height. This is truly a bizarre hypothetical scenario to invoke as justification for forced medical treatment, because it isn't even a medical situation. There are many ways to get a desperate, possibly-suicidal person off a ledge (some of them coercive, some of them not), but none of them involve any kind of medical treatment. (Though I did recently argue with someone who claimed that the act of pulling someone off a ledge constituted "medical treatment," to which I give the honorary Mr. Fantastic Award for World's Stretchiest Reach.)

What the people invoking this scenario actually mean, of course, is that someone rescued from a ledge should then, subsequent to their rescue, be placed on some sort of forced-treatment regimen, but they're hoping to conflate that with the immediacy of an imminent life-or-death emergency.

So what does the popularity of this hypothetical argument reveal about its proponents' underlying beliefs about Mad/neurodivergent people?

First and foremost, that suicidal distress is always and only ameliorable by medical treatment. But also, because these immediate life-or-death scenarios aren't actually medical situations, the underlying assumption is that allowing a neurodivergent person to choose to go about life is equivalent to letting them fall to their death from a ledge. That the desire to refuse unwanted treatment is, essentially, a death wish.

This is tied closely to the belief that Mad/neurodivergent people are always and inherently "suffering" from our Madness/neurodivergence, that medical treatment brings relief from this suffering, and therefore, that the only reason Mad/neurodivergent people would choose to refuse treatment is that we must have some self-destructive, self-hating drive to make ourselves suffer. This is why, having set up the "hanging from a ledge" scenario, people who make this argument inevitably expand it to "risk of self-harm" (a category so broad it can mean whatever anyone wants it to mean). It's not actually about any immediate life-or-death risk; it's about "rescuing" us from the suffering they're convinced we're inexplicably inflicting on ourselves by existing.

Another hypothetical scenario often invoked is a pregnant person refusing medical interventions necessary to save the life of their unborn child (a commonly cited example is someone refusing a necessary c-section). I have to give this one credit for being, unlike the ledge-hanging person, an actual medical dilemma. The answer is pretty straightforward, though -- just as non-pregnant people cannot be compelled to donate blood or organs to save someone else's life, pregnant people cannot be compelled to use their bodies to save their future children's lives. However, like the other examples, this question reveals some interesting underlying assumptions about neurodivergent/Mad people.

Because pregnancy is associated with women, pathologization of pregnant people occurs at the intersection of neurobigotry and misogyny (I coined the word "neuromisogyny" for this purpose). The Crazy Woman is a specific cultural threat, and the Crazy Mother is even more so. In this hypothetical scenario, the rhetorical fetus is a proxy for the threat that Crazy Mothers allegedly pose to their children by existing while neurodivergent.

This is why "children of mentally ill mothers" is an actual literary genre. This is why the CDC classifies having a Mad/neurodivergent parent as an "adverse childhood experiences" alongside traumas like abuse, neglect, poverty, and death. And while abusive fathers can just be called "abusive," abusive mothers are usually called "mentally ill." So in popular imagination, an abusive mother and a neurodivergent/Mad mother are one and the same. A common term applied to this constructed supercategory of abusive mothers and Mad/neurodivergent mothers is "narcissistic," which is the opposite of the selflessness that Good Mothers are supposed to embody. (The same "Good Mother/ Bad Mother" dichotomy that classifies neurodivergent/Mad mothers as abusive for existing also places a lot of actual child abuse above criticism, because it's practiced by neurotypical Good Mothers.) So the hypothetical pregnancy emergency is used to fears and judgments of the Narcissistic Crazy Mother, the Inhuman Unwoman selfishly prioritizing herself over her child.

Another hypothetical example brought up in defense of forced treatment is "What about a person who is unconscious, choking, or otherwise unable to express consent?"

This, again, is an attempt to paint disability rights and medical autonomy advocates as heartless extremists who don't care about human life -- what kind of dispassionate ideologue would wait for verbal consent before giving CPR to an unconscious person?

Well... none. No advocates actually propose that. This is an entirely fictitious strawman. But as with the other examples, it reveals some underlying assumptions about neurodivergent/Mad people.

To begin with the most obvious point, unconscious people literally cannot communicate. They cannot give or refuse medical consent. The ethical basis for performing emergency, life-saving treatment on unconscious people is that we presume, absent evidence otherwise (like a signed advance directive) that, if they were awake and talking, they would choose to be saved.

