#FINALLY ORIGINAL CONTENT ITS A FUCKING MIRACLE

[innerexpanse]

SCUG LINEUP JUMPSCARE 1/12

heY LOOK ITS SURVIVOR

i have more queued nyehehe

headcanons under cut >:))))))))

he/they/it/fae

genderfaun / vincian / asexual / demimale

albino (duhr)

poor little thing is so scared. must stay mobile no accessories always fleeing everything

youngest of the Gang aside from rivulet and even then only by a few weeks (age would fall between? 16 and 20 in human maturity)

lop ear damaged from fall

i think faes very silly and goobery. someone give this man a snack

good friends with myriad (an oc)

#FINALLY ORIGINAL CONTENT ITS A FUCKING MIRACLE #i dont have all of them done yet </3 once all the queued are out its gonna slow down but we ballin #also if you wonder why theres extra slugcats in the count im making my ocs too ok. ok bye #Tag Time #barkin #splats #rain world #rainworld #rw #rain world survivor #rw survivor #HES FRUITY YOUR HONOR <3

[hannieehaee]

18+ / mdi

content: chan's a fucking loser (not rlly he just rlly likes u <33), smut, f reader, handjob, sub!chan

wc: 884

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

masterlist

loser!chan whose eyes indiscreetly stick to you whenever you're in the same room. the halls, the cafeteria, gym, your shared chemistry class. you name it. all his friends (and yours) notice his hopeless stares while you do mundane tasks around school, except you.

or that's what everyone thinks

what he doesnt know, however, is how your eyes are looking back at him whenever he takes a quick break to look away in the name 'subtlety.' this endless cycle finally comes to an end when fate (your chemistry teacher) manages to put you in the same room alone with him.

"hey .. are you okay?", you ask after a good ten minutes of fruitless one-sided conversation as beet-red chan avoids eye contact while sitting on your bed.

due to an act by the gods above, you and chan ended up in the same group for a chemistry assignment. 'group' putting it lightly as its just you and chan alone in your room attempting to work out the assignment together.

getting him here was a miracle in itself, seeing as he would not make eye contact as you tried to come up with possible meeting times that worked for the both of you (surprise, he had an open schedule to meet whenever you desired)

after spluttering for a few seconds, chan comes to his senses and finally makes contact with your gaze when he replies to your question.

"me? oh! i- yes, sorry, just trying to work out the assignment," he responds, looking away immediately after.

"chan," you call out again, "look at me."

he powers through the effort that it takes to keep his eyes on yours for more than a few seconds, "y-yes?"

seeing his anxiety-ridden responses and lack of confidence when speaking the shortest of statements to you does something to your confidence, emboldening you to scoot closer to him and begin creeping your hand towards him.

"channie .. can i call you that? channie?", you put on your sweetest voice to ask.

"m-me? oh. yes. call me whatever you want," he somehow manages to splutter even more, his skin heating up at the unexpected pet name.

your hand creeps further towards his thigh as your body leans towards him even more.

his semi-crossed legs seem to naturally unwind themselves at the proximity of your hand, eager for whatever his years-long crush seems to have in mind for him.

"is it okay if i touch you channie?", you question, hand now in his upper thigh, gracing back and forth lightly.

"o-oh," he breathes, "are you sure? i- ive never-"

"its okay, channie," you interrupt, "just say the word and i'll stop. but i think it could be good for your nerves? dont you think?", you reason, scooting up enough for your chest to grace against his shoulder.

"y-yeah .. maybe ..." he breathes out as he closes his eyes when your hand finally makes contact with the spot in his pants thats been burning since you first welcomed him into your bed, originally sitting across from him in the tiniest shorts known to man (at least according to chan).

you place your empty hand on his warm cheek, directing his eyes towards you, "channie~ why wont you look at me?", you pout, "you stare at me all day but when i have you in my bed you wont look my way? thats so mean ..." you trail off, sticking your hand in his pants, feeling around before you finally wrap your hand around his aching length.

"ah ..." he moans. "you saw that? i'm sorry, youre just so- oh-" he cuts himself off as you speed up the pace of your touches, enjoying the way in which his head falls to your shoulder, one of his hands reaching to hold onto your arm in a fruitless attempt to try and keep a hold of his composure.

"shh, it's okay baby, i understand. feels too good to even look at me, doesnt it?", you interrupt in a mocking tone.

"i think- oh, i think i'm gonna cum. god, please ..." he lets out as he continuously lets out warm puffs of air into your neck as he nears his end far too soon.

"already?", you giggle. "oh, channie, you must be so deprived, you poor thing," you grin at him as you direct his face towards yours with your free hand.

"please .. please'" he breathes against your mouth, close enough to kiss but not enough. "please just let me. i'll do anything. anything."

you drip at his unwarranted (but very much appreciated) begging, almost feeling bad at the sudden desire to deny him just to extend the experience even longer, but his heavy breathing against your mouth and the wetness of his dick on your hand begin to make you delirious, licking into his open mouth as you give him the greenlight to cum.

"thank you. fuck, t-thank you," he continues to breathe as you shove your tongue into his mouth while he reaches his peak, attempting to catch your tongue in his.

finally, you peck his lips as he recovers from his high. grinning at his useless attempts to kiss back while he catches his breath.

"feeling less nervous now?", you giggle after a while of staring at his boneless form as he tries to process what just happened

a/n: this is my first time writing smut ever so any feedback is appreciated c: thank u for reading hehe (this was not proofread btw 😭)

#svt #seventeen #seventeen smut #svt smut #chan smut #dino smut #dino x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #svt au #chan x reader #seventeen blurbs #seventeen one shot

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Incomprehensible Horror. // Demon!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Halloween Special 🎃

MDNI, DD:DNE(?): reader discretion is advised.

block the tag #MAE:DARK!CONTENT to prevent seeing dark content from me.

WARNINGS: dubcon, cunnilingus, demon fucking(?), p in v sex, past life, mentions of abuse, plotting, murder, multiple orgasms, oral (f. receiving), size kink, cum eating, slight breeding kink, spooky vibes(?), manhandling, so much canon divergence, GoT S8 spoilers(?) kinda idk, the plot is shifted and extremely altered to fit this story. + not proofread

WC: 3.8k

A/N: the original draft got deleted and i had to rewrite it because I wanted to publish this before Halloween is over, so this is slightly rushed :(

There was something extremely eerie about the red keep that always set you on the edge whenever you would hear stories about it.

The burnt down remnants of it untouched as the city around it prospered, only developing more as the time passed on, with skyscrapers, branded shops, turning into what you would call a 'modern city'.

King's Landing was not the way it was anymore, the destruction of it provided a reason to rebuild the city entirely, it was a lengthy process but definitely worth it.

A seemingly innocent city until you look past the sky scrapers, shops, etc, revealing a sinister and a tragic history of the land, a story that involves a royal family fighting and going mad for the throne, only to succumb to their madness and go extinct.

There have been many attempts in the past to rebuild it, but all in vain as there have been cases of construction accidents, fatal injuries, suicides, making it impossible to rebuild it, so they turned it into a tourist attraction.

What a way to make money.

Yet they close it off the moment the sun begins to set.

You had visited it a lot, having been living in King's Landing for a while, it was basically harmless, making you wonder why it was rumoured to be haunted, when it's just a disfigured building with half of its structure on the ground.

It was a casual weekday for you, returning to your apartment from work after the sun had long set, you took the elevator up the building, the music abruptly coming to a stop way before you reached your floor, leaving you confused, but you soon broke out of your confusion when you heard the familiar 'ding' indicating that you reached your floor, and as soon as you left the elevator the automatic doors slammed quickly, causing a loud sound, startling you.

It seemed as if the elevator was having technical difficulties.

You make a mental note to take the elevator less often until it is fixed.

You quickly scurry to the side of your apartment, pulling the keys out and pushing it into the lockhole, turning it, which opens the door, but you stumble over something and lose your balance, holding the wall for support to not fall until you finally push yourself back onto your feet and look down.

It was a package.

But you had not ordered anything.

Weirdly enough, there was no address.

You should've left it there.

But you took it inside.

Your curiosity got the best of you, and the package not having any address only further fuelled your justification for opening it.

It was a book.

An occult type of book to be exact.

You opened it and skimmed through the pages, it seemed more like a personal diary than an instruction based book for spells.

And it was convincing enough at first until you read a certain page.

“Go to the ruins of the red keep at 3AM, and chant this, 'Oh rōvēgrie zaldrīzes dārilaros, māzigon naejot se iōragon gō nyke, ivestragī aōha kasta se melkasta laesi jurnegon rȳ nyke, iksan isse jorrāelagon hen aōha dohaeragon, kesan krenyikhé tepagon mirros ao jaelagon' for a miracle!” (Oh great dragon prince, come forward and stand before me, let your blue and purple eyes look at me, I am in need of your help, I will gladly give anything you wish.)

This made you chuckle, what kind of prank was this? This was so badly written to the point of making any paranoia you felt about this book dissipate immediately.

I mean, chanting spells? to summon a dead prince? it made you laugh, and of course the location was the red keep, a place rumoured to be haunted. It couldn't not be more obvious than that, because whatever this was, was clearly a joke.

So you pushed the book aside and settled for bed.

Sleep did not come to you.

Which you found odd.

You would usually be extremely tired, and the moment you lay on the bed, you would be pulled under the depth of slumber.

Yet now you squirmed, not being able to find any sleep.

You don't know how many hours passed, making you frustrated.

And your mind wandered off to what you had read earlier.

You glanced at the time, it read 2AM.

You purse your lips in thought, not knowing what to do.

You got up from your bed.

You knew this was a bad idea, sneaking into the red keep, with the stupid book in your hand as you navigated through the building, and then you ended up in a room with a bunch of paintings of the past targaryens.

You set the book down and kneeled, looking at the verse you were supposed to chant out loud, you bought out your phone and looked at the time, it read 2:59AM.

One more minute.

You did not know why you were doing this, normally, you were a rational person, you usually don't let your curiosity win in situations like this, having control over it, but in this case, it seems you had lost all your control, and it seemed as your mind is being controlled to do whatever was written on that page.

Besides, it's not like anything would happen.

It seemed fake after all.

Trying doesn't hurt.

You never really believed in ghosts or demons yourself, so what were you scared of?

And so as soon as the time read 3AM, you chanted the saying out loud.

You waited.

And waited.

You looked at the time, 3:10AM.

Nothing happened.

You let out a scoff, what did you expect? A demon to appear?

You collected the book and left the scene, annoyed that nothing happened, but you were also glad nothing happened at the same time.

The air felt colder than before, and lights seemed to flicker constantly whenever you crossed a street light, everything seemed out of place and odd, the buildings looked distorted.

Was your paranoid finally getting to you?

You felt a chill run up your spine.

It felt as if someone whispered in your ear, causing you to jump and look back, only to find nothing.

This was setting you on edge, you quickly walked faster back to your apartment, you frowned when you saw the "out of order" sign on the elevator, knowing that it was not there when you used it to come down prior to your visit to the red keep.

You sighed heavily and took the stairs, climbing to the floor you lived in, but for an odd reason, the stairs seemed to go on for longer, the more you climbed, the more they went on, you did not know if you were seeing things for feeling that way simply cause you were spooked, but you know for a fact that climbing 7 floors should not take more than 10 minutes at a slow pace, and yet here you were still climbing at a fast pace yet the stairs seemed to be never ending, you did not know if you were hallucinating the scribbled out floor numbers assigned to the respective floors or if they were originally like that before.

You looked down the stairwell, and it only seemed as if you climbed 3 floors, which left you baffled. You ran up as fast as you could, and to your relief you saw the '7th floor' on the board, indicating you were on your floor. You sighed in relief, making your way to your apartment, you did your best to ignore the constant flicker of lights, and what seemed like a dark figure standing from the corner of your eyes, the keys fumbled in your hands, it took you a few tries to unlock the door and when you did, you saw the figure move towards you, so you quickly rushed inside and slammed the door shut behind you.

You leaned against the door breathing heavily, closing your eyes and taking deep breaths, to try and calm your mind. You cannot tell if this was just your mind playing tricks because you're so worked up, or something odd is actually happening, but you know for the fact that whatever you were seeing was real.

Your apartment suddenly starts smelling putrid, making you scrunch up your nose. The smell was unbearable, as if thousands of dead rats were in your apartment, decaying away. It made you want to throw up, the foul scent leaving you light headed as you went towards your bedroom, to access the attached bathroom.

Luckily for you, the bedroom smelled like it usually would instead of dead rats, so you took a deep breath of the normal air, the nausea beginning to slowly fade away.

“For what have you summoned me, mortal?” a deep voice says, making you freeze in your spot, you turn around and your eyes widen in horror, as you take in the sight in front of you.

The face of a goat with horns, and scales that belonged to a dragon running down its upper body, stopping at it's elbows, black fluid dripping from its body, covering it's most intimate area, and its legs covered in scales as well, your voice was stuck in your throat, not being able to scream as the sheer panic made it unable to.

It looks confused at your horror filled face before looking down to its body and sighing annoyedly, and then its body distorts, the sound of bones cracking, flesh turning and squeezing, you watch the entire thing happen, the way its body is changing shape until it stops, making your breath hitch in your throat.

It took the form of a human man, face now mimicking a normal human, yet it was also disfigured, with a scar running up his cheek to his eyebrow, and an eye patch on his left eye, before he took it off, revealing the sapphire placed in the eye socket. His gaze was piercing, staring daggers at you, as he grew visibly frustrated at your silence.

“Can't you speak?” his voice booms across the room, causing you to snap out of your fear, and finally answer him, “I-it was an accident, I didn't mean to.” you answer and that displeases him, face now carrying the expression of a scowl.

“You followed as the book had instructed, did you not?” he asks and you nod, “Then it is no accident.”

“I did not think it would actually work, it was my mistake, please its an accident-” your voice cracks, still trying to process what was happening, trying to form words that made sense. He pushed you against the wall, his hand wrapped around your throat, long sharp nails digging into the skin of your neck, restricting the passage of air as you struggled in his grip, “On accident you say? Then you must pay the price for wasting my time.” he said darkly, and released you, causing you to fall to the ground, coughing and taking lungfuls of air.

“Should I kill you and then take your soul? Or take your soul directly and watch as the light fades from your eyes, screaming and writhing in agony in my hold.” he ponders genuinely and you gulp in fear, tears welling up in your eyes, knowing that something stupid is now costing you your life. “Please forgive me- I did not mean for any of this to happen.” you beg, voice hoarse.

“Forgive you? You should not have stifled me to begin with, now you must pay the price for your own stupidity, what shall I do hmm? My time is incredibly precious after all.” he looks down at you and you quiver in fear.

He grabs your hair and pulls you to your feet, making you stand, his hot breath fans against your face as you look up at him, and then he scans your face, taking in your features and then his eye widens as if he realised something.

And then he smiles, the grip in your hair becoming even tighter, causing you to wince in pain, “Please- let go of me- I'm sorry.” you grip his hand, trying to make him let go of the hold he has on you, “Aemond- please.” and that's when he releases you.

“Ah, so you do remember me.” he says, amused and you look at him confused, “Huh? What do you mean?” you ask him genuinely and that's when you realised you called him Aemond, it came out so naturally to the point you did not notice it.

But you still had no idea what just occurred.

Who's Aemond?

He grabs your cheeks, “I had waited so many years.”

What is he talking about?

“I won't lose you this time.” he says and before you can respond, he presses his lips against yours, one hand wrapped around your waist as the other holds the back of your head, pressing your face against him.

Your head felt hazy all of a sudden.

Why does all of this feel familiar?

You don't protest when he pushes you on the bed, climbing on top of you, you just stare at him, blinking in confusion as he tears away at your clothing, “Oh how the fashion has changed overtime, I remember last time you were wearing a black gown, mourning the death of your husband.” he whispers in your year and you feel ringing in your ear.

“What an amazing actress you were, mourning him in such a convincing way, only to get fucked by me after the funeral.” his hands trail down your body, “Such good memories, to have you underneath me, moaning my name constantly like a prayer, you were the first woman I ever desired after my death, the one who broke my curse, letting me become a true demon, it was on accident too back then.” he chuckles, he grips your pants, tearing the fabric as if it were paper.

“Until they found out of course, that you conspired with a demon, and planned the murder of your own husband.” his voice turns dark, and the ringing in your ear gets louder, your mind spins. “I remember not being able to do anything as they burned you alive at the sept, sigils placed around you to prevent me from interfering, to watch your flesh on fire as you screamed in agony, screamed my name in pain and it was then I swore that I would destroy that city.” he growled darkly.

“And so I did, possessing my own descendant and burning the city down, not too long after your passing.” he recalls with a satisfied smirk on his face, “Do you still remember my full name?” he looks at you and the ringing suddenly stops, and everything seemed to be spinning around you, his face becomes blurry and your head begins to hurt, eyes beginning to water as you feel that you were set on fire, letting out a loud scream at the sheer amount of pain coursing through your body as memories you didn't recognize flowed through your mind, you writhing below him in pain, letting out loud cries, “Shh..” he caresses your head and suddenly the pain stops, making you breath heavily, making you close your eyes.

“Aemond Targaryen.” you hear your own voice speak and you open your eyes to look at him, he has a smirk on his face, a small smile grazes your face as well, lifting your hand up to caress his cheek, pulling his face towards you to kiss you, lips engulfing his, you breathe in his scent, and he suddenly doesn't smell putrid anymore, but instead of cloves and ash.

“Fucking cunts, all of them, they remained silent all throughout the time i was abused by him, but the moment I get my own revenge, they burnt me alive.” you say after pulling away from the kiss, gritting your teeth.

You felt so confused with yourself.

Both memories of your past life and current life clashing against each other, fighting for dominance, to decide who you were.

“It's over my love, I burnt them all down.” he kisses down your neck, to your breasts, and down to your cunt, pressing kisses to your inner thighs. You smile at him, spreading your legs wide for him to settle freely and latch his lips onto your clit, making you throw your head back when you feel his tongue move skillfully against the bundle of nerves, you grip his hair, shoving his face further into your cunt.

“Fuck- you taste the same as I remember, I missed this cunt so much, seven hells.” he curses, licking away at your cunt, you moan as his sharp teeth grazes your clit. “Watch your teeth-” you whimper, feeling his fingers prod at your entrance, before gently pushing them in. He pulls away from your cunt and watches his own fingers be engulfed by your cunt as he thrusts them in and out, he groans at the sight, wishing it was his cock plunging inside you. “Goodness gracious, you're so fucking divine.” he murmers before latching on your cunt again, tongue swirling against your bud.

You feel the band in your stomach, “Aemond, I'm cumming- I'm- fuck-!” you reach your peaking on his hands, back arched as the orgasm ripples through your body. You breath heavily and watch aemond climb up, his knees on the mattress of your bed as he bends your legs, your knees pressing to your chest.

You watch as he grabs his cock, your eyes widening at the sheer size of it before flitting over to his own, he smirks, “Aemond it won't fit-” you whine but he shushes you, “You took it with no problem before, tis the same.” he lines in up against your entrance, “But still-”

“Remember when we did it the first time, you said it wouldn't fit? Only to have you crying and cumming all over my cock like a common whore.” he says and you sigh, remembering the memory.

He slowly pushes his cock inside you, taking his own time, throwing his head back in pleasure, “Seven hells, you feel so fucking good, the gods be damned.” he grunts, feeling pleasure at the way your cunt is wrapped around him so perfectly. You grip the sheets below you for support, clenching your eyes shut as you try to adjust to him.

He grabs a hold of your legs, throwing them over his shoulder before he grabs your hips and starts thrusting in and out of you, making your body jolt up and down the bed at the force. Your moans of his name soon fill the room, and he moans too, closing his eye in pleasure as he continuously shoves his cock in and out of you.

He opens his eye to look down, only to smirk when he sees the outline of his cock in your lower abdomen whenever he thrusts fully inside, he presses a hand against it and you squirm, the pleasure amplifying, making your toes curl.

He leans down, causing your legs to fall off his shoulder and be pushed up against your chest one more, his long black tongue enters inside your mouth, extending far back into your throat making you gag before he pulls it back, finally letting both your lips meet. Your hands shoot up to his hair pushing him against you, he hums in satisfaction. His scales are back on his body, along with his horns, partly turning into his demonic form, you feel him grow in size, both height and mass, and eventually down there, which rips an orgasm from you, wetness flowing down your hole and dirtying the sheets and you choke on your own spit at the sudden peak.

He pulls out, and you look at him in confusion, knowing he didn't peak yet, but soon the confusion is replaced with anticipation as he flips you around onto your stomach, your body knows what to do immediately and you support yourself on your arms and knees. Aemond doesn't waste another moment before pushing himself inside you, letting out a loud moan when he feels you clench around him.

His pace is brutal and fast, only seeming to care about his own pleasure, he grabs you by your hair and tugs on it, causing you to curve your head backward but not lean back, he's fucking you like an animal in heat, the size difference making it easy to manhandle you as he wishes.

He soon feels his peak arriving after pounding into you like a madman, and he spills himself deep inside you, cumming so much to the point it makes you feel bloated and so full, you whine when you feel his pull out. He watches as his seed leaks out of you, gathering it with his index finger and tasting it, humming at it.

“I wish my seed takes.” he mutters.

He turns you on your back again, and holds your legs wide and spread apart, and spits on your cunt, before leaning down, holding your thighs apart and once again presses his warm mouth against your cunt, only this time he shoves his long tongue down your hole, you can feel him licking around there, eating up his own spend, and that's when he flicks his tongue upwards inside you, grazing your gspot and your thighs shut around his head, trying to prevent him from making you cum again, too overstimulated and tired.

“Aemond- another time, please- I'm so tired.” you whine, your eyes closing, and he listens to you, pulling away, withdrawing his tongue from inside of you. He climbs next to you in bed, shifting into his full human form again and pulling you close.

“I won't let anyone take you away from me now.” he murmurs in your ear and you nod, turning and snuggling close to him.

There were so many questions left unanswered.

Each and everything was an odd occurrence.

From the encounter of the package to you summoning a demon, who turned out to be the one you loved & fucked in your past life, even conspiring with him to kill your abusive husband, and to fucking him again, and now laying safely wrapped in his arms.

Who was the one that sent you the package then?

Just then you remember an odd event.

You remembered the text and pictures of the book with a bunch of spells and summoning rituals, you hadn't noticed it then but it was the same handwriting as yours.

It was your diary.

And you remember losing it the day right before you were burnt to death.

And you remember writing the words you had heard in your dream, confused back then as what "3AM" meant.

You did not want to dwell on this anymore.

Because you realised that it would drive into madness.

And so, you drifted off into slumber in the arms of your beloved.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader smut #aemond x reader smut #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x y/n #x reader smut #x reader #reader insert #house of the dragon smut #hotd x reader #hotd smut #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x you #MAE:DARK!CONTENT #tw: dubcon #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x female reader

[babydollmarauders]

CHRISTMAS MIRACLE — COLE CAUFIELD

cole caufield x fem!reader

12 DAYS OF KINKMAS

summary: in which y/n gets stuck with her enemy, Cole, and finds out hate can lead to some miracle discoveries

warnings: NSFW CONTENT, long intro, handjob, p in v (protected), sub!cole (ish?). (4.7k words)

notes: welcome to day 10 of my 12 days of kinkmas! we’re in the final stretch of kinkmas and i hope you guys are enjoying it!

this isn’t how i want to be spending the first day of my break.

well, i guess the first hour of my break.

i was just getting ready to head home, dreading driving in the blizzard of a snow storm and taking my time to psych myself up, when an equipment manager called me over. he told me a player forgot his ipad and is asking if anyone would be willing to drop it off on their way home because he’d like to go over plays during the break.

hesitantly, i said sure, i’d bring it to them; but what i wasn’t aware of, and what i’m sure my coworker conveniently forgot to mention, is that the player in question is Cole fucking Caufield.

it’s not necessarily that i hate Cole; on the contrary, i had always thought he was extremely kind and talented.

in fact, when i had originally interned with the Laval Rocket, he was always incredibly nice to me. and in turn, i fell for him a little each day.

but then, he was called up to Montreal, and the following season, i was offered the position of media manager for the Canadiens.

i was excited, i spent the week leading up to my first day thinking about how wonderful it would be to be able to joke around with Cole again. i thought of sketch tiktoks for the team to do, most with Cole as the leading man because i knew he was a fan favorite, and questions to ask as they took the ice for practice.

and it was great at first. Cole was sweet and he was always willing to take part in team tiktoks, always greeting me with a smile. but around a month later, something changed.

no longer was he the kindhearted individual i was familiar with, instead he was cold shouldered and rude; snarky and arrogant. and that’s the way it’s stayed. for the past few years it’s felt like pulling teeth to try and communicate with him, and even worse to convince him to be in team tiktoks.

which brings me to now, standing at the front door of his house, an ipad tucked under my arm as i stand in the blistering cold. snow sticks on my lashes, flurries in my hair, but my toque does nothing to shield me from the cold Montréal air.

if i drove here on the icy roads, my windshield wipers at full speed, just for him to not even answer the fucking door, i’m gonna lose it.

i bang my fist upon the door again, body shivering from the cold, and it takes merely a moment for him to finally open the door.

he greets me with a wide smile, but when he sees that it’s me who stands before him, that cheery facade drops, a cold, blank expression taking its place.

i can hear the news blasting from his living room as the heated air wafts out of the home, blasting my face and making my nose go numb from the sudden cold to warm.

“what?” he asks, voice monotone.

“here,” i shove the ipad into his chest harshly, making him cough from the sudden impact, “next time, don’t leave your fucking ipad at the rink.”

he glares back, taking the ipad into his hands and parting his lips to argue.

“it was an accident,” he sneers, “trust me, if i knew you would bring it to me, i definitely would’ve double checked i had it.”

you.

my body fills with anger, insulted yet hurt by the way he says it. as though he’s repulsed by me.

“ya know what, asshole?” i don’t even get to finish my quip before i’m cut off a loud alarm coming from the tv.

it gathers both he and i’s attention, his head snapping back to look at the screen, while i peer around him to see it.

“with the blizzard picking up and roads becoming icier, officials have reported that all roads will now be closed for the night. stay inside and stay warm. we’ll get back to you when the storm passes.”

the news reporters words echo through my head, forcing me to end my comeback and just turn around.

i take a step towards the stairs that lead up to his door, but i’m stopped almost immediately.

“hey, where are you going?” Cole calls out from behind me.

“home!”

“they just said the roads are closed.”

“exactly,” i huff, “which means i need to get going quick so that if i get pulled over, i can say i was already driving.”

i’m about to take a step down the stairs when a hand wraps around my forearm, pulling me back.

“don’t be stupid, y/n,” he says, “you’re gonna crash, and i’m not living with your death on my fucking conscience.”

i turn to look at him, a heated glare in my eyes, “i’m not staying with you.”

a mischievous smirk spreads across his lips as he pushes me toward his open door, “yeah, you are.”

i stumble into the warm house, a stark contrast to the weather outside, and i just get my bearing when i hear the door shut, Cole flipping the lock and walking idly past me towards the living room.

“what the fuck is your problem?” i huff, shaking my head as i succumb to my fate, removing my coat and hanging it on a coat hook next to his door.

“my problem?” he looks over at me astonished, “i’m trying not to let you die.”

i roll my eyes, my arms crossing over my chest.

“i would not have died.” but he’s not paying any attention to my words, his eyes locked on something else entirely.

i follow his line of sight straight down to my breasts, inadvertently pushed up from my crossed arms, and my nipples pebbling through my thin dress.

“oh my god,” i hiss, moving my arms to cover my breasts, “fucking pig.”

his eyes snap up to mine before he rolls them.

“get over yourself, it’s nothing special.”

for some reason, i feel offended. not that him looking at them was great, but the way he shrugs it off and implies my tits are average?

“oh fuck off,” i fume, “people would pay to see these.”

he smirks, wiggling his eyebrows a few times, “you saying people pay to see you naked?”

“what? no!” i’m at a loss for words, not an easy achievement for most people, and yet a common occurrence when i’m around him.

“pretty sure that’s what you implied. and i’m sorry to let you down, but i’m not paying twenty bucks to see your rack.”

i gape, blinking at him in shock, “you couldn’t even pay me fifty to see these!”

i’m not even sure why i’m letting this conversation drag on; why i’m even entertaining it.

i sigh, stalking past him and bumping into his shoulder as i make my way to the living room.

“why would i pay when i could see them for free?” he chuckles at my lame tantrum, following behind me.

“what makes you think that?” i sneer, dropping down on the couch, Cole quick to follow.

“well that’s why you took the job, right?” he laughs, “it’s why you were constantly putting me in the spotlight of the team tiktoks and why you were always so buddy-buddy with me? you’re into me.”

i stare back at him in anger, but also frustration. frustration that anyone would think i would take a job just for a man.

“let’s set things fucking straight,” i snap, “i took the job because it was good pay and i grew up here, therefore, the Canadiens are my team and the plan was always to work for them. long before you showed up.

“i put you in the spotlight of the tiktoks because you’re the fan favorite. you have teeny-bopper girls fawning over your nice guy act and for some reason they fucking eat it up. and finally, i was ‘buddy-buddy’ with you because i thought you were a nice fucking guy and you made me believe we could be friends. never would i ever make a career decision for a fucking guy.”

i’m absolutely seething by the end of my rant, one knee bent on the couch and my body twisted to face him.

“sure.”

that one worded response sets me off. i don’t know what it is about Cole Caufield that gives him the ability to get under my skin like nobody else has, but i’m absolutely rageful.

“god, i can’t believe i ever fucking liked you!” i freeze. the words slipped out before i even had a second to process them, and now i watch as a cocky grin paints his face.

“so you admit, you like me.”

“liked. past tense,” i tell him, “i fell victim to your charming, nice guy facade. but never again.”

“you keep saying that!” he grunts, “i am a nice guy!”

“yeah? well, you certainly pick and choose who to be nice to, and for some reason, i’m not on that list.”

i can’t understand for the life of me why i’m suddenly feeling emotional, but i decide in the moment to blame it on pent up frustration. i always have been an angry crier.

“which is fine,” i sniffle, “but god, you didn’t have to be such a fucking dick. i liked you and i thought you liked me; but then all of a sudden you switched up. you started hating me, and i don’t even know what i did!”

Cole seems at a loss for words, shocked by sudden change of emotions. but, he also seems confused, his brows furrowed and a frown upon his lips.

“you don’t know?” he huffs, “i literally asked you out like five times, y/n! and you rejected me every single time!”

now it’s my turn to be confused, “what? no, you didn’t.”

