#The Umbra Take The Rings!

[ravenwitch45]

Helluva Boss x Bayonetta crossover idea:

Assuming that Bayonetta would meet the main cast of Helluva Boss in the show's current events, imagine the possibility that she wasn't the first Umbra Witch to come into contact with anyone from the Seven Rings.

What if, say, there was a history between Bayonetta's mom Rosa and Stolas's dad Paimon?

Rosa might have visited the Seven Rings or Paimon might have discovered Vigrid on an excursion to Earth (maybe even summoned), but somehow and someway, they both meet each other.

Perhaps on their first encounter, they are curious about each other or they get off on the wrong foot. Then again, not every run-in between a witch and a demon is a smooth one.

If the first meeting is one of hostility, they have a fight. If it goes cordially, Rosa might chaperone Paimon to Vigrid, but he might not be received the same by the other Umbra Witches and especially the Lumen Sages - This predictably leads to the witches and sages attempt to bring Paimon under control, which he doesn't like, so he whips out his Goetian powers and resists. He's able to trounce a number of witches and sages, but Rosa intervenes to make him stop, leading to both of them fighting each other after Rosa somehow gets the witches and sages to stand down and let her deal with him.

The fight may end in a draw or Rosa momentarily bringing Paimon to his knees, but Paimon is amazed at the witch's strength, skill, and cunning. (Plus, she's one hot witch, to boot!)

As a powerful demon in his homeland, Paimon doesn't really have trouble returning home whenever he wishes, but is too fascinated with Vigrid and the clans to leave right away thanks to Rosa. So he hangs around, getting to learn more about the culture and heritage of Vigrid, though he mostly learns more about the witches since Rosa is the one he trusts the most out of all of them. He's especially enamored with the two clans' possession of 'The Eyes of the World'.

Eventually, Paimon and Rosa are able to form a sufficiently friendly relationship, somewhat of a friendship (kind of), that they can be casual with each other about sharing who they are and their roots, among other things. They would even be comfortable enough with each other to engage in some friendly sparring, at least when they're alone.

But alas, there is still the chance that Paimon may have something else up to no good in mind. He might be sneakily trying to find a way to snag the Eyes of the World for himself to bring back to the Seven Rings for an edge in whatever hellish ambitions he has that are typical for his kind - whether to rule over the other Goetias, all of the Seven Rings and beyond, even take over Heaven, you name it!

Of course, Rosa finds out and won't stand for it, especially after Paimon learns to his surprise what the true nature of the Eyes really are, the truth of which would make whatever plans he was cooking up impossibly difficult if not pointless. Regardless, Rosa is compelled to confront Paimon on his attempted actions, and they once again engage in a serious fight like the first time, but now with the sincere intent to finish off the other.

Rosa is able to beat Paimon and for the first time, he is humbled by the very same qualities he earlier praised her for. Understanding her seriousness and the futility of trying to steal and use a gift that is outside his scope of understanding, he admits defeat and finally decides to leave Vigrid and go home. As Paimon prepares to leave, he tells Rosa that he genuinely enjoyed his time with her and seeing Vigrid, implying that he's promising to never return if that's what she wants. But Rosa replies that she might have other surprises waiting for him in store and show him a thing or two, implying that she isn't exactly forbidding Paimon from returning if he so wished.

Paimon can only take that response in light humor, silently telling Rosa that he might take her up on that offer, before he resumes leaving and officially returning to the Seven Rings.

Only time will tell if either one of them feels like sharing this private little story to anyone else. Until the situation somehow, somewhat calls for it, it would be one helluva riddle for the ages!

Oh Baby we got some history with these famlies! I think this idea is so cool. Especially since I already kinda wrote Bayonetta's and Stolas's meeting so imagine there reactions to finding out about this. Not to mention Paimon learning Rosa's fate eventually. Okay let me add a few ideas ^^

The Umbran Witch and The Goetia Demon that came before...

You already lined out a pretty good story, so I won't add much there except a few ideas I have. Maybe when they meet, Rosa assumes he must belong to another witch, a notion he's radically insulted by, explaining who he is and they calm down, Paimon starting a full conversation asking about her practices of magic, pretty polite and curious at that age, and after that they hang out, Rosa herself also curious of him.

Maybe when Rosa chaperones him to the city itself, the person that makes a big fuss is Morganna, since we know her very dehumanizing view of demons and all, personally I feel her and Rosa had a bit of a rivalry but not important rn.

When Paimon freaks out and Rosa fights him to a stalemate, and maybe knocking him to the ground. I could certainly feel him panicking a little, having never been bested or threatened by any creature, but he surrenders anyway, calming the situation.

With the friendly sparring I could see both being impressed at the others magic, Paimon finding the Witch time and bullet arts an interesting magic, while Rosa is intriqued by Goetian Magic as well the soceity of the seven rings. Also Paimon being incredibly nervous if Rosa introduces him to Madama Khepri XP

But of course Paimon sees power and sees oppurtunity with the Eyes of The World, and won't just back off upon his friend telling him he can't understand them exactly or steal them. The fight would certainly be dramatic, both fighting on all cylinders. Paimon going full shadow beast and Rosa going serious mode with the wicked weaves, maybe even pulling off a demon masquerade or two.

With Paimon coming back eventually, maybe after some time they start discussing how there lives are changing, there views clashing as Paimon is resigned to marry a woman he barely knows, while Rosa falls for Balder against all law. But there still friends albeit ones with conflicting views.

Maybe despite all they went through, when Rosa is caught and imprisoned. Paimon really starts distancing himself from her. Rosa won't let him help her, and he can't stand to watch her suffer for something even he can't blame her for even if love barely makes sense to him.

He comes by her cell one last time, to say goodbye, but before he leaves Rosa asks him to look after her daughter, telling him her name. "Cereza." And he just leaves, never going after the child. Focusing on his status and power back home as he marries his kids off to succeed. Thinking of her occasionally, having nightmares he ignores of her hating him. Never daring to go back to see what happened to his old friend. Ignoring how his heart skipped a beat when Stolas gave him a bouquet of roses he grew as a child. Finding the flowers so bittersweet even though he likes having them around to remind him of her...

I can not tell you just how much I LOVE this idea, deepens both of their characters greatly and complexs how Bayonetta will interact with the Helluva cast. Not sure what next but this sure is cool.

#ask reply #helluva boss #bayonetta #paimon goetia #bayonetta rosa #crossover #The Umbra Take The Rings!

[whumpflash]

Umbra: Wasted Magic

cw: broken bones, bad healing

previous ///// masterlist

§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§

The healer came to his cell after the mockery of a trial, and even through his agony, Cerus could read the distasteful expression on her face. Oh what an insult, to be tasked with healing a fallen ruler. Years ago, before the revolts, it would've been considered an honor.