Mad/neurodivergent people can and do communicate their wishes, either through speaking or another communication method. There is no need to speculate about what neurodivergent/Mad people "would" want, because they're right here, saying (or typing or signing) what they do want.

So the people making this analogy are equating the expressed, stated wishes of Mad/neurodivergent people to the unknowability of the wishes of someone unable to communicate.

Furthermore, while no one objects to administering emergency, life-saving treatment to unconscious people, taking advantage of a patient's unconsciousness to bypass consent for non-emergency, non-life-saving procedures is, in fact, unethical. As I'm writing this, the practice of performing non-consensual pelvic exams on unconscious people at some hospitals is being widely (and rightly) denounced.

So as with the "person hanging from a ledge" hypothetical, the attempt here is to impute the immediacy of a life-or-death emergency onto ordinary treatments that could absolutely wait for a person to give consent if, in fact, they are temporarily unable to. Because, again, the people making this argument equate "correcting" someone's "defective" brain chemistry to be as urgent and as necessary as reviving someone having a heart attack.

If someone tries to argue for forced medical treatment using these hypotheticals, or any other bizarre, bad-faith hypotheticals, we are not obligated to argue on their terms. We know that these strawmen are ridiculous and made in bad faith. We know that they know that. But we can see that they reveal what people really think about our brains -- that we're irrational, destructive, dangerous to children, and that our very existence constitutes some kind of crisis necessitating emergency action protocols. That is how aggressively we are dehumanized. By being aware of it, examining it, and pointing it out, we can try to challenge it.

[mystery-fic-anon]

We Should’ve Been Better Brothers

Summary: Papyrus (Mutt) has a bad day. Sans can't fix his mind, but at least he can cook him dinner. (My piece for the To the Bone Sans and Papyrus Zine.)

Warnings: Mutt has PTSD/a panic attack in this story. He is not doing well. No physical violence, but implied murder.

Thank you to @nugget4550 for beta reading.

Read it on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43199760

Sans walked the long route back to his home in Snowdin with purpose. Head up, eyes straight ahead. He took his steps with military precision, even when he wasn’t fully marching. It was subtle, but it dissuaded monsters from talking to him unless there was an urgent need. After the day he’d had, anything less than the entire town burning down was going to get the unfortunate soul who tried his patience a bone to the face.

His right shoulder flared in pain with every movement of his arms, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t let his usual strong posture shift, especially not because of some silly injury he’d gotten while training a new recruit. He had popped his shoulder back in only a few seconds after it had been dislocated; it had no right to still be aching hours later.

On top of the new recruit training today, which lasted 3 hours more than his usual shift—with no overtime, of course, it was the duty of the royal guard to help their comrades—Papyrus had fucking disappeared. Sans usually didn’t give a shit, but he had specifically asked Papyrus to wait for him by the guard post so they could go home together. It was the little flexes of authority that cemented his image to the general public, they both knew that, and Papyrus was usually the easiest one to flex power over.

When he had gone to finally drag Papyrus’ lazy ass home from his guard outpost, the bastard hadn’t been there. In fact, he hadn’t been at any of his usual smoke spots, or at Muffet’s. Sans had spent an extra two hours tromping around Snowdin, pretending that he wasn’t looking for his stupid fucking brother.

Luckily, no one except for Muffet seemed to notice something was off. She never responded to the veiled threats he made, and today was no different. She just offered him a drink with that sickly sweet smile, and said that if Papyrus did stop by later in the evening, she’d be sure to send for Sans to pick him up.

Sans had finally given up. If Papyrus didn’t want to be found, then he wasn’t going to bust his ass all night looking. Sans knew that sometimes Papyrus needed space or time alone to go spying, but usually he mentioned it beforehand. Whatever, he would just chew Papyrus out when he did show up.

Sans didn’t allow his expression to relax until he was inside the house with the door closed and triple-locked behind him. He heaved a sigh, leaning against the wall and lifting up one of his feet. Each of his boots hit the ground with a satisfying thud, after which Sans immediately picked them up and put them into their proper place. His armour came off next, the plates stacked neatly on their designated shelf, ready for him to wear again the next morning. Leaving only his shorts, chain mail, and bodysuit, Sans stepped into the living room.

There was a familiar figure sprawled across the couch.

“WHAT THE FUCK—” Sans cut himself off as Papyrus curled up.