“uh, yeah, i did! i asked if you wanted to go out for drinks after games like five times and every time you said no!”

realization dawns on me, clarity filling my head, and i can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

“why are you laughing?!” Cole groans, head falling onto the back of the couch and hands covering his face.

“because,” i giggle, “this is ridiculous.”

“how?” his response is muffled by the palms of his hands, but i can hear the frustration in his voice.

“because you asked me out five times and all five times, i thought you were just asking if i wanted to join the team for drinks!”

his hands fly away from his face, head snapping up to look at me, “what?!”

i nod my head, overcome by a fit of giggles.

“you thought i was asking you…. to hang out as a group?”

“yes!” i cackle, “and i get uncomfortable in crowded bars, so i made excuses! jesus, Cole! we’ve hated each other for years because i misunderstood your idea of a date!”

Cole is silent for a moment, staring off in front of him at the news playing on the tv, before he slowly begins chuckling.

“oh my god,” he laughs, a hand slapping down on his thigh and making me laugh even harder, “so you hate me now, don’t you?”

“oh yeah,” i nod, “you were a dick!”

“hey!” he chuckles, “you weren’t very nice to me either! i mean just like fifteen minutes ago you shoved an ipad into my chest!”

“you deserved that.” i point to him, narrowing my eyes.

he shrugs, “alright, yeah, i deserved that.”

the room goes mostly quiet, Cole watching the news, while my sight is drawn to the window, watching the snow cascade down to the ground.

we sit there for at least half an hour, him flipping through channels and me watching the blizzard, before a lightbulb goes off in my head.

“hey, i have an idea.” i announce, catching Cole’s attention.

“hmm?”

“i’m sure we both still have some pent up anger and frustration, we can’t exactly just erase the past couple years of hating each other,” he hums for me to continue, “how about a snowball fight?”

he glances over at me with a singular raised brow, “a snowball fight? what, like we’re six?”

“exactly!” i nod, “we get to pelt each other with snowballs and let out any residual anger towards each other, and then we get to start anew. get a clean slate. whadd’ya say?”

his eyes flicker between me and the window for several moments before he nods, “i say let’s do it.”

with that, we scurry from the couch, bundling back into our coats and toque’s, he even lends me a pair of gloves, and then we’re running out into the thick blanket of snow that covers the ground.

we agree on fifteen minutes to build our shields, hurrying to build snow walls as high as we can, and once i deem the ten minutes over, i’m hiding behind my wall, crafting snowballs into a pile beside me.

grabbing one in my hand, i peer out from behind my shield, watch as Cole does the same, and on instinct my hand flexes forward, throwing the snowball as hard as i can.

obviously not from here, Cole’s shield crumbles upon my third snowball throw, making me cackle as the snow cascades down upon him.

he looks over at me with a glare and i duck down, listening to the pelt of snowballs against my shield, but then it goes quiet and all i can hear is the crunch of snow until suddenly it stops.

my brows thread together as i keep an ear out for any sound, but just as i’m about to peer over my wall, it comes crumbling down, and i look up to find the culprit grinning victoriously.

“hey! no fair!” i huff, throwing a snowball right at his chest. he gapes back at me in astonishment.

“you knocked mine down too!” he shouts, a snowball hitting me in the shoulder.

“yeah, but that was an accident! yours was just poorly made!” another snowball to his shoulder, “mine was made well, you knocked it down on purpose!”

he shrugs, taking off and crunching through the snow as he tries to get away. he stops to pick up more snow and i take my chance to throw, hitting him square in the back.

but he doesn’t even turn around, tossing a snowball over his shoulder. i attempt to dodge it but my efforts are in vain as the snow lands directly on the top of my head, making me scoff in frustration.

“rude!” i yell, taking aim and hitting him directly in the back of the head. snow sticks his hair and he whips around to look at me, but upon seeing me; my hat knocked off and snow covering the top of my head, he starts laughing.

“that’s it!” i call out, stomping over to where he’s fallen onto his butt mid-laughter, his eyes squeezed closed as he chuckles with glee.

towering over him, i hold a snowball in my hand, not throwing it, but instead smashing it upon the top of his head.

his laughter falters, his eyes flying open to scowl up at me as i begin to giggle.

“you’re right, that was pretty funny!” i laugh, but i don’t make it long before i step forward, my foot hitting an icy patch of grass, and i fall forward, a squeal leaving my lips as i land on top of him.

“shit.” i breathe out.

“guess you really did fall for me.” he quips and i roll my eyes, but despite the cheesy line and the freezing cold air, the spots in which his hands rest on my sides are burning.

“that was so corny..” i tell him.

“yeah?” he raises a brow, one hand leaving my side, and i almost mourn his touch, but then a handful of snow is being shoved down my coat and i’m squealing, wiggling on top of him as the snow begins to melt into icy water and trickle down my body.

“oh my god, Cole!” i moan in frustration, my face twisting in discomfort.

“don’t do that.” he stiffens, his hands holding me still on top of him.

confusion pinches my face, but then i feel it, his half hardened cock pressing against my thigh.

my teeth sink into my bottom lip, a spark running through my body, but i push myself off of him, standing up and brushing off my coat.

“ya know what sounds good?” i ask him, stepping back as he stands as well.

“what?” he grunts, a small glare pointed my way.

“hot cocoa,” i smile, “or… something else to warm us up.”

“i don’t know if i have cocoa, but i have coffee.”

i nod, “that works! it’ll warm us up and wake us up!”

Cole trudges into the house and i follow suit, but despite my attempt to change the subject, my mind is still stuck on him being turned on.

a gust of air blows through as i reach the door, a shiver traveling down my spine, and i quickly step inside, shutting the door behind me.

i shed my coat and gloves before kicking off my shoes, hanging my now damp hat on the coat hook over my coat.

trailing behind him into the kitchen, i watch as he opens cupboards, rifling through them. i hop up on the counter, legs pressed together, sitting silently until he huffs and turns around.

“i-” he trails off and i follow his eyesight back down to my breasts for the second time today, my nipples stiff and poking through my dress from the previous frigid air.

“Cole.” i snap my fingers, grabbing his attention as his eyes flick back up to my face.

“hmm?”

“god, if you wanna see ‘em, all you gotta do is ask,” i joke, flipping my hair over my shoulder as Cole steps forward.

“can i see them?” he asks, a wicked smirk plastered to his lips.

my lips part, my eyes wide as i blink back at him.

is he serious right now?

surely he’s joking, but i call his bluff, my thumbs slipping through the shoulder collars of my shirt and pulling them down.

i pull my arms out, the top of the dress now only covering my chest, but he continues staring at me. leveling him with a raised brow as i pull the top of my dress down.

i have every intention of just slowly teasing him, but the fabric glides too quickly, my breasts fully exposed to the chilly air now.

his eyes widen and he stumbles slightly in his hurried steps toward me. my teeth sink into my bottom lip, watching him admire my naked chest.

“you actually-” he cuts himself off with a chuckle, his hands hover in the air before them as he peers at me, “can i?”

i nod, and when his cold skin meets mine, a chill runs through me.

lightly pawing at my breasts, his thumb and pointer fingers pinch my nipples, making my back arch involuntary at the stinging touch.

“Cole.” i whimper through a quiet moan.

he steps even closer, nudging my legs open with his body, and my hands reach out, locking around the back of his neck.

“can i kiss you?” i breathe out.

“fuck yeah.”

i pull him forward, finding his lips with mine in a long overdue kiss, and what starts out slow and careful, quickly heats up into something intense and messy.

my tongue slips into his mouth, pushing and battling against his as he continues playing with my nipples, pinching and pulling, rubbing them between us.

a moan reverberates from my mouth and into his, causing him to smile into the kiss.

“you don’t understand how long i’ve been waiting for this.” he mutters, his lips brushing against mine.

“probably not as long as i have.” i tell him honestly, earning a light giggle from him.

his lips capture mine once more, but his hands divert their attention, trailing down my body and pushing my dress down as a result.

“yeah, i forgot, you have the hots for me.” he grins as i lift my hips, allowing him to pull my dress down my legs and fling it onto the counter.

i roll my eyes, wrapping my legs around his waist lightly, “shut up and take me to your room.”

“yes, ma’am.”

i’m almost frightened by the way my core dampens from his reply. i’ve never generally been a dominant person in the bedroom, but there’s something about him that makes me want to become one.

when we reach his bedroom, i unhook my legs, my front sliding down his body and rubbing against his hardened length as my feet lower to the floor.

my hands find the waistband of his sweatpants, still slightly damp from the snow, and i peer at him through my lashes. when he breathes out a lust-driven ‘yes’ in approval, i push them down, allowing him to kick them off and free his cock from the restraint. he pulls his shirt over his head in a rush, leaving him naked before me in all his glory.

tight muscles and chiseled abs make my mouth water, a sculpted v-line leading to his thick cock.

well, now i know why he has his nickname.

leaning in until my lips are nearly pressing against his ear, i whisper an unsure demand, “get on the bed.”

Cole swallows harshly, nodding as he pulls me toward his mattress. sitting on the edge, he looks up at me, awaiting approval, but i shake my head.

“in the middle.” i clarify.

he follows my orders, sitting prettily in the middle of the bed. an animalistic sensation comes over me, urging me to crawl forward on the mattress, and when i do, i hover over him.

one hand rests upon his abs, tracing the results of his stern training regime, while the other presses into the mattress, holding myself up.

i can feel him shiver underneath me as my nails graze across his torso before i find myself trailing down, wrapping my fingers around his erection and giving a small tug.

a hiss falls from his lips, his jaw clenching as his hips jerk up into my fist.

“aww, look at you.” i coo. i bring my hand up to my mouth, licking up my palm before spitting into it twice, rubbing my fingers into it to lubricate it well.

gripping his cock once again, i slowly begin flicking my wrist, pumping as i stare down at him.

shaky curses and tight grunts come from his mouth, his body writhing underneath me, and the sight is enough to make my core pulse, wetness dampening my panties.

i take the moment to trail wet kisses up his chest, starting from the top of his abdomen and leading all the way up to his collarbone.

“so good for me.” i hum, backing away to spit on his cock.

my thumb rubs over his tip, the mix of precum and saliva helping my hand pump his dick smoothly, and he groans loudly, eyes squeezing shut as his face scrunches in pleasure.

“please, y/n,” he whimpers, his voice cracking, “i’m not gonna last. i wanna be inside you.”

“yeah? you think you deserve my pussy?”

i don’t even know who i am anymore, but i find myself liking the newfound confidence that fills my body.

“yes,” he nods harshly, “yes, please!”

my hand stills, releasing him and flattening against the comforter to wipe off the spit.

“condom?” i question, and he points to his bedside drawer, watching closely as i lean over and grab one.

i open the foil packet carefully, discarding it on the nightstand and pinching the tip before slowly rolling it onto him. my motions earn another huffed out breath of pleasure from his lips.

my thumbs hook into the waistband of my panties, pushing them down and off my legs before i throw them to the floor.

crawling back over top of him, i grasp his cock in my hands one more time, rubbing it through my slick folds. it’s glides smoothly through my wetness, and my head tips back as it rubs against my clit.

“fuck, Cole.”

lining him up with my entrance, i sink down slowly, the tip of his cock penetrating my core and stretching out my walls. the stinging pleasure worsens as i sink down lower, and i begin slowly bouncing with shallow movements until it becomes easier to slide onto his erection.

his hands grip my hips tightly, fingertips digging into my skin, but i can’t bring myself to care as i finally take all of him.

“shit.” he curses through gritted teeth, voice tight.

i slowly begin grinding my hips, my clit brushing against his pelvic bone with every movement, and i cry out as i begin bouncing on top of him, his hips meeting mine with shallow thrusts upwards.

my jaw slackens, breathy moans drifting out as i work my hips up and down, listening intently to the sound of his cock sliding through my wetness as my walls draw him in with each downward motion.

“god, you’re so big.” my words are shaky, my hands clutching at his chest in order to support myself.

soon, my legs begin to tire, shaking in both pleasure and exhaustion, and Cole catches on quickly, taking over the brunt of the work as he begins to pound into me from below.

the intensity of his thrusts sends me falling forward, my tits pressing against his chest, and he takes of the position, capturing my lips with his in a heated manner.

his lips press against mine, his tongue exploring my mouth, and it’s a struggle for me not to cry out as the new angle causes the tip of his cock to graze my g-spot with every thrust.

my stomach begins tightening with slowly building pressure, my walls clenching around him with my impending orgasm.

my toes curl, and knowing i’m close, i break our kiss, snaking my hand between our bodies in order to rub my clit.

“fuck, i’m close.” he gruffs, his hips smacking against mine as his thrusts speed up.

i nod my head against him, “me too.”

my fingers circle my clit, pushing me further and further towards the edge, but before i can get there, Cole is one step ahead.

he lets out a harsh grunt, spilling out into the condom as he fucks me through his release, and the feeling of his dick pulsating inside me spurs on my own climax.

my breath hitches, toes curling as i cum around his cock, my fingers slowing down on my clit.

slumping entirely against him, my head lays against his shoulder, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath me.

“what the fuck just happened?” i pant, rolling off of him in favor of burying myself into his side.

his arms wrap around my waist, pulling me tighter to him as he chuckles.

“a goddamn christmas miracle.”

i giggle loudly, a snort escaping me and in turn making him laugh harder.

when we finally calm down, our breathing evening out and our bodies feeling somewhat more relaxed, Cole gets out of the bed, disposing of the condom in his en-suite bathroom trashcan before returning with a wet rag.

i open my legs, my hips jerking as he cleans me up, and i wait patiently as he pulls on a pair of boxers, throwing me a pair and a clean t-shirt.

i pull them on quickly, eager to cuddle more, and when he finally joins me back in the bed, my leg is quickly thrown over his hips, my arm resting on his chest as my head gets buried in his neck.

“you’re a cuddler.” he states the obvious, his hand running up and down my back as i hum in agreement.

“is that a problem?” i question, eyes fluttering shut, and i can feel him shake his head.

he pulls me in tighter, pressing a kiss to my forehead, “just an observation for the future.”

“the future?”

“oh yeah, you’re not getting rid of me now.” he tells me, but i can hear it plain as day; he’s nervous.

i heave out a deep sigh, my body melting into his before i answer, “wasn’t planning on it.”

#faithlynn’s 12 days of kinkmas #cole caufield #cole caufield x reader #cole caufield imagine #cole caufield smut #cole caufield fic #cole caufield blurb #mtl canadiens #nhl smut #nhl fic #nhl imagine #faithlynn’s writings <3

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The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife

Daemon Targaryen/Original Fem [Targaryen] Character

Chapter 2: Civility

MASTERLIST

Summary: Naera finally learns of her father's reason for summoning her to King's Landing, and she is NOT happy about it.

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: nothing, really

Naera hated Aegon.

From the first word the boy spoke to her, she knew that she wasn’t going to stand him for long. “Do they even knight women?” He had asked, and Naera had been civil. It was a frequent question. His second question, however, had been out of line.

“Did you really fuck a savage war lord?” Viserys and Alicent roared at his impudent words, but it wasn’t ire that hit Naera, but reminiscence. Khal Roq’ko had been a passionate lover. Savage, yes, but never to her…eh…usually, not to her. She chuckled at the memory. No.

Civility. “I did not,” she denied, “that was my friend, the Khaleesi Freya.” She wasn’t lying in completion. Freya had, on being the wife of Roq’ko, laid with him often for pleasure and heirship. Everyone had gone silent at that, looking unto Naera with expectance. She continued, “We had met in Volantis, and she wanted to run from her life, so we fled into the Great Grass Sea.”

“Why did you go with her?” Aemond asked. He was a small child, something of loneliness lingering in his voice. Aegon rolled his eyes at his younger brother, reprimanding him to quiet down.

Naera smiled again, her mind travelling back to those locks of obsidian hair and golden skin. She had reminded her of Raiden, in more ways than one—the same love of poetry. No.

Civility. Civility. Civility. “I didn’t really have a choice,” Naera laughed. Lies. “She stole something of mine ‘n I needed to get it back. I followed her to the land of the Dothraki, and we…got lost.” Yes, she stole her heart, and a prided dagger. She had followed for the dagger. “We were taken by Khal Roq’ko’s khalasar, and they fell in love and married. I happened to display particular strength in battle, and wasn’t sold as a slave. Freya pleaded for my leave and Roq’ko agreed.” Lies. Lies. Lies. She wanted to weep. That was not all there was—there had been passion, and love, and heat. There had been so much more, but she needed to be proper. She needed to be appropriate, for Rhaenyra, for her family, so that the Hightower filth that had infested it wouldn’t gain the upper hand.

“That’s it?” Aegon was disappointed. “I don’t see what the grand deal is with you and the Dothraki, then.” Oh, that child. Naera’s stomach churned. You know nothing. Naera remembered, and recalled, and relived in her mind, those shallow brown eyes and expanses of bronze-gold skin in the twilight hours of the day, as their blood pooled to the ground, one ounce at a time until all life had fled them. She had to. 

“I did defeat two bloodriders in combat on my first day,” she smiled, gaining words of praise. Her father grasped her hand with affection, serene and content. Lie again. She had defeated three bloodriders in single combat on her first day, and Roq’ko himself in single combat on her second day, the very ordeal that found her not dead. Freya had only come in weeks later. “After that,” she changed the subject, trying her best to forget those nights, “I lived with the Red Priestesses in Asshai.” Naera immediately regretted her words, as memories of deathly pale skin and blood-red lips refreshed themselves in her mind. R’hllor, no.

“What did you do there?” Laenor, Rhaenyra’s consort, questioned with a smile.

“I learned about their religion and mythology, their miracles also,” A summary, at best. Naera took a sip of her wine, cursing its shade of red. It reminded her of so much. It reminded her of the woman in red, the Red Woman, of her words and her eyes, the mischievous twinkle in them as she did the bidding of her god, the Lord of Light. It reminded her of Melisandre, and her--She shook her head, “I haven’t converted, do not worry,” that earned her a round of chuckles, most loudly by her father, but she couldn’t care to listen. They were lies. She had converted, in whatever conversion into the Faith of Light meant. She had prayed to the Lord of Light and had received its fruits. She had done it all. Thoughts of the Red Woman wouldn’t leave her early—her practised laughter, her ominous words, her magic—her magic that brought them delightful justice. Oh…no. Civility.

There was an empty seat beside him, the plate and wine fully laid out. Was his Hand joining the dinner?

“Where after?” Rhaenyra asked, glad that you kept your composure.

“Lys, and then Naath, where I learned ways of healing and treatments faster than I’ve seen in Westeros, but I wasn’t there long before you summoned me,” she turned to her father, and all the calm and colour had fled his face. He sweated and glanced off, pulling his hand away from yours. What is it?

“Naera, we have…” he began, “it has been years since Prince Raiden…” he saw the way your face lost its colour also, and he could imagine it, surely, he could imagine and remember the pain of losing a lover. A spouse, by all means, other than in name. “I am afraid…I…I believe it is time for you to consider marriage, and we have a match.” He exchanged glances with Alicent, who was not at all discouraged by your negative reaction. She had planned this.

Naera chuckled. They didn’t realise it. They didn’t understand her yet.

If they wed her to a Lannister, she would squander his wealth. If they wed her to an Arryn, or a Northener, or a Baratheon, she would kill them before they could lay their honourable fingers on her body. If they tried anyone else, she would run. She would fly.

“Well? Who is it?” Which kingdom did they want to sell her to this time? “Lannister or Tyrell? Or is it someone else?” Her eyes were wide with ire, her breathing now bated, her heart hammering in her chest. A part of her wanted to declare her pride, to list out the titles she had earned in Essos—Red Priestess of Asshai, one of the thirteen of Quarth, the Master of the Mereenese pits, the Bane of the Unsullied, and so much more. Yet, she couldn’t. For Rhaenyra, she reminded herself. For your House. For Fire and Blood.

“Prince Daemon,” Naera looked up. Had her uncle joined them for supper? She eyed the empty spot next to the King. He wasn’t there—he hadn’t just arrived. He doesn’t mean—“I believe that you would make a good match, and, uh…” he looked to Alicent again, and said, “and,”

“Is that what you think?” Or, is it what that whore has been whispering in your ears? She didn’t say those last words. She didn’t need to. Naera stood, turned, and left.

It is uncertain what went through Princess Naera after she learned that her father, King Viserys, encouraged by Queen Alicent, had decided to wed her to her uncle, Prince Daemon. It was partially a reward for his recent calm and collection, and partially a way of restricting and subduing the princess herself.

It is significant to recall that Prince Daemon had earlier sought Princess Rhaenyra’ss hand in marriage and that he had never known Princess Naera well. For a man of his character, being a rough and determined man, to be refused the hand he sought was one thing, but for another marriage to be forced upon him after the death of Lady Rhea, was not going to leave him in a very agreeable state.

According to the Court’s fool, Mushroom, Prince Daemon had learned of his marriage three weeks prior to the Princess’ arrival in the city, and the Kingsguards had been forced to hold him back for the intensity of his anger. Following that, he had taken to liquor and nightly visits to the Street of Silk, where he “deflowered a maiden every night” and also “pounded her until she wept”, if Mushroom were to be believed.

Princess Naera, according to some witnesses, was seen to mount Wisestone after storming off the dinner and was seen to fly off towards the east an hour before night. She returned Wisestone to the Dragonpits half a week afterwards, calm and collected.

A series of rumours followed, most properly illustrated by Mushroom, in his poorly lyricised songs, of Prince Daemon and Princess Naera having “midnight trysts” and an “unspoken rendezvous”, but the evidence is scarce. The Princess’ personal comments on the event are noted hastily in her journals, explaining that she had travelled back to Essos, to Asshai, and spent time there with the Red Priestesses of Old. She had referred to a few by name, in particular, Lady Melisandre of Asshai, writing in her private journals that “Melisandre told me to follow the light, but I see no visions in her flames;” and, “only in dragonfire, I see truth, but help me, R’hllor, for I have no answer where to flee this while.”

This would all suggest that she intended to sever this union before it flowered and that she had no intention of wedding Prince Daemon, her sister’s position be damned, but it is not so. A fortnight after her ‘outburst’ at the dinner, the Princess agreed to the marriage, almost definitely for the sake of protecting her sister, Princess Rhaenyra’s reputation.

Just because she needed to wed Prince Daemon, the Princess didn’t consider it important to actually get to know him. She was quite sure of it ending up a loveless marriage at best, and an abusive one, at worst. She wanted nothing of attachment to her uncle, who was nothing better than a stranger to her. Prince Daemon, when he returned to the reality of his situation, apparently tried his best to court his niece and make something of their matrimony other than hollow promises, but she wasn’t complicit.

There are many retellings of the Princess sword-fighting until dawn against the most brutal guards and soldiers, and then disappearing after breakfast for hours, until nightfall. She trapezed around the city streets after dusk, making friends of whores and blacksmiths alike, and would be back in the Keep to try her lance or her sword before light.

- An excerpt from ‘The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife’

by Maester Creyolin of the Citadel

Naera. She didn’t like her name that well. It sounded broken, halfway, as though only a segment of the full name had survived. Naera. She had first learned how to spell it in Westerosi when she had been five, and her mother had sat her down and taught her, letter by letter.

She couldn’t ever forget her way of teaching it—It went: N, as in Naath, A, as in Aegon, and Naera would always interrupt with, ‘or, as in Aemma,’ and her mother, Queen Aemma, would smile. Then, there was an E, as in Essos, R, as in Rhaenys, and another A, as in Aegon, or Aemma, or Astapor. Two places in a name. Maybe she was meant to travel the world, after all.

Princess Naera would change her name if she could. She would change it to something that sounded fuller on the tongue, that didn’t leave the Westerosi mouth halfway through with an uncomfortable taste, or to something that simply did not fit into her sister’s name as a lopsided puzzle piece. Something like Rhaenerys, or Aemmeyra, or maybe just Rhaenys, or Rhaella, or Daenys, Daenerys, and on it went.

Naera sighed. It was too late for that. She liked her given name better—The Silver Knight, or any of the other things the common citizens of Essos had named her. They felt chosen by her, in a way—she chose to be the Silver Knight. She did not choose to be Princess Naera of the House Targaryen, no longer Second in Line to the Iron Throne, Second Daughter of King Viserys of the House Targaryen, First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. She didn’t choose it, and she no longer wanted it.

She liked being in the Godswood, not for the Old Gods, or the New, or those of Old Valyria, or even for the God of Light. She loved it for the Silence. She loved it for the isolation, and the calm, and the freedom. Naera had found a nice spot there, between two tall hedges near a stream. None dared venture there, because it was too far from the entrances, and the rumours of a ‘flaming panther’ crawling the back hedges had steered them all away definitively. She didn’t create the rumours of the panther, of course. Why would she? She created the panther. That was different, and a lot harder than the rumours.

Now, half the days, she would gather her journals there, working on the manuscripts, adding or removing anything of significance or the lack thereof, and reading through her personal journals for any crossovers, missteps, or anything like. Her works were important—they were knowledge of a brisk, informative nature—she couldn’t afford a single phrase of ‘inappropriate’ weight.

Naera. She was reading an entry in her journal, months and years old, from her days in Asshai. Melisandre had taken her to stare into flames for hours at a time, but she hadn’t seen anything, at least, not at first. She had heard. A chill ran down her spine at the memory, the image of the encircling flames in the darkness, the sting of sweat running down her skin, down her neck, and her chest, and her forehead, and her eyes burning from the light. The smell of soot and coal and the dusty ash of the fires were up in the air, but it didn’t matter. She had heard. She had heard a woman’s voice, confident and loud, speaking in Valyrian. She referred to the entry she had scribbled in haste immediately afterwards—

It was distorted at first, as though heard through a wall of water, or the border of a realm. It was low and slow, but then I heard, clear as I heard Melisandre’s chants—

Eli Astaprot istan. dohaertrossa sir yno inkot iorzi, daeri. First, I went to Astapor. Those who were slaves in Astapor, now stand behind me, free. And then, I saw. I saw, within the flames and the flicker, saw a woman with hair as white as mine, and I heard, Hembar Yunkaihot istan. Yunkaihi dohaertrossa sir yno inkot iorzi, daeri. Next, I went to Yunkai. Those who were slaves in Yunkai now stand behind me, free.

Sesir Mirinot mastan. Now, I have come to Mereen.

Naera?

But there had been more—there had been another vision, another image in the flames, of leather collars and chains, of people with sunburnt skins and overworked stamina. There were slaves. There was a woman, in blue. A woman with the blood of the Dragon. A liberator. The Breaker of Chains.

“Jevy qrinuntys ikson daor,” I am not your enemy, Naera spoke, Naera remembered. “Jevy qrinuntys jemo paktot issa,” Your enemy is beside you.

“Jevy qrinuntys jevor riñar laodissis ossenis. Jevy qrinuntys jemo syt meri belma se boteri se udrazmi ezi.” Your enemy steals and murders your children. Your enemy has nothing for you but chains, and suffering, and commands…

 Naera froze. The manuscripts ended there. But…she remembered. She remembered more, she remembered seeing, and hearing more. Had Melisandre dragged her away before she could write it all down?

Naera?

She gathered her quill and ink on the grassy floor, and spoke, and wrote, “Udrazmi jemot maghon daor.” I bring you no commands. “Iderennon maghan.” I bring you a choice, “Se jevo qrinuntoti pojor gurotriri maghan,”

“And I bring your enemies what they deserve,” her quill snapped against the parchment. What?

Naera glanced up, frantic, confused, and afraid.

“Didn’t know that my intended wrote stories,” Naera cringed at the word when she finally turned to face her ‘intended’. The Rogue Prince stared down from the high fence hedges, a smirk settled at his lips. It made her feel as though something tugged a thread down the inside of her throat. Intended. It made her skin crawl.

She stood hastily with her books, her journals, her truths. “I don’t know much about her at all, really,” he went on, as Naera crossed the hedges through a winding pathway, well within his line of sight. When she finally reached the winding road, by his side, she quickened her steps. She didn’t need this today. Or ever, really.

Daemon didn’t let her leave, however, apparently making no note of her downset eyes, furrowed eyebrows and frowning lips, and grasped her elbow before she could slip away. “She’s been refusing to see me.” He yanked her elbow gently, forcing her to face him. She tightened her jaw, eyes set on the books in her arms.

“She’s been disappearing for hours all day,” he continued, “even her maids don’t know where she saunters off.” Daemon raised her chin with her thumb, forcing her to meet his lilac eyes and what she saw was strange. His long silver-white hair was untidy and unkept, unusually so. He wasn’t angry, for all he’s worth, and he certainly wasn’t not confused, but he was sad, almost. Her frown deepened.

“I did not see it of any consequence,” she spoke curtly and shook his hands off. “Nothing you say, or do, can change anything. You are of no consequence.”

He laughed, hoarse, empty, mocking, angry, “I am of no consequence? Udra sylvie, ābrazyrys,” Naera’s face contorted at his words. He was doing it to hurt her, to make her hate him, to make her say anything at all, and she knew. ‘Wise words, wife.’ She took a step back, and another, and another, teeming disgust and boiling hatred brewing a difficult amalgamation within her. The lengths she went to for her sister, but she had to. For Rhaenyra.

“And are you of greater consequence, then? Skoros emagon ao gaomagon? What have you done, other than running circles around the Dothraki and drawing plants in Naath?” Civility. Civility. Civility. He caught her wrist, pulling her close, threatening.

Did it really matter? It wasn’t just Alicent Hightower, was it? Everyone knew that they would be at each other’s throats, and she knew it better than anyone else. She needed to be calm. She needed to be temperate. For Rhaenyra.

“Udligon issa, timpa azantys. Skoros emagon ao gaomagon naejot gūrogon bona?” Ha. What was this, now? Answer me, Silver Knight. What have you done to earn that?

Ha.

Naera laughed, dry and loud, and hoarse.

Oh.

“You know nothing of me, or mine.” She spoke, as loud as she could—damn the worlds that hear it. He knew nothing. None of them did. None of them could ever understand, and she saw no point in trying. There was no consequence in trying, other than her failure and disappointment.

Daemon was taken aback, at least, and didn’t question her, or stop her, when she walked away, arms heavy with journals and ink staining her skin. He saw her silver-white locks disappear in the bushes of the Godswood, her heavy breathing resonating.

A question loomed his mind, certainly.

Had he fucked up?

At the very least, he knew the answer.

It is said that the Princess had refused to meet with Prince Daemon after her father had suggested their marriage, wanting to make it a blind union for both of them. Prince Daemon did not take her terms well and was seen at the doors to her chambers multiple times, asking her maids about her whereabouts.

The Princess would take to the Godswood after breakfast, allegedly hiding between some lone high bushes, and working on the scrapping and rewritings of her manuscripts of Times in Essos. She wrote once, in near dismay, that “He has found my safety—well, fuck,” probably referring to Prince Daemon discovering her hiding place in the Godswood.