The woman crouched beside him, poking at a shattered shin with a none-too-gentle hand, and Cerus let out a choked cry of pain, biting down on the gag no one had bothered to remove. Despite the pain caused by the shifting bones in his leg, he did his best to hold still. The guards had returned him to the spread-eagled position on the cell floor after the trial, and the slightest shift caused the shackles to pull at his broken hands; made even worse by the raw, newly tattooed skin; the accursed seals of the priests.

He'd felt the disconnect from his magic when he woke in the cell, muddled underneath the agony radiating from his limbs, but undeniably there. It was like losing a sense; like waking up suddenly unable to smell or taste, and that loss had caused reality to fully sink in. 

He'd lost. His subjects had risen against him, destroyed the armies he'd commanded, and dethroned him. Any hope of reclaiming power had been snuffed with the severing of his magic, and he wouldn't delude himself with the idea that any of his subjects had any loyalty to him. They'd made that clear with the rebellion.

He was nothing now. A king no more, a mage no more. Deemed unworthy to even die.

The faint glow of healing magic began to spread from the healer's fingers and seep into his leg, and he groaned as he felt the shards of bone begin to reform. The feeling it brought was something almost like relief, but even when she removed her hand, the healing complete, a certain wrongness remained.

She repeated the process with his other leg, then each hand, quickly and without care. The worst of the pain dissolved away, but an odd ache was left behind, and when he flexed his fingers, testing them, pain rippled up the joints like a crack of lightning.

Even were the gag not present, Cerus would not have dared to speak of it. It was a miracle they'd sent a healer his way at all, now that the trial was over, but he recalled with a bitter certainty that the traitors who'd appointed themselves as the new Council had sentenced him to service. The healing wasn't given in the name of mercy, but utility. 

The healer stepped back, rapping her knuckles on the heavy door that sealed the cell. A guard answered her summons promptly, and they exchanged words Cerus couldn't quite focus on.

His attention snapped to the armored figure as they stepped inside, taking a key to the chains that held him. Memories hit him like blows, reminding him what had happened the last time his enemies had been kind enough to free him from his shackles.

Strike me down! Will you?

As soon as he was able, Cerus pulled his limbs into his chest, tucking his head into his arms, waiting for the first taunt, the first strike.

Instead, the guard standing over him let out a bawdy laugh.

"Look at him! Sniveling little rat of a man. Ain't even touched him and he's trembling."

The healer seemed less amused, her tone cool and tight. "Do what you need to and chain him back up. I don't want to be in here any longer than I have to."

Cerus wanted to curse them both, but held his tongue, the echoing crunch of his own bones ringing in his ears like a warning. The guard could break him however they wanted and the healer could put him back together like nothing happened.

He tried not to flinch when the guard's boot gave him a nudge. Their short bark of laughter told him he was unsuccessful.

"Alright, shadow rat. On your feet."

They wanted him to stand? Why? Likely only so they could strike him down again and laugh at the pain they caused.

But if he hesitated, they could crush his legs and then make him stand on them anyway. He had no delusions about the depths of the cruelties he could be made to suffer here. These people had no concept of mercy; not for him.

Cerus rolled onto his stomach with a soft hiss, his movement pulling at still-open wounds, jostling still-cracked ribs. He tucked his hands under his chest and gave a tentative push, crumpling back to the ground as pain spiked through the bones of his badly-healed fingers.

"Quit wasting my time. Up." The guard sounded more impatient than amused now. It wouldn't be long before his shouts were punctuated by violence, Cerus knew.

He tried again, getting a knee under him for better support, biting back a yelp as pain crackled through his hands like a spitting fire. Still, he pressed on, encouraged by the fear that whispered what would happen if he didn't.

His legs trembled under his weight, his shins and ankles throbbing like they'd had nails driven into them.

When was the last time he'd stood unassisted? The last time he'd been free of his chains and upright? He did not know, but the weakness in his body insisted it had been ages.

"Take a step forward," the guard said. "Walk to the wall."

Cerus complied. The first step, the first shifting of barely-healed bone, nearly sent him to his knees, but he managed to stay upright, panting heavily as he slowly, slowly crossed the room.

"Bit slow, ain't he? Maybe a little more of your magic," the guard said, their eyes on the sullen healer.

"I won't waste my magic on the likes of him."

The guard made a noise that said they agreed, but continued anyway. "He's s'posed to be able to work. Useless to the whole rebuilding thing if he can't even walk."

The healer let out an irritated sigh. "Very well."

Cerus used the wall to guide himself back to the floor, watching this scornful woman as her eyes followed him hatefully. No matter. He could bear it. He'd borne the hatred of countless others, even before his fall.

"You'll need to chain him," she said.

"Why's that?" the guard murmured, even as they reached for Cerus, seizing him by his hair before he could even try to crawl away. The pain in his skull was immediate, but it was outshone by the sudden chill that washed over him as he caught sight of the woman's face.

Of the small, cold smile she wasn't trying to conceal.

"Before I can try again, you'll need to rebreak his legs."

§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§

@whumpwillow @rabbitdrabbles @kixngiggles @honeycollectswhump @chiswhumpcorner @whatwhumpcomments , @dont-look-me-in-the-eye , @turn-the-tables-on-them , @pigeonwhumps , @itsmyworld23 , @andromeda-liske , @starlit-hopes-and-dreams , @haro-whumps , @kira-the-whump-enthusiast , @whumpedydump ,

#he's still incredibly bitter at this point #less defeated #for now #penumbra: shadow king #villain whump #fantasy whump #tw torture #whump writing #tw broken bones #bad caretaker #painful healing #manhandling

[oliviajdjarin]

Ruhn Danaan: Personal 

Pairing: Ruhn Danaan x fem!reader

Summary: Ruhn thought fake flirting wouldn’t get under his skin. He was wrong.

Warnings: Major jealousy, reader seduces a male, reader gets felt up by a male, reader wears a tight dress, reader has her hair done, Ruhn shatters a glass, allusions to sex, reader is alluded to having curves, LOTS of swearing, Queen Bryce is here too, ruhn bleeds, let’s pretend the White Raven didn’t *spoiler* explode. Set during the events of HoSaB (sort of), spoilers!!, I apologize if things don’t line up with canon.

A/N: I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this man since I finished HoSaB, so I thought I’d try something new. I hope you enjoy :)

If you’d like to leave a like, comment, reblog, or ask, it would be very appreciated <3

SJM Masterlist

(I found this drool-worthy art on Pinterest. Absolute full credit to the owner).

You had known the powerhouse that is Bryce Quinlan for over a decade.

And yet, no matter how much time seemed to pass, her stubbornness never seemed to dwindle.

“I’m going Y/N.”