The movement was fast and fluid, and only years of practice let Sans pick out the separate stages of it. Papyrus’ long legs suddenly went from being fully extended to folded up on one seat cushion. He pressed his head in between his knees. His arms folded up defensively around his head. His hands were clenched into fists, his knuckles sparking with magic as he tried to reign them in.

His boots and coat sat on the floor next to the couch, a fine coating of grey ash covering them.

When Sans stepped closer, the smell of fresh dust was obvious. Whatever had happened, it must have been bad for Papyrus to curl up like that.

Sans took a slow, deep breath. He took another, counting to ten. He clenched his own hands into fists, then released them. He did that three times, then took two more slow breaths, mentally counting all the while. The techniques were silly, but at least they still worked. Sans relaxed his hands, wincing a bit as his shoulder twinged.

Sans walked around the couch, and stopped once he was facing Papyrus. “Who do I have to kill?”

Papyrus didn’t curl up tighter, but he didn’t open up either. Not a promising sign, but Sans pressed on. He didn’t get into the royal guard by being a quitter.

“Mu—brother, it’s alright. It’s just me. I’m not going to judge you, I just need to know what happened so we can stay safe.”

Papyrus shook his head a bit, his entire body rocking side to side due to his position.

Sans took another deep breath. “Can you at least look at me? You’re injured, aren’t you? Come on, let me see your face.”

Sans took a step closer, and Papyrus flinched. Sans gritted his teeth together, turning a growl into a sigh. When Papyrus got into this kind of mood, nothing could make him talk. Bribing, cursing, and even threats fell on deaf ears. Papyrus had retreated somewhere Sans couldn’t follow, and now all Sans could do was work to bring him back.

“I’m going to cook dinner. You can just sit here and be a lazy ass like usual,” Sans said, doing his best to keep his tone dry. Anything beyond his usual sarcastic jabs was just going to make Papyrus worse.

Sans picked up the TV remote, and turned on the television. Sound blared from the speakers, and bones rattled on the couch. Sans quickly muted it, then set the remote down on the edge of the table close to Papyrus. Once the deed was done, Sans walked away quickly, not looking back once as he strode into the kitchen.

The shelves were just as bare as they had been when he’d left that morning. Well, there had been no point in going shopping anyways; the supply train to Snowdin was late again this week. The only thing that was always plentiful in the town was alcohol, and Sans didn’t much care for cooking with it.

No matter, Sans was used to working with fewer ingredients than his recipe books called for. Aside from some stale cereal, they had five mushrooms, three bruised tomatoes, an onion, a clove of garlic, and plenty of chilli powder left. The mushrooms were on the small side, and Sans looked over his ingredients with a pang of disappointment. It would be better if they had some kind of water sausage, or tofu for a source of protein. Or even some beans. Cheese, sour cream, lettuce… There wasn’t much to go inside the taco, let alone on top.

Sans would have complained to Papyrus, but he doubted he’d get a sympathetic listening ear. He might be a royal guard, but he still had to wait for supplies like the rest of the town. In the meantime, he’d simply have to make do with what he had. At least he had enough ingredients to actually make something this time, instead of silently eating whatever he’d found directly out of the box.

One of the main components of tacos was missing, though. He didn’t have any shells. That was going to be a problem.

As Sans looked through the pantry again, he found something hidden on the top shelf. It was so far back that it had almost become one with the wall, but when Sans pulled it down he almost yelled with joy. They still had some corn flour! Sans had been certain that he’d used up all of it last week, but there was an extra bag there, smaller than the one he’d brought home from the store.

It was just like Papyrus to stash things away for later, no matter how much food they had in the house. Sans had scolded him for it before, but they both knew that it wouldn’t do much. Papyrus had his eccentricities, and one of them was hiding food. At least he wasn’t putting things in the walls this time; it had taken months to get rid of the mice, and a good chunk of Sans’ salary had been spent on traps.

Sans started with the shells, since the tortilla dough needed to rest before he cooked them. The ingredients were simple, but Sans knew he could make them great. He added some chilli powder to the dough mixture, even if the book only called for a bit of salt and oil. He liked the kick, and Papyrus had never complained about it.

No matter how long his day had been, Sans always enjoyed cooking. There was something so relaxing about it, especially when he was making a familiar recipe. The process of cutting, pulverising, and mixing was a great way for him to work out some tension without destroying his practice dummies, and he liked tasting the results and comparing them to previous attempts. His own writing covered almost every space available in the margins of his cookbooks, and the original page for his taco recipe was illegible.