The Princess consulted her sister, who had known Prince Daemon for much longer, who suggested that she treat the prince with the civility she would appreciate he treated her with if her journals are to be taken for truth. Princess Naera then tried her best and beyond to appreciate her uncle’s attempts at courting.

- An excerpt from ‘The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife’

by Maester Creyolin of the Citadel

MASTERLIST

#daemon targeryan #original female character #house targaryen #house of the dragon #daemon x oc #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #team black #house martell #dance of dragons #melisandre of asshai #melisandre #daemon x y/n #daenerys targeryan #azor ahai #dreams #fanfiction #archive of our own

[perxywonderland]

Endorphins

Willow has strong “painkillers” since an accident, without them she is in absolute pain, physically and mentally. Unfortunately, these "painkillers" are opiates and you get addicted to those very fast because of the endorphins (pleasure, pain and stress relieving hormones) production, but your body gets used to it, so you get higher doses, again and again, your body tolerates it for a moment, until it can't, and you collapse. That is the case of Willow, who wakes up puzzled at Kuras' clinic. Kuras, her doctor and her dear friend, will find alternatives for Willow, some are quite intimate.

Take cautions as there is spicy content at the end, but TS is major people only so if you are minor, dni.

Relationships: (mainly) Kuras/Willow (oc), Leander/Willow Characters: Kuras, Leander, Willow, Nessie (Willow's cute doggo) Details: Substances addictions, withdrawal, hurt and comfort, angst, penetration, massage, soft, POV third person, Kuras is so soft and attentive I love him

Word count: 4780

Huge thanks to @captain--miracle for the proofreading bc my brain goes so fast and without them the writing would have been wacky

Eyes twitching and hands grasping at the cloth of her shirt, Willow woke up from the acute pain in her whole body, but particularly her tummy, heart and head. She recognized the familiar ceiling from Kuras’ clinic, and realised she was in the room for patients to rest. But why? As far as she remembered, despite her very foggy brain, she was home, it was keeping her puzzled, because she already checked Kuras not so long ago for her monthly blood draw and blood test. So why was she there, sleeping in the rest area, and in such pain. Speaking of pain, her body screamed for its painkillers, her solution to everything, from the physical pain to the mental pain. She tried desperately to stand up, wincing only by rising from the bed into a seating position. Her head felt so heavy she instantly fell to her former position. Where did her balance go?

“You should stay still, I have to draw some blood of yours.”

Willow rolled with effort her tired eyes to the origin of the calm and collected voice she knew so well, Kuras. He was standing there, with blood test supplies.

“…Did I faint again?”

He didn’t reply, instead preparing the stool next to the bed to sit on it and settled the supplies on the bedside table. His silence wasn’t so appreciated by the weak monster.

“Hey. Kuras, why the fuck am I here? What time is it? What day is it?”

With a sigh, he glanced at the clock on the wall for a few seconds.

“Right now, It is Saturday, nearly 3am.”

And then eyed back at his patient, replying with a colder tone.

“You collapsed.”

“Collapsed? I was doing all good the whole afternoon. Well, maybe some heart ache but the tablets did the work! I am fine! I probably just fainted, it's nothing, I am used to it! Ahah… You know how I am! But right now it really hurts, can you bring me my tablets please?…”

Her gaze was frantic, looking everywhere, except his harsh and lecturing glaring.

Kuras remained silent, focused on preparing her arm for the blood test. His gestures were confident, but not gentle.

Willow felt a drop of sweat running from her forehead, rolling down the bridge of her nose. In this situation, Kuras was dominant. Willow stammered her question again, almost begging for her request.

“Could you… please, bring me my painkillers… Kuras?”

“Absolutely not.”

Kuras finally replied, and dug the syringe into the prepared vein of her arm. Unprepared, Willow winced and frowned.

“Ow! Hey, that was too rough! You usually make them more gentle!”

“I changed nothing, you are just clean from all substances.”

He inhibited himself to add a comment, but reminded himself he was also at fault, he stayed shut.

“…This is kind of why I need my tablets. Come on Kuras, when someone is in pain, you give them painkillers. That’s common sense, you’re a doctor!”

By using logic to not appear desperate, the purple haired entity didn’t realise she was doing the absolute opposite. Her whole body, voice and eyes screamed for her sweet instant solution. But the doctor wouldn’t let her, not this time.

“Or…”

Kuras started his sentence while removing the needle from Willow’s arm, and bottled the golden liquid into a vial, looking up at the beautiful liquid some would price high by its deceiving appearance.

“You find the origin of the pain.”

He resumed, staring straight to Willow’s guilty eyes, which instantly turned away from Kuras.

“…I tried… I really tried, but… this is too hard, too painful, if I try again, I think I’ll go mad..”

His gaze softened. Of course he knew, he truly believed in her and trusted her. Kuras changed the topic.

“You don’t remember anything from last night?”

“I don’t…”

“The opposite would have been surprising, your blood test 5 hours ago was… interesting. There was no way you would have been lucid in such a euphoric and sedated state.”

Willow slowly realised what the doctor meant by that. Her eyes widened but quickly turned away when they met kuras’ again. Only the angel’s stare is enough to lecture her about what happened, despite the warm honey colour, his gaze was cold and concerned. But he didn’t let Willow escape this time. He grasped her chin and angled her to face him.

“I told you to be careful.”

His tone was soft, worried even. Willow’s eyes were stinging, tears forming but she rubbed them away before they could roll.

“I am so sorry, Kuras… uh, it’s the pain that makes me cry. I wish I could end this suffering…”

“ I know, I am sorry Willow.”

Kuras’ gaze hinted at sadness, he knew how it was to be stuck forever with a burden. He had his own to carry, and a quite heavy one. He let her chin go and corrected his posture on his stool to a straighter position.

“When Leander found you, you were wobbling on your feet, your look was absent, saying rubbish, until you dropped and convulsed. You should thank Nessie, he is the one who alerted him. He is still a bit in shock. ”

“…Fuck…”

A silence settled for a long minute, the lady stared down at her feet, holding her head between her hands, desperation and guilt won her. Her sentence came tearing up progressively.

“My pain even affects my closed ones… How can I make it end? If even the tablets cannot do anything anymore…”

Kuras grabbed one of her hands and cupped it between his. His touch radiated warmth, in contrast to Willow’s ice cold body.

“We will find a solution, alternatives. I promise.”

In reply to his support, Willow reached to hug him close, no matter how painful it was to move. A sign of immense gratitude.

“Leander is waiting outside, I’ll tell him you have woken up, do you want to see him?”

By her scared look, he understood the little visit would be for later. However he knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep right now, due to the pain. She needed a strong distraction, a book wouldn’t be enough. He picked from one of his pockets a little wooden horse, staring at it before handing it to Willow’s yellowish hands.

“It reminded me of you, I found it in the stands of Amaryllis District, it is a puzzle, find the solution while I am away.”

Willow shrugged and inspected precisely the horse with her eyes and fingers, at least it might shift her sensations on to the puzzle rather than the pain for some time.

Not long after that, Kuras stood up and went back to the main room to study at his lab her blood and compare it from her former blood draw.

A few challenging days passed, challenging for Willow and her urges. Challenging for Kuras to handle such a difficult and violent patient. Ais wouldn’t do good as he is used to smoking, it would be counterproductive. Leander looked after Aerilynn and Nessie. But it paid off, the urges were less frequent, but the pain remained, her mood was quite unstable but most of all, she was depressed. The goal now she was sober from opiates was to find a natural alternative to the endorphin painkillers produced.

For now, Leander seemed to be an option. It was time for a little visit after this isolation. In no time a ball of black fur rushed to Willow into a big bear hug with little whines, meaning “I missed you so much”. Nessie couldn’t hold still, his happiness was contagious as it made everyone smile. The sun after the tempest.

“I missed you so much, big boy!”

Willow chuckled and pet Nessie tenderly.

“May I have pets too?”

Leander said as he sat on the bed too, leaning with a smile, his radiant eyes were starving for attention as well. But her eyes widened at the sight of Leander, remembering he was the one who witnessed and struggled with her overdose. Before she could say anything he rubbed her cheeks into a reassuring way.

“You do not need to be sorry, I am good now. However I wish it will not happen again, for you, I mean.”

His hands slid to hers, warming them, caressing them tenderly. Giving them a little warmth and softness despite his gloves.

“I will make sure to check on you and spend more time with you now. But you know my suggestion to join the bloodhounds still remains, we all can check on you and it can distract you from your chronic pain.”

Leander said as he gently brushed with his lips the knuckles of her hands.

“I would love to spend more time with you, but not as a bloodhound, I wouldn’t fit in. And I have my own business to handle, I am better at this.”

“Okay, I understand. Then I got something for you.”

His hands let go of Willow's hands, and he searched into his pockets for three pieces of paper, those were tickets. He presented them to her.

“Those are tickets for the upcoming play in the high town, remember how we used to go there, Kuras, you and I back then?”

Willow, positively surprised, nodded in agreement. Leander added with a smirk and pointing with his thumb behind his back:

“Not to mention it is highly recommended by the doctor, plays like those can help to produce endorphins and cheer you up.”

“Then this is with great pleasure that I accept, thank you, Leander, for everything.”

With a warm and gentle tone, the owlish eyed lady cupped his cheek with her hand, the other one replied with a gentle smile;

“Always there to catch you, Willow.”

The play was outstanding and humorous, just what all three needed, before the clerics could find them the trio was already away heading to lowtown.

Leander waved at the two others before going into the Wet Wick to join his peers, and the two yellow eyed creatures headed back to Willow's place. But Willow remained frozen in front of the tall building. Kuras gave her a puzzled look.

“It’s just… I’m scared that… Well… my stashes, and the smell.”

Her worried stare turned to the doctor, now she was out of this, she clearly didn’t want to relapse. The urges were horrifying, the sweat, the vomiting, the pain, the cries, the begging. She didn’t want to wiggle like a worm in pure agony because of her body cleaning the mess inside again.

“Leander and Ais have taken care of that.”

Sudden relief found Willow as she sighed and gave a slight nod. “But if you do not feel ready, or safe, to be on your own yet, you know you can stay at the clinic for some time”

Kuras proposed into a calm and reassuring tone, to that, the lady held the doctor’s hand gently, in agreement.

Kuras led the way to the clinic, and enjoyed the warm temperature of the room in contrast to the fresh and cool air from the night. As the doctor adjusted his sleeves, he asked his patient:

“Do you feel any pain right now?”

Willow hesitantly replied as she undid her coat and carefully settled on the coat rack. His generosity triggered her needs to not disturb him. “You’re doing so much already, a little pain is okay.”

“It doesn’t answer my question, as a doctor, I should relieve my patients from their pain…”

He began, remaining calm while sitting on his stool near the examination table.

“…You said it yourself, Willow.”

Willow fidgeted with her boots while undoing them.

“Do not hesitate to say when it hurts.” Kuras added. He patiently waited for her answer, not pushing her, nor ignoring her. Kuras was such an amazing listener as much as a rambler, but he knew very well when to listen, and when to ramble, Willow admired him for that. So collected, so calm and gentle, empathetic, it was everything she loved in a person, or a monster. Since they met, she felt safe and trusted this angel with her whole body and soul despite their opposite origins. Not many angels were like him, he was special, special to her.

“I feel like my body contracts so hard it will break into pieces…”

The doctor let out a thoughtful hum while holding his chin and crossing his legs. He could prescribe some muscle relaxant, but the elements in those could potentially trigger new addictions in the current situation. Something more therapeutic would be better than medication.

“How about a massage?”

Willow arched her brows at his idea. A massage? It felt off topic at first, he explained:

“Massages can trigger endorphin production, relieve stress, and muscle contractions. Leading to relaxation and pain relief as well as a feeling of wellness.”

He turned with his rotating stool to face the cabinet full of bottles and boxes with different sizes, colours, and shapes. Settling carefully his glasses ready to prepare the supplies he’d require for his remedial activity.

“You never told me you did those.” Carefully reading the labels on the bottles, turning them into his hands, he answered:

“I do them for a more close, private sphere of people I like. Depending on if they agree or not. It can become more… intimate.”

Realising what he meant, Willow’s yellow blood rushed through her cheeks, nose and ears giving those a deep golden blush. With a few blinks of her wide opened eyes, she approached him.

“Do I… Do I need to wear something specific ?” “Your usual nightwear will do. Don’t worry, I will not push your boundaries.”

Willow nodded and headed to the resting area to change into simple nightwear, a soft white wool set composed of a tank and a short. She undid her lamb-like hairstyle and let her curly hair free in no time due to her curiosity, she never had such things before. She tiptoed her way on the cold floor back to where Kuras was and waited for his instructions. Multiple bottles were on the counter, Willow knew some of them, as they were essential oil based. Kuras didn’t wear his glasses anymore, he gestured to Willow to lie down with front body on the examination table. Willow obeyed and carefully lied down, and pushed her hair away, revealing a long vertical lightning-like healed scar from her neck to her lower back. She wasn’t able to see much with her head turned to the left, watching the doctor’s tidy counter. He stood up while warming up some oil between his hands. He pressed a warm hand on her shoulder blade, and announced with a low and comforting voice:

“I will start with the legs and go upper, tell me when it hurts, or if you have enough or feel uncomfortable, I will stop immediately.”

Willow motionned a yes by nodding with eyes closed. Without even starting, his words and touch were relaxing, she left her whole body to him with no fear or apprehension.

The doctor faced the tall lying body from the end of his examination table, and started his manoeuvre by gently caressing one calf with his oily hands, warming the body part up to a comforting temperature. Kneading, pushing carefully the skin and muscle in slow motions of back and forth and circles. Sometimes pressing his hands on the whole calf and running them towards the back of her knee multiple times, to then going back rubbing different local places on the one calf, he repeated the motions on the other. The gesture wasn’t strong or painful, it was gentle, attentive, confident, just like him. The body he was meticulously taking care of instantly became putty between his beautiful long fingers.

Kuras’ hands made their way to the back of her thighs, warming them up and giving them the same treatment as the calves. Because of the shorts, sometimes his hands required going under the clothes to reach the top part of the thighs, but it didn’t disturb Willow. Despite her flimsy appearance, Willow had quite toned muscles, running was the main reason, because of her atypical blood compatibility with no one, she had to train her heart to adapt to blood draw and blood loss. The heart of a runner would pump more blood than a normal one thanks to its strength and size. Kuras asked before moving to face her back horizontally:

“How does it feel?”

“That is interesting, I mean,I like it a lot, it is relaxing for sure.”

She answered into a slightly drowsy voice.

“Do you want to go further? Are you okay with my hands going under your tank? For the back.”

“Mhm.”

She nodded, giving her agreement to his upcoming gestures. Kuras reapplied some oil between his hands for the large surface he was going to take care of. The doctor began with the lower back, putting pressure into his circle motions with his thumbs, and covering her whole waist with both his hands in his back and forth motions. The silence during his work was comfortable, a sign of safety and trust. But Willow couldn’t hold her curiosity. “Does the pressure you add at certain places give that feeling of relief? “

Never missing an opportunity to teach, Kuras answered his question:

“Yes, like those weak spots I taught you, the human body has nice spots, they enhance endorphins and serotonin production. This is called acupuncture.”

“I see, well, you sure are producing a lot of serotonin and endorphins there.”

She replied satisfied, a little melty as Kuras slid his warm hands more between her skin and clothes. Kuras escaped a little chuckle to her dozy comment. He didn’t focus on the scar, he kept his treatment even on the whole surface of her back, he knew if he focused on it, it would be counterproductive and trigger anxiety and even pain to her. He worked as if it wasn’t there, despite its big presence and eye-catching striking shape. Kuras gently pinched the straps of the tank, asking again for consent before going further, or stopping there. “May I?” “Yes.”

Kuras proceeded to slide them away with Willow’s help, passing them under her arms. She rested her head on the table and her arms were parallel to her body. He resumed his treatment on the shoulder blades, free from obstacles. The upper back and shoulders and neck seemed to be a sensitive spot for Willow who accidentally escaped a relaxed low moan, it tensed her up a little. Kuras reassured her. “This place does feel nice, yes.”

“I wish you could teach me, so I can do it to you as well.”

Willow requested, a little scared her advance for giving affection would be declined, but he didn’t. Kuras replied with a warm and pleased tone: “That would be lovely.”

Slowly but surely, they pushed their boundaries to something more intimate together. Expressing interest into one another above the friend type.

Kuras slid his hands through her whole right arm. Meticulously massaging every finger and the palm. He appreciated the colour of her natural nails that some would believe polish laid on them. Her nails and hand veins were pearly golden. Her body in itself looks like a valuable item with its rich yellow tints. Her peculiarity and intelligence were the things he loved the most in her. It saddened him that she didn’t recognize the beauty of her uniqueness. Going upward to her forearms, and then upper arms, he finished his treatment, or almost.

“That was amazing, thank you, Kuras.”

Willow complimented him after opening her eyes and sitting up on the examination table, she readjusted the straps of her tank, and smiled warmly to Kuras with her eyes half closed, relaxed; she was just drunk on natural endorphins. It was a much better view than her drunk on endorphins triggered by drugs or alcohol, she was completely lucid and truly feeling well. He couldn't help himself, he carefully took her hands into his, caressing them. “I finished, but as a doctor. As an intimate partner I haven’t.”

He began, invoking a surprised reaction to Willow, even if she seemed positively surprised, he resumed:

“But I will not go further if you do not want to or do not feel comfortable with this.”

Willow remained silent a moment, her hands escaped his to reach his shoulders, making Kuras bent a little to her. “Well, I am quite curious.”

She smiled and looked deep in his eyes as one of her hands stroked his back, the other one reached his cheek to caress it tenderly. “Curiosity is one thing, agreement is another. I want to be sure you want this, that you are okay with this.”

He knew Willow was extremely curious, and sometimes it led to impulsive behaviours and actions. He let her think for a moment, with both hands resting on each side of the table.

“Then yes, I want to.”

She replied before kissing his jaw gently, moving up to the corner of his lips. Kuras pressed their lips together, tilting her head backward as he held her back into a firm hug.

They broke the kiss while Kuras took the hand on his cheek to guide her to stand up and follow him, leading her upstairs to his bedroom. Willow never ever found or caught him sleeping no matter the hour she came for troubles she’s been in, or her friends. At best, he was in his bedroom but on the armchair near the fireplace to read. But the bed seemed to be barely used. Willow gently sat on the bed. She fiddled with his partner’s coat, as a question if she could undress him a little. He didn’t refuse, he even helped her by removing his coat and shoes before laying a knee on the bed, guiding the lady to lie down. Pressing some light chaste kisses there and here, from the neck to the shoulder, he made his way to her flat chest and stomach with his free hand, caressing those areas tenderly, another form of massage. Willow stroked his hair at the back of his neck, watching his every move, and his beautiful face, lashes and amber orbs were lightened by the warm light of the lamp next to his bed in a golden orange-ish shade. He truly was beautiful. She took his caressing hand in order to guide him to crawl on her to lie down next to her. She went on top of him and began undoing his top, revealing his toned torso she caressed with both hands. She crawled backward to be at the eye level of the belts to undo them as well. “This is not very fair.”

Kuras slid a mocking comment with a slight smile. To that, Willow made eye contact with him again, raised up and took off her tank, tossing it away in the room with a slight smile too.

“Better?”

She asked in a playful way. Her playfulness didn’t last long as Kuras lightly stroked his large hands lightly on her sides, sending shivers down her spine. It clearly was pleasurable by her weakened look. He pushed her on the side to lay down again next to him, cupping his cheek with her hand, she kissed him again, introducing her tongue progressively. One of his hands reached down her lower back while the other slid into the shorts to remove it progressively. Their limbs intertwined together into a tight embrace with only their underwear left.

Kuras hand played with the last cloth remaining on Willow, looking deep in his eyes, she gave him her consent on going further with a soft nod and a kiss on the neck. He gently moved her to lay on her tummy again like on the examination table, she did so and helped him to remove her last piece of fabric. His hands stroked her back into gentle caresses, back and forth as he progressively reached her butt, massaging it tenderly. Her thighs got the same treatment again, until his hand slid between them to brush with the tip of his index and middle finger her private parts. It automatically caused a low moan escaping Willow’s mouth. She and he constated she was more than ready by the sound her lower abdomen made as he stroked it. A finger made its way into her entrance, then a second. Together they massaged her inside, it felt wonderful, too wonderful that Willow tried to muffle her moans and yelps of pleasure. But it was unsuccessful when Kuras nimbled her shoulder and neck. His own pleasure built up too. He removed his last cloth as well, revealing his own private parts. Pinning her hands together in one hand, and pinning her hips with the other, he stroked his private parts slowly on Willow’s behind, before slowly entering Willow’s entrance smoothly thanks to the preparation. Both escaped a louder moan of pure delight. He moved first in slow back and forth, adventuring to find her most sensitive spot. In no time her legs twitched, found it. He pumped into the spot again and again, a little harder but still passionate. He bent to reach her neck to kiss it again and went even deeper, his breath and moans tickled her ear. Willow desperately tried between the moans to praise him but felt she was about to reach climax. Her whole body twitching was a sign for Kuras to stop and get out before she reached the sky without him. Getting free from his grasp, she rolled to face him with watery eyes due to the pleasure, she pushed him to lie down next to her and stroked his genitals with a hand.

“You’re very good at this if you want my opinion.”

Willow praised him with a low voice, almost a whisper. Kuras grabbed her chin, brushing her lower lip with his thumb.

“Don’t mean to be rude, but you seemed the kind of person with no experience.”

Willow joked with a slight smirk.

“I just keep my intimate partners and my interactions very private, the world doesn’t need to know that, it is very valuable information for the malevolent and foolish ones.”

Kuras simply replied. Keeping eye contact with his partner with similar orbs, Willow said thoughtful

“Mmmh, I guess I am less private about those. Maybe I should, Vere is a bit teasing too much about that, but he is no better. ”

Noticing a slight frown on Kuras’ face at the mention of the fox’s name, she added before reaching to kiss him:

“But I don’t do much with Vere, no worries about that, he joined us once when I was with Ais.”

Stroked his lower abdomen more actively again, moaning in her mouth. Willow positioned herself to his length and he did the motion to enter again. In this tight embrace they moved and moaned in unison. Giving praises to each other, eventually they reached climax, Willow pressed their mouth together and cupped his head with her hands. Little teardrops of delight formed on both their eyes.

Heavy breaths were the only sound left in the room, Willow rested her head against his shoulder, he stroked her hair while she caressed his back. Something Kuras found interesting with Willow is no matter where she was, her smell always remained the same: the french humid air of the forest and fields of flowers at dawn. It was refreshing. His smell was more spices, Willow always found it comforting. Willow broke the comforting silence.

“That was another amazing massage, how many times a week do you recommend it?”

Kuras smiled at her little prescription metaphor.

“For the first one, twice a week, the second, depends on the availability and will.”

“Good.”

Willow replied as she snuggled closer, eyes closed ready to sleep.

“Do you sleep?”

“I don’t, I have no need as an angel. But I can close my eyes and think.”

“That is interesting, but can you? We faeries have no need to sleep, but we can.”

“I call it more like resting.”

“Oh, I see.”

She released a mocking chuckle

“A faery and an angel, polar opposites, together in the same bed, how ironic.”

Kuras listened to her, with closed eyes, his nose burrowed in her hair.

“At least I’ll not bring your fate, I don’t want to hurt you, Kuras, I like you. A lot.”

At her last words, he opened his eyes and was about to reply - but she was sleeping already. Her love was at worst deadly. She just liked some people, a lot. But no true love.

THANK YOU IF YOU HAVE READ EVERYTHING I HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT

#leander #red spring studio #kuras #touchstarved #touchstarved oc #touchstarved game #kuras x reader #kuras x oc #leander touchstarved #touchstarved leander #kuras touchstarved #touchstarved kuras #perxywonderland #Willow #touchstarved willow

[daedalusdavinci]

ao3 wrapped 2023

taken from here. i did this last year and it was fun so im doing it again

1. How many words have you written this year?

i published 110,143 words this year! written...... no clue.

the first half of this year was mostly spent working on the jdau, but the second half was mostly spent on working on oc stuff that i dont post anywhere. i have no way of tracking how much i wrote for that bc this year i shifted all of my oc works from google docs to saved files on my computer, so the dates are all fucking wrong. ; ; if you add that mystery number onto the mystery number of scrapped projects and wips..... theres no telling. theres no telling.

2. How many works did you publish this year?

i posted 12 works on ao3 this year, not counting the fics i rewrote. i posted 9 drabbles on tumblr. this wasnt a great drabble year for me, i think.

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

i like the afterlife drabble i wrote about jason and nico. i feel like every time i write about them theres just something so bittersweet and punchy about it. it was a cool idea that kind of leaves me thinking about the world behind it, but not in a way that needs to be elaborated on.

as far as fics psoted on ao3, maybe under the skin? its such a different dynamic, and the tension is drawn so taut, it walks the line perfectly between violence/hatred and grief/love. its one im always second guessing myself about, but i had so much fun with it, sometimes i just have to remind myself its okay to make things just for the sake of exploration/indulgence.

4. What work of yours has the most hits?

snow day, with about 1k hits. i think thats the fic where a lot of people stop reading the jdau. its short, its fluffy, and i do actually still love this one a lot. i wrote it when i needed it.

5. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

i feel like a lot of my drabbles this year were really weak, so ive been surprised by the number of notes some of them have gotten. otherwise, mostly oc stuff? ive always struggled with sharing original content bc it never feels interesting enough, but the few friends i have shared it with have been so supportive and it means everything. @roomfulloferidans and @ashysiashy especially are always encouraging me and motivating me to keep making more, and i mightve given it up a long time ago otherwise tbh

6. Favorite title you used

oh thats gotta be The Family Disappointment actually. i like how much meaning and interpretation is embedded in it. if youve been reading the jdau, you might think its jason, but seeing that the fic centers damian, you might think its him. both boys struggle with feeling like theyre bruces biggest disappointment, but the fic is about brotherly solidarity, and recognizing that maybe bruce is actually the disappointment.

honorary mention to under the skin, bc i think that one was very funny/clever. i also named some oc works "the debilitating fear of garage doors" and "the inherent eroticism of handholding" and i like those a lot.

7. If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most?

its a fucking miracle. for once, i didnt use any.

8. Pairing you wrote the most for this year?

i guarantee it was bruharv again. bc the jdau. ive finally finished it tho, so who knows what the next will be?? the world is full of possibility.

9. Favorite pairing you wrote for this year?

im going to be so real w you. my ocs. their dynamic is so much fucking fun.

10. What work was the quickest to write?

i guarantee it was one of the drabbles. altho i did spend much more time agonizing over them this year

11. What work took you the longest to write?

the jdau. but specifically, im sure it was retirement, bc that one is the longest by miles.

12. How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year?

one!!! im working on a hs fic for the first time in ages, tho i dont have all of my plans for it 100% solid yet. ive got threeish chapters written tho, so i think i will end up finishing it. ill probably start another wip soon so i dont contaminate this one w the urge to write nonsensical fluff.

13. What’s your longest work of the year?

its retirement. its definitely retirement. its 46k and everythign else doesnt really pass 10k

14. What’s your shortest work of the year?

one of the drabbles. on ao3, its off book.

15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

the aforementioned. its davesprite centric and so far its a lot about family and growing up.

16. What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag?

probably “Harvey Dent Adopts Jason Todd” again. god im so glad im done w that au

17. Your favorite character to write this year?

my ocs. otherwise, im going to say 2f bc he is so babygirl to me w his sexy trauma and anger issues, and rose, bc rose <33333333

18. The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

bruce fucking again i hate writing him so much its unreal hes barely even a person to me hes been written so many different ways so many different times the source material is basically a suggestion and i HATE IT. also, nepeta. i cant get her voice right and its killing me and i refuse to write in pesterlog format im NOT DOING IT

19. What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

eridve baby im coming home <333333 (<- insane) but probably also a lot of hal ships eventually

20. Which work of yours have you reread the most?

i have reread the jdau so many fucking times reviewing for the next chapter its fukcing unreal and insanity inducing. if i reread it any more im going to start hating it

21. How many kudos in total did you get this year?

772. this feels liek nothing compared to last year but its so much compared to the previous years so i think im doing good and last year was just a fluke

22. Which work has the most comments?

snow day w 7 comments, which tracks, bc it also has the most hits.

23. Did you do any collaborative works this year?

nope! not this year

24. Did you write any gifts this year?

most of my drabbles were requests, and i definitely wrote some fics w specific ppl in mind, namely @roomfulloferidans (Calming a Storm) and @ashysiashy (some oc stuff), but i didnt technically tag any gifts on ao3 this year

25. Did you receive any gifts this year?

nope! im kind of the writer of my friend group so fics are not generally smthn i receive. however, trustymikh drew this drawing inspired by my mermay bruharv drawing inspired by their mermay harvey drawing, so maybe that kind of counts?? i was delighted to see my bruce design in their style, at least. @roomfulloferidans drew a very nice drawing of my oc rogue that i cherish, @mudp1es and another friend of mine drew our spidersonas, and i participated in an oc art trade where another friend drew my oc barbie. i think those count as gifts, even if its not Ao3 Gifts(TM)

26. What’s your most common category?

M/M again bc i think its hot when men

27. What do you listen to while writing?

i tend to just loop playlists or single songs, unless im really struggling to concentrate, in which case ill switch to white noise.

28. Favorite work you wrote this year?

my oc fic, the inherent eroticism of handholding, which im 99% sure i did write this year? it captures a very specific kind of uncertain tenderness where a crush is new and theyre feeling out flirting still. i think about the scene where theyre lying together in the dark while everyone sleeps and holding hands for a reason they cant justify, not looking at each other, talking about nothing, all the time. i also rlly like the oc fic i just finished a lot- domestic(ated).

that i published, i guess under the skin for reasons i already talked about.

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

im just gonna collect a few here, bc its hard to pick when i write so goddamn much:

Two Face hesitated. Carefully, he asked, “Do you think they want to get rid of you?” Jason’s eyes flickered away from him, his mouth opening, and then closing. “Yeah?” he said, finally. He sounded unsure.

Water dripped from Two Face's curls and slid off of his nose, spattering against the symbol on Bruce's chest. He found himself blinking hard, his breathing coming fast and tight. "You told me- You were supposed to be- Not even in death. Not even in death, would you have ever told me."

The Backroad Home

Eridan kissed like a fire slowly burning him from the inside out. He tasted like liquid courage and saltwater spray, sticky sweet like taffy the way he stuck in Dave's chest. His hands left scorched trails behind when they slid over Dave's skin, haunting, dizzying, warm like the inside of his mouth.