“You’re mated, Bryce. To the Umbra fucking Mortis. They’ll smell it.”

“So? You would be surprised how little that matters to the right male.”

She placed her hands on her hips as she said this, and your eyes trailed down her body. Her skin-tight dress brought out the best parts of her, and the red of her hair was even more vibrant against the dark shade of black.

Beautiful, as she had always been.

“I’m being serious, Bryce,” you responded. “You’re Starborn. You saved this city. If this male has real, usable information on the rebellion, he’s not going to tell you.”

“And he’ll tell you?” she questioned back.

“Yes,” you responded breathlessly. “You would intimidate the Hel out of him, while I am a random female buying him drinks. If I get him drunk enough, he’ll spill.”

Bryce gnawed on her bottom and lip and fidgeted with her rings. A faint pink began to show beneath her freckled face.

“I don’t like this Y/N.”

“I know Bryce,” you responded, “that’s why you’re coming with me.”

“Still,” she replied, “if you get pulled into a separate room, how will I know you’re okay?”

“You know I’ll be okay. I can handle myself,” you said, and moved a bit closer to her. “Whoever this male is and whatever information he has, it’s not worth you being in danger.”

“Danger?” said a voice behind you, deeper and more gruff than either you or Bryce had ever made your voices.

A shot of electricity shot down your spine, and your mouth instantly dried.

“Ruhn,” Bryce mumbled with a roll of her eyes. “Seriously? I want my key back.”

Ruhn Danaan

Half-brother to one of your closest friends, and the hottest male you had ever laid your eyes on.

You turned around with a gulp, reeling in the feeling that his voice gave you no matter how many times you had heard it, and squeezed your hands at your sides.

And there he was. Ruhn Danaan. The Crowned Prince of the Valbaran Fae, and your decade long crush.

Holy Hel did he look good.

It was obvious he had just gotten off from the Aux. His tight black leathers covered him from his back down to his legs, and his tattoos bulged on his forearms. His hair had been the same since the day you met him—long and shaved on one side—but it never failed to do his sculpted face justice. His lip piercing was just visible enough, and the Starsword strapped to his back showed just how broad his shoulders had become over the years.

He was intimidation personified, so much so that it felt like you were standing in his shadow, and you could not take your eyes off him.

You must have been crazy, stupid, insane, but the blue eyes that stared at you every time you closed your eyes didn’t seem to want to leave you either.

You were dressed similarly to Bryce—tight dress, glittery heals, hair and makeup done more so than usual, and fancy perfume emulating off of you— which was making you feel like you should sink into the floor.

Had he ever seen this much of you?

You weren’t embarrassed, you could wear whatever the Hel you wanted, but his slow gaze over you from your feet up to your face sent beads of sweat dripping down your back. He had to have been able to smell your fear—and, of course, other things.

You were so fucked.

“Danger tends to follow me,” Ruhn replied, “but it seems that I followed it this time.” His eyes didn’t leave yours.

He wasn’t talking about you. No way.

Bryce huffed in annoyance. “The only danger here is Y/N thinking she can seduce a rebel sympathizer into leaking information.”

Ruhn’s eyebrows raised. “Seduce?”

You swallowed. “If need be.”

“‘If need be,’ of course you will have to,” Bryce mocked. “It has happened every time you’ve done something like this.”

“Every time?” Ruhn questioned, and folded his arms over his chest. “So you’ve done this before?”

A hint of mischief coated his irises, and your heart had never beat so fast.

“Only out of necessity,” you responded with the best smirk you could muster.

Ruhn huffed out a laugh. “Well Bryce, it seems like Y/N is more experienced in this field.”

“You’re my brother,” Bryce responded. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I’d really rather not see you get targeted by the rebellion because of your star Bryce,” Ruhn said, gesturing to her chest.

“I’ll hide it.”

Both you and Ruhn gave her an unimpressed look. You both knew it tended to shine whenever it wanted to.

Bryce groaned in annoyance. “You’re both the worst.”

“Either way I’m going with you,” Ruhn said, tipping his chin up with pride.

“Not in that outfit you’re not,” Bryce responded, and you chuckled.

“And what would you prefer me wear Y/N?” he asked with a tease. Heat began spreading from your cheeks down to your neck.

Nothing.

“Something without a literal target on your back.”

Ruhn laughed through his nose.

“Fine. I’ll meet you ladies at The Raven,” Ruhn said, floorboards creaking as he backed out of Bryce’s apartment door.

You couldn’t miss the hint of excitement coating his eyes, and the heat pooling in your lower stomach.

~*~

The last thing Ruhn expected to see when he entered Bryce’s apartment was you looking the way that you did.

And holy Hel did you look good.

He had known you since you and Bryce were sixteen years old, and as soon as you laid eyes on him, a girlish film went over them. He remembered it. Vividly.

You had obviously found him attractive, and he viewed it as one of Bryce’s silly little friends with a silly little crush.

Until, he was lucky enough for Bryce to reconnect with him. And that was when he saw you. Really saw you.

It knocked the wind from his lungs to see how you’d grown up, and the female you had become. The more he got to know you, the more he realized how self-assured, confident, and fucking smart you were.

And seeing you in that dress. Gods. It cracked the little control he had left into a million pieces.

He had his eyes on you now. He wanted you, badly.

In the beginning, he thought it was just a physical thing, but as the months developed, so did his feelings.

These quote-on-quote “feelings” made him feel like the sixteen year old. He thought he knew his way around women and females, but you tended to send him right back to square one.

And he was about to watch you, potentially, feel up a random man for information.

He brought his drink to his mouth and took a large gulp. He savored the burn of it in his throat.

“There she goes,” Bryce mumbled next to him, and the two of them watched as you slowly made your way closer and closer to the male target. His heart quickened with each step you took.

Bryce and Ruhn were seated at a table far enough from the bar to be subtle, and Ruhn had changed into a plain grey T-shirt and jeans. His hair remained down, and he sure as Hel wasn’t opposed to revealing more of his tattoos.

He saw how you looked at them. He didn’t want you to stop.

“I should be the one doing this,” Bryce mumbled. The male had finally taken notice and introduced himself to you.

“Relax, Bryce,” Ruhn replied. “She’s going to be alright.”

“You just want to watch this. Pig.” Bryce threw back a shot of some sort of clear liquid.

Ruhn raised his eyebrows and took another sip of his drink.

Maybe.

You leaned against the wooded bar in such a way that your curves were highlighted in the party lights. The makeup you chose brought out your eyes perfectly, and the male was becoming more and more interested in the way your hair curled over your shoulder.

Your eyes flickered over the male, and you leaned closer and closer, inch by inch.

Ruhn leaned forward in his chair, watching your every move. Blood pressure rising.

The male leaned in closer, and brushed your hair from your neck. You tipped your head back to show that you enjoyed it, and the male took the opportunity to whisper something into your revealed skin.