That was fine, Sans had already memorised the steps by heart. He mixed the dough, then sprinkled a bit of flour onto one of the counters. He divided the dough up into three normal-sized pieces and one smaller one. It wasn’t perfect, but Sans wasn’t going back now.

As he kneaded the dough Sans tilted his head, peeking through the kitchen door. Papyrus hadn’t moved much, but Sans could swear that his head was raised enough to watch the TV. Sans turned away, pressing both hands down in the centre of one lump of dough.

He banged the counter a bit harder than before, then winced. He didn’t look back at Papyrus, though. He just kept kneading the dough, even as guilt burned in his soul. No matter. He just had to make Papyrus the best dinner possible, and then the sheer appreciation for the food would bring Papyrus back to his usual self.

Once each tortilla had been rolled out and left to rest and the oven had been set to preheat, Sans had to wait a bit. If he started making the rest of the taco filling before baking the shells, then it would be ready far too early. No matter how much he hated sitting still, there was nothing for him to do.

The TV was muted, so he could hear every minute sound—or lack thereof—coming from the living room. Papyrus was still catatonic, seemingly immune to what was happening in the kitchen. Sans sighed, but he didn’t bother trying to goad his brother into coming into the kitchen. At least Papyrus was calm this time.

Sans paced around the kitchen, checked the sink to see if any dirty dishes had miraculously appeared, and finally just sat at the kitchen table.

The moment thirty minutes had gone by, Sans jumped up and went back to his dough. It had risen a bit less than usual, but when Sans prodded it the texture felt right. He freed the dough, and grabbed his baking tray and his rack.

A few Gyftmases ago, Papyrus had somehow found a metal rack which let Sans cook tortillas while they were folded into the shape of taco shells. It had really been a perfect gift; Sans hated to use store-bought shells since they were expensive and always stale, but he loved to eat tacos. His own home-made shells were far superior, but they took significantly longer to cook when he had to first cook the tortillas, and then bake them a second time in the right shape.

Papyrus would feel the benefits of his gift tonight. Sans rolled out the dough, then carefully laid each of the shells out on the tray. The rack had been made to hold the tacos, and while the edges of the bigger ones leaned against each other slightly, it was still enough support. Sans opened up the oven and slid the tray in, then pulled off his oven mitts.

Finally, Sans could move on to the filling. He wasn’t used to pulling his punches, but he forced himself to use less force than usual. He put down the pan instead of slamming it, and only left divots on the surface of the cutting board instead of pushing the knife halfway into the wood.

The tomatoes and onion went into the pan first, so they had plenty of time to cook together. Sans would add the mushrooms later, since they only needed a few minutes to cook fully. Sans stood in front of the stove, not taking his eyes off of the food for a second.

Sans chopped up the mushrooms, making sure to get some decent chunks. He had experimented with a few different methods, and he found that Papyrus preferred bigger bites over shredded mushrooms. It made the distribution of material in the tacos slightly uneven, but that didn’t matter tonight.

Once the vegetables were sizzling in the pan, Sans cracked open the oven to check on the tortillas. They were still a little pale, but they were definitely becoming more cooked. There were a few tiny brown spots on their surfaces, and Sans quickly closed the oven door so they would grow bigger.

Perhaps the food didn’t need to be stirred as much as he did it, but Sans didn’t care. He needed something to do with his hands, even if it was just the mind-numbing motion of pushing food back and forth. The sounds and smells wafting from the kitchen weren’t enough to tempt Papyrus’ curiosity, but Sans didn’t care about that. It just meant he’d be more surprised when Sans brought out such a glorious plate of food.

Soon, everything was finished cooking. Sans took his fillings off of the stove, and pulled the taco shells out of the oven. He tapped one with his finger lightly, and nodded in approval. They were firm to the touch, and the perfect golden colour. It was finally time to assemble everything.

Sans put two full-sized taco shells on Papyrus’ plate, while the third full-sized taco sat with the smaller one on his own. As much as he hated them, Sans found himself hoping that Papyrus would notice and make a short joke. He’d even take a bad pun over silence at this point.