Calming a Storm

back when he and Bruce had lived so deep in each other’s pockets that the line between his and mine had vanished.

To Late Bruce Wayne

For a while, Two Face just let the breeze wash over him, ruffling his hair as his skin prickled from the chill. A siren blared somewhere in the distance, and he sucked sauce absently from his thumb, setting aside the tupperware. “I care deeply about this city,” the TV crackled. “That’s why I’m donating-” Two Face tucked a cigarette between his lips, pulling his lighter out of his pocket. There was a ritual to it. The slow inhale, the gradual exhale. The wind pulled the smoke from his lips, and it disappeared over the rooftops. Bruce’s laugh washed over Two Face. It was vapid and fake over the airwaves, but the memory of it rattled around Two Face’s chest, warm and startled as they rolled in the sheets in Bruce’s dorm. Longing took hold and ached.

Under the Skin. there are a lot of great lines from this one, but this may be my favorite

Spectre's chin bumped gently against Rogue's shoulder, inches left between them, and Rogue thought about how easy it was to steal things in the dark. "Tell me about something," Spectre whispered. "Anything. And I'll sleep."

the inherent eroticism of handholding. this whole fic was very quoteable and so is Domestic(ated) but i will make this my single oc quote.

30. Biggest surprise while writing this year?

that people would like my ocs, really. moth tenderly cares for them like real blorbos and i still dont really know how to process that

#2023 wrapped #maybe ill remember tht maybe i wont

[dr3amofagame]

take a shot - dsmp!mcc fic

MCC FIC! MCC FIC! MCC FIC! To be clear, I outlined this weeks back, when teams were first announced, and I took very very little from the actual MCC itself when it came to actually writing this - all I have are the same teams, but it really exists in its own continuity outside of Real Life MCC (obviously, as it’s using the dsmp characters) and everything like that as a whole! Just to be clear :D)

The worldbuilding is also Absolutely Bullshitted start to finish, as well as any and all medical information. Rip. We’re here for a good time, not for a long or particularly accurate one - hope you guys enjoy regardless!! I had a LOT of fun writing this fic, dsmp!mcc aus my BELOVED

title obviously from win it all by derivakat

---

Michael loves MCC.

But it’s one thing to love the normal Championships and quite another when his team looks like it’s falling apart from the inside out - and as the games progress, it becomes more and more obvious that losing, this time, might not be an option.

tws: C!QUACKITY CRITICAL (sorry i promise i love him but he is NOT portrayed very nicely here, very dark portrayal of him), implied trauma, abuse, torture, panic attacks, manipulation, gaslighting, needles, hospitals, MCC-typical violence, emotional distress, prison arc, pandora’s vault themes

(16k words !! :D long boi) 

Michael loves MCC.

Of course he does! It’s fucking MCC - like, who wouldn’t love it? MCC is how he met so many people, how he met Dream, that one time, the two of them teamed with Techno and Burren and winning it all - MCC is a goddamn blast and he’s thankful every time he gets the invite that he’s able to compete. 

Still- it’s hard not to be a little more nervous, now. 

Dream gave him an invite to his SMP right after they teamed, but it wasn’t until months later that Michael actually cashed it in. Entering the server, it became very obvious very quickly that the DreamSMP, as it’s known, isn’t quite the same as its shiny media appearance. The spawn was covered in blocks, creeper holes littering the ground. The people he passed were grey-faced, too stoic to be the same, smiling faces he remembers from only less than a year ago. The air stings of gunpowder and iron. Worst of all are The Crater, shoddily covered in glass that does nothing to hide the damage done, rending the server in two straight down to bedrock, and the Prison, looming on the horizon. Absent-mindedly, Michael rubs at his left shoulder, remembering the Warden setting the prongs of his trident against the skin in warning, just hard enough to barely draw blood. Yeah, that place is bad news. 

The fact of the matter is the server is a mess. And like, okay, whatever, Michael gets it. Everyone has their issues - it’s just the DreamSMP seems to have more than most. Despite his original worries, it’s honestly not been as bad as he originally feared upon logging in; yeah, Bad and Puffy and Foolish and the rest of them are a little more trigger-happy than he might’ve expected (and he’s not going to say that Bad crying over turtles wasn’t a little startling when he first joined, but honestly he thinks Bad is just Like That.) There’s way more death than he’s really comfortable with, and Puffy keeps mentioning Bad murdering her son (Foolish? He thinks? The guy is also a literal God but like, families are weird, who’s he to judge) in a way that’s way too casual to come from anyone entirely well-adjusted, but overall his experience has been alright. 

Still, he gets the feeling that nobody exactly wants the outside world to know about the issues with the place. It’s not an issue for him usually, not when his sleeping schedule is the exact opposite of most of the people he knows and he spends most of his time screwing around on the server, anyway (usually harassing the Warden until the asscrack of dawn if he’s being honest) but with MCC, with everyone watching - he’s starting to get why everyone from the SMP was so damn tense all the time, now. 

Anyway- he loves MCC, he really does. But even that doesn’t stop him from wincing when he sees his team card, the names Dream and Quackity and Sapnap written in Scott’s looping handwriting. He’s not seen Sapnap at all since joining the server, has only heard a little about his place (something Kingdom, not that he was paying attention) from Foolish, and has no idea what the man has been up to. Quackity is his own unique can of worms; Michael doesn’t know exactly what’s up with him and his country, but everything he’s heard so far has sounded like nothing but bad news, casinos and schemes and a trail of wreckage following wherever he goes. And Dream-

Michael looks out his window, chewing on his lip, looking directly in the direction where he knows the prison stands, impenetrable, intimidating. Where Dream’s cell is, in line with his house, where he’s been hidden for months without a trace. Where the Warden had confronted him that one night, a dangerous gleam in his eyes, blood splattered on his boots. 

There’s no real ignoring an MCC invite - not without good reason, not without the admins picking up on something being up. There’s not really a choice, here, but for Michael to duck his head down and pretend everything’s fine just like everyone else from the SMP. He directs one last glance at the prison before walking away, setting the invite on his counter. If he’s lucky, everything will turn out fine. 

(He ignores the part of him that asks what’s going to happen if they’re not. No point in worrying about what hasn’t happened yet - right?) 

---

Weeks pass, the tournament creeping closer, and Michael gets no alerts from his teammates on his comm. No one comes to his house to check in, say hi, not even a ‘hey, we’re kinda competing in a massive tournament in like, seven days, you ready?’ Hell, he even starts checking his goddamn mailbox for a letter or something only to come up empty-handed every time. Never mind performing well - it’ll be a miracle if their team manages to arrive at the tournament at all. 

It isn’t until the day before MCC, the sun high in the sky at what must be near noon, when he finally gets a message on his comm. Michael fishes it out with a frustrated huff, seeing Quackity’s name pop up first when he manages to turn on the screen. 

Quackity whispers to you: you down for some practice?

It takes a couple seconds for him to blink away his shock - out of everyone he expected to arrange practice for their team, Quackity was definitely not at the top of the list. He half-thought they would have to drag him to the tournament kicking and screaming; from what he’s heard, he’s been nothing if not devoted to his country. Shaking his head, he goes to reply; practice is practice, and their team really needs it. 

You whisper to Quackity: sure. practice server?

Quackity whispers to you: yes

Pulling up his server list, Michael scrolls for the practice server, finding it and then letting the server transfer do the rest. A few nausea-inducing seconds later, he’s at the practice server spawn, standing in the middle of a neatly paved road surrounded by colorful arenas and signs. 

“Michael!” 

He turns; there, by the Battle Box arenas, Quackity is waving at him, already dressed in a red varsity jacket and a pair of shorts, the jacket bearing a front pocket embroidered with a rabbit and a large R stitched onto the back. He reaches behind him for a red bag, throws it his way for Michael to catch mid-air. 

“Got these outfits for us last minute - hope it’s alright with you,” Quackity smiles, and Michael tries to prevent his eyes from clinging to the scar spanning the entire left side of his face. “Anyway- how are you, man? I feel like we haven’t seen each other at all on the server. How’s it been?”

“I’m good- it’s been good.” Michael opens the drawstring bag, cataloguing the contents - there’s a jacket, just like Quackity’s, a pair of shorts and sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a headband, all in varying shades of red and white. “Nice outfit- thank you. Is anyone else around?”

Quackity waves a hand behind him. “Yeah- Dream’s here. Should be coming out of the arena soon, actually.” Michael looks over behind his shoulder to where he’s pointing - there, walking down the stairs, is another figure wearing all red that must be Dream. “There he is- hey Dream! Michael’s here!” 

Dream hurries down the stairs; unlike Quackity, he is wearing the sweatpants along with the same jacket, hands stuffed in his pockets. His hair is a lot longer than Michael remembers, pulled back behind his head in a ponytail, mask, as usual, fastened over his face. He settles behind Quackity, giving Michael a small wave; his hands are covered by a pair of fingerless gloves. 

“Hey, Dream!” Michael grins; it’s been such a long time since he’s seen his old teammate, and despite the circumstances and everything that’s apparently happened since then, it’s still pretty damn nice to see him. “How’ve you been?”

Dream seems to freeze for a moment, before shaking his head. “Good,” he says, quiet, sounding almost breathless. Michael’s eyes go to the slivers of skin that show on either side of his face, to the slight shake to his hands. 

“You alright? You look a little pale,” Michael asks, and he definitely doesn’t miss the way Dream stills at the words, muscles tensing, gaze averting to the side even with the mask - doesn’t miss how Quackity steps forward, looking Michael in the eye as he tosses a casual arm around Dream’s shoulder, smiling brightly. 

“Don’t worry. This idiot has just been practicing a bit too much before you got here,” Quackity gestures with a flippant twist of his wrist, “You know how he gets. Right, Dream?” 

“Um- yeah. Ha,” Dream responds just a little too late to be strictly normal, shoulders tight and nearly pulled to his ears under Quackity’s arm. “Practice- I’m a little out of shape.” 

“You sure?” Dream’s breathing hitches and Quackity steps forward, just a little bit, eyes still fixed firmly on Michael’s own even as he shifts his gaze to try and look at Dream. “We can take a break if you need, Dream-”

“I’m fine!” Dream smiles with a little stuttered breath that turns into a small laugh, “It’s- uh. It’s fine. Thanks Michael, but we can practice. Not much time left to waste, you know?”

“You sure, Dream?” Quackity says, suddenly, voice soft and sincere. “I guess it has been a while since you’ve been able to practice- you sure you don’t need a break?”

Dream shakes his head firmly. “No- it’s fine. Really- where’s Sapnap? He should be coming soon, right?”

“If you say so, pal,” Quackity replies, doubt coloring his tone as he pulls out his communicator. “I told Sapnap to come, he replied a couple minutes back; he should be here soon, I think. You want to go meet him at spawn?”

Dream nods, and they begin to set out towards the center of the server, Quackity and Dream quickly taking the lead as Michael falls back. After a minute, Quackity falls into casual conversation, rambling about something as Dream nods, Michael trailing behind the two of them and adding his own input as he sees fit. Sapnap arrives soon after, and the noise level picks up even more after that, Sapnap and Quackity falling into an easy rhythm of banter and quips as they set out to practice Battle Box and Parkour Tag, carefully working their way through the different games under Dream’s tutelage and advice. 

And here’s the thing- Michael isn’t stupid. Yeah, he’d hardly consider himself a top tier MCC player, and he’ll be the first to say that he’s nowhere near qualified to deal with the literal laundry list of issues that affect every member of the SMP, but even so, he’s not clueless. He’s good at looking at multiple sides of a situation, doesn’t easily give into intimidation or manipulation, and he’s observant as all hell. So when Quackity wraps his hand around Dream’s wrist, fingers wrapping all the way around until his knuckles pale, when Dream winces, muscles in his arm locking before letting it go limp, not protesting when Quackity drags him forward except in the tiny, tight expressions that flit across his face every few moments, tight and gasping and shaky at the corners - Michael notices. 

“See you at the tourney, yeah?” Quackity calls to him after practice with a wink before clapping Dream on the back, Michael watching silently as the muscles of Dream’s neck pull tight, head ducking to his chest. “Good job, big guy,” he says, laughing. “Keep this up for tomorrow and we’ll be good.”

“Mmhm,” Dream mutters after a brief second, “We’re- we’re gonna win.”

“Betting on it, pal,” Quackity replies, voice light in a way that completely fails to explain Dream’s full-body flinch. “MCC, huh? Can’t fucking wait.”

“See you tomorrow, Quackity,” Michael says as he presses DreamSMP on his server list, pretending that a chill doesn’t crawl down his spine at the smile that the other man throws his way in return. 

---

There’s no real easy answer.

Michael comes to that conclusion at some point in the middle of the night, restless and pumped on way too much adrenaline to go to sleep. He can’t outright antagonize Quackity, can’t let him know he knows something’s up - not when Quackity had already spent the majority of practice keeping one dark, narrowed eye on him at all times, lips pursed in a slight frown whenever he thought Michael wasn’t looking. He’s not stupid; whatever’s happening between Dream and Quackity is secret, and kept that way for a reason. His mind goes back to the brief flashes of anxiety that had moved over Dream’s face before he could react fast enough to school them back into a carefully neutral position; whatever it is, he doubts it bodes well for Dream in the slightest. 

Unfortunately, his hands are pretty damn tied. He knows public opinion on the masked man in the server is overwhelmingly negative, but has no damn idea how far it extends. How many people are in on whatever’s happening in that damn prison? How many people know what would make Dream, bold and bright and recklessly confident in all of Michael’s (rather limited) memories, into someone so quiet, unimposing, nervous? His head spins with the possibilities, with the ever-present reminder to not make a fuss, let the tournament pass on, to never, ever let anyone find out what’s going on within the SMP. Should he do anything at all? 

Too soon, it’s morning, and he drags himself out of bed with a groan to glare at the sun streaming through his window. Somewhere, Quackity and Dream and Sapnap are also waking up, are preparing to compete in one of the biggest damn tournaments to exist. Michael sighs, glancing over to where he’s set out his outfit, freshly pressed and waiting. Any other day, and he’d probably be fucking ecstatic. Here, he buries his head in his hands, muffling a frustrated groan against the palm of his hands. 

He loves MCC, but he sure as hell doesn’t like whatever the hell is going on with the rest of his team. 

Getting into the server goes smoothly enough. The outfit is comfortable and looks damn good, props to whoever made the thing, and the sight of the multicolored crowd successfully manages to tamp down some of his nerves. He busies himself with saying hi to all of the members waiting in the lobby, happy for the chance to talk to some people he hasn’t seen in ages, feels the night of anxieties wash away with every stupid joke told and burst of laughter drawn from his lungs. 

They come back the moment Scott steps up in front of the lobby. “Teams, it’s time to head to your team rooms! The tournament will begin in fifteen minutes,” Scott says, expression sunny and bright, “we’re wishing you all luck for a great performance today! May the best team win!” 

In a flurry of movement, they’re all whisked to their rooms for a final few minutes of preparation and morale-boosting, and Michael enters the glorified dressing room to Quackity, Dream, and Sapnap already standing there, seemingly in the middle of conversation. 

“You ready to win?” Sapnap yells, and Quackity whoops, and Michael manages a small cheer of his own. They’re all visibly nervous; Quackity has scarcely stopped moving, pacing from one side of the room to the next; Sapnap is basically jumping in place where he stands. Dream stands at the very back of the room, looking tense; Michael directs a wave his way and gets a small one in return. 

“Game plan, game plan,” Quackity mutters, “do we know what games we’re playing first? Dream?”

He nods at Dream, and Dream stands up straighter, mouth falling open.

“Oh- um,” he hesitates, a strand of hair flopping forwards as he tilts his head in thought. “We’ll want to save Parkour Tag and Battle Box towards the end- maybe something more high-risk at the beginning, but not first, just to boost morale,” his teeth catch on his bottom lip, “Maybe something like To Get To The Other Side? If they have that- or Build Mart, if we can get it out of the way.” He shakes his head. “If that’s alright- I mean-”

“Great,” Quackity cuts in smoothly. “Sapnap? Michael? Does that sound good to you?”

Sapnap flashes a thumbs up, and Michael nods. “Yeah, sounds great. Thanks, Dream.”

Dream’s head snaps towards him, mouth slightly open in shock. The sight of it makes Michael’s gut twist uncomfortably; there’s something about how surprised he is, at the nervous hesitancy with which he spoke that was nothing like what Michael remembers of his easy leadership in that MCC with Techno, that doesn’t sit right at all in his stomach. Even with his expression largely hidden, there’s no mistaking the clear, genuine surprise on his face at the idea of someone thanking him - Michael tries to tell himself that he’s reading too much into it as Quackity continues to speak. 

“We’re going to win,” he grins, just a little too sharp at the edges, “so get out there and play like your lives depend on it, yeah?” 

Sapnap cheers, and again, Michael and Dream follow. It’s not until he’s outside the door, within the clamor of screaming teams and people counting down with the timer that Michael realizes that Quackity was staring at Dream the entire time. 

---

Michael curses, frustrated, when he’s knocked off a platform again, making sure to flip Krinios the bird before he falls into the Void entirely. When he makes it to the other side, Quackity and Dream are already deep in conversation - if you can call it that. Even from here, it looks worryingly one-sided.

“-were you thinking, falling off there-” Quackity’s hand is on Dream’s shoulder, Dream standing stock-still in front of him, “you better be taking this seriously, Dream.”

“Hey- sorry about that,” Michael calls with a wave, “I swear Krinios had it out for me. At least I made it across, right?” 

Quackity turns, startled, and in the split-second that it takes for him to register Michael’s appearance, his expression smooths over into something friendlier, more inviting. “Michael!” He says, enthusiastic, and it’s like the anger that had filled his words just seconds before was never there at all. “Don’t- don’t worry about it, man. We all kinda dropped the ball on that one, right Dream?” 

The words should be encouraging, just simple ribbing between teammates. Dream’s mask is still ducked down, facing the floor, shoulders slightly hunched in. 

“Um- Sapnap did pretty good,” Dream says, quiet, “he got top ten, right?” 

Michael looks over to where Sapnap is standing a little ways away, seemingly busy typing on his communicator. Quackity laughs, sharp and loud. 

“True,” he punches Dream lightly on the upper arm, and Michael watches the way he freezes the second the fist makes contact with his jacket, “come on, man, you’re losing your touch. You really gonna let yourself get beat by Sapnap?” he shakes his head, still laughing as he pulls open his communicator. “Jesus- even I beat you in that last round. Watch your spot, Dream, I’m coming for you.” 

“I mean,” Michael says when a second passes and it becomes clear Dream isn’t going to respond, “Dream was doing pretty well with the last two rounds, right? I thought I saw his name pretty far up there.” 

Quackity takes a second before responding, again, staring at Michael oddly as he does. “That’s true,” he concedes, “hey- I was just making a joke, don’t worry. It’s all for fun, right Dream?”

His gaze goes to Dream, and automatically, Michael follows. Dream seems to startle under the attention, twitching Quackity’s direction in the awkward silence that results. Michael watches as the mask slants slightly to face Quackity, as Quackity looks back at him with an intense, unreadable expression, shoulders strangely tense. Whatever unsaid conversation that seems to pass between them is entirely lost on Michael as Dream finally responds with a sudden, almost strangled bark of laughter. 

“Yeah- just jokes,” his fingers twist over one another, hands held close together in front of his body, “Though Qu- Q’s right, I- I should probably pick it up. We’re playing to win.” 

A ding alerts them to the end of the round, and Michael steadies himself in preparation for the teleport to the next map. As he turns, he catches Quackity’s expression, once again, and the self-satisfied smirk on his face as he continues to look at Dream. 

“Good luck,” he calls just before they enter the next round, and tries not to think too much about what he’s saying it for. 

---

They manage pretty well for the rest of To Get To The Other Side, finishing with a second place overall that got cheers from Sapnap and even a slight smile from Dream. Hole in the Wall, on the other hand, has been a lot less successful - though Michael will be the first to say that it’s his fault. His practice in the last few months has been lackluster (at best) and it definitely showed in the arena. 

He leans over the railing, watching Dream and Sapnap through the crowd of participants left that have yet to be knocked out by the giant walls of slime. Quackity’s standing next to him, having been similarly thrown off the platform early in the round, expression tight and lips set in a small frown, and looking at him for too long makes Michael uneasy so he looks down at the arena again. They’re in the last round, and they’re supposed to be making callouts anyway for their teammates still participating below.

Without thinking, once again, Michael looks over at Dream. Sue him, he knows the guy best and Dream has been acting odd all day, to put it lightly. Even ignoring the part of him that’s screaming that something’s wrong, that there’s something up that has everything to do with the beanie-wearing man standing besides him, it only takes a few minutes of observation to see that Dream is - for the lack of a better word - off. Michael watches as he vaults over another wall, only barely managing to bring himself to his feet in time on the other side. Dream’s movements - even to his untrained eye - have always been fluid, effortless. He jumped and vaulted and ran like gravity didn’t exist, like every physics-bending maneuver he made was as easy as breathing. Michael remembers watching him sprint over the parkour course before, time completely unmatched as he appraised each obstacle and basically flew his way through, sounding hardly even winded when he whooped loudly in victory from the top of the salmon ladder. In total contrast, Dream jerks away from the coming wall again, movements sloppy and harsh as he scrambles to the other side of the disc-shaped arena. He’s still fast, and still making jumps, but everything is strangely angled where it had once been fluid, stopping and starting suddenly, moving in bursts of speed and then skidding to sudden stops. 

“WEST!” Quackity shouts, and Michael watches as Dream’s head turns jerkily at the noise before he dives out of the way of the incoming wall and manages, barely, to twist around the side. Michael winces at the tumble he takes on the opposite side, clutching his chest slightly as he stands back up again. 

“North!” Michael calls, because he should probably actually help his teammates, huh, and Dream manages to move around this one better, jumping through a hole in the wall and tucking and rolling as he lands. “Nice jump- East!” 

It’s an easy wall, thankfully, and both Sapnap and Dream visibly take a breath as they stand in place for the wall to pass over them. As it passes, a droning buzz comes from the speakers, and the walls below them speed up. 

“South-to your right!” Michael shouts as they turn, eyes turning between all of the false walls before finally focusing on the right one, his shout echoed by a similar one from Quackity. At each one of the calls from the man besides him, Dream seems to tighten further, movements increasingly erratic as he dodges and weaves around the walls. There’s still a lot of people left - Michael follows Dream through the crowd with a frown, watching as he and Sapnap jump the next wall, Dream’s foot nearly catching on the top edge. 

“West-” Dream flinches, jumping over the two-high wall at the last possible second, landing completely off-balance on the other side and falling to the ground. He scrambles to his feet, but there’s already a wall at the west edge of the platform - his head turns, still searching for the wall - Quackity yells.

“LEFT!”

Something in Dream’s movements seem to shift, even in the distance - Michael watches as he immediately, almost robotically, steps to the left at Quackity’s voice, not even jumping, not turning his head to take in his surroundings, just moving instinctually at the words, and slams into the coming wall hard enough to get flung into the middle hole in the platform. Quackity curses, fist crashing into the railing as Dream falls and the chat message shows on their communicators, and a second later he’s materialized beside them, face oddly slack and mask focused somewhere faraway. 

“Shit,” Dream mutters when he seems to come back into himself, shaking his head and then turning to the two of them, still by the railing, “Dammit. Sorry, I-“ 

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael cuts in before Quackity can speak. “You did good.” 

“I-” Dream catches Quackity’s gaze, then pushes his head away, mask facing the ground. Something about it and his raised shoulders and the dark, angry glare that Quackity directs over the railing when Michael looks back makes him shift in place, uneasy. “Could’ve done better, ha. Sorry.” 

The three of them watch, silent, as Sapnap continues to compete. He manages to get pretty damn far, making it to the top three, but getting knocked off-balance by a wall and off the platform just before the timer sounds. Michael cringes back at the sound of it over the speakers, watches the other contestants settle into place, panting, in victory.

“Great job, Sapnap,” Michael shouts when he materializes in front of them, and the other two are quick to echo his sentiments. If they sound a little duller than they should be, if Quackity’s jaw seems clenched and Dream’s all coiled up like a spring, far too tense, it’s from placing lower than they wanted and slipping in the rankings, not anything else.

Keep your head down, Michael reminds himself, and everything’s gonna be fine. And if the words ring more and more hollow with every repetition, well, that’s for him to ignore and for everyone else to never, ever find out. 

---

Buildmart is chosen next, which they all groan at, but at least it’s going to be out early and not left to ruin all of their scores later. Michael takes his place at his build, one third from the left side - it’s some abomination of colored glass and white concrete meant, if he is to guess, to emulate a stained glass window. He’s between Dream and Sapnap, the former positioned in front of a flower-dotted grass field with a picnic table, the latter staring down a miniature car with black concrete for tires and stone buttons for detailing. He breathes a steady breath as they await the countdown, already planning for his trip to the Colors section to grab materials for his build and the others’- Buildmart isn’t his strongest game, but it’s not his worst either, and he’s damn well going to try his best. 

He skids into the portal with an armful of colored concrete and glass, spilling half of its contents inside a chest before running to his build. He pulls himself to the crafting bench to craft - he squints at his build - he needs four red glass panes and 3 yellow, right. As he brings the panes to his inventory and begins laying out the frame of the build in concrete, he looks over to Dream, who is noticeably struggling with placing the flowers in his build and getting the placements to match that of the original. He knocks away a white tulip with a muffled curse, sounding frantic as he looks back to the original, and places it again to no avail. 

It seems that his struggle hasn’t only caught Michael’s attention, as the statue to the leftmost side of the room explodes in gold coins and confetti - Quackity has finished his build and is now looking at Dream with narrowed eyes. Dream places the flower again, and the build refuses to respond. Quackity’s gaze narrows further, and he opens his mouth-

“Hey Quackity!” Michael starts speaking before he’s even noticed that he’s opened his mouth, fumbling as he regains awareness of what he’s doing and tries to find a direction for his sentence to go, “do you have any concrete?”

Quackity looks at him like he’s grown a second head, which is fair, considering there’s a block of white concrete pretty obviously visible in his hand. “Um- no? Weren’t you supposed to go to Colors?”

Dream finally manages to place the tulip where it belongs, and the build between them disappears in another explosion of gold glitter. Michael laughs awkwardly. 

“Sorry- haha. I got a little mixed up.” He places the last piece of white concrete, watching as his own build disappears. A little wooden cottage takes its place, made of what appears to be just oak wood and cobblestone. “Are you going to get wood? Or should I?”

“I- You get wood,” Quackity shakes his head, visibly frustrated, “And I’ll get stone. We have to hurry, we’re falling behind.” 

After that, Michael finds it a little too easy - or maybe not easy, but at least tolerable, to interrupt when Quackity looks a little like he’s about to fall on the side of being angry versus just annoyed, stepping between his angry glares at Dream with a forced smile and an incessant string of annoying questions- 

“Hey Quackity, do you have any spare iron?”

“Hey Quackity, I think you placed that a little too far back.”

“Hey Quackity, can you take a look to see what I placed wrong?” 

It’s not perfect. It’s hardly even functional; Michael knows that Quackity has begun with the habit of directing death glares at his back whenever he thinks he’s not looking, his responses to Michael’s questions becoming more and more clipped, often paired with irritated grumbles and sighs. Sapnap, when Michael looks at him, seems largely engrossed with his own builds, but he’s also begun looking over at the two of them with a vaguely dissatisfied expression, and Dream only seems to be getting more jumpy with every frustrated growl out of Quackity’s mouth. Even Michael’s forced levity and falsely ignorant questions can’t do much against Quackity’s anger when they walk out of Buildmart dead last for the minigame, dropping their team all the way down to seventh in the overall rankings, and the tension within the team as they walk out - Quackity nearly stomping, Dream following with his hands wringing around each other and head ducked fearfully - is almost enough to make Michael scream. He looks at the scoreboard with a worried expression as he enters the Decision Dome, trying to quell the sinking feeling in his gut. 

There’s still five more games to go, and he’s not sure how long they can last before something snaps. 

---

Battle Box is chosen next, and they react to the game with quiet cheers and slightly grim faces. Michael’s been in enough MCCs to know that this game, of any, is crucial - after their lacking performances in the last two games, a good showing at Battle Box will be crucial to pull them back into the competition and raise morale. With Sapnap and Dream, if this were any normal game, they should be able to sweep through a good amount of the competition without much effort. As it is, though, Michael looks at the two more combat-oriented members of his team with a worried expression, the two barely even able to meet each other’s eyes. Their interactions so far have been less than promising- if they can’t hold it together for this round, well. 

Michael shakes his head. They’ll do fine. They have to. 

Even so, the first round only seems to confirm his concerns - they get woolrushed almost immediately, and in Dream and Sapnap’s stumbling to get to mid, nearly crashing into each other and focusing their efforts on the same player by accident, the other team manages to fill out the wool, sending them back to the spawn box even more frustrated than before. 

“Amazing teamwork, guys,” Quackity snarks immediately, and Michael rolls his eyes. 

“Like you did that much.” 

Sapnap is still staring at Dream oddly, Dream turning his head to avoid his gaze. The two of them look largely oblivious to Quackity and his whole deal, even as Quackity whirls around to give him the stink eye. 

“You didn’t do anything either, if I remember correctly,” Quackity mutters, and Michael shrugs. 

“Fair.” 

A ding alerts them to the round’s end, and they resign themselves to preparing for the next round. Michael picks the extra arrows from the wall, knowing that no one else will want the kit, and watches as Dream anxiously runs his hands over the crossbow. 

The next round goes better, barely; Michael and Quackity end up knocked out pretty early, but Dream and Sapnap manage to kill the rest of the team soon after. He watches from the box as they fill in the wool, Dream looking awfully tense as he shears away the white wool for Sapnap to fill it with red. Quackity watches them both with a tight expression, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. 

Michael turns away, ignoring him, going back to watching Dream and Sapnap still standing within the arena. Both of them look awkward, oddly out of step with each other - Michael’s not watched them fight much, but he knows that they have a reputation as a pair, was there for the Sky Battle round where they completely wiped through the competition. Even here, Sapnap moves forward and Dream flinches back - there’s something heavy and tense between them, lingering in the few words they’ve spoken to each other, if they’ve even spoken to each other at all, one always rushing forward too fast or following just a little too slow. They’re still brilliant fighters, almost unrivaled in hand-to-hand combat and with swords, but the faltering communication is sure to hurt them more in the future. 