You smiled, eyes closed, and the male’s large hand squeezed around your waist. Pulling you into his chest.

And right at that moment, right as your hands covered his chest and his hands moved down your body, it was as if Ruhn’s senses had been dialed to 0.

The music disappeared. The slight buzz he had disappeared. The flashing lights and dancing bodies around him disappeared.

There was only you, wrapped in the arms of another male, looking fucking incredible.

And smiling.

He expected to enjoy this, but he didn’t. Not at all.

Never in his life had Ruhn’s vision tunneled so quickly.

He felt his heart plummeting to his feet, so fast he felt the nausea hit him like a wave, and his normally even breathing quickened to an uneven pace.

Fake.

Fake.

This was fake.

Don’t take it personally.

You brought your eyes away from the male’s face and down to his arms. Your fingers that were once splayed over his chest now moved to his bicep, tracing the intricate ink that Ruhn hadn’t noticed before.

It sure as Hel feels personal.

Ruhn didn’t realize how tight his jaw was until it started to grow sore, and he didn’t realize just how many times he had imagined you doing that to him until it wasn’t him.

He could make out Bryce’s faint voice next to him, asking if he was okay, but the lack of oxygen and blood flow through his body only allowed him to focus forward.

The male traced his finger down your spine, and Ruhn’s fae senses allowed him to pick up on the chills that erupted across your arms.

He felt his face begin to grow more and more red, and the grip on his whiskey glass become more and more relentless.

The male watched as you traced down his arm, smirking, and he brought his free hand to the side of your face. He tilted your head to the side, and whispered something in your ear once more.

You rubbed your lips together and nodded, and the male dipped his mouth down to where the tendons in your neck met your collarbone.

Ruhn’s nostrils flared.

And then, as if he had all the time in the world, licked a clean stroke all the way up to your ear, and you exhaled loudly from your mouth.

Ruhn heard it. As much as he didn’t want to, he heard it.

And the idea that he wasn’t the cause of it caused his control to finally snap.

The force of his grip on the glass became too much for the cheap material, and dozens of tiny glass shards rained over the table like a firework.

The liquid from the whiskey dripped onto the sticky wooden table, and the rest covered his hand to his wrist.

“Ruhn!” Bryce scolded next to him, shaking glass shards from her hair and brushing them off her dress. “What the fuck.”

He didn’t even turn to look at her. Or his hand. Even as he felt warm blood start to drip down his wrist as well.

No. He kept his eyes forward, like the trained leader he was, and felt your eyes meet his own.

The male next to you looked annoyed, but not shocked. Like he saw stuff like this all the time. He waved his hand to the bartender, gesturing to clean Ruhn’s table that was now covered in whiskey and glass.

But not you.

You kept your eyesight locked into his, and a thread of understanding stretched between the two of you.

You knew he had been watching you, you knew he shattered the glass, and you knew why.

Your lips grew into a toothless smile, and the thread of understanding pulled tighter.

He knew you knew, and he knew you liked it. He could smell you—what you were thinking.

A similar smile etched on his face.

The rest of the club, the city, the world disappeared as you looked at each other. Knowing how the night would end.

Tag list: (since this is a new character for me, I decided to start a new tag list. If you’d like to be tagged for Ruhn or for any of my fics, please let me know!)

@leahkenobi



#ruhn danaan #ruhn danaan x reader #prince ruhn #ruhn danaan smut #crown prince of the valbaran fae #ruhn Danaan angst #crescent city #crescent city fanfic #hoeab #hoeab spoilers #hosab spoilers #post hosab #throne of glass #acotar #sjm books #sjm #sarah j maas

[abelflints]

Little ILW MC Angst Piece

Book: It Lives Within

Basis: What brown means to Vax... (ILW MC.) Or, his reaction to the loss of his eye. Warnings: spoilers. angst. injury. Word Count: 620+ A/N: I wrote this forever ago, but I'm digging it up because it became relevant again.

Vax knew brown to be warm. To be human. 

It was the fragmented sheen of the pebbles at the bottom of the lakebed he and Annie had lounged in, sunlight weaving and waving off the smooth rock faces, the rival of any monarchies jewels. 

It was the polished glow of woodwork, hours amassed into a single little figurine, standing proudly on his desk. Hands covered in cuts and splinters, slices and dices, but he doesn’t frown, no– he doesn’t frown– 

Sitting back and thinking– I made that, I made that!, the conjoined laughter of father and son echoing out across the oaken room, buttery hues of the setting sun softly dancing past the silhouette of a son, a hero, and a father. 

Vax knew brown to be homely. To be kind.

It was the tantalizing bronze of food, freshly cooked, the glimmer of the oaken table where family and friends alike would gather, and laugh, and chatter, the umbra hues of the extra servings that he folded into hands that once held onto milk bottles, building blocks, and storybooks, but now holds onto a world, weighted down, heavy and hurting and hoping for something– something less– 

Vax knew brown to be an oath, a truth, and a promise–

It was the glint of his mother’s ring, catching on all the angles of the light, and sending rainbows bounding across the ceiling. A golden-brown and gilded thing, crested by the cream of a quaint little cranium, the skull ring that she had clutched to her fingers, and now, he clutches to his, the scrawling swirl of calligraphy sheening softly with each turn as he spins it around through the air  - memento mori - remember, you will die. 

Vax knew brown to be familiar. To be grounding. 

It was the colour of the sap that raced down the tree he had hidden in, and wailed and bellowed before Annie, a stream of mocking ghostly wails that sent her screaming, not laughing, like he had intended, and then, his run to her, brotherly arms outstretched, it’s just me, it’s just me, I’ll never let anything hurt you, okay? You’re stuck to me, see, like this sap is to this tree, and I won’t let anything happen to you, I won’t let anything happen to you… 

I promise, Annie. I promise. 

Vax knew brown to be many things, but mostly, it was home.

It was his mother’s eyes, his father’s, his sister’s, everyone that ever mattered to him– 

Or it was the speckling of freckles across the nose of the boy he had sneaked out with at camp, tangling his fingers into his hair and realizing, oh, that’s what the feeling of my tingling chest when I saw my friend in his silken suit at prom was, oh, that’s the feeling of my pinkened cheeks as I heard him speak, oh, that’s… this is… this is… 

The truth is, brown was– is– so much more than a colour. 

So maybe that’s why he sobs, and sobs, and sobs, and sobs,  like a man possessed, inconsolable, on his haunches, no consolation left in the soft compress of strong arms and frantic utterances “Vax– Vax– show me, show me, show me, please, show me where it hurts, let me take care of you–”

Brown was good, brown was safe, brown was home, soft… sweet– 

And stolen from him. 