Sans had already mixed the stuffing together in the pan, so all he really needed to do was divide it up properly. Sans put as much as he could into each taco, but the end result was only a meagre portion. He just hoped it was enough to fill Papyrus up. He added a bit more sauce on top, drizzling it in some abstract patterns. He wasn’t going to skimp on the presentation just because today had been a little difficult. He added a few extra cilantro leaves to each taco, then wiped the edges of both plates.

His spices were still on the counter, but he could put them away later. The kitchen wasn’t horribly messy, and the food would get cold if he stopped to clean now. Sans put some glasses of water into his inventory, then picked up the plates.

Sans lightened his steps as he came back into the living room. Papyrus had shifted a bit; his posture was more open now, but not by much. Papyrus met his gaze for a moment, then looked down at his own feet.

“Eat.” Sans put the plate down in front of Papyrus, and set the glass next to it. Then he sat down on the couch next to his brother.

Sans’ skull was turned towards the television, but his eyes stayed on Papyrus. Sans picked up one of his tacos and bit into it. Papyrus blinked, turning his head as if he was noticing the food for the first time. Sans did his best to stay calm, and act nonchalant as he chewed slowly. Papyrus leaned in and picked up one of his tacos, then bit into it with a loud crunch. A few pieces of shell fell down onto the plate, but Sans felt himself relaxing already.

Sans took another bite of his taco, chewing normally. It was… decent. Sans could definitely taste the missing ingredients, but he had done the best with what he had.

An NTT special was now playing, but Sans didn’t pay it any mind. He barely even paid attention to his food. He watched carefully as Papyrus ate, ready to intervene in a second if something went wrong.

Papyrus ate slower than usual, but at least he was eating. His hands were still a little shaky, but the way he was leaning in meant that all of the crumbs fell back on the plate instead of on his own shirt. He still seemed a bit off, but that also could have just been the exhaustion of going through… whatever he was remembering. Sans didn’t fully understand Papyrus’ personal demons, and he knew better than to pry, especially at a time like this.

Neither brother said a word to each other. Sans wasn’t afraid to break the silence, but it didn’t seem appropriate. Papyrus would speak up when he was ready, and Sans wasn’t going to push him. He was eating; that was all Sans needed.

Once Sans was done with his food, he folded his hands in his lap. He curled his fingers inwards, so Papyrus couldn’t see them. He idly picked at the tips of his gloves, his gaze still trained on Papyrus. Papyrus was eating with a bit more enthusiasm now, and Sans felt pride at the thought that Papyrus had appreciated his cooking.

Papyrus finished off his whole plate, and ran his fingers over it to collect the crumbs. Sans clenched his teeth as Papyrus licked his fingers, but he didn’t say anything. Well, they weren’t eating at the table, so he supposed he could let it slide. He would take it as a sign that Papyrus enjoyed the meal, rather than bad manners.

Sans had long since finished his own food, and once Papyrus was done he quickly got to work. He stacked his glass on top of his plate, then picked it up. He took Papyrus’ plate and glass in his other hand, and stood up. He glanced back at Papyrus, then turned to head for the kitchen.

“Thanks.”

It was said so quietly that Sans almost didn’t hear the word. He stopped walking and tilted his head, but didn’t look back at Papyrus. Neither of them were particularly good at emotional vulnerability, and he didn’t want to startle his brother. If he mentioned something about it not being a problem, would that make Papyrus feel like a burden?

Sans considered the possible answers he could give, but ultimately, sticking to their routine seemed like the best course of action. While some aspects of his routine weren’t enjoyable, Sans took a certain comfort in their cyclical nature, and Papyrus seemed like he could use some of that stability. Besides, Sans didn’t want Papyrus to feel like he was condescending or treating him differently.

“Yes, you should be thanking me. I’m the best cook in this rotten town and you know it,” Sans said smugly. He might be laying it on thick, but he couldn’t help it. “Take your time on the couch now, lazybones, because once my kitchen is spotless, I’ll be back here again!”

Sans walked into the kitchen, his soul feeling lighter than before. He was still tired, of course, but at least his work hadn’t gone unnoticed. Sans would do anything for Papyrus regardless, but it was still nice to be appreciated.

Sans began humming under his breath as he piled dirty dishes in the sink. He’d check in on Papyrus later, but it seemed like things were improving, and that was enough to let him properly relax while he cleaned the kitchen. The main crisis was averted, so now all that was left was for Sans to keep an eye on Papyrus, and give him the space to pull himself back together.