His worries come true just three rounds later, the two in between being narrow wins for their team, each a little more shaky than would be comfortable. Michael has found himself easing off the worst of his anxiety in verbally sparring with Quackity, jabbing at the other with offhand remarks and little needling jokes to keep his attention off the other two, especially as his glare has become more pronounced and his words more angry. Even so, nothing he does or can do will fix the odd tension between Dream and Sapnap, whose communication remains as stilted and awkward as ever. 

They’re facing a stronger team, PVP wise, with Punz and Seapeekay, and Michael ends up falling in a bow duel against Jack. He watches as the Captain falls to a potion by Sapnap, then as Jack is taken out by a crossbow bolt courtesy of Dream, just before Quackity falls to a well-timed bow shot from the opposing team. 

That leaves the strongest PVPers to battle it out, and Dream and Sapnap manage to team up and kill CPK - but not without taking a nasty damage potion to the face that must leave the two of them low. Michael watches Punz, booking it to mid with a crossbow, anxiously - both of them would be a oneshot with the thing, and on the condition that he takes no damage before fighting with either of them outright, he’s probably got enough health to hold out a few hits. 

Sapnap pulls out a health potion, and Michael grins - that’ll be good for the two of them, and should secure them the win - only for him to gesture roughly with his sword and for Dream to stagger backwards, panic flashing over his face. He only seems to grow more fearful at the sound of glass shattering on the ground, falling backwards further - far enough to be largely out of range of health pot - and in their shock, Punz manages to catch both of them off guard and nail Sapnap with a crossbow bolt that downs him for the round before similarly dispatching Dream in two hits of his sword.

Sapnap explodes upon respawn in the box - “What was that? I had a health pot!”

“I-” Dream fumbles, face still oddly pale, “Sorry I didn’t- I- I-”

“We had that round!” Sapnap’s arms flail forward as he gestures angrily, Dream freezing further as one hand skims past his shoulder. “I can’t believe- I had a health pot! Punz was on, like, half! We could’ve killed him!”

“Easy, easy,” Quackity moves forward, putting a hand on both of their shoulders - Sapnap seems to relax immediately, while Dream, if anything, only looks more tense. “It’s time for the next round - we’ll talk about this later, alright?” 

Dream nods, movements overly tense, and Quackity flashes a toothy smile his way as Sapnap moves back, still mumbling to himself. He and Quackity move to talk in the back corner, words quiet enough that Michael cannot make them out, and something sick and cold slithers over his spine. Sapnap and Quackity are fiancés, aren’t they? 

Michael looks over at Dream, mask still covering his face as he looks away through the glass to the arena, shoulders still tight as Michael’s pretty sure they’ve been for as long as he’s seen him since he came onto the server. He remembers the panic that make itself obvious on his face every time Quackity came up to him, even as covered as it is, the similar- if not the same- fear that had painted his face when he respawned fresh off of the Battle Box round after Sapnap’s sword had passed a little too close to his body. 

Quackity and Dream- he’s sure, even if he doesn’t want to admit it, that there’s something going on there, dark and dreadful and poisonous. Who’s to say that Sapnap isn’t involved, as well? 

---

They finish Battle Box decently well, but not as well as they’d hoped, pulling them up to fifth place with a decently large gap between them and fourth. Quackity and Dream disappear immediately as the Audience Votes begin coming in, leaving Sapnap and Michael to stand awkwardly in the lobby to wait for the rest of their team to come back. Michael watches the crowd for a glimpse of Quackity and Dream, comes up empty. A sigh fizzles through his teeth as he looks up into the sky, the endless blue doing little to ease his nerves - he’s worried, even if he doesn’t want to think about it, for his teammates. For Dream. 

It doesn’t take a genius to see that the man is scared of Quackity, that there’s an odd sort of history there that Michael conveniently has no information about. Whatever it is, it’s left Dream unsure and uncharacteristically nervous, left the entire team floundering without proper leadership to tie them all together. Really, a part of him knows that the Championships should be the least of his concerns - if he were braver, or a little better at combat, or a little less inclined to just let things pass as they always have, then he’d be raising a fuss. Getting in the way, talking to Dream, doing something other than making backhanded compliments to Quackity that he’s sure have been doing little more than annoy the man further. 

“Michael?” Sapnap comes within his line of sight, lips pressed together in a carefully put-together expression that Michael is sure will collapse the moment they’re away from others’ prying eyes, “Can we speak for a moment?”

Michael forces another easy smile to his face as he turns towards his teammate, feels a little disgusted at the amount of them he’s had to use to simply function with the rest of his team. “Sure! Where to?”

They walk at a brisk pace to the team room, Sapnap’s eyes focused forwards the entire time, not speaking. If he’s being honest, it’s a little awkward, but the lighthearted comment on his tongue to break the silence dies out the minute Sapnap closes the door and looks back at him with fierce, focused eyes boring into him. 

“What’s your deal?” He hisses immediately, words pitched low even though he doesn’t really have to - there’s no one nearby, and the team rooms are decently soundproofed. Michael feels his hackles rising as Sapnap’s arms cross in front of him, eyes still focused on his own as he talks. “I’m not going to lie- I don’t know you that well, even though you’re on the SMP now, but can you quit it with Quackity already?”

“Quit what?” Michael snarks - sue him - matching Sapnap’s tone with irritation of his own. 

“Don’t- you’ve been antagonizing Quackity all day,” Sapnap’s hand runs through his hair, messing up his hair and tangling it into knots, “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re kind of in the middle of a competition here? So it’d be really nice if you could save the fighting for until after we’re done?”

“Says you?” Michael can’t help the retort this time, huffing irately at the offended expression that flashes over the other’s face, “I don’t really know if you’ve noticed, but your teamwork has been a little less than stellar, today. Pot calling the kettle black, much?”

“What-” Sapnap looks confused, even through his anger, gesturing more and more wildly. “What do you even mean?”

“Oh, so are we just ignoring what just happened in Battle Box then?” 

Sapnap’s eyes flash as he closes into himself again, hands gripping at his upper arms as he crosses his arms in front of his chest once again. “That- that’s different. That’s because of Dream.”

“Oh, just keep blaming it on the other guy, why don’t you?”

“No-” Sapnap shakes his head furiously. “You haven’t been on here for nearly as long, you don’t get it, Michael. Dream- he’s-,” Sapnap flails, and Michael groans at the familiar words. 

“Dream’s what? I was on the team with the guy before, you know. It’s kind of the reason why he invited me in the first place?” He raises an eyebrow. “We worked together perfectly well then - am I supposed to believe that his self-proclaimed ‘best friend’ can’t do the same?” 

“You don’t understand,” Sapnap repeats, expression hard and oddly far away, “Dream- he’s changed- he’s done so many terrible things. I don’t know what he’s said to convince you, but he’s bad news, man. He’s hurt- so many people.” 

“Oh- you want to talk about hurting people?” 

Michael isn’t quite sure what comes over him - only really realizes a white-hot flash of rage lancing through his chest, a sleepless night and half a competition’s  worth of anxiety and frustration and build up combining into a sizzling spike of fury that briefly tinges his vision red. 

“How about the way Dream looks like he’s about to keel over whenever anyone gets close to him? How about how he flinches back at literally every loud noise and fast movement? How about how Quackity’s been making these stupid, angry comments at him for the entire competition that make him freeze for a minute each time? Or how about when you were in Battle Box and Dream backed away from your sword like he thought you were gonna drive it through his chest?” Michael barely feels himself stepping forward with each word, jabbing his index finger into the other’s chest. “You want to talk about hurting people? How about you go talk to that fiancé of yours and then come back to talk?” 

A loud, droning buzz comes over the speakers, alerting them of the end of the break. Michael steps back, face flushed in embarrassment, before the world whirls away and they’re teleported back into the Decision Dome. 

He adamantly refuses to meet Sapnap’s eyes as Quackity and Dream materialize in the sector with them, Quackity’s hand clamped around Dream’s upper arm as the other man keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, looking even more panicked and frozen than before the break. 

“You ready to win?” Quackity laughs, and Michael watches as his hand tightens around the sleeve of Dream’s jacket, knuckles paling from the strain. 

“Yeah,” Michael tries to cheer, and it feels like ash on his tongue. “Let’s do this.” 

---

Survival Games ends up being picked next - Quackity and Sapnap quickly pull up to the front of the group, close enough to be within eyesight but too far to really pick up their conversation. Michael keeps an eye out for the reddish glow of their bodies as they scout the surrounding areas for chest, staying back with Dream as they look at the other side of the road. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t feel a smug sort of satisfaction of Sapnap seemingly confronting Quackity about whatever the hell has been going on, as awkward as his whole outburst had been. As it is, some time with Dream is nice without Quackity watching over his shoulder like a hawk - he directs a small, genuine smile at the man by his side that Dream seems to do a double take at before shyly returning it with one of his own. 

“There- I think I see a chest,” Michael points under a lamppost, running to the wooden box and flicking the lid upwards. He pulls out a chain chestplate that he promptly puts on himself, then throws over the iron boots to his teammate as well as a small stone axe that he’s sure Dream will make better use of. “We should probably catch up to the others - don’t want to be caught off guard while separated.”

Dream nods, and the two of them pick up the pace before finding another chest that Dream rummages through, this time, finding an iron sword that Michael takes for himself and a cake. 

“You’ve been doing really well so far,” Michael says after a few minutes of quiet, words becoming more firm when Dream looks up at him with a surprised expression. “Seriously- you’ve been doing great, man.”

“Thanks,” Dream smiles, words quiet and terribly sincere, and the sinking pit in Michael’s gut returns at the tone. “Not as good as I should, though. I’ve been underperforming a lot,” he laughs a little at the words, but even to Michael’s ears it rings hollow. “It’s not over yet, though.”

“No it’s not,” Michael concedes, rearranging his inventory as they run. “But it’s good enough, man, really - just look at my rankings.”

Dream huffs. “You’ve been doing good, Michael.”

“And you’ve been doing a hell of a lot better than me,” Michael tips his head in his direction. “Give yourself some more credit, man. You’ve been playing well.”

Dream smiles again, but even now the corners of his mouth seem tight, tense. “I need to play better, though, if we want to win,” he says, matter-of-fact, analytical to a damn fault. Michael rolls his eyes, but nods to concede the point. 

“Sure, but that goes for all of us, Dream,” he shakes his head. “And it’s okay if we don’t win, you know?”

“No.” 

Michael turns, frowning. Dream’s tone has become oddly flat, eyes dead as he continues to stare at the pavement under their feet. He seems to be chewing on his lip anxiously, startled out of his own thoughts when he looks up to meet Michael’s gaze. “I mean- I don’t know. I really have- want to win.” 

There’s something so carefully worded about the admission, quiet and scraped open and raw in the slow sincerity of the words. Michael wants to poke at it, wants to understand what’s left him so unsure of every step, what determination lies behind the words that has left desperation clinging to every shallow breath he draws. A crack of thunder on the horizon, heralding a player’s death, reminds him that now is not the time. 

Keep your head down. 

“Alright,” he smiles thinly, hoping that the fracturing, yawning pit of emptiness in his chest isn’t obvious in the words. “Then we’re going to win.” 

---

Michael skids to a stop at the finish line, feeling the elytra deequip as he’s thrown into spectator mode. He runs his hands through his wind-tousled hair, feeling it strain against his fingers as he roughly finger-combs it back into place. Dream and Sapnap are off to the side, standing next to each other but seemingly not speaking - Michael smiles as he floats over, still shaking the adrenaline off from the race. 

“Hey,” the two look up, smile in recognition, and Dream waves; there’s a small smile on his face, strained but present. “You both did really good!” 

“Thanks, Michael,” Dream laughs, earnest, “I did decent, I guess- haha. Top ten at least.” 

Sapnap whoops. “We’re popping off!” Michael cheers in agreement, and their efforts manage to pull Dream’s smile a little wider as he ducks his head to look away again. 

“Thanks, guys.” 

They watch as Quackity flies through the finish line, appearing in front of them and shaking his arms out as he gets his bearings. 

“Geez- that trident,” he shakes his head, looks up. “Hey, there you guys are. How’d we do?” 

“Dream got seventh,” Sapnap scrolls through his comm, looking through the rows of contestants and their times as they come in, interspersed by the occasional chat message, “And I got 10th. Michael got- 28th, I think? And you got 32nd.” 

“Hmm,” Quackity hums, “What do you think, Dream? Is that good enough to pull us to Dodgebolt?”

Once again, Michael watches as Dream stiffens under the scrutiny, head ducking down and looking for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Um- I don’t know,” Dream mumbles, “I messed up a trident- fell into the void once, probably could’ve done better otherwise-” his voice trails off, tensing further as Quackity takes his usual spot by his side, jabbing an elbow none-too-lightly into his ribs. 

“But you didn’t, though,” Quackity says, tone flippant, “so what do you think? With those placements- is it going to be enough?” 

“Hey, we did great, man,” Michael glares at him, more forward than he’d usually be - but all he can see is the shoulder that he has pressed against Dream’s arm, the way Dream’s stood stock still since the moment he made contact, “Lay off of Dream, would you? He did great.”

“Yeah, Q,” Michael’s eyebrows raise in surprise as Sapnap chimes in from the side, rising further when Sapnap moves forward to link his arm with Quackity’s own and half-drag him away from Dream. “Chill out, man, we popped off. We’re gonna fucking win this, ok?”

Quackity’s lips press together; he’s still smiling, but there’s no mistaking the seething darkness that lingers in his narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows, gaze still trained on the pale off-white disk of Dream’s mask. Still, with the rest of the team against him, he’s in a losing fight and he knows it; Michael watches as he visibly backs down, rolling his shoulders back as he lets Sapnap pull him further back. 

“We’re going to fucking win this,” he repeats, and Michael wonders how he manages to make the words sound so much like a threat.

---

“Sky battle,” Sapnap calls as the decision dome below them lights up in confirmation of the penultimate game, expression immediately becoming more focused as he turns back to the rest of the team. “Alright- strats, what are we thinking?”

“There’s the iron at spawn,” Dream starts, interrupted by the teleport to the Sky Battle arena, making him cut himself off comically and take a second to shake off the resulting disorientation, “And then there’s the iron in the nearby island. We gotta pick one, tower as soon as we can.”

“Got it,” Sapnap looks down, seemingly calculating, before looking up again - Michael has heard him compared to fire before, but he thinks this is the first time he’s really seen it; there’s a veritable blaze burning in his eyes as he looks at each member of the team, easily taking charge as they prepare for the first round. “Same buddy system as Survival Games - Q, stick with me, Michael, stick with Dream. I’ll tower to the next island- Dream, you good with getting the iron at spawn and crafting armor for us?” 

Dream startles, before flashing a small thumbs up at the other - Sapnap smiles wider, teeth bared dangerously.

“This is our game,” he cheers, and Michael enthusiastically whoops in reply, “we’re winning this, you got that team? Let’s go!” 

This, Michael thinks, is the way the games should’ve gone - they jump into action upon the start of the game, Michael watching as Dream races through both chests on the spawn island, getting the iron and jumping down cleanly with a water bucket before following Sapnap’s bridge to the other island. He tosses over a pair of leggings and boots as he lands, then takes Sapnap’s excess iron to craft the other pieces of iron for himself and Sapnap as the other man begins shooting at opposing teams. Their communication is near wordless, simple one- or two-word requests communicating all they need as they follow each other seamlessly into the main arena area, sealing off their entrance as they search the ring for other teams.

Sapnap, especially, seems to have shifted - instead of waiting for Dream to take the lead, he seems comfortable barrelling on forward on his own, trusting for Dream to follow his steps. Michael watches as the two of them easily work through the two lagging members of Orange, shooting through a gap in the wall to catch an unsuspecting Yellow player chased by the border. Michael ends up dying to an unlucky block of TNT placed on his head - curses out what appears to be Quig, bounding over to the other side of the arena, and follows Dream and Sapnap as they continue to fight their way through the competition. 

It’s not perfect, for sure - Dream hesitates at a bad place a minute later, ending with Sapnap getting 2v1ed and exploding in a flash of red sparkles. Dream is similarly dispatched a few seconds after, and the three of them watch Quackity, caught in the crossfire of two other teams, before he also goes down. 

“Good work, team,” Sapnap says as he appears, disoriented, in spectator mode, and they watch the remaining two teams battling in a rapidly shrinking border before Fruit falls as well, leaving Pink as the winners. “That was close- we’ve got this.” The conviction in his voice leaves no room for argument, and Michael, briefly, feels bad for anyone that stands in the way of it. 

With the second round, they once again fall into rhythm without any major hiccups - someone tries to cut them off before entering the main arena, but are made quick work of by Sapnap’s relentless onslaught. As Michael watches, Dream seems to regain confidence as well, moving more to fight with Sapnap side by side instead of just playing support, tugging him back from a risky play and catching Punz in a nasty combo that does him in when he manages to slip past Sapnap. 

The four of them end up in the final stand off in the middle, but end up getting caught too high up and killed by the border before they can jump down. Sapnap hisses at the narrow defeat, but the disappointment has hardly seemed to dim his determination - if anything, it seems to burn brighter. 

“Last round,” he mutters, and Michael watches as Dream walks up to him, bumping him lightly with his shoulder. 

“This is our game,” he says, a small smile appearing on his face, and Sapnap returns it with a fiery, blinding one of his own. 

“Ours,” he says, and even just standing on the side, watching - Michael believes it. 

Still, his concerns have yet to disappear - they linger in his mind as they jump into an adrenaline-filled last round, jumpy from excitement and victory just within their grasps. Dream is still more jittery than he should be, taking a second more than usual to react to fights, and his teamwork with Sapnap - while good - is still noticeably rusty. Michael’s lips thin at the memory of Dream backing away from Sapnap’s sword in Battle Box, hunched into himself, almost on the floor, with a clearly desperate edge to his expression - and no matter how he tries, he can’t quite manage to shake it off. 

Unfortunately enough, the third round doesn’t bode well for them from the start - Quackity gets bowed off while bridging to the main arena, and upon entrance there they end up flanked, hard, by another team in a conflict that gets Michael killed within seconds. Sapnap and Dream book it to the other side of the arena, where they manage to work through a full team without too much trouble - but the next minute brings another half-team flying at them from the back, catching them in the middle of trying to recuperate. The two focus Dream in the middle of eating a steak, and Michael watches as Dream steps back instead of moving forward to fight, that same shade of fear making his muscles seize as he stands, stock still, watching helplessly as swords fly his way- Michael cries out, but there’s nothing he can do-

Between one blink and the next, Sapnap is standing in front of Dream, a snarl painting his features as he whirls through both players in a fury. Michael watches, awed, as his sword weaves and dances between the two attacking Dream, making quick work of them both until they’re no more than items scattered over the ground, then grabs Dream by the wrist and drags him up a nearby ladder onto the upper floor, plopping him by the wall and then backing off. 

Sapnap stands back as Dream sits against the wall, breathing fast and labored, dropping to his knees with his hands in front of him, palms up, no weapons in hand. Michael watches, frantic, for the signs of any teams nearby - with Dream panicking and Sapnap’s back to the rest of the arena, they’d be easy pickings - but for once, luck seems to be on their side, because no one comes. Dream heaves a breath through his lungs, deep and shuddery - Sapnap watches, lips flat from concern, but doesn’t speak. 

“You good to continue?” he asks, when Dream seems calm enough to recognize his surroundings, and Dream looks up at the words, jaw slack from shock and disorientation, before his head dips in a firm nod. 

“Good,” Sapnap smiles, tight-lipped and fiercely determined, fiercely loyal, as he reaches out a hand that Dream moves to take. “Let’s go fuck them up, yeah? You and me, just like we used to.”

Michael watches, heart in his chest, as they stand together to face the rest of the competition, towering towards the middle and facing off with the remaining teams,  watches as they move forwards through explosions and buckets of lava, coalescing onto the middle island, as they battle through the remaining opponents as one in a clean spiral of clashing blades and flying arrows, fighting with their backs to each other in the center of the arena. He watches as a well-placed fishing rod by Dream knocks their final opponent off the platform, leaving them in the middle, triumphant, as the only remaining team - 

Watches, a brilliant, bubbling laugh in his chest as Dream and Sapnap take their spots in the middle of the arena, standing side by side as Sapnap raises Dream’s hand in victory, both laughing and cheering  into the sky.

---

Their performance in Sky Battle manages to pull them to third - but second place still stands a few hundred coins away, and they watch anxiously as Parkour Tag is chosen as the last game and they are transported over the arena. 

“Last game,” Sapnap calls, “We’ve got this, alright?” 

He gets terse, short nods in return - it’ll be a close game, and even Michael is feeling the pressure. He breathes a soft, quiet breath through his teeth as they prepare, looking over to the opposite team as they choose their hunters and runners. 

“Dream, you up to hunting first four?” Sapnap seems to be watching the effects of his words more, waiting for Dream’s agreement before moving forward, sliding into the position of leader easily when Dream seems to struggle. Dream nods and steps into the hunter’s box, lips pressed together, flat and focused, and Michael turns back to the arena to plan out his route. 

Parkour, by far, is not his strong suit. It hadn’t been his strong suit during Parkour Warrior and sure as hell isn’t it now - he enjoys it well enough, but with the pressure of a hunter on him or the time creeping past and the competition standings hanging over his head like a guillotine, he’s prone to slipping up and he knows it. The map is full of dizzying, multi-colored structures and difficult jumps, the twists and turns of the arena making his head spin. Being good at parkour is more than being good at movement - it involves being able to make split-second decisions and execute them with no time to hesitate. Unfortunately, Michael isn’t particularly good at any of that, so Parkour Tag mostly just stresses him the hell out. 

He sets out to the arena, listening for callouts over comms as he fumbles over the buildings. Halfway through the game, Dream’s voice comes through comms, quiet, focused. 

“Gottem.” 

“Nice, Dream,” Michael smiles, trying not to trip over a particularly hard jump, only to fall to being tagged in the back by the opposing team’s hunter - Ant, if he remembers right. “Sapnap and Q are still in- we’ve got this.”

Once again, each time, Dream races through the opposing team in seconds, seemingly going faster with each round. Michael has heard his reputation as a hunter before, but only now is he really appreciating the extent - the speed at which he manages to dispatch all three opponents is downright terrifying. They manage to win all four rounds, lingering around second place overall on the leaderboards, before Sapnap and Dream switch off for hunting. 

With each round, Michael watches Dream in the lobby, watching as he tenses further in focus and determination and no small degree of fear, but it hadn’t been nearly as obvious in between rounds. Now, with him in the arena with Quackity and himself, Dream’s jumpiness is all that more palpable, adrenaline making him pace and jump in place from where he stands at the edge of the place. The glass lowers, and he explodes into motion, bounding on top of the nearest tower to wait for the hunter to come towards them. 

Michael ends up caught first, early in the round, once again, and resolves to following Dream over the glass to watch his movements and make callouts for the hunter chasing behind him. Watching Dream move through the arena, dodging below fixtures and through tunnels and jumping from tower to tower with seemingly no regard for gravity pulling him down, it’s become all the more obvious that this is his element. He makes another hairpin turn around a pole, kicking himself up over a tower and then diving from it to a nearby building, landing on a ledge inside it, hands clutching the wall - Michael watches, quietly awed, as he outlasts the hunter, landing in small, panting breaths in the lobby. 

“Great work,” he cheers, quiet, as Dream shakes off the last dregs of the adrenaline, all of them watching the leaderboard anxiously, “Just three more rounds, alright?” 

The rounds that follow continue in much of the same vein - Dream, once he’s gotten started, seems near-impossible to chase down; Michael and Quackity provide support, distracting the hunter for as long as they can until they get tagged, but part of him wonders if it’s all even necessary. Dream flies from structure to structure seemingly unhindered by The Laws That Be, expression firm, if a little frantic, as he parkours his way through the arena. To their credit, the hunters chase, and several come pretty close - but Dream, worked up on adrenaline or anxiety or some twisted mix of the two, races over and around the buildings within the arena like his life depends on it.

It’s a surprisingly (if sickeningly) apt description - the skill in parkour is far from unacknowledged on Dream’s record; they all know his reputation with Parkour Warrior, all know that there are little that can match his skill as a traucer - but there’s something newly desperate in the way he runs, the muscles of his body tight and taut even in between rounds, expression permanently tight at the corners from fear. His movements, lacking in their usual fluidity, are made up with sheer speed and mad scrambles up walls that no one else seems to dare replicate. It’s concerning, even to Michael’s untrained eye, how frantic he seems the entire time, the flashes of expressions that he’ll direct towards the hunter like being caught by them will be his end, but- if anything, at least it’s effective. 

Between his parkour and Sapnap’s own skill, they manage to dominate the other teams without much issue, and the bonuses from eliminating the other team first combined with Dream’s survival points each round land them a first place for the game by just a few hundred coins. The four of them watch with bated breaths for the event standings, whooping and cheering together when it shows the red rabbits in second - 

“DODGEBOLT, BABY!” Quackity cheers, loudly, and the rest of them join him, laughing and screaming incoherently, “LET’S FUCKING GO!” 

“LET’S FUCKING GO!” Sapnap punches the air with a loud, resolute whoop of joy, and Dream - still shaking off the jitters of his last round in Parkour Tag - soon joins in with a few cheers of his own. 

Michael watches them all with a smile on his face as they cheer in victory - Dodgebolt has them against the Yellow Yaks, which will be a hard match up, but between Dream and Sapnap’s skill, if they all stay focused, they shouldn’t have any issue. 

They’ve done it. They’ve made it to Dodgebolt - if they keep their heads in the game, then they should win. All he has to do is keep his head down a little longer, long enough to win them the game, long enough for them to go home with new crowns and new coins, long enough for him to go back to living his quaint little life in his quaint little house - going back to heckling the Warden at night and hanging with Bad and Puffy, working on builds and living life away from the rest and pretending that nothing is wrong. The server will go back to normal come tomorrow, and it will all be okay. 

The smile slips off his face. 

They’ve done it. And then they’ll go back to the SMP, and Dream might evade whatever immediate consequences come with losing, but there’s no evidence that whatever’s caused that heartstopping, devastating fear that has characterized his every move is going to stop. They’ll win, and they’ll go back to the SMP, and they’ll keep dying and fighting wars and keep pretending that the world they live in is normal; they’ll go back to the server, and Michael will go back in his house while Dream goes back into his cell directly across from it, still locked in a black box with no way in or out, no means of communication with anyone outside, locked away with the key thrown away for anything to happen with no one to know-

Michael glances over to Dream, to the tense edge of his shoulders that has never left for as long as the tournament has continued and long before. To the grey-faced, grey-eyed inhabitants of the SMP, coming to the Championships with sealed lips and a shared determination to never reveal that anything is wrong, to pretend that things are normal and move on. 

Michael’s hands clench into fists at his side, then unclench, the helplessness cutting through his excitement like a splash of cold water straight through his chest. They’ll win the Championship, and then what? They’ll go back to the server, and then what? 

He looks up at the sky, avoiding the eyes of the rest of his team as they are teleported to the arena. Around him, nothing comes in reply. 

---

“Shit-”

Sapnap disappears in a flourish of red particles, and Michael winces as Dream picks up the arrow he left behind, biting his lip as he watches the opposite side maneuver on the ice.

Both of Dream’s shots hit true, and Michael switches to dodging over the ice as the opposing team begins to shoot. His mind is still buzzing with uncertainty, questions whirling around his skull and making his head spin, the reminder to just let things be raging against the anxiety that has wormed its way deep into his bones for the better part of the day. His performance has fallen a bit as a result, and they’re tied, 2-2, for the last round of Dodgebolt against Yellow - winner takes all. 

He doesn’t know what to do. He wants to tell, but he wants to fall back into the background. He wants to make a difference, but also wants nothing more than to go on pretending that everything is fine. It would be so, so easy to move on and wash his hands of the whole affair - it’s not like anyone else will know, only himself and the guilt that he’s sure will haunt him to remind him of his failures. Is there even anything he can do? He’s no genius at combat, or parkour, or strategy- all he has are his eyes, his ability to see what the hell is happening with no means to change any of it. 

An arrow whizzes towards him, too low to hit, and falls to the ice by his feet. Michael feels it plop into his inventory as he runs past it, shivering slightly from the cold or adrenaline or some mix of the two - not that he can really tell. The other team still has an arrow, the gleaming arrowhead catching the light as the person shooting - Jack, it looks like - moves it from one side to the other, looking for someone to aim. Michael lets the arrow into his hand, feeling its weight.

A sudden shock of clarity. 

He staggers back and nearly trips over his own feet, feeling relief rock his body when he manages to catch his balance - his eyes rake over the rest of his team, still dodging over the ice, completely focused on the opposing side. He worries his lip between his teeth - it’s a risk. It’s a hell of a risk, and if he messes up - they’re fucked. They’re more than fucked. There’s a good chance that this does more harm than good, a good chance that it won’t do anything at all. 

Michael takes a deep breath, and nocks his arrow. 

With his bow pointed to the floor, he doesn’t think anyone’s noticed yet - especially the rest of his team, gazes still trained over the centerline to the other side of the arena. Michael plants his feet, raises his bow, aims - he’s standing still, too still, and he can already see Jack swinging the bow towards him from the corner of his eye, preparing to let the arrow fly directly at him. That’s fine. It doesn’t matter.

Keep your head down. 

Michael lets go, and Quackity manages to turn just in time to see the arrow hit him between his eyes.

Not this time.

Michael just manages a wicked, satisfied smirk before the world disappears in a flash of red. 

---

“What the hell was that?” 

Michael teleports into the middle of the MCC main lobby, finding Quackity already mid-yell in front of the podium, where the Yellow Yaks have taken their places as the winners of the Championships, new, shining crowns on their heads as they greet the crowd with smiles and cheers. Michael turns to where the rest of the team has gathered in the corner, Quackity hissing angrily at Dream, curled into himself against the fence. 

“I- I-”

“You lost us the fucking game, that’s what you did,” Quackity grabs him by the arm, rage painting his features as he yanks Dream closer to him, ignoring the other’s panicked yell at the proximity and flailing to get away. “What the fuck- you had both the arrows. How the fuck did you miss that?” 

“Back the hell off, Quackity.”

Michael steps forward, bodily shoving Quackity out of the way - Dream’s head rises just enough for the two eyes painted on his mask to look  above where they’d been hidden behind his arms, though Michael’s far too lost in his own anger to pay any mind to him at the moment. Quackity turns his furious direction towards Michael, only seeming to get angrier as he meets his eyes. 