So maybe that’s why he sobs, when the last of it is taken from him. The one thing he took pride in, the homely hue of his kin carried down in one singular eye, and struck out with one single swipe. 

“They got– the wrong eye– they got–”

It should have been the other eye. 

…It should have been the other eye. 

#it lives within #ilw #playchoices #choices #it lives #it lives choices #it lives series #it lives anthology #it lives project #ilw mc #rowan burke #play choices #choices game #choices stories you play #OC: Vax Vũ-Verdant #my writing #choices stories we play #ilw spoilers #injury cw #angst cw

[disturbedbydesign]

Take Me Home - Part 11

PAIRING: Dennis Baker x Reader

SUMMARY: It’s been nearly a year since your ex-boyfriend dumped you and left you with a laundry list of insecurities, and you haven’t been able to really put yourself out there since. But when Dennis shows up at the adoption fair you’re running for your job at the animal shelter, there’s just something about him that makes you feel like you’re ready to try again.

WORD COUNT: 6K

WARNINGS (more to come): Body Issues (Dennis and Reader), References to Past Animal Abuse, Emotionally Abusive Exes (Dennis and Reader), Mention of Past Domestic Violence (Dennis’s Evil Ex), Dry Humping/Thigh Riding, Two Idiots In Love Making Out In A Car, Oral (M&F Receiving), Titjob, Cum Play, Fingering, Sexting/Nudes/FaceTime sex, Mutual Masturbation. 18+ only, no minors.

TAGLIST: @littlelioncub43, @whatinthestyles, @filthy-gorgeous, @justile, @valhalla-kristin, @elrw24, @janaev4ns, @ysmmsy, @ronearoundblindly, @in-umbra-gratia, @vayollie, @thornsnvultures

*Taglist is open to 18+ readers (no blank blogs) who comment, reblog, and/or chat with me via asks. If you just want to read lowkey, that’s cool and you do you, but the taglist is reserved for the lovely people who want to interact with me and my story :)

Series Masterlist

Part Eleven

This week is going to be absolute chaos. You’re working extra shifts to cover for Jack and Betsy, who are visiting her parents to give them the good news of their engagement in person, and you thought maybe you’d get at least one night with Dennis, but when he arrived at work this morning, he’d learned that one of his coworkers had quit and so his week has gone from normal to crazy as well. You’re more upset than you probably should be—after all, it’s only five days—but as Monday drags on, that feels like an eternity.

You try to focus on the fact that this weekend you’ll be having your first sleepover at Dennis’s place. You always take Badger out of town to your parents’ house over 4th of July weekend because fireworks give him horrible anxiety and your parents’ HOA strictly forbids them, so your plan is to drop him off with them on Friday, stay the night, and then head back bright and early Saturday to help Dennis get ready for the barbecue. You know he’s nervous about it—especially because he doesn’t really have close friends of his own to invite—but as he kissed you goodnight last night, he swore to you that he really does want to do something for the holiday.

“I can't remember the last time I even went to a party, nevermind had one of my own,” he’d said. “It’ll be fun. Everything is fun with you.”

If you can just get through this week, you know you’ll be rewarded handsomely, but you’re addicted to Dennis now and you don’t know how you’ll survive five whole days without him. You try to focus on work but you’ve been replaying last night in your head all day. You hadn’t expected that from him. You’d figured that Dennis’s first time going down on you would be awkward for both of you—you with your insecurities and him with his own, distracting the both of you and making it hard for you to finish. All that aside, he’d made it sound like you were going to have to teach him everything, and you absolutely would have (and done so with all the patience and kindness in the world), but turns out he didn’t need that much instruction at all. It makes you smile thinking about Dennis reading sex-tip articles, a look of deep concentration on his face as he committed everything to memory. Thinking about him watching videos, though… that makes you feel a different way entirely. The thought of Dennis watching porn and thinking about you—the things he wants to do to you, the way he wants to make you feel—has you clenching your legs under your desk.

Five fucking days. This is going to be hell.

You somehow manage to make it to your break in between your day and night shift, and you call Dennis to check in as you walk to the pizza place a few blocks away. He picks up on the second ring, like he’d been sitting there waiting for you to call.

“I was just thinking about you,” he says. 

“Oh yeah?” you reply. “And what exactly were you thinking about?”

“How good you taste.”

His voice is low and gravelly and your whole body is buzzing with yearning.

“Dennis, you can’t say shit like that when you know I can’t see you,” you say. “You’re being so mean right now.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” You can tell by the gleeful tone of his voice that he isn’t. “I could come by for lunch tomorrow…”

A brief mental picture of Dennis sweeping all the shit off your desk, laying you down on it, and burying his head between your thighs flashes through your brain but you shake your head to get rid of it.

“I have a lunch meeting with the ASPCA rep tomorrow. And you’ve got your appointment with Dr. Porter on Wednesday night, right?”

“I could cancel,” he says.

“No,” you insist. “That’s important. And besides, I think the Doc would probably have something not so nice to say about me if I let you cancel your therapy session for a date.”

“He definitely would. And you’re working Thursday night again and then off to your parents’ place Friday, right? Fuck. I just… I really want to see you this week.”

“I do, too.” You can hear the whine creep into your voice but you can’t help it. You want to stomp your feet and throw a tantrum like a toddler. “This sucks.”

“It really does,” he replies, “but we can talk and text and maybe even…”

He trails off but you think you know where he was going. “Maybe even what, Dennis?”

“Nothing,” he says, coughing to clear his throat. “Nevermind. I gotta run. Boss just came by with another stack of Gary’s work for me to take home with me. Call me later?”

“Dennis…”

“Just… call me later, sweetheart. Bye.”

“OK, bye.”

You hang up and grab yourself two slices and a soda to bring back with you, and as you eat at your desk, all you can think about is that “maybe even…” and how much you want to hear him finish that sentence. You know exactly what he means, of course, and you’re completely down. After all, you and Dennis had exchanged a few racy texts before, and if you’re going to make it through five whole days, you’re going to need something to see you through.

By the time the overnight staff arrives, you’re practically asleep on your feet, and you shoot Dennis a text on your way out to your car.

Y: Leaving now. I’ll text you when I get home. Don’t want to wake you if you’re sleeping.

You get a response almost immediately.

D: I’ll be up. Call me when you get in.

The apartment is quiet when you get home; the only sounds are Badger snoring from your bedroom and Mal’s white-noise machine indicating that she is actually home and in bed early for once. You toe your shoes off at the door and read the note she left for you telling you that Badger is all set with his walk and nightly business, and when you get to your room you give Badger a scratch behind the ear (ignoring his grumpy Bitch I’m Sleeping growl) before changing into a tank top and clean underwear. You should shower the day off you but you’re just too fucking exhausted to do anything but crawl into bed and call Dennis to say goodnight.