“Oh, fuck off, Michael- you-” he rakes a hand through his hair, “You fucking- we fucking lost because of you, you know that? We had that! We were going to win that, you fucker-” 

“And then what, Quackity?” The words Michael had been pushing back the entire day come forth, mixed with his simmering anxiety and muffled anger that he’d been forced to push down, game after game after game, one bubbling mess of emotion underscoring his tone and making Quackity rear back, “Then you’ll go back the SMP and pretend that everything’s fine and dandy? Go back to your shiny little country with a shiny new coin, beat up Dream a few times to work off the adrenaline because, hey, it’s not like anyone else is gonna know if he’s black and blue inside of that shitstain of a prison, is that right?” 

The flash of panic that makes its way over Quackity’s face is more than enough to confirm the worst of Michael’s assumptions, and the rage that has made a home in his chest only burns hotter. 

“What- what the fuck did he say?” Quackity barely manages to catch onto his tone, pressing harder with narrowed eyes and a snarl, “He’s lying, you fucking idiot, that’s all he ever fucking does-” 

“He’s not told me shit,” Michael presses forward, forcefully pushing Quackity away from Dream, who is cowering from both of them behind him, “But you would know a hell of a lot about that, wouldn’t you Quackity?”

“I have no fuckin’ clue what you’re on about, pal,” Quackity shakes his head, hair whipping past his eyes, “And I’d recommend you shut your fucking mouth before you go around hurling baseless accusations- I could have you sued for defamation, you know-”

“Oh, we’re talking law, now? Fine! We’ll talk legalities- how about we start with that casino of yours and work from there?” 

Sapnap moves over, quiet thus far as he watched from the sidelines, and Michael watches as Quackity relaxes, minisculely, at his approach - only to tense further when Sapnap presses a hand to his shoulder, meeting his eyes with blazing eyes staring right at his.

“Q,” Sapnap says, voice uncharacteristically serious, “tell the truth, now- what did you do?”

Quackity laughs - it sounds unsure, even in Michael’s ears, “Sapnap? You can’t tell me you believe-” he waves his hands frantically, “this- this fucking asshole, now, do you hear him? He sounds- he’s literally out of his fucking mind-”

Sapnap shakes his head, firm. “Quackity, I’ll need you to cut the bullshit. What did you do?” 

“He’s backing up Dream, Sapnap,” Quackity focuses his gaze on Sapnap, something creeping up in his tone, sweet and cloying despite the bitter tone, that Michael can’t quite recognize, “You know what Dream is like- he pulled the same shit with you, remember? You and George? Tommy?” He waves a hand at Dream, who ducks down further at the attention, “He hasn’t changed, man! He’s still pulling the same bullshit, still manipulating people for the hell of it- you know, the exact same thing he did to you? Don’t fall for that again, man.”

“I-” Sapnap seems to hesitate, conflict warring over his features. 

“Look at me, Sap - you know what Dream’s like. He pretends to be your friend, makes up some stupid bullshit to justify his shit - Michael hasn’t been around for as long, not like the two of us, remember? He doesn’t know.” Quackity brings his hand to Sapnap’s own, ignoring Michael’s protests as he laces their fingers together, “I care about you, Sap. All of this- I’m just worried that he’ll end up manipulating you again. I’m just trying to protect you.” 

“...liar.” 

“What?”

Sapnap steps back, wrenching his hand out of Quackity’s own. His expression, out of what Michael can see from the sliver of his face that is facing him, is stormy with fury and no small amount of regret - Quackity steps back, unease finally beginning to flicker in the corners of his self-satisfied expression as Sapnap stares him down. 

“You’re a liar, Quackity.” Sapnap draws himself up. “Now, I’m asking this for the last time- what did you do?”

Quackity’s expression stutters, falls, as Sapnap stands back next to Michael, the two of them between him and Dream. His eyes flick between their faces, then to Dream, then back again, frown deepening with every pass he makes between the three of them. Michael keeps his arms crossed in front of his chest, feeling his muscles tense with every second of silence that ticks by, Quackity seeming to grow more and more angry and tense under their scrutiny and unforgiving stances-

-a second passes, and he throws himself forward. 

“Quackity!” 

Michael only manages to throw himself out of the way of the man barrelling towards him just in time - too late, he realizes that he wasn’t Quackity’s intended target. He tackles Dream to the ground, pinning the taller man underneath himself onto the ground in a rough thump that seems to knock all the air out of him. Dream immediately begins to thrash aimlessly, jaw going slack in panic as Quackity levels his arm against his neck, going still as Quackity presses harder against his windpipe. Michael is only barely close enough to pick up what he says over the sound of the surrounding screaming, Sapnap rushing forward to pull Quackity off to no avail-

“-make what I did two weeks ago look like a fucking joke when we get back, going to make you wish you fucking died-” 

The world explodes into white.

When Michael’s vision clears, he’s face to face to the stony face of one of the MCC admins, their status displayed by the proud red [Admin] by their nametags and the fact that they’re floating several inches off the fucking floor. He backs away, strangely winded - probably from the panic or adrenaline or yelling or, more accurately, all three, as Quackity is pulled back effortlessly by an admin, easily caging his flailing limbs with a snap of code as he is frozen into place - and Michael whoops. 

“LET’S GO!” 

(The arrow hits Michael in the shoulder, and he disappears in a flash of red - only instead of going to his usual place above the Dodgebolt arena, standing with the other competitors, he finds himself teleported in front of a dizzying array of screens and buttons, too many to have any idea where they connect and how they work. Michael turns to meet the faces of the MCC Admins, each one looking at him with odd, concerned expressions and furrowed brows. 

“You shot your teammate,” one says - Noxite - and Michael nods to concede the point, not quite finding the words to speak. “Why?”

“If you had such a big issue with the teams, you could’ve just talked to Scott,” another one pipes up from the back, “I’m sure we could’ve worked something out.”

“I know, I know,” Michael runs his hand through his hair, both relieved at the plan working better than he could’ve ever fucking imagined and suddenly lost for words in front of the admins, each one looking at him with their full attention. Every nerve in his body rails against the scrutiny, reminds him to pretend that nothing is wrong - but it’s too late to pretend, now. It’s been too late for a long, long time. 

He remembers Dream, looking away all competition, voice dead and lacking all of its former vitality - remembers Puffy, hair a little greyer from stress, grief painting her face whenever she thought anyone wasn’t looking - remembers Bad, hands still shaking despite his attempts to hide it - the prison, looming on the horizon, unbeatable, impenetrable - himself, helpless, for all this time, to do anything but watch and wait. Until now. He takes a deep breath, steels himself- 

“Something’s wrong with Dream.”)

“Thank you for your information, Michael,” Noxite smiles at him, and relief throws itself through his system so fast that it makes him dizzy- “We’ll handle this from here. Good job.” 

“Holy shit- when did you get time to contact the fucking admins, Michael?” 

Michael ignores the clamor around him as the lobby bursts into activity and people talking over each other, each one probably trying to figure out what the hell just happened, ignores Sapnap muttering, awed, from beside him, to move towards Dream, still sprawled out over the floor. There’s an admin by him, standing by to seemingly keep the crowd away but not engaging with Dream directly, and Michael ducks by them to kneel down by Dream and meet his gaze. 

“Hey,” Michael smiles, still shaking from the leftover adrenaline as he presses his hands to the ground to try and hide it, “We’ve got you. It’s over- Quackity’s gone. You’re safe now.” 

“Michael?” Dream’s voice is so damn small when his head twists to look over, hair having fallen largely fallen out of his ponytail to land in wisps all around his face. “You- how-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael shushes him, chest twisting painfully. “It’s alright.”

“...I don’t feel so good.”

Dream coughs harshly, and Michael quickly maneuvers him to a sitting position as his shoulders shake with another one, hand flying to his mouth as he is wracked with loud, wet-sounding coughs. Concern wells up in his throat, watching as Dream shakes with more coughing, nearly choking as he curls into himself, muscles tense. After what feels like an eternity, he pulls his hand back, and Michael gasps at the sight.

“Dream-”

There’s blood, and a lot of it - mixed with the saliva in his palm, shiny and stringy over the planes of his hand, dribbling past his lips and down his chin. His teeth are similarly stained red when his mouth opens slightly, stance wobbling before he collapses altogether against Michael’s body - Michael can barely hear himself shouting for a medic as Dream heaves a rattling, wet sounding breath into his shoulder. 

“Th’ts not g’d,” he mumbles, quiet, before going completely limp. 

---

When you first get strong enough to go to the Nether and collect blaze rods and brew potions for the first time, the first thing that gets beaten into your head forwards, backwards, left, right, and every way in between is that health and regen aren’t a replacement for actual recovery. Instant health pots are famous for their tendency to heal everything affected to the same degree - which is bad when you have a particularly deep injury, as it’ll often finish healing it near the surface while the injury persists underneath. Regen pots tend to be better at that front, but even they cannot completely fix a serious injury - the two can only act as a temporary, emergency fix for severe wounds, often being an invaluable resource to stop the worst of the bleeding and hold everything together for long enough to bring someone to proper medical attention. 

Unfortunately, when someone tries to use health pots and regens to completely bypass the time and rest needed for the body to properly heal itself and recover, what usually ends up happening is internal injuries - not completely healed by the potions alone - continue to be jostled and irritated, which can lead to further, worse, problems with internal bleeding and bones shifting out of place if they’ve been broken, which can then pierce through muscle and organ tissue - to be honest, Michael was never the best with all the medical stuff, and he’s half-sure that the horror stories he’s heard were exaggerated to beat it into his head never to be an idiot that thinks that potions can solve everything, but either way, he’s never tested his luck with the things.

Unfortunately, Dream doesn’t seem to have done the same, as the entire day’s worth of intense activity, between practices and MCC itself, were more than enough to fuck over the healing effects of whatever health potions he apparently downed before coming to the Championships. From what Michael has heard, it got a little harried after he was first brought into the hospital, but he’s apparently stabilized since - recovery will be slow, both physically and mentally, but at least he’s out of that damn prison to actually start on that path.

“Simply put, your teammate is a bit of an idiot,” Scott tells him when he finally catches him in the waiting room, hair fluffed up at the sides from where he’s evidently messed it up in Admin-related stress. “But he should be alright now, with proper medical attention and lots of rest - make sure to tell him to actually rest, will ya? No more parkouring for him - he can wait until after he’s out of the hospital to show us all how it’s done.” 

Michael laughs, relief settling into his chest, “Thanks, Scott.” He directs a playfully accusing look towards the other, a grin tugging at his lips, “but you know, he’s only my teammate because you made it that way. Kinda sounds like your own fault there..” 

“Oh, quiet, you.” Scott laughs- he looks stressed, and Michael feels a twinge of sympathy. The administrative side of things after his whole stunt at Dodgebolt, and then especially with what happened in the main lobby, must be an absolute nightmare. “Anyway, I need to go back - Admin meeting,” he shakes his head, already looking at his comm. “You should go see Dream, by the way. I think he’s awake.” 

“Thanks for everything, Scott.” 

Scott smiles at him, soft, sincere. “Go see your friend.” 

He disappears in a flash of white light, teleporting away, and Michael looks at the empty space where he stood for a few seconds before standing up out of his chair to move towards the door. He hesitates at it for a second, hand on the doorknob but not yet turning it to the side - it’s suddenly awkward, without the pressure of the competition at his back and the relentless questions of what he should do. He doesn’t even know if Dream knows what happened, or if he’ll be happy with him - for all he knows, Dream was the one who started the whole ‘don’t tell the Championships what happens in the server’ deal. His teeth catch on his lip as he stands, lost in thought, at the door.

Well. Here goes nothing. 

He eases the door open, getting a glimpse inside the room - it’s white, clean-looking, the smell of disinfectant heavy in the air. There’s a bed in the middle of the room, a chair on the side with his Championships clothing and what appears to be some sort of padded body armor laid over the cushions. Dream, as expected, is lying down in the bed, unmoving; for a second, Michael thinks he’s sleeping, before he suddenly twists his head over to look at him.

“Michael?” 

“Hey,” Michael smiles, moving into the room and closing the door behind him. For the first time today, Dream’s face isn’t masked, a glimpse of it visible behind him on the dresser by the bed. He blinks up at him owlishly, eyes wide and green, looking even bigger combined with the hollow planes of his cheeks, overlaid by pale, slightly raised scars. “How are you feeling, man?” 

“Um-” Dream tries to pull himself up, visibly struggling, and Michael rolls his eyes as he hurries over to help raise the back of the cot because you’re supposed to be resting, Dream, just let the fancy bed do its job, and settles back with an odd look on his face as Michael pulls over a chair. “Good? I think? I mean-” he flails his hands a bit, “this is weird. And I kind of hate this gown- but um. Yeah.” 

“That’s fair,” Michael laughs, and Dream huffs a small laugh out of his own, settling back into his pillow. He looks strangely small, with all the layers stripped away, frail and skinny against the sheets. His skin isn’t that same paper-white shade it had been when he collapsed in the middle of the fucking lobby, but it’s still pale enough to be vaguely worrying, especially combined with the IV and other wires hooked up to him. 

“Apparently, I’m dehydrated,” Dream drawls when he catches Michael staring at the IV, making a small, frustrated sound through his teeth as Michael turns to look at him, “figures, I guess, but still sucks. I hate needles.” 

“Ouch,” Michael winces in sympathy, “yeah, those don’t look that fun.” Dream smiles up at him, before his expression shutters, dulls, and he looks away, not meeting his eyes. The sight of it makes Michael frown, quiet, remembering the way he’d drawn back from them all over and over again throughout the day - that fear and trauma won’t go away in a day, but it hurts all that much more to see his face as panic flashes across it and he pulls back, gaze carefully detached. 

“Dream?” Michael moves closer, but is careful not to make contact, “you alright?”

“Hmm?” Dream directs another small, tight smile his way, strained at the corners as his eyes flick away to the floor once again, “yeah- I’m- I’m fine.” 

Michael sighs, but decides not to push it. “Have you done anything else here, yet?”

Dream shakes his head. “No- I think that someone’s going to bring food over soon, I’m not sure. Not really hungry,” he mutters, half to himself, and Michael tamps down the concern that wells up in protest, “But we’ll see, I guess.” 

“That’s good,” Michael nods, and Dream looks up at him, expression startlingly unsure. 

“Um- do you know?” He wrings his hands together, eyes darting across the room nervously before flicking over Michaels’ face, and Michael tries to make himself look as calm and comfortable as possible, “I mean- do you know what’s going on with- everyone?” 

Ah. Michael winces internally- he probably should’ve expected this question, but in the fallout of what happened in the lobby and Dream, you know, passing out in his arms, he ended up brushing off or ignoring a lot of the chaos that resulted. He wracks his head for snippets of information that he’d seen in his communicator and from visitors to the waiting room, including people that had been there with him that had been pulled for questioning and meetings, Tommy’s expletive-filled yelling from the lobby still ringing in his head. 

“Um- I think that they’ve got a team of moderators pulled up to investigate the server, figure out what’s been going on,” Michael ticks names off on his hands, mentally going through the list of people that he’s been given information on, “They have Quackity in custody, I think, for the moment- they’re still waiting for more information on what to do with him, but they’ve got a whole MCC lobby’s worth of witnesses that saw him assault you so far, if you plan on pressing charges and stuff- um- Sapnap got pulled for questioning, nothing too major right now, I think that they’re going through the other server members that were attending the Championships for the moment.” 

“Are they- putting them in jail?” Dream’s voice sounds slightly tinny despite his forced calm, arms crossed in front of him, and Michael shakes his head firmly. 

“No- legal stuff between servers is weird, and I think they’re holding off on anything like that for now. Quackity’s just there at the moment because of assault charges on the MCC server - stuff in the SMP is still technically outside of their jurisdiction.” Dream visibly relaxes, and Michael smiles thinly, “It’ll be rough for a few weeks as they collect evidence and figure out what to do, but for now, they’re just focusing on recovery - giving people medical attention if they need it, lining up therapists,” he laughs, quietly, “lots of therapists.”

Dream hums, looking away. The corners of his mouth fall, eyes fluttering shut as he breathes a shuddery sigh through his lips.

“I- never wanted it to get this bad,” he opens his eyes, looking down at his hands, lip slightly trembling, “I don’t- I don’t know where it all went wrong.” 

“Hey,” Michael slides closer, ducking to meet Dream’s eyes with a soft smile. “You’re not alone anymore, alright? You don’t have to fix it all by yourself. Focus on yourself, on recovering.” 

Dream hesitates, breath seeming caught in his throat, wide green eyes staring into Michael’s own, before ducking his head to look away with a slight nod. Michael leans back in his chair, watching as Dream turns to the side, curling in on himself slightly with a small wince, eyes fixed on the window.

“Didn’t think I was going to see the sun again,” Dream says after a while, gaze still trained behind the glass to where the sun is slowly setting, rays of sunlight streaming past the slits in the blinds and casting glowing stripes of honey-gold throughout the room and over Dream’s face. Michael feels something cold press against the back of his throat, the quiet admission making air stutter in his lungs at the image of Dream, alone, huddled in the middle of an obsidian box for months and months and months, never knowing if he’d see anything other than the same black walls for the rest of his life. 

“You’re not there, anymore. You’re safe now.” 

Dream doesn’t reply, continuing to look out the window silently, breathing slowly as he moves his hand through a sunbeam, watching the way it streams between his fingers and warms his skin, seeming mesmerized by its soft glow. 

“Michael?” Dream looks over, and Michael feels the air punched out of his lungs at the soft, disbelieving sincerity held within his expression, the fearful edges for once pulled back far enough for the light to catch the quiet, heartfelt appreciation gathered in the slight quirk of his lips and downward slope of his eyes. He looks away a second after, a band of light cutting across his face and landing over the bridge of his nose, smile still on his face, voice almost too quiet to make out. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Michael feels his own smile widen, looking out the window himself- it really is a beautiful sunset. “What are friends for?” 

#-> my writing #my writing :D #c!Quackity critical #tw trauma #tw abuse #tw torture #tw panic attack #tw manipulation #tw gaslighting #tw needles #tw hospitals #tw emotional distress #pandora's vault #prison arc #god this was so fun #hope you all enjoy !! #long post

[devildomdoofus]

Lemon Dreams: Part 1

[NSFW]

Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan

a bit of spicey lil dreams the brothers have of MC. If requested, I’ll add the undateables (minus Luke) into a Part 3.

Gender-Neutral as always.

MINORS:

DO NOT INTERACT

DO NOT PROCEED

Be smart, have common sense.

I’m not responsible for your irresponsibility.

You see the warnings. I put them out plainly. Adhere.

‼️WARNINGS‼️

NSFW, mature theme, mature content, implied intercourse, nudity, swearing, light bondage, BDSM, tidbit of pet play, wet dreams,

IF I MISSED ANY, PLEASE INFORM ME

Author’s Note (Sorry, I’ll try to be brief):

Trying my hand at some “light” N S F W content to see how I do and see how it goes.

Thank you all, once again, for the love and support and positive responses!! You’re enjoyment is the reason I keep doing what I love to do✨ Please: stay healthy, stay safe, stay you, and stay ruling them all, MCs 💕

- DevildomDoofus

💙Lucifer:

Regrettably, it has been nearly a millennia since he’s had any amount of a decent shuteye due to his brothers’ antics, his oversight of R.A.D., and obligations to Diavolo so you can only imagine the amount of fatigue that he felt in his mind, body, and soul. But because of his image and his own personal desire to be nothing short of perfect, he couldn’t simply rest whenever or wherever he pleased. It was outlandish to even consider the idea. Unfortunately, the side effects of denying himself any form of rest were starting to show. It was causing him to make mistakes he wouldn’t normally make and Diavolo had to personally intervene, using his authority on behalf of his dear friend’s health or lack thereof and demanded that he take a day off. He was the only one in all of the realms that could try and convince this workaholic to put on the breaks. You, yourself, have tried before but Lucifer was as stubborn as the days of summer were long and you felt like you were talking to a brick wall. But because Lucifer could not deny his prince’s demands, he reluctantly obliged... but not without absolute confirmation that nothing would go wrong while he was absent and as soon as he felt rested enough, he would return immediately.

Locking himself away in his room while putting a soundproof spell on the outside of it, he finally sits down at his desk and leans back in his chair as he sluggishly closes his eyes. The silence was both mildly relaxing and extremely uncomfortable as it was so rare for the world around him to be so... quiet. so undisturbed. So peaceful.

It was a bit unnerving.

He sighs deeply. This whole resting thing was going to be a lot more difficult than he originally thought. He stands up to go grab a vinyl record, places it on the antique gramophone and turns the device on. The orchestra makes their way through the metal funnel and the melody of the instruments echo beautifully throughout his room. “Much better,” he hums to himself. He tosses his coat aside, unbuttons his vest and drops it to the floor, removes his button-up shirt, kicks off his shoes, and does away with his belt while his pants follow suit. He dons his nighttime robe and finally slides into his bed. As soon as he hits the mattress, his eyes shut and his mind turns off, allowing him to drift swiftly into a deep slumber.

The dream started out like any other dream he’s had in his life; it’s mundane and not much is going on. It’s practically the same as ‘bringing work home with him’ but in his dreams. He’s at his desk, crossing his t’s, dotting his i’s, finalizing some paperwork, and the like, while the stress from his waking hours begins to find its way back to him like a boomerang.

Then, as if by magic, all of his stress melted away as soon as he heard a knock on his door along with your voice calling for him softly on the other side. He smirks. “You may enter.” He kept his head low as you stepped in due to the fact that he was finishing signing a particular paper. “Just a moment,” he instructs, as the last cursive letter finds its place on the paper. He begins to lift his eyes to meet yours. “Now, what can I do for yo-...” He freezes.

There you were, standing before him, in nothing but one of his ties hanging loosely around your neck. His jaw clenches and his fist tighten into a ball so firmly that his knuckles turn white under his gloves.

‘Like a lamb to it’s slaughter,’ he quotes, internally.

Needless to say, the dream takes a more DRASTIC turn and he’s got you bent over the desk, hands tied up with his tie that you so graciously considered to bring with you, and his name pouring out of your lips like a faucet. He’s taking you all for himself, piece by divine piece, with every snap of his hips, bite of your skin, and claw of your flesh. What a sight you were beneath him.

The moment he wakes, his body is covered in a ‘morning’s dew’ of sweat and the sheets of his bed have become painfully heavy on his lower half. His heart is still thumping wildly in his chest and his eyes are darting everywhere in his room, ensuring that he’s alone and no one can see him in such a disheveled state. He uses part of his robe to dab away the sweat from his brow and then rubs his eyes as he collects himself.

Spends the next many few hours calming himself down and hoping that he is blessed by some unholy miracle where NOBODY walks in...

especially you...

with nothing but his tie hanging loosely around your neck and-...

Ah shit.

The following morning at breakfast, he is eyeing you rather heavily from across the table and his brothers take notice but never dare to say a word. They just assume that you’ve done something to piss him off again and want no part of it.

They are not entirely wrong, though. You had unknowingly irked him quite a bit.

You entered his dreams without permission, made such a delectable spectacle of yourself in front of him, and caused him to feel things that no other demon, angel, human, nor any other soul for that matter, has been able to make him feel. And now he has to deal with these explicit thoughts and feelings, especially when you’re around or in his vicinity, along with many other things that demand his attention and it’s all just so irritating. Delightfully irritating. The kind of irritating he secretly enjoys.

The next few days, you never really get the sense that anything is off with Lucifer for how well he carries himself, no matter his circumstances, and yet... he seems to be less physical with you. Normally, he would give you the occasional hand on the shoulder or upper back when you needed guidance, allow you to lean on his shoulder when your days had been particularly rough and you needed to rest, or pinch your cheek when he teased you but lately... he wouldn’t even keep eye contact with you for very long without turning away and- was that a hint of pink in his cheeks? No, surely you are imagining things. Lucifer, blushing? Has the devildom froze over?

💛Mammon:

This poor, sweet and a little bit sleazy man was just SO exhausted from having to get up early that morning when he’d normally sleep in, to go to a school he doesn’t ever really pay attention to, as well as constantly keep lower demons from getting anywhere near his precious MC, bribe Levi to do his homework in exchange for an exclusive Ruri-Chan figurine (which he went into further debt to obtain), keep his overbearing fanbase from his modeling jobs happy on social media... it all was simply too much for The Great Mammon to be doing when he could alternatively be doing something better. Like being lazy sleeping off this R.A.D lag.

He had skipped his last few remaining classes and told you he was headed to your room to crash before school let out and you two could hang out later. He plopped onto your bed, nuzzled his face into one of your pillows, and fell asleep shortly after to your sweet aroma surrounding him.

His dream began as they typically do, with him gambling his Grimm for higher payouts or watching the Devildom stock market fluctuate in his favor... or more often times than he’ll ever admit, it’s just the two of you spending some quality time together alone for a change.

Only this time, his dream didn’t end up the way it typically did.

In his dream, he was sitting next to you on the sofa with his arm resting behind your head wanting to wrap it around you so fucking badly and watching whatever you had put on when it was interrupted by the winning lottery ticket read out. He leapt from couch with a big yell and the winning ticket in hand, and rushed to hug the tv and to kiss the demon inside of it, thanking him, Lady Luck, and anyone else involved in his incredible fortune today. As he turned around to come squeeze you tight with excitement and have you share in his celebration, his whole body tensed and he stopped in his tracks. He had become a deer in the headlights.

You were now lewdly postured on the couch, bare and exposed, excluding how you were practically dripping in gold jewelry/accessories whilst surrounded by enormous piles of Grimm. With one finger, you beckoned him over.

To say that this is one of his all time favorite fantasies would be THE understatement of the millennia.

He was in front then over you in a matter of milliseconds, his demon form taking over his body and stealing noises from you that the entire House of Lamentation- no- the entire Devildom could hear and FUCK he loved that thought almost as much as he adored you he cared about you; the thought that the entire Devildom could hear that you were his and his alone, that no other soul could make you feel like this.

And just as it was about to get really good, he wakes up.

Red faced, breathing heavily, and a thick coat of sweat all over his body. Not to mention the newfound, painful tightness in his pants.

He’s jerking his head around the room to confirm hoping to deny that is was all simply a dream, and to be certain that you hadn’t come back from school early or something and found him like this.

“Unholy shit.” He wipes the sweat from his face and then takes his phone in his hand to check the time. “UNHOLY SHIT!!” You had texted that you were on your way back home 10 minutes ago! He had to be quick.

He replaced the sweaty sheets and pillow cases with new ones, adjusting them so that it looked as it had before he slept on them, tied his school uniform coat around his waist to disguise the ‘friendly neighborhood bachelor,’ and darted like a bat out of devildom to his room, avoiding major hallways and doors to ensure that no one could stop him or chase him down and see him in his predicament.

You can be sure that for the next few weeks, he’s avoiding you like the plague. He sends texts that he is “paying off a debt and can’t make it,” or “Sorry MC, I’m a little tied up at the moment. This Grimm won’t make itself.” and to you it was a little odd, but nothing he hasn’t exactly done before, so you go about your days as normal. Poor Mammon has once spent an entirety of four months working a few jobs to pay off one big loan.

If only you knew how often he was reliving that dream in his head, over and over and over again. For such a thing to become reality? Well... he feels he’d have better luck winning the lottery. But just as he gambled, he wouldn’t give up so easily.

🧡Leviathan:

It is not uncommon for Leviathan to have certain dreams about certain individuals he enjoys, be it anime characters, video game characters, idols that he fawns over, etc. It’s normal. Quite often, in fact, but he would rather LITERALLY DIE before he ever admits to such a thing, much less have anyone think he has a crush. With his brothers as they are known to be, he’d never live it down. Which is one of the reasons why he keeps himself locked away in his room and goes on binges of whatever it is he’s invested in at the time. He’s left alone to do and be as much of himself as he pleases without judgment. It is one particular episode of an anime he had been bingeing for several hours that has him with his head resting upon his keyboard and ever so slightly snoring away as the characters converse in the background. It wasn’t boring in the least, it’s just that his eyes refused to stay open any longer and his body decided for him that it was about time for a proper nap.

His dream began as normal, with him on a quest to save the renowned, royal heir from the ten-headed beast that guarded the tower in which they were kept. The journey to the tower was extensive and not without its obstacles, the battle was epic, in every sense of the word, and the reward for it’s heads would match the gratification of the victory that ensued it.

Little did he know that in that tower, it wasn’t just any royal heir lying in wait for their prince to come, as they had always been. It was you.

You, in all of your glory, draped across the bed and adorned with the finest of cloths that were barely covering your most intimate of skins.

As he entered your bedroom chambers, expecting to find a fictional character he adored in his waking hours, he stops dead in his tracks and his entire body turns red hot in matter of seconds. You could easily hear the thumping of his heart throwing heavy blows at his ribcage, and, if you looked close enough, you could see the steam trickling out of his ears. You could also hear the clinking of his amor, the metal plates shaking against one another as he trembles before you.

Leviathan.exe has stopped working.

Yes, he’s had plenty of dreams like this before but.. fuck.. they were never of you. Much less like this. Believe him, he’s tried on many occasions to at least see your face or hear your voice, ANYTHING. But inevitably, his anxiety and shyness won in the end and you never came passing through his dreams... until now.

You leant against one arm, your lips curling into a smile, and then beckoned him silently with one crook of a finger.

Anxiety and shyness who?

He quickly does away with the heavy armor, tossing them aside, and crawls across the bed to you, to your face, to those precious lips.

He takes a hold of them in his own and seemingly devours you as he strips you of what little cloth covered you and then pushes you back down against the bed. The dream continues with your bodies intertwining in every way that earned him the lewdest of noises from you.

Until he jerks awake with his face a deep shade of crimson, body covered from head to toe in a mist of sweat, and a heartbeat that could put a drum solo to shame. He quickly scans his surroundings as he’s coming back to reality, making sure he’s the only one within a mile’s radius. If anyone thought he was a hermit now, you can only imagine what it would be like if he was caught looking the way that he did. The anime that he had fallen asleep to was now on a screen that was asking for confirmation if he was still watching. He presses the power button on his computer and wipes away the sweat on his brow before leaning back in his chair, eyes glued to the ceiling as he’s recollecting the dream. He sees the faces you were making in pleasure pass through his mind once more and it makes his face turn 30 shades redder and increases the painful tightness in his snug sweatpants. He shakes his head, no longer wanting to continue digging this grave of overwhelming lust, and plants his head back onto the keyboard. Lord Diavolo, please, just kill him now.

The following months, Leviathan stays locked away in his room and avoids you as if you were the final boss of a game he never wants to stop playing. He knew that if he saw you, got near you, or even heard your name being mentioned, there would be no way of stopping his thoughts, his body’s reactions to those thoughts, nor his brother’s comments about how he’s “acting awfully strangely.”

As much as he wishes that he never had the dream in the first place because of all of the trouble it’s causing, he can’t help but relive it over and over again, putting it on repeat in his mind. But to admit to you these powerful feelings and attempt to bring it to reality? Only normies do such a thing... right?

💚Satan:

Line after line, chapter after chapter, book after book, he simply could not put the new series he had discovered down. He was so invested, he’d finish one book and immediately pick up the next. His mind was reeling far too fast for him to stop now and nothing in all of the three realms could do so. That is until his own body waved it’s white flag and begged for him to shut his eyes, even if for just moment. Satan bargained, internally, that he’d allow himself roughly thirty minutes of rest before he’d pick back up where he left off. He sets the book on a nearby desk, settles down onto his loveseat and closes his eyes.

As a man of many talents and faces, his dreams were known to be as heavily diverse as he was, and often times reflected whatever book he had been reading, philosophy he had been pondering, or stress he had been managing. No one particular type of dream frequented more than another.

That being said, in the past few weeks, you had been a bit more physical with him. Whether it was a simple brush of the hands as you two reached for the same novel, late night study sessions ending up in late night study and cuddling sessions, or the occasional linking of arms as the pair of you walked the length of a museum and studied its inhabitants. It goes without saying that you were making an impression on him and his mind, leaving little to no room for any other thoughts than the ones involving you. Naturally, you had found your way into his dreamworld and you were the one constant in the ever changing slumber visions.

The dreams that you were involved in, which were now a majority of them, were mostly sweet; the most intimate being the one time you had placed a chaste kiss upon his cheek. If you were to ask him about these dreams that had him chipper than usual, he would smile and tell you that “they were simply pleasant hallucinations but nothing more.” And he’d be lying through his teeth, desperately trying to keep his cheeks from reddening in front of you. If you were lucky enough that his gaze lingered, you’d catch the tint of pink making its way across his face. The poor inner romantic in him couldn’t help himself. He’s mastered the art of poker face in its entirety, but when it came to you, his willpower and calm demeanor waned into nothingness and he was like putty in your hands. Just don’t push it or there will be Devildom to pay.

This particular time around, though, his dream would take a more unforeseen turn.

In his dream, he had invited you to join him on an outing over to the Royal Library and you two were now making your way to your favorite lone table in the farthest back corner, hidden behind the many shelves of books. After claiming your usual spot, he went to gather the books he wanted to go through and planted himself in the chair to finally open them up and get started. Meanwhile, you had wandered off, presumably, to find and create your very own mountain of novels to conquer.

An hour or so passed and he had made his way through five of his books when he felt a tap against the cover of the one he was currently reading. “Forgive me, MC, but I’m almost done with this paragraph and I need just one more moment to do so.” Another tap against the cover. “May it wait, MC? I’m nearly finished.” This time, you gingerly grabbed the tip of his book and tilted it away from him (a pet peeve of his). Just as he was about to give you his trademark glare of warning, his eyes widen and his jaw clenches, with his fingers letting go of the book and tightening into a fist taut enough to turn his knuckles white.

There you stood before him in little to no clothing, fluffy little cat ears and a tail to match, with a leash and collar adorning your precious neck. You took his stiffened hand, ever so slowly opened it up, and delicately placed the end of the lead into his palm, flashing him your cheekiest grin.

Now you’ve gone and done it. He snaps.

He jerks the end of the lead so that you’re aggressively pulled forward, bending over the table and sending the piles of books to the floor with audible thuds, and your lips crash into his. He uses his free hand to trap cradle the other side of your face as he devours your lips, devours your taste. Impatient and hungry, he soon lets you go with a low growl before standing up and dragging you behind him, forcefully, by the lead, coming to the front of a shelf that leant against a wall and grabbed your waist, lifting you up to push you against it, having more books tumble to the floor with a sound thud, while once again, taking your lips with his. Something about the way you looked, the way you sounded because of his actions, drove him completely mad.

Before it could go any further, he jerks wakes to the sound of someone knocking on his door. He quickly scans his surroundings and when he finds it empty, he breathes a heavy sigh of relief. The knocks continue and from beyond the door, a familiar voice requests his audience. “Satan? It’s Solomon. My apologies, but I just wanted to return a borrowed book.”

He reaches for a nearby cloth and dabs away the sweat that covered his face. He steadies his breathing and in the stablest voice he could muster, he answers back, “Alright. One moment please.”

“Take your time,” the sorcerer replies.

He gathers himself quickly, as the master of his own emotions does, hoisted up from the loveseat, straightens himself out and starts to head for the door but with a quick glance downwards, he pauses. There’s no way he could greet Solomon with such a visible... display...

He takes his coat from the coatrack, wraps it around his waist and finally opens the door with a welcoming smile.

“Thank you kindly for the recommendation. It was a pleasant read,” Solomon tittered in recollection then immediately shifted into a frown of concern. “Satan... are you alright? Forgive my intrusion, but you seem a bit disheveled.” The disheveled man in question nods, chuckling in hopes of deterring Solomon from pressing any further by lightening his aura. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for your concern. I simply had a bit of a nightmare.” Solomon raised a brow and Satan continued in his tall tale. “It had been so long since I’ve had one, so I’m sure you can imagine how unnerving it’s effects had on me.” Moments passed like molasses as Solomon pondered what Satan had said and the uncomfortable silence was wearing down on Satan’s last minute, makeshift composure. “Thank you for returning the book,” Satan’s voice firmly interjecting the fellow wise man’s thoughts as he received the book from his hands, “and I’m delighted that you enjoyed yourself.” He holds the book in front of where the coat covered his waist. “If you wish for more recommendations, I’ll be happy to share them with you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some tea to drink and a book to read to calm my nerves. Good day, Solomon.” Before Solomon could get a final word in, Satan slips back into his room and shuts the door. For good measure, he locks it and turns the deadbolt. He shuffles back over to the loveseat where it all began and dropped down, pinching the bridge of his nose and letting out a heavy sigh. The blush that wanted so desperately to creep it’s way into his complexion the moment he’d awoken was now set free and his entire face turned red. He knew how to keep a tight grip on every other emotion he’s ever had... but love? Lust? This was going to be a challenge.

Outside of the door, not having moved an inch, Solomon stood with his chin snug between the crook of his forefinger and thumb. “Can demons have nightmares...?” He audibly contemplated as he waited a moment, following his train of thought before asking himself aloud again, “If so... then why did Satan have an erection?”

A pair of delicate hands found their way to Solomon’s shoulders and he glanced over them to see Asmodeus leaning in close to his ear. “It’s called a kink, darling.” Solomon politely shoos away the embodiment of lust with a gentle wave of his hand before starting down the hall from which he came, with the demon practically skipping in tow. “Kinks, we both know, I’m aware of. I had just assumed that his.. situation.. would be more relative to Belphegor.”

“Well,” Asmodeus chirped, “that’s what you get for assuming.”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #otome #mine #my posts #devildomdoofus #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me mc #lucifer #mammon #leviathan #satan #mc

[tedturneriscrazy]

Another Saturday, another episode! Let's take a look at Keeping Up A-fear-ances!

(Good lord I'm starting to make myself sound like some sort of content creator)

Oh, okay, we're just starting at that level of intensity, huh?

Chest gem origins

Gwendolyn not being satisfied with managing the curse and determined to cure it? I'm sure this won't be a real world allegory in the slightest.

Oh, so Eda literally just stumbles upon the portal? I could call that contrived, but honestly it's not dissimilar to how Dipper found Journal 3. For that matter, the entirety of Lord of the Rings is predicated on an accidental discovery like this and nobody gave Tolkien shit about it.

Was the eye on the portal cracked in previous episodes? I don't remember.

Seems like Gwen is the "well-meaning but ultimately misguided" flavor of mom.

As an aside, I am now quite curious about how Eda's first trip to the human realm went. Maybe a future episode will cover it? At any rate, I smell a new favorite fic prompt.

The screaming alarms in the Demon Realm will never not be funny to me.

Also, that is a worrying number of hearts. Eda is straight up murdering these poor creatures.

For some reason the gold fang being removable never occurred to me as a possibility, and now I feel like a kid who's discovered that Santa isn't real.

Oh hey, the new outfit! I'm also impressed how close to symmetrical that tearing was.

I need to get a screencap of Luz sleeping on that stack of books because she is adorable.

Also, staying up all night researching? This season seems determined to completely eradicate the notion of Luz being dumb, and I am here for it.

I have a feeling the Hexside mug will be making its way to The Mystery Shack in the near future.

Lilith's first experience with transformation and she seems understandably horrified.

The curse acting stronger when stressed? That seems...important.

Ah, so the dismemberment is from the curse! A surprisingly useful side effect from what we've seen so far.

Can I just say that I appreciate how Eda's reaction to Lilith's first taste of transformation is immediate remedy, explanation, and reassurance? And doesn't make any snarky comments along the lines of "now you know what it's like?" Whatever happened in that week and a half must have been cathartic as hell.

"Always. Always curious." Luz is the TOH fandom.

(Also, Eda, you know she is, considering how much she went on about your "mysterious past" at the Covention)

"Magic bird tornado?!" Luz has a way with words that's just *chef's kiss*.

"Gwendolyn." Eda is already just fucking done.

"MOM?!?!" Jeez, Lilith, you're just now hearing all this?

I was charmed by how motherly Gwen was acting toward Eda, but then she kinda just...dismissed Lilith, and now I'm somehwat less charmed.

(Sweet flea as a term of endearment is kinda cute, though might have some unfortunate implications depending on how you want to interpret it)

"Who knows what they put in those nasty concoctions?" OH WE GOING FOR THE ANTI-VAXXERS NOW YESSSS

Luz and Lilith's reaction to that whole exchange is priceless.

Everyone's perspective here makes perfect sense for who they are and what they've been through.

Poor Lilith. Her cursing Eda is beginning to make more sense.

Ah, thus begins the collaboration.

"We'll be consulting someone very special." Why does that seem so...ominous?

Is there anyone who watched this episode for the first time whose bullshit detector didn't go off immediately when Gwen mentioned finding someone who promised a cure?

Heh, Palm Stings.

Nonbelievers will be blinded by the power of the tome? I'm sure they will be, Wartlop.

I must say, as something of a scientist myself (okay that's not true, I'm a QA tech for a food manufacturer, but I do have a chemistry degree), I am 100% here for the swings being taken at faith healing/"miracle" cures/anti-vaxxers in this episode

Oh, we Wile E. Coyote now, huh?

Also, interesting how much apple blood is being played up in this episode.

Lilith please you're projecting your mommy issues on a literal child

OH WE REALLY JUST WILE E. COYOTE HUH?

You're right, Luz, Gwen's bicep game is goals.

(Somewhat disappointed the scars are from questing and not beastkeeping, but eh)

Why do I get the feeling there's gonna be a future episode where everybody stages an intervention for Eda's apple blood problem?

"Those feathers mean we're driving the beast out" Gwen no

Hooty is holding the brain cell? Oh no...

If that ice cream came from the Night Market it would explain why Lilith sounds drunk.

(Side note: I can't be the only one getting flashbacks to Mermista's ice cream binge, right? Different context, but still)

"Abomi-berry" "Franken fruit" "Key slime pie" These are A+ flavor names.

Oh, there's the transformation...

I must say that whole segment kinda rubbed me the wrong way. The way King's opinion on his dad was changed seemed...I don't know how to describe it. I get that they needed a trigger for Lilith's transformation, but honestly if any part of the episode is contrived it's this.

"¡It really is that good!" So that's what an accent slip in written form looks like. (The upside down exclamation point is used in Spanish, in case anyone didn't know)

I keep half expecting Eda to say "Beep! Beep!" at this point.

Luz is finally asking questions. Took long enough.

Ah, the classic "moving the goal posts to extract more money from a desparate family member" technique.

Luz channeling Scorpion, we love to see it.

There is an exquisite irony in Eda's mom being scammed, I must say.

Ah, so that's where the elixirs went. Dammit, Gwen.

Luz is definitely thinking "Are you fucking kidding me right now?!"

Beast!Lilith is massive.

"Sweet flea?" Gwen just realized she done goofed.

"I can see you still need a little time." God Luz is so fucking smart.

The con revealed.

OH DAMN SCARY MAMA

(Also I am terrified of bees/wasps, so extra scary mama in my book)

The scam is revealed, goblins, getting back into the Wartlop disguise is kinda pointless.

She joined the Beast Keeping coven entirely to cure the curse? That's dedication. A shame you couldn't have spared some of that for Lilith.

Still, I do like badass scary mama Gwen. I'd be down to see more of that.

Owl Beast fight!

I am slayed by the fact that the portraits are now officially a recurring gag 😂

Aw, here's The Moment™️

"My turn to drive" Does this imply cars are a thing on the Boiling Isles after all?

Lilith crying almost immediately💔 She was holding onto a lot of pain.

Yes, King, she was trying to do her best. I mean, road to hell or whatever, but at least Gwen got there in the end.

WHAT?! YOU'RE BREAKING UP LULU AND HOOTCIFER?!?!?!?

Terrace, that's just cruel. (Worthless brownie points for whoever understands that reference)

No, seriously, you can't just give me my favorite inter-character relationship in the series after Lumity and just...take it away like that, come on! 😭😭😭😭😭😭

I know I should remark on how Lilith told Gwen about the circumstances of the curse, how Gwen rightfully accepted responsibility for the whole situation, and how Luz finds the big hair aspirational, but...NOOOO DON'T END THE ADVENTURES OF LULU AND HOOTCIFER WHYYYYYYYYY💔😭💔😭💔😭

"BUT I CAN'T HOLD A PEN!"

I will never emotionally recover from this.

Okay, I think I got that out of my system. Anyway...

Not the only human, huh? Cue the "Belos is a human" theorists going into maximum overdrive.

That said, a tantalizing lore dump.

We certainly do have a lot of garbage. Some of it even holds office. HEY-O!

Setting up the next episode, too. Continuity!

Camp's over, huh? That means it's been three months.

Way to misdirect with Camila, guys. That said, we have now seen Camila cry and I HATE it. (In the right way, I think)

WHAT THE FUCK

HOLY SHIT

CREEPY LUZ IS REAL WHAT

OWJEIWHQGIWWOPQ

(It's hard to keysmash on a phone, even with autocorrect off)

That wraps it up! The flaws in this episode seem more pronounced than any others in the season so far, but the good stuff was really good! Overall a solid episode! I know everybody's looking forward to library Lumity in the next one (so am I), but I'm personally eager to see what they do with Gus. His part is the A plot, after all.

Anyway, I'll be back at this next week! Still hard to believe this is a thing, but that's life, I guess.

#the owl house #eda clawthorne #gwendolyn clawthorne #luz noceda #lilith clawthorne #king of demons #toh king #toh s2 spoilers #the owl house s2 spoilers #the owl house season 2 spoilers #toh spoilers #the owl house spoilers

[javajunkieao3]

Afterbirth:  A Post-Series Osblaine Fanfic

Summary:  What happens when the fighting stops?  Nick and June find out.

It took time for everything to calm down after Fred, the forest and everything that came after.  In a simple story, Nick would come back to Canada with June and turn himself over to the authorities with information in exchange for immunity.  In a more romantic one, they would escape together.  But, that didn’t happen.  At least not right away.  Nick returned to Gilead and June returned to Canada, neither of them entirely content with their decisions.  But they had a duty.  June, to try to rebuild what she had left behind.  Nick, to destroy it.

           Neither were particularly successful at first.  June was originally going to leave, but Luke convinced her to stay, still unwilling to give in even when confronted with the worst of her character.  But, it was futile.  Luke wanted his wife back, but she died in that forest seven years ago.  For weeks, they circled each other like wounded animals, trying not to spook the other while piecing together a relationship that no longer fit.  June didn’t want to accept it.  All that time, she had been fighting to get back to Luke.  But, when she looked back, it wasn’t that straight-forward.  She had stopped fighting for Luke a long time ago.  

           Back in Gilead, Nick was met with a nation teeming with renewed patriotism.  The Waterford saga had stirred the nation’s sentiment.  No doubt helped along by a steady dose of propaganda put out by the State. Everyone else just didn’t understand.  They were poisoned by immorality that rotted them to the core.  To where they couldn’t see the righteous good that Gilead had done. They didn’t understand.  They never could.

           It was maddening.

           “You made a real fucked up place,” Nick said to Joseph, swirling the bourbon around his glass slowly.

           Joseph took a sip of his own, jaw tight.  “Right back at you.”  Settling back into his seat, he wryly added, “Talk about buyer’s remorse.”

           “It’s up to us to fix it.  To end it.”

           Joseph looked over, eyes cloudy behind his glasses. “I know.”

           In the end, it was Gilead’s own pride that brought its ruin.  In the early days, when salvagings were more frequent, and brutal, each one was videotaped.  They were initially used in the Red Center as cautionary tales.  Stay in line, or you’ll end up on the end of a rope.  In the beginning, it was effective.  Back when people still thought there was an end in sight.  But then, people lost hope and, with that, fear.  Resistance bred, messages sent through muffins and scones. Eventually the videos were phased out of the Red Center, and they were supposed to be destroyed, but like many things that the Commanders were supposed to do, they didn’t.  

           Seven years later, the videos had their grand debut on the landing page of the online New York Times and went viral.  In another setting, Gilead would have been proud. They were front-page news.  The troops came a week later.

           Both Nick and Joseph offered themselves up, promising a look at the inner workings of Gilead and enough information to indict every other Commander rounded up in exchange for immunity.  Waterford had provided limited information before his death, so it was an enticing proposition.  Joseph had always been meticulous with his paperwork, and he handed it all over to the Canadian government.  A paper trail all the way back to the first insurrection.

           “You might want to get yourself some snacks. It’s a long read.”

           At first, it didn’t seem like the deal would go through, but then it did.  Joseph called it a political move, but secretly, Nick thought something else.  Stepping out of the Provincial Court of Law, sun bathing his face, Nick believed for the first time in miracles.  But, there was still one more to go.  And she was sitting on a bench.

           His feet moved of their own accord, and when he was in front of her, he murmured, “How did you know I was being released today?”

           June gave him a sliver of a smile.  “I have my ways.”

           He crouched in front of her, instinctively resting his hands on her knees.  After a second, he realized he didn’t know if he could still touch her here.  A lot could change in six months.   Regimes fall. Relationships change.  But when he pulled back his hands, she quickly grabbed onto them and held his hands in her lap.   Her grip was tight and he noticed then that her eyes were filled with tears.  He quickly moved closer, bracing one hand on her jaw as he said, “Hey, it’s okay.  It’s okay, June.”

           “I know it is,” she said, grinning wide.  “It’s more than okay.  You’re here.”

           It had been rare to see her this incandescently happy back in Gilead, and Nick decided that he never wanted to see her another way.  He kissed her and when she kissed him back, for the first time in months, he felt at peace.

           “How is Hannah?” he asked.  When the Canadian troops had taken control of Gilead, he used what weight he had left to make sure Hannah was on the first flight out to Canada.

           June grinned, wiping at her eyes.  “She’s good.  Really good.  It was difficult at first.  She was confused with everything.  But, she’s settled in now. Obsessed with her little sister.  She wants to hold her all the time.”

           Nick felt as if he had no breath when he asked, “How is she?”

           June covered her hand with his.  “Our daughter is beautiful.”

           She stood up and tugged his hand for him to do the same.  “Come on, let’s go see her.”

           “Where?”

            June looked over at him.  “Home.”

           Home.

           Part of June had been worried that she and Nick wouldn’t know how to be together without Gilead.  They had lived and loved with such intensity since the beginning, that she didn’t know what it would look like for them to lead a normal life. Have breakfast together.  Watch Netflix.  Go grocery shopping.  It turned out, it looked a lot like how she remembered.  There wasn’t much time for it during the trial.  Nick had to be there every day and she went of her own accord, sitting in the back and watching the testimony.  She expected to feel something at it all coming to an end.  Maybe happiness.  Relief. But, all she felt was tired.  She had spent the better part of the last seven years fighting Gilead.  She was finally ready to leave it behind.  

           She and Nick planned to celebrate the end of the trial with a dinner out, but they ended up ordering takeout and falling asleep by ten.  When she woke up the next morning, sunlight came in through the half-open blinds, bathing Nick’s face in a warm, golden glow.  She snuggled closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder.  His arm tightened around her waist.

           “Good morning,” he said, brushing a kiss against her hair.

           “Good morning.”

           They laid together for a while, not talking, and then she murmured, “It’s really over, isn’t it?”

           “There could be appeals.”

           “There probably will be," she said sardonically. “But, the damage is done.  That place.  Those people.  It’s over.”

           She knew it was an over-simplification.  They both did.  Gilead had always been more than a place.  It was a belief system.  But, after what had come out during the trial, it could never take hold the way it had.  Not for a long while.

           “It’s over,” he agreed.

           They laid there for a few minutes, silence stretching between them and punctuated by the sound of children playing outside, and June asked, “How do you feel about pancakes?”

           “Pancakes?”

           She nodded.  “I have a mix.  And chocolate chips.  I always make them when I have Hannah.  So far, I’ve gotten no complaints.”

           “She’s eleven,” he deadpanned.

           She turned on her stomach, resting her chin on his chest.  “I think we have some bacon in the refrigerator, too.  And eggs.”

           He grinned.  “That all sounds good.”

           They got out of bed, June tossing over her shoulder for Nick to get Nicole from her crib, and then she was making pancakes, singing along to some music she put on her phone.  Nick made eggs, burning the first batch, but then getting the second just right.  They made the bacon in the microwave, a convenience that June still found novel after her time in Gilead.  They sat down together, Nick cutting up small bits of pancake and eggs for Nicole.  It was odd sometimes to think that this much joy had come from such a joyless place.  But it had. One of life’s mysteries, Aunt Lydia would say.  Probably followed by the cattle prodder.  June wondered then if this was her real triumph over Gilead.  Not escaping, but finding something good within its festering walls.

           “June?”

           Nick’s voice brought her out of her thoughts.  “Yeah?”

           “I asked what you wanted to do today.”

It was a simple question.  A simple answer, too, that still felt revelatory.

           June picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite off the end.  “Whatever we want.”

#The Handmaid's Tale #osblaine #osblaine week #June Osborne #Nick Blaine #June x Nick #June Osborne x Nick Blain #reunion fic

[madlymiho]

Hi! First of all, I wanted to say that I’m really glad you’re back! I was wondering if I could get some head cannons for Sanji, Law, and Kid with a S.o who’s “tamed” a dragon? The dragon and their S.o have known each other for years, so they’re more like good friends who respect one another, rather than pet and owner. (For reference, the dragon is a western dragon- y’know, the classic red fire-breathing ones?) Thank you! Keep up the good work!❤️

Hi there! I'm happy to hear that, thank you for your support! 🥰😍!

I find this one utterly cute, I hope it will suit you! ❤️

Sanji:

• Even if Sanji might sometimes look like a knight with his partner, or every single lady around, he’s also utterly amazed and thrilled whenever he’s having someone strong by his side. He will never get tired to meet such an amazing person and will shower you under compliments  

• Of course, the first time he saw a dragon flied down to you, he thought that you were attacked, and that he needed to protect you! His diable jambe already on fire, but you have been able to reason him, since Sanji is someone who would always follow your orders, he’s good at listening the persons he loves 

• If Sanji was wary at first, and ready to help if that creature would ever harm you, he quickly understands that you too share a deep link and this relationship couldn’t be nothing but incredibly powerful, observing you with happy eyes, because it’s quite a sight for sure 

• He will quickly lose the “be careful” attitude, having that floating smile whenever the dragon appears in the sky, here to defend your honor, to share your adventure, a bit like another man in your life... even if he hides it, it pinches his heart in its jealousy, because Sanji somehow understands he couldn’t match such a fantastic creature

• Not that he will consider your lizard friend as a threat nor a rival, but he wonders what could be his place by your side, if you seem to found within someone, something else, your other half. He adores the way you two communicate, but feels slightly push aside sometimes, waiting patiently to conquer you, in a different way for sure

• Yet Sanji would never let those feelings ruin your relationship and he will make sure that you’re happy, safe and sound by his side, as much as you seem happy, safe and sound around this mystical friend! At least that’s the best he can do, and hopefully, you feel at ease with him 

• With time, and with his eternal love, Sanji will overcome those doubtful feelings and will slowly find his place by your side. He loves to see your content features whenever your flying friend would join you, cheering you up whenever you’re taking off... it’s another special something he’s delight to share with someone 

• Of course, Sanji will had your friend dragon to the list of the mouths he needs to feed, and while you’re announcing its visit, he has already prepared all sort of dishes it might enjoy, having the same eternal goal ; no one should ever starving when he’s cooking for his friends, and your dragon, for sure, is definitely considered as a member of the family 

Law:

• Not that Law doesn’t care about your dragon friend, but he’s not the most impressed with the individual in your life. Somehow he has seen a lot, and there’s a lot to see on the seas, so he’s not exposing the fact that it’s actually quite thrilling and amazing! Not everyone is able to tame a dragon! 

• If his crewmates are always super excited whenever your dragon friend is appearing, Law just crosses his fingers and remains silent, piercing grey eyes watching the elegant flight of this mystical creature. He will be there for the first times, but soon enough, Law doesn’t even show up on the deck 

• Fact is... that dragon friend is definitely a threat, because it could reveal one of his deepest nature, the very fact that he’s a huge nerd, and that he’s utterly and deeply thrilled whenever he’s seeing that dragon in the sky, sharing a wonderful partnership with nothing else but his own companion 

• Even if he tries to hide himself, you definitely bust the fact that he has been sketching on his notebook the anatomy of your friend, somehow studying the way it moves his wings, the way he uses wind to increase its speed, and so on... because he feels like a little kid, fascinated, and wishing to know it better 

• For sure, he will deny the fact he’s actually interested to know this dragon better, and it will be a real pain in the ass to get to the point where he will admit that he finds it awesome, but you know Law, he’s utterly secretive regarding his hobbies and will tut if you interrogate him too much 

• Though, you observe that with time, he’s more present when your friend dragon shows up, sometimes even coming closer to observe its scales, its snout, his eyes gleaming with something you have seen before, some sort of memories from an ancient time and you’re happy to see him like this 

• With time, Law will slowly, very slowly, begin to even compliment your relationship with your dragon, sometimes just dropping that you’re doing a good job, or sometimes just having that smirk floating on his lips whenever you’re accomplishing another miracle. He doesn’t want to be too much intrusive, but for sure, the three of you will have some sort of balance at some point 

• One day, Law would even be the one asking you questions about your friend, letting lose his initial nature to share his feelings, revealing is more nerd side, and the fact that he finds truly amazing the fact you have been able to tame a dragon and create such a deep bond with it 

Kid:

• For Kid, honestly, the very fact that you’re owning (because he believes it’s a pet since it’s not human), a damn fucking dragon his neat! Really just super amazing, awesome, and he’s utterly excited by the very thought you were able to tame it! 

• Honestly Kid is also kinda jealous of your ability to control such a beast, he already imagines that you have been at the origins of huge massacre around the world, riding your dragon with the fiercest look on your face, a dangerous warrior for this world 

• He definitely has a wild imagination about the chaos and torments this dragon can cost, and he harasses you with dozen and dozen questions, all of them about violence, blood, raw meat and so on... until he might understand that it’s not always about that 

• He can’t hide his disappointment when he finally notices that you’re not always up to some mischief with your dragon “pet”, and that you share with it a very deep emotional bond, something he finds utterly childish, and unwelcome, since damn, it’s supposed to be one of the most impressive creature in the world! 

• He judges you loudly, rolls his eyes, and snorts each time you’re having a gesture of affection for your dragon, unable to understand that the two of you are friends more than anything else, and that you don’t need to kill people to actually enjoy spending some time with such a giant creature... something he has a hard time to believe for sure 

• He tries to lead you to have a more violent attitude with your dragon, yelling that you have the most powerful weapon in the universe to become everything you want! He believes it’s a waste of time, a waste of a good pet as well, and for a long time, Kid will religiously ignore the genuine emotions in your bond with your friend

• Though, the more he’s observing you, despite his insults and comments, and the more he begins to understand what kind of bond you have created with this creature. You understand it, you protect it, and it works the other way around, to the point that this beautiful animal will always be there for you, fierce and dangerous to anyone who would ever dare to harm you 

• Kid finally understands that this bond with your dragon is the same than the ones he’s sharing with his crew mates, and one day, after months of all sort of bad words towards you, Kid would simply wrap his arm around your waist, and tell you that you’re really such a badass person, and that your friend is really amazing...

#one piece headcanons #one piece imagines #trafalgar law #eustass kid #vinsmoke sanji #trafalgar d. water law #law one piece #kid one piece #sanji one piece #black leg sanji #kuroashi no sanji #one piece headcanon #one piece imagine #one piece hcs #one piece hc #fluffy headcanons #fluffy writing #greyblueberries #queued

[whitherliliesbloom]

fragrant sorrow

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #10 - heady ]

[ implied kaye/lily ] ★ [ 1,805 words ]  ★ [ wozwald au ] content warning- features use of dr*gs, alcohol and tobacco. passing mentions of sex too but it doesn’t happen on screen or involve the main characters. kaye also kills a man. be warned, this is wozwald au, after all.

heady: intoxicating; affecting the mind or senses greatly

even after all these years, the scent of flowers brought the god of death the most amount of pain. 

It fucking reeks. 

His lungs hurt to even take a breath, nose filled with the cloying stench he’s grown all too familiar with. With fists balled tight in the confines of his pockets, he takes heavy steps deeper through the sickly grey corridors, with only the weight of the scythe strapped to his back serving as a reminder... or rather motivation for moving forward. 

Flashing lights leak through the gaps of the rusted metal door that lets out a deafeningly ear-piercing shriek as he pulls it open, and the scent of complete and utter depravity floods his senses.

There’s the familiar and known - the odor of cigarette smoke and bitter alcohol intermingling in the air... so heavy and concentrated it would almost be enough alone to dull his senses. Like an old friend he hated to know - but comforting in it’s own sickening, addictive way, even if it hurt him to indulge in it.

And then there’s everything else that Kaye loathed that kept his disgust for the place increasing triple fold - distinct notes of burnt chemicals and sweet, heady musk that has him scrunching his nose up and resisting the urge to raise a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

It fucking reeks. Even more than me. 

The carpet beneath his leather boots feels damp - soiled and damp with a concoction of wine and bodily fluids. To even hear the very squelch with every step he took caused the man’s nerves to shrivel... though he has long since learned to hide whatever discomfort he feels. 

And the sights are no more better than the scents and sounds - used needles lay discarded upon tables and couch cushions, crumpled smallclothes neglected and equally well worn strewn about... along with the numerous bodies of both warm and cold that littered the space of the club.

Most of the stiff bodies, as far as the man could tell, were caused by overdose of some kind... poor sods whose life essence had been willingly but not full knowingly given up to fuel the debauched existence of the pathetic excuse of a god.