“Hey,” he says.

“You didn’t have to stay up,” you reply. “It’s after midnight.”

“I wanted to hear your voice. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, but I’m so fucking tired.”

“That’s a shame,” he says, a hint of mischief in his voice.

You laugh. “I want to, but not tonight,” you say, and you hear him whine.

“Please?” he begs. “You’re gonna make me do this all by myself?”

“I’m sorry, baby,” you say, a big yawn hitting you mid-sentence. “I just can’t even keep my eyes open.”

“Alright,” he says, his voice soft and sweet. “Go to sleep, sweetheart. Call me in the morning.”

“I will.”

“Oh, I know you will.”

You don’t get a chance to question him before he hangs up, and you’re too exhausted to even think clearly, so you just put the TV on low, hit the pillow, and pass out. When you wake, it’s almost 9:30—way later than you usually sleep even on days after you pull a double. Badger is standing over you looking miffed that his morning piss and breakfast have been delayed.

“Sorry, buddy,” you tell him. “Mama was tired.” He nudges your arm with his snout and you laugh. “OK, OK, I’m up.”

You throw on some sweats and a t-shirt and take Badger for his morning stroll, and once he’s done with breakfast, you grab your phone to call Dennis. Before you have a chance to call, you see you have a text from him that wasn’t there before you left for Badger’s walk, and when you open your text chain, you see it’s not a message but a video; the thumbnail is R-rated and well on it’s way to X.

He didn’t. Oh my God… he did.

You throw the living room TV on for Badger and rush into your bedroom, shutting the door behind you, and then you hit play.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” you hear Dennis say, but all you can focus on is the tented sheet in his lap. He pushes it down his thighs, revealing his massive cock in his hand as he strokes it slowly. “I wish you were here with me. Miss you so fucking much. Miss having your pretty lips wrapped around my dick.”

“Holy shit,” you say out loud to no one.

Even though Mal is at work, you grab your headphones so you can hear the deep timbre of his voice as loud as possible in your ear. You lay back on your bed and crank the volume all the way up, and the rumble of his low moans has you spreading your legs and shoving one hand down your sweats and underneath your panties.

“Been thinking about your perfect little pussy all day, baby. Got so fucking hard at work.” He squeezes his bulbous tip and you watch the precum drip out before he gathers it between his thumb and forefinger and smears it all over his head. “I want you so bad, sweetheart. Wanna see your pretty face when you cum for me again.”

He grabs a bottle of lube from somewhere off-camera and squirts a generous amount on the tip of his cock, letting it drip down the length of him before grabbing himself by the base and stroking it up and down. His hand is a blur on the screen and the schlick schlick schlick of his lubed-up strokes has you rubbing your clit in quick circles. You don’t even know where to look: his thick, muscular thighs, his abs tensing and relaxing as he moans and groans, his pecs bouncing just a tiny bit in time with his strokes. His body is absolutely sinful and—as you can hear him telling you—it’s all yours to do with whatever you’d like.

He tugs and massages his balls as he licks his lips, his neck veins straining so hard you think they’ll burst as he throws his head back and moans, “God, I can’t wait to fuck you. Just want to be inside you, sweetheart. So fucking deep inside. Oh, fuck.”

Just thinking about having that big, beautiful cock in your guts is enough to bring you to the edge, and as Dennis strokes himself to completion, your name on his lips as white ropes of cum paint his abs, you speed up your own ministrations and cry out through gritted teeth. Your chest is heaving along with Dennis’s as he comes down, rubbing his spend into his skin. You wish you could lick him clean, wait the .5 seconds it would take for him to get hard again, and then ride his cock until your body breaks in half but you can’t.

Four fucking days. 

“Talk to you in the morning, sweetheart,” he says, and then the video cuts.

As soon as you can get a grip on yourself, you call Dennis.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he says, and you can hear the amusement in his voice. “Did you get my present?”

“I honestly don’t even know what to say,” you reply.

You can feel his vibe shift through the phone. “Shit… should I not have-”

“No, no,” you tell him. “You definitely should have. That was so fucking hot. Like… do you have a secret OnlyFans that I don’t know about?”

Dennis laughs. “No. That was just for you. I don’t know what got into me last night. I’m sorry if it was too much, I just-”

“Dennis, stop. I loved it. I just came so hard watching it and I’m probably gonna watch it, like, 100 more times this week until I get to see you again.”

“I can make you another one. I mean, if you want…”

“Yes,” you say. “I want. I very much want.”

Dennis chuckles and you know that he’s blushing and you just feel so lucky to have found this sweet, sexy guy that can go from being the biggest dork to the sexiest hunk of man you’ve ever seen in your life and back again in seconds.

“Hey, Dennis?” you ask.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t care how tired I am after work tonight. You. Me. Facetime.”

***

Four days. Four more days before he can get his hands on you. Dennis had been a little nervous to send you that video, but if he can’t be with you, he wanted to show you exactly how much he wants to be with you. He’d never done anything like that before, but something about you just makes Dennis think things and do things he never would have dreamed about before you walked into his life and shattered the picture he’d had of himself. Dennis thought he knew who he was, and it was a person he didn’t particularly like: a weak man, afraid, powerless. Now, though, he isn’t so sure. It’s scary, this journey of discovering himself—at his age, a man should have a pretty good idea of who he is—but after meeting you, he realizes he has no idea who Dennis Baker actually is. He’s starting to see just how much outside influences have shaped his opinion of himself and the way he lives his life. It’s terrifying and exciting in equal measure to know that maybe he can be whoever he wants to be with you.

And he knows who he wants to be. He wants to be a strong, confident man who isn’t afraid to show you how much he wants you, who isn’t afraid to tell you how much he loves you—the type of man who would believe you if you say you love him, too. He wants to be the type of man you want to marry and start a family with, the type of man you would never get tired of loving. He wants to be the type of man who can tell you all these things—and he’s close now, he can feel it.

But this week isn’t the week. He isn’t about to tell you he loves you through a fucking text message or call or even FaceTime. No, he wants to tell you with your beautiful face just inches from his, because he knows you feel it, too. He knows you’ll say it back. He needed that bit of reassurance from Mal to fully know, but he knows now and it’s killing him to have to wait.

Four more days.

It’s about 5:30 and Dennis is wrapping up his day, packing up all of the extra work he’s got to take home with him since Gary’s abrupt departure. He liked Gary, too. He was one of only a few people at work he would consider anything close to a friend—not that they ever really hung out, but he was a nice guy, invited him into his Fantasy league (which for a long time has been his sole source of social interaction), and they could shoot the shit about baseball and the boss being a dick and all those surface, bullshit things that you talk about with a work friend. The extra work is just the icing on the cake of Gary leaving, but it isn’t anything he can’t handle. Putting in the extra hours this week wouldn’t have bothered him in the slightest before he met you, but now every second he spends doing Gary’s job is a second away from you and it pisses Dennis off a little.