It was a good thing he’d convinced Lily to stay behind at the camp - though he did promise to make his way back within an hour or she’d feel compelled to come storming through the place out of worry, which she has full right to.

But he didn’t quite feel like having her bear witness to what he’s surrounded himself with now. It’s sure to take several hours worth of comforting, soothing and a patience from him that he’s running thin on. It wasn’t that he disliked her presence - or hated to reassure what was to be the closest thing he’s had to an actual... companion or friend in god knows how long. 

But the stench that was depravity has seeped too far into his own bones, tainted his own blood so much that to even think he was even in any position to separate himself from the very things that the far too innocent for her own good lesser goddess... it was a hypocrisy that made his blood begin to bubble and boil. 

It fucking reeks. But this is exactly the type of scent that suited a monster like him best.

Kaye stops, expression morbid though unchanging and sharp gaze hardened as he stares down at the lesser god of all lesser gods lounging lazily upon the throne made of discarded plush cushions. 

And like the sheer weakling he is, he is wholly unaware of the immense power disparity between himself and his visitor, so much that he’d looked up with a cocky smirk, drawing a sharp inhale of his cigar before blowing the smoke in Kaye’s face.

The further one is away from divinity, the more detached they become from the natural order... with senses so dulled by their own foils that they could not even recognize one of the original pantheon in the flesh.

But that only made Kaye’s job easier, as he silently eyes down the lesser god of carnal pleasures.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure, lad?” The bastard has the audacity to act cordial with him. It would seem he’s as much of an idiot as he was perverse. “Yours is an unfamiliar face.”

“Of course it is.” Kaye responds, voice sour and aloof by comparison. 

“Then what’re here for?” The man asks again, leaning forward to bear his rotten, blackened teeth in a wide grin as he spreads his arms out in a gesture of welcome. “The ladies? The booze? You seem the straight and narrow type. Thinkin’ about losing yourself to your carnal pleasures for the first time huh? Everyone always gives in to it eventually after they remember how worthless life is.”

Kaye grits his teeth beneath sealed lips, and with jaws tightened, he reaches behind his back with one hand.

“’Appreciate the offer... but I’m several millennia too old for this shit.”

“-Wait- What are you-”

The scythe takes another life, clean and effortless as ever. Blood spills freely, pouring over the altar of the now dismantled god.... and Kaye can hear the demented screams of what little of his worshippers assaulting his ear drums.

The smell of iron and death permeates the air, and Kaye turns to leave before he can become drunk on it.

It fucking reeks. 

---

He didn’t have much luck in convincing Lily this time - stubborn as she is whenever she wanted to or felt like she had to be... and him not having enough energy to fight her enthusiasm. She’s younger, more energetic... and he’d admit to no one that he’s envious of that at times. 

But she’s also naive and kind, traits that alone are praiseworthy... but certainly not something that belongs in the modern age - it was a miracle she even came into existence as she did on account of the state of things.

That was also part of the reason why he hadn’t wanted her to come with him on this visit - though that reason had been far more selfish on his part this time than before. 

Because whereas his earlier refusal to let her join him in disposing of the god of carnal pleasures was out of a pure protectiveness for her wellbeing that Lily could fully understand, she could not fathom why Kaye would be so unwilling in letting her visit the abandoned altars of one of the original six. 

He’d even brought a bouquet of flowers, something Lily thought she’d never in all her life get to see the ultra god of grouchiness would ever hold - even if the man did seem a tad put off by his own gift for some reason, for lack of a better term. 

And so she’d followed even in his protest... deep into a forest away from the main city as they walked further and further away from the gaudy neon lights and street lamps into the cold glow of the moonlight through a canopy of dense forest tree branches and leaves.

Lily can tell as Kaye pushed past the overgrowth with practiced ease that he has the route memorized... despite there being no real set path to their destination at all. 

And when they finally reached a clearing in the woods and reached the stone altar, surrounded by crumbled stone walls and mossy bushes, Lily finally gained an inkling of why Kaye had been so hesitant in letting her come visit the pseudo-grave of one of his old companions. 

There was next to none left of the original shrine... now left with a singular stone with a shape of an hourglass carved into its surface that Lily instantly recognized.

It was the emblem of the late goddess of creation - the last god of the original six to have died barring Kaye himself. 

Lily has read tomes about her - about the goddess who, despite her relative weakness in comparison to the other five... possessed within her the great gift that was the ability to create... to give life and change to the very essence of the world. 

In a sense, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that this goddess was Lily’s predecessor.

And though the current goddess of change could not possibly know what type of person the goddess then had been... the fact that she had faded away due to the lack of followers and not due to the judgement passed on by the god of death’s scythe was enough for her to understand now the pain Kaye must feel even just thinking of her.

And it was apparent- even with the lack of emotion in his tense expression as he bends down on one knee to place the flowers beneath the stone before rising to his feet and forcing himself to feign a relaxed demeanor by burying his hands in his pockets and slouching... which only made it more obvious to Lily just how on edge and uncomfortable he was.

She hesitates for a moment, but she finally fights all of her natural instincts telling her to stay quiet to speak and ask him a question.

“What was she like? The goddess of creation?”

Kaye stiffens, and Lily almost mistakens him for a statue as he bows his head and gazes down at the flowers with sorrow welling in his dark eyes.

It takes a while for him to respond... but when he does, the pain in his voice shatters Lily’s heart.

“She was gentle. Kind. An idiot, all things considering... Not unlike you, I guess.” 

This world as it is had no place for the softhearted, Kaye knew that the moment he had started to note this old friend’s power growing dimmer and dimmer. And yet even on her deathbed... even counting down the days to her inevitable disappearance, she held a gentle, weak little smile upon her face.

“She liked flowers...” He thinks to add, and his nose scrunches up once more.

It reeks. The whole altar reeks. He can barely even remember what her voice sounded like or what her smile looked like. And yet the scent of flowers would ever stay fresh to haunt him. 

It’s a fragrance of floral notes and fresh wind... an intoxicating blend of gentle lavender, lilies and chrysanthemums. It was a kind, gentle, sweet and beautiful scent.....

And it ill-suits the rotten state of the modern age... It ill-suited him.

Just recollecting old memories has made the god of death wobbly on his feet, and he turns to leave before Lily can stop him. He needs a cig. 

But not here... Not here where the scent of flowers still rung fresh. Not where his greatest sorrow and regret has yet to be tainted by the odor that he now carried. 

#ffxiv #final fantasxy xiv #ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #kiwisffxivwrite2021 #kaye #lily #wozwald au #fanfic #mine #I MADE IT WITH LITERALLY A SINGLE MINUTE #I was so frantic which is why the ending seems rushed greeehrhrufuhuf #angst angst angst angst

[jesstielle]

okay i have Feelings about NEO: TWEWY and nobody to shout them at because literally nobody else I know plays it which is truly a crime; the original twewy remains one of my favourite games to this day.  but anyway.  massive NEO TWEWY spoilers inbound:

First of all it truly is a miracle that this game even exists.  I never once actually believed we’d get a sequel.  Let alone one this good!! It is really, really good!!!

Things I Enjoyed:

- The gameplay.  Whoo boy.  Up to about 4 team members, anyway.  It’s fast paced, button mashing satisfaction, that manages to keep elements from the original game while still being fresh and fun, if not entirely chaotic, which is why after 4 characters, it was a bit like, ‘okay, chill, let us switch out or something’ lmao

- The new characters.  Although I feel like we leave the game not knowing as much about them as I would like, the new team are really great, and Nagi in particular really shone in terms of character grown.  Rindo.. I feel like I know as little about him now as I did at the start :|a Maybe I just missed something.

I honestly found the teams and their leaders kinda forgettable >>;; Although the heel-face turn on Motoi was pretty great.  I needed more from Kanon to feel anything when she, yknow.

The new reapers were... a mixed bunch. Shoka was fantastic, Susukichi was... a bit much in English, great in Japanese, Tsugumi was great but didn’t get enough screen time (unless she gets more post game, I dunno yet) Shiba annoyed the fuck outta me, Kaie was alright.. the others... meh.  They don’t hold up to Kariya and Uzuki. And obviously Kubo sucks ass pfft

- The reappearing characters.  of course i loved them.  i got a hit of serotonin every time one appeared on my screen. neku my son. josh  the reapers.  i was never a huge minamimoto stan lmao but he was fun. even curry don. but some were DIRELY underutilised which i WILL COME BACK TO

- THE MUSIC.  twewy cannot fail on its music, it’s amazing, it’s glorious, it’s multi faceted, it goes hard. and adding in Beat’s psyche, a rhythm mini game acting as the fast walk button???? yes. yes yes yes yes.  yessssssss. 

- The graphics.  Mostly.  Everything looked beautiful, and HD, and the character designs were great - not toooooooooo Nomura but Nomura enough, yknow? And the occasional chibi faces were great lol.  The chaotic battles sometimes caused lag which... I mean, they coulda given us the option to turn off some of the animations or damage graphics lmao but hey.  the forced perspective on shibuya was a bit off occasionally but it was how the original game did it and it’s all for the ~aesthetic~ so hey.  And it was great seeing some of the original locations looking so much more fleshed out

- The Localisation.  Personally, I think the translators struck a perfect balance that made the kids seem like they’d fit right into today’s culture.  It wasn’t forced, it wasn’t ‘look at us we are Teenagers’, it was right on the mark.  And it was really, really interesting hearing just how different the Japanese VA lines were compared to the English translations.  They really went all out and it paid off, imo.

Dislikes: (i haven’t read the secret reports yet tho)

- UNDERUTILISATION OF THE ORIGINAL CHARACTERS - now, look, okay, I’m biased.  I admit it.  I’m a Josh and Neku stan lmao, so I was looking forward to seeing them the whole game.  And as it went on and on and I realised I wouldn’t be until much later, it bummed me out.  The bait n’ switch with Beat was funny at first, and I enjoyed it a lot, until I realised that yeah, that’s what they’re going with.  Beat’s probably my least favourite partner from the original (sorry) but even disregarding that, it annoys me that they gave him like 10,000x more screen time than even Neku. 

Not to mention Shiki and Joshua!  Josh in particular I could write a whole essay on how pissed I am.  The lost potential.  Nobody mentioning him, ever, once.  Until he just sorta shows up and says a few things.  It makes NO SENSE, he’s the fucking composer, Neku and Beat worked with him, why aren’t they questioning his whereabouts when Shibuya’s turning to shit??????’  I just?????? I had low hopes for Josh content tbf but I am still disappointed :( And naught but one singular Hanekoma mention, as well.  Sigh.

Shiki, it’s a shame she doesn’t appear more, she certainly could have - I can think of like 5 ways off the top of my head - having her as a partner would have also been extremely good.

Neku at least we got..... half a week with. and as a PC.  And like, I know it’s not supposed to be about them, but throw us a bit more than cheap fanservice, yknow. And Kariya and Uzuki were great too.

- why, oh why, was every single team lackey male????  they couldn’t be arsed to make female designs????? it baffled me.

- SO. MUCH. SHIBUYA. TRAVERSING.  I don’t remember if it was that bad in the original?! But oh my god lol.  I think a lot of it was padding.  Sure felt like it.  Paired with the slightly hand hold-y mission progression cutscenes, they coulda cut a bunch of those out.

Other Stuff:

- The voice acting - fantastic in Japanese, okay in English, except for the returning characters?? didn’t sound great??? in english??? I was hyped to turn English back on for Beat but.... nah. Nahhh.  Nagi’s English VA was absolutely the best imo.

- They nailed the feel of the old game without totally copying it - the food, clothes, general aesthetic, music.  That said, it still felt a little too tied to the original.  Ironic considering the rant above I know lmao but... yeah.  The player psyches were a nice touch but I feel like it needed something to set it apart a lil more from its predecessor. 

- I didn’t realise A New Day existed until literally today and I wish I had seen it before I played Neo.  Now I know who Coco is lmao.  And Shinjuku’s erasure was part of that too! arghhhh. Nomura stop burying plot points in other things.  I’m a DS OG dont do this to me

- Rindo’s time travel power was cool but jumping back to the same point like 3 or 4 times in some cases got old

- You could really feel the KH3 energy of ‘play 30 hours until something or someone pivotal finally appears’ lol.  Nomuraaaaa. 

... anyway.

TL;DR good game, needed more Josh, also needs more fans please

#twewy #neo twewy spoilers #neo twewy #yoshiya kiryu #neku sakuraba #spoilers

[kareofbears]

persona 5 strikers thoughts and feelings

This is going to be a long post. Like, the type of post you’d only really have time to read when you’re trying to sleep but you’re not ready to be unconscious yet so you’re just looking for something to do to spend your time with minimal effort. 

So in 2018, a masterpiece was born into the world: Into the Spider-verse was released and it was amazing—it’s honestly the best spiderman movie we have without a doubt, and it’ll be very far into the future before Spider-verse is beaten as the best spiderman movie. Them’s the facts. Then in 2019, Spider-man: Far From Home was dropped. It’s a great movie! Great characters, great continuation of who these characters are and works fantastic as a continuation of a story. It’s really hard trying to take the torch of a previous movie (or in Marvel’s case, juggling twenty something movies) and come up with a new movie that both works on its own, as well as being the next step in this series of films. Thus, with that idea in mind, I think it’s kind of unfair to judge into the spiderverse and far from home, because these are two movies with two completely different objectives in mind. 

Okay, so this is still a persona 5 strikers post, I promise, but the idea is the same: Persona 5 could basically do whatever it wanted—new story, new characters, new everything, and it’s just plain old awesome. However, Persona 5 strikers did not have that sort of freedom. It was bound to the original game, and it had its own rules and stuff it had to keep intact, characters they had to work with, and on top of that, it had to justify its existence as a sequel (lets pretend money doesnt exist lmfao). 

SO, the big question is: did it do that? Did it justify its existence? 

And my answer: holy fuck did it ever do that

I came into this game knowing the extreme bare minimum. I knew there was someone named Sophia, and i knew there was roadtrip, and i knew there were Personas. That’s my knowledge of it before i played it on the Switch.  I should also clarify like, early on, that i was not expecting anything from this game. At all. I was the world’s biggest cynic of this game—if you scroll down my p5s tag far enough, youll just see me complaining about a game that hasn’t even come out yet. I was fully expecting to have this be a Waifu show, and any male character that isn’t Akira to just be shoved aside like some kind of nerd in a high school hallway, and i have never been more pleased to be wrong. In fact, i actually owe it an apology, because of how fucking rude i was for no reason!!! Because this game deserves everything to be honest. 

Persona 5 strikers is, frankly, insane. Insane in the sense that it got to pull shit off that just would never have existed in the original game, because the original game is scared. It had to be as impressive as possible and garner as much attention as possible. Strikers does not have that problem—every single person who bought that game does not need to be convinced that persona 5 is a good game. They already played it. That means Atlus can just fuck around and have a good time, and man did they have a good time. There’s still scenes that still shock me if i think about it too hard, because i’m used to atlus having to follow this sort of rule set when it comes to persona 5 (or any of the main games im assuming, but i havent played them.) And on top of that, there’s still shit that’s Atlus Trademarked Branded in a good way. The style of story of story telling, and revealing the mystery that is so integral to what p5 is, is still there. 

So, to make this even a little bit comprehensible, i will make a list! 

First of all, What is this game?

In short, this game is an OVA of an anime. It’s bonus side content that has one thing in mind: to showcase these lovable characters more by putting them in fun situations. That’s it, and it is just phenomenal. That was the main point of, i’d say, like forty hours of the game. It’s just fun times with fun characters. 

But to get deeper of what i think is happening, or what they were thinking during the development, is that this is a second opportunity. Persona 5 (as we all know) had a lot of problems, and we were not quiet about those problems. We yelled it all out, made posts, made complaints on every social media platform ever. And Atlus heard all of them, and Strikers is a way to mitigate those mistakes. Aside from being a fun OVA, Strikers also works to be a deeper exploration of these characters—more specifically, the characters that did not receive much in the original game. Creating this sequel is having the ability to redo what they felt (or to be more specific, we felt) in the original game while adding new ones. I will get to that in a second.  

The format of the game 

Absolutely brilliant to throw them on a road trip. P5V already forced us to experience Shibuya for 200+ hours, and im so glad that they didn’t do that again. Going from town to town, making us experience these new places alongside our favorite characters is so good, and it just makes sense. It’s fun, it’s lighthearted, and it’s actually shockingly good. But one thing i do want to talk about early on is the way the story unfolds and the villains that they use, and what they do with it because it’s very interesting. 

So as we explore japan and stuff, we encounter jails, and with those jails comes an antagonist. This antagonist works to be a parallel to one of our characters. That character will find it in their hearts to feel bad for the antagonist, because the antagonist could have been them had the original game not happen. At first I thought all of the thieves were gonna get an antagonist, and i was really hyped for the ryuji one. And then came to hour forty of the game where i realized “yeah that’s not gonna happen. There’s just not enough time.” And i was right, and the game ended. But i am not salty at all, honestly, because the people who got a direct antagonist were: Ann, Yusuke, and Haru. (we wont count zen and sophie). 

Is there a trend??? Yes. these are all characters in the original game that have received the worst treatment by atlus. The three of them are basically cast aside the minute they finished their original arc, and its horrible! BUT that’s why this is the path that atlus chose for them—to give them more depth, and screentime, and a way to show their inner self. That isn’t to say that the ones who aren’t those three (makoto, futaba, mona, akira, ryuji) didn’t get anything. Futaba still has her thing at the end with ichinose, and she was very prevalent and animated during the rest of the game. Mona and Akira have to be a focal points, that’s just the nature of the game. The other two though, I will talk about in depth in a second.  

Makoto

Y’all i poke fun at shumako fans sometimes cause its kind of easy and fun, but i honestly love makoto. In my very first playthrough of p5 (my first ever jrpg game, first persona game, i had no idea what i was doing), i had only maxed out two characters: ryuji and makoto. And i know she had a lot of screentime and love in the original game which is great, but i truly felt like she was dissed in this game. Her only roles were

A driver

Someone to tell them “we don’t have a choice. Let’s keep going and see where this takes us.” (seriously, if you replay this game, you will see how much she does this)

Idk, i just wish she had more to do, especially compared to how much love they gave the other characters. 

But let’s talk about some of the new characters! 

Zenkichi

Damn you atlus. Damn you and your insistence at bringing in cop characters. I was fully on board with hating zenkichi, i was fucking ready for it. I was convinced that there was nothing they could do convince to like zenkichi. I was immune to their copaganda. 

And then i ended up loving him, which makes me sad a little bit. I didn’t realize how desperate i was to have an adult who has a persona. Someone who wants the world to change just as much as they do, while still having that aspect of them that makes them adult. Like??? As someone who is technically an adult, its a breath of fresh air. An adult. Who fights. For justice. Using a persona. And god i love akane so much, and her obsession with the thieves (that scene is probably in my top ten fave scenes of the game). Also what i loved about zenkichi is that he fucking hates the cops!! He hates the system of the cops!! And thats why i actually really started to love him!! Because i thought it was atlus saying that the systematic problem of the police cannot be solved by one person, and zenkichi threw away his badge. I actually cried at that part!! 

But then he became a cop again, and i was just :/ but as a character, i really love him to bits and would love to do a study on him, or at least use him as an outside pov. But! i absolutely love his persona, since im a les miserables fan hehe

Sophia 

she’s probably my favorite new aspect of the game. I was ready to not like her—again, i just suck like that, lmfao—and when i saw her, i was scared that she was just another waifu. I mean, she was very cute after all. But then as the game went on, i thought she was a little too cute. And even further into the game, i finally slapped myself in the face and realized oh my god shes not a waifu. Shes a sister. 

That blew my mind, im ngl to you. A female character that isn’t supposed to be romanced? By jove, what a miracle! 

And she…is an amazing character. Im sorry, i just love her so much. I love her so much that she  probably ranks as my fifth or sixth favorite character which is surprising even to me. Everything about her is delightful and invigorating. She’s funny??? Her comedic timing is amazing, and she has such chemistry with the rest of the team. She’s actually useful to the plot, and while her character design is a little too on the nose for me in terms of cuteness (i mean, good god she’s wearing oversized sweater to show how cute and tiny she is, and her hair has literal hearts in it), she is absolutely lovable. 

But what i actually really wanna gush about for a second is sophia at the last stage of the game. You get the idea, i dont really like to get excited over things, so at this point i figured that there was nothing this game could do to shock me. 

And then sophia had a persona awakening. 

Like. holy fuck did i yell. I didnt realize what was happening until the music had already kicked in. and its just so fucking smart!!! Sophia??? The ai?? With no heart?? gOT A PERSONA???? AWAKENING??? BECAUSE SHE LEARNED WHAT THE HEART IS AND THE PASSION THAT YOU NEED IN ORDER TO GET A PERSONA??? I started crying honestly, because it was just so smart. And looking back on it now, its obvious!! Of course it would lead to this, it only made sense that the culmination of her character arc leads to her getting a persona, nothing else would have been as good. Also, her voice actor is just amazing?? When she was talking to ichinose at the end, i actually got incredibly emotional because of the line reads. Its just so spot on and it really captures the essence of sophia.

Muah. five stars Atlus. You got me. 

Ryuji <3!!!!

Oh man. Oh boy. Okay. so where do i start. 

Yall know i love him. Hes probably my favorite fictional male character of all time, and he is the one i was the absolute most cynical about in this game. I was expecting literally nothing. Nothing. Like. nothing. I thought he was just gonna keep being used as a joke, or a gag, and he’s gonna be super horny all the time for the other girls and it was gonna make me mad and there was gonna be some insane homophobic/queerphobic jokes in every other scene and i know i was being unfair, but i cant help it. 

And then i played the first two hours of the game, and i cried the entire time. Because ryuji has never been better than he is in this game. Its crazy. 

The ryuji in persona 5 strikers is who ryuji should have been/how he should have been treated this entire time. From the actual funny jokes (for example, the gold bar joke + his reaction to it in the beginning of the game), defending his female friends instead of being the one people need to defend from (natsume arc), and the fact that he was the one to be there with morgana and akira in the very beginning of the game. Its such a small thing that they didnt even need to do, but it was such an integral part of the original game for me, that i just was convinced that nothing like this was going to happen. But then it happened. Its just small stuff like that that could have been overlooked but it wasn’t because this game? Persona 5 strikers? Fucking loves ryuji. 

The actual respect they gave this boy is insane and i wasn't ready for it. Like, they gave the shujin trio lunch, they gave the little charm of the katana when they were in natsume’s jail, and, in my opinion this is the second-best thing that they could have given ryuji is sophia. Ryuji and sophia are the pinnacle of a brother & sister bonding relationship in the game that isn’t akira & futaba. And its really prevalent too?? Small stuff from the beginning of the game (pulling her out of a jail, calling her shorty), but then you have the iconic “shut the fuck up” scene, and that scene was so well characterized and written and voice acted, that somehow him saying “fuck” was the least exciting part of that scene to me. Ryuji is an older brother to her, like its undoubtable, and its only further cemented at the end of the game where Ryuji helps out ichinose because he knows how much sophia cares about her. This game. Love ryuji. And i love. This game. 

You know what else i love? Akiryu. 

Guys. i was fully prepared to starve in terms of akiryu. But theres just. So much of it. I wont get too deep into it, because i think this aspect of the game for me still needs marinate a little bit. Like, what was that last shot when EMMA died and Ryuji walked to approach Akira so they could relish in their victory together?? And the smile from both of them??? What the fuck. That was amazing. Also Joker being saved by Ryuji when he was about to fall from the cliff to save sophia??? WHAT. The LEADER AND HIS RIGHT HAND MAN? WHAT. anyway. If theres anything i want to keep for myself in my own brain, its the akiryu aspect of this game, so i wont talk too much about that part of things (instead, itll probably manifest in fic lmfaooo). 

Sure, there’s tidbits of stuff i dont like that they gave ryuji: sexualizing ann in that one cut scene and making him touch the jails even though it hurts, and i recognize those and frown at them, but for the most part, i am blown away with how they treated him.

Basically, Ryuji has never been better. From the opening of the game with him being the first text message and the one to sling his arm around akira, to the very last cut scene where it was ryuji wordlessly leaving because he’s so confident that they would never be separated for long, this game adores Ryuji and i am so so happy to say that.

The Royal aspect of things

Yeah, i had to talk about this, but itll be a short thing i just wanted to point out. Because the last part of this game...is persona 5 royal. Which is curious. Like taking reality and giving that power to someone else so you dont have to experience suffering anymore? And even like, the final section just looked a lot like the top half of maruki’s palace?? And whats even crazier is that we had a boss fight with sophia, just like how we had a boss fight with sumire? Royal and Strikers have like, the same thesis statement. It’s kind of uncanny.It’s interesting, it’s like atlus came up with these two ideas, and then just decided they liked both of them so much that they just did it twice. I don’t mind though—actually, in terms of how the last Palace/Jails go, i probably like them both about equally. 

Though i did love the final battle in this one more than i did in royal. Splitting into teams?? Thats cool as fuck, and really innovative and i didnt see it coming. It also kicked my ass. A lot. 

Now for the last stretch: the small stuff!

The music — bomb as fuck. In my heart, Daredevil is ranked the same as Rivers. Axe to grind is also amazing, but Daredevil owns me

Akechi — i really debated whether or not to talk about him, but i figured a bullet point should be enough. Im really shocked that he wasnt in this at all. Like not even a name drop. If this is an OVA, and the point of the game is to please the fans, and akechi is arguably the fan favorite character, i was really ready for something. But there was nothing, except for the pancake hallway if that even counts as a reference. Thats it. Thats all i wanted to say about him.

The humour — FUCKING HILARIOUS im convinced that in my fifty hour playtime, five of that is dedicated to me laughing and unable to continue the game 

Akira — so much personality! His lines of dialogue are crazy sometimes (like. Whats up with him saying Ryuji has ‘nice abs’ when they were in bath? Im crazy and even i dont know what the fuck that could mean) 

Battle system — oh my god i almost forgot to talk about this. I love it! I kind of miss the turn based aspect just because i found it very comforting for some reason, but this hack and slash style of gameplay is so invigorating because i do feel like it justifies shit like the baton pass and huge attacks.  This battle system fully encompases how the Phantom Thieves are supposed to fight, you know what i mean?

Anyway, thats my thoughts on strikers. Loved it. Amazing. 9.3/10, wouldve been higher but Konoe’s Jail almost bored me to death. Also im a monster and i didnt do any requests that isn’t a fun one, teehee. As if i play persona 5 for the persona aspect of things.

#cant believe im done #but you know what? #i was actually at peace when i finished it #so i consider that a good healty thing #p5s #alex plays p5s #mine #p5 #my moon and stars #the leader and his right hand man

[henpendrips]

Top Ten #2 - God of War II (PS2)

Ok, at this point I must be pulling your leg, right? And yes, I am... in the most visceral and unecessarily brutal way possible.

Ahh, God of War 2. The miracle game that served as the perfect send-off to the PS2 era, as it took all the vacuous words that would be used to describe a big, innovative AAA game (then and now), and actually live up to it. Yes, it is epic, grandiose, daring. But above all else, it's a fucking fantastic hack-n-slash/spectacle fighter, and unquestionably my favorite entry in one of my favorite game franchises.

Straight off the success of its predecessor (and before all the comics, books, and lovely prequels sans Ascension), back we are at the helm with Kratos, as he goes from god to empty-stomached mortal in a single tutorial level. An astounding tutorial level, mind you, as we slice and dice the forces on the Island of Rhodes, pursued by a sentient Colossus, only to have the spiffy, uber-powerful Blade of Olympus dangled in our faces, and snatched away at the last second... along with Kratos' innards. But I suppose a paper cut like that is reason enough to get a guy who's been double-crossed by several Olympians to go on a quest to the ends of the Earth, and find a way to change his fate. And also murder gods.

Say it with me: GoW2 is the right kind of sequel, taking what worked in the original, building it up, and filling the game with more AND better content. Not only are the stakes raised, the world expanded, the environments more varied, but every aspect of gameplay is improved upon. Enemy types are far more distinct, so tactics and approach more frequently alter compared to GoW1, from killing riders and taking control of cyclops, to deflecting projectiles, magic, and even melee strikes using the Golden Fleece. Key items such as the Amulet of the Fates and Icarus' Wings, improved exploration and puzzles thanks to their mechanics. The new magic abilities have a more distinct flair and usage than those attained in GoW1, from Typhon's Bane going from simple magic arrows to creating giang tornados, Cronos' Rage generating chain-lightning that would tag and damage every monster that came near, to the brutal Atlas Quake cataclysming everything around you. Oh, and Euryale, Medusa's fat sister, also loses her head in this adventure.

But the weapons, oh-ho-ho BOY! You liked the Blade of Artemis, how it provided a bit of different melee combat compared to the Blades of Chaos? Well in GoW2, you get THREE completely distinct weapons to brutalize these poor creatures of myth alongside the newly minted (in blood) Blades of Athena. Barbarian Hammer for heavy impact, pushback, and the ability to summon some soulsy minions (in the same vein as Army of Hades); Spear of Destiny, with greater range and piercing ability, faster but more focused strikes, and generating crystal bombs; and as your reward for clearing the game, the Blade of Olympus, which... is just great, and I'm glad that it isn't given to you until the final boss fight against Zeus, because from first gutting to last, the antecipation, the little taste you get during the tutorial, and the narrative reasons why you're trying to get it back, makes it all worthwhile to use it in New Game +. Alongside a wider range of costumes, all with different abilities and effects, to spice up your experience and replays.

I would say that God of War 2 wins out among all God of War games, not because the other entries in the series that I've played (so no God of War 4 yet) are bad, but because there's never really the same indulgence as there is in GoW2. Numbuh 3 is far more generic in terms of level design and environments, but it might've won out thanks to its pay-offs, if it hadn't been for what felt like a more limited and less varied arsenal, with magic assigned directly to its four melee weapons, three of which seemed redundant and could have had more done to make their usage more distinct. And while it is one of my personal 10/10 games, the ending of GoW2 really is the worst part of it, as even when it originally came out, having a blatant "To be continued" AFTER you establish a huge climax didn't really go down well with me, in spite of everything leading up to it being balls-to-the-walls mind-blowing.

I don't think I can ever do God of War 2 justice, as to why it is I consider it so enjoyable, why I have so much fun when I play it, and why I became so invested in this series after two games in. But despite it all, while the struggle was real, there can be only one #1, and rightfully, only one game could have possibly have me asking Kratos, the one-man liquifying machine, to come down a step.

#art #artists on tumblr #god of war #GoW2 #kratos #blades of athena #top ten #videogames #fanart #illustration #print