He’s about to text you to see how your lunch meeting went when his phone dings. He smiles because it’s you, but when he opens your text his smile fades and his mouth drops open as a deep guttural sound bubbles up from somewhere in his chest. You’ve sent him a series of pictures, each one more titillating than the last. He recognizes your office as the backdrop of all of them, and in the first, it’s you in just your bra and jeans. In the second one, the jeans are gone and you’ve got skimpy little panties on that match your bra. In the third one, the bra is gone, and the fourth… 

“Fuck me,” he moans under his breath, taking in the sight of you bent over your desk, your gorgeous ass on display with just a sliver of pussy to tease him.

Dennis grabs his things and practically sprints to his car, holding his backpack in front of him as he goes so that none of his colleagues notice the growing tent in his khakis. The second he gets the door closed, he grabs his phone and pulls up that fourth picture, zooming in to get the best look he can at that heavenly place between your legs. There’s about a million things he wants to say to you right now—all of them absolutely filthy—and he doesn’t even know where to begin.

D: Jesus Christ I almost just came in my pants in the middle of my office

Y: Poor baby. Just giving you a taste of your own medicine…

D: Why don’t you ditch work and come give me a taste of something else?

Y: Can’t. You’ll just have to make me another video…

D: You’re a real bad girl taking nudes at work

Y: Come punish me then

D: That why you bent yourself over the desk? You need a spanking?

Y: That’s exactly what I need. That and your big fat cock in my mouth.

D: How am I supposed to drive home like this, huh? You’re killing me, sweetheart. Please let me come see you.

Y: Can’t. FaceTime later. Gotta go xoxo

“Christ,” he says to himself. “Four more days. Four more days.”

He repeats it like a mantra, wiping his brow because he’s actually sweating now and he has no idea how he’s going to get home with the massive erection that’s threatening to tear through his pants. He’s trying to push all thoughts of you out of his head in the hopes it will settle down when he gets a call from the Boner Killer herself. In any other circumstance, he would have let it go to voicemail, but he decides to pick up, if only to rid himself of his increasingly painful erection.

“What do you want, Karen?”

“Listen,” she says, her faux-regretful tone an unpleasant reminder of just how many times this has played out before, “I want to apologize for the way I acted the other day. I was just angry and I didn’t expect you to have… company. So, yeah, I’m sorry, but we need to talk about this alimony situation like adults, Dennis. I know you’re mad at me, but that doesn’t give you the right to cut me off.”

Dennis sighs: another fake apology after another drunken outburst in a bid to get what she wants from him. Same shit, different day—but it’s not the same now. Now Dennis has a reason to push back, to fight for his own happiness.

“Look, Karen, I appreciate the apology and all but I’m not doing this anymore. We’re going to court and the judge is going to decide. If the court says I have to pay, I will, but I’m going to fight like hell not to because you don’t deserve another goddamn cent from me. I want you out of my life. For good.”

“This is about her, isn’t it?” she spits, voice dripping with malevolence—there she is, the real Karen, it never takes long. “You don’t actually think she likes you, do you? Please tell me you’re not that stupid.”

“No, Karen, I don’t think she likes me. I think she loves me, and I love her, and I’ll see you in court.”

Dennis hangs up, more determined than ever to tell you how he feels. If he could say it to his demon of an ex-wife and believe it, he knows he can say it to you. He shoots an email to his lawyer, asking after the court date, and heads towards home. All he wants in the world (besides for you) is to take Jax for a nice long after-dinner walk around the neighborhood and think about how exactly he’s going to tell you.

Work clothes exchanged for his sweats and a t-shirt, Dennis walks Jax around the neighborhood, taking the longer route and letting his pup sniff leisurely as he has a good think. He knows he wants to tell you on Saturday, after the 4th of July party is over and everyone has gone home and he finally finally has you alone. Dennis knows you’re staying over that night but he tries not to put any pressure on himself about what that might mean. Of course he wants to have sex with you and he’s pretty sure you want to have sex with him, but he has to give himself some grace—leave room for the possibility that it might not feel right, or he might not be ready, or you might not be. He doesn’t want to force it; he wants it to happen organically, to feel as natural as waking up in the morning, but he knows that’s impossible—that of course there are incredibly high expectations on both sides and the first time probably won’t be some sort of magical, soul-stirring experience. He can hope, though, and he can be prepared.

Even though you were candid about the fact that you’re on birth control for your cramps, he’d bought some condoms anyway. He’d got himself tested after Karen told him she’d been fucking around on him and his results were all negative (and he hasn’t been with anyone since) but he doesn’t know about you and he can’t bring himself to ask. It wouldn’t matter to him, of course, and he knows that he should just have the conversation ahead of time like adults and go from there, but he’s just got so many other things going against him when it comes to sex that he can’t add one more awkward conversation to the mix. He’s operating under the assumption that, when and if the time comes, he will use protection, and he’s more than happy to wrap it up if it means he gets to be inside of you. It’s not what he thinks about when he thinks about fucking you, though. He thinks about fucking you raw and pumping you full and watching you drip with him. It’s what he thought even before he knew you were on the pill, and if you’d let him, he would do it even if you weren’t. But that’s another conversation—one he knows he has to have with you but that he’s not ready for. 

Because Dennis wants a family so desperately; he always has. Karen pretended to want the same thing but, like everything else, it was all bullshit. Once they got married, it was all “let’s wait a little while” and then a few years later it was “I never wanted kids—you knew that.” She actually managed to convince him that he’d misunderstood her, that she had always been honest with him about her lack of desire for motherhood. He understands now, thanks to Dr. Porter, that it was textbook gaslighting, but for a long time he thought it was his own fault he wasn’t a father.

Dennis doesn’t know what he’ll do if you don’t want to have children because it’s one of the few non-negotiable things he needs from a relationship. He doesn’t care in the slightest if he has a biological child or an adopted child; he just wants to be a dad. It’s one of the things he knows he needs to discuss with Dr. Porter tomorrow and he’s dreading it, but he feels in his heart that you want the same thing as he does. He’s never met someone with more love to give than you, never met someone so patient and kind and caring, but Dennis doesn’t want to make assumptions—not every woman wants to be a mom, and that’s perfectly ok. He just can’t put his heart and soul into one that doesn’t. Not again.

But he’s getting way ahead of himself—thinking about marriage and babies when he hasn’t even voiced his feelings for you. He has to tell you he loves you, but how? The over-the-top cheesy romantic in him thinks briefly about a fireworks display, but that would be a nightmare for Jax (who will probably already be freaked out by whatever the neighbors have going on) so Dennis quickly axes that idea. He wants to do something, though. He wants to make it special. He wants you to know that he’s felt it for a long time—that it’s not just something he spits out without thinking.

By the time he returns home with Jax, he’s still coming up empty, but if he has to wait four—well, basically three—more days to see you, at least that gives him time to come up with something perfect. Because it has to be perfect. It has to be, because you are and it’s what you deserve. He’s run out of time to focus on it now, though. He needs to get his/Gary’s work done so that he can cut out a little early for his appointment with Dr. Porter tomorrow. He fixes himself a little something to eat—the lemon spaghetti you’d taught him to make, which is his new favorite thing in the world because it’s delicious and reminds him of you—and then he gets to work with ESPN droning on in the background and Jax napping next to him on the couch.

He finishes up around 10 and takes Jax for a quick night walk before getting ready for bed. He knows he’s gonna have to wait for you a while—the overnight crew doesn’t start until 11:30 and you won’t be home before midnight—but even though he’s exhausted, all it takes is a few moments studying the pretty pictures you’d sent him earlier to have him wide awake. He lets Jax up on the bed and scrolls Netflix, deciding to start watching Schitt’s Creek because you’d told him it’s one of your comfort shows. He’s on the third episode when you finally call. 

“Hey, baby,” you say, and Dennis doesn’t know what to focus on—all he ever wants to do is look in your eyes, but you’ve got your phone tilted so that your tits take centerstage, and he can see your nipples through the sheer baby-pink bra you’re wearing. “You have a good night?”

All Dennis can say is “Fuck me.”

“I’m trying to,” you reply, panning your phone down so he can see your matching panties—if you could even call that miniscule scrap of fabric that. “You like?”

“Sweetheart, I love. But you know you don’t have to dress up for me.”

“You want me to take them off?” you ask, and Dennis doesn’t know what to say—because of course he does, there’s nothing better than you totally naked—but also you look so fucking cute in this pretty pink set you’ve chosen to wear for him: it’s somehow innocent and sinfully sexy at the same time, just like you.

“Keep them on,” he says. “You look so fucking gorgeous, baby,” Dennis says.

The hand not holding his phone reaches down to pull his cock through the hole in his boxers, and you notice, because of course you do.

“Lemme see it,” you plead. “Please? You know how much I love it.”

“You really do, huh?” he responds, and you nod. “You really love my dick that much?”

“I’d do anything for your cock, baby. Anything. Tell me what you want me to do.”

Dennis takes a moment to think about it because there are various scenarios running through his mind right now and he doesn’t know which one to pick. He decides to have you recreate the position you were in earlier because oh did he like that.

“Turn around,” he says. “Shake your ass for me.”

“So you liked that last picture, huh?” Dennis watches as you get your phone into position on your nightstand before crawling back up on your bed and sitting back on your knees. “Thought you might.”

“It was a fucking tease is what it was.”

“You want more?” you ask, running your hands up your body.

“I want everything,” he replies. “Show me.”

You flash him a naughty little smile as you reach behind you and unclasp your bra, holding the cups (as if they really hid anything at all) before you slowly let the garment drop. Dennis groans as you roll your nipples between your fingers and take your bottom lip between your teeth. He’s got the base of his cock in a death grip and its already throbbing in his hand before you even turn around. When you do, you get on all fours and look over your shoulder as you wiggle your ass at the camera. Only the tiny fabric strip of your G-string is keeping Dennis from getting exactly what he wants.

“You like that, baby?” you ask.

“Fuck yes. Now take your panties off, sweetheart. Nice and slow for me.”

You rise up on your knees and slide them down slowly as requested, only it’s painfully slow and it seems like an eternity before you’ve got them down to your mid-thighs and you’re bent over again with your knees spread wide.

“God, I love your pussy. So fucking pretty. Spread it open for me.”

You press your face to the bed and reach around on either side of you, and Dennis moans as you spread your lips apart and start to throw it back and forth slowly. Dennis starts to stroke himself at the pace you’re setting, imagining himself behind you as you fuck yourself on his cock. 

“I’m so fucking wet for you Dennis,” you moan.

“I see it. Fuck. I just wanna taste you, baby.”

“Soon,” you say. “Tell me what else you want.”

“Wanna watch my dick slide in and out of that gorgeous fucking pussy, all soaked in you. God, I need to fuck you, sweetheart.”

“I need it, too, Dennis. I need your cock so bad. I feel so fucking empty.”

“Turn around,” he says. “On your back. Wanna watch you play with that pretty little pussy until you cum.”

You grab two pillows and place them at the end of the bed, laying back against them and spreading your legs for him again.

“Lemme see your cock, Dennis. Please.”

Between the sight of you splayed out so beautifully for him and the urgent need in your voice, Dennis’s skin feels like it’s on fire he angles his phone down to give you the look you’ve been begging for. He grips the base and pushes it forward a little, and you make a hungry little mmmph sound when it twitches and jumps back a bit in his hand.

“You’re so fucking big and thick, baby,” you say as you start to circle your clit. “What if I can’t handle you?”

Dennis knows you’re just dirty talking him but he can’t say it isn’t a concern of his. He knows his dick is big, even if he doesn’t quite know what to do with it, and you were so tight around just his fingers that he’s legitimately scared he might hurt you. But he’s done his research—the importance of foreplay and lube, the best positions to make you comfortable and put you in charge of how deep he can go. The last thing in the world Dennis wants is to hurt you in any way, in the bedroom or out of it, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep from doing so.

“I’m gonna take good care of you, sweetheart,” Dennis promises. “Gonna go nice and slow, stretch you out with my fingers first, make you cum on my tongue, get you nice and juicy and ready for me.”

“I’m ready for you now,” you say, working your clit harder and faster as your hips start to jerk a bit. “God, I wish you were here.” You grip your breast in one hand as you move your other hand from your clit to your entrance, slowly sliding two of your fingers inside. “My fingers are so fucking small compared to yours. Fuck, I need you, Dennis. Please.”

Dennis strokes his cock faster as he watches you fuck yourself on your fingers. “You’re so fucking sexy, sweetheart. Keep going.”

“I don’t know if I can cum without you,” you whine. “I need more.”

“You got any toys?” Dennis asks, desperately hoping that you do because he would kill to watch you fuck yourself with something bigger than your fingers.

“I have a vibrator,” you reply.

“Get it.”

Dennis watches your breasts sway up close as you pull your vibrator out of the drawer in your nightstand. He’s slightly disappointed to discover that it’s something small and egg-shaped and not something he can watch you fuck yourself on—he doesn’t know much about the different types of sex toys except that, according to Karen, they were all better than him—but he’s still absolutely salivating at the thought of watching you use this thing on yourself.

You turn it on and the sound is surprisingly low as you tease your entrace with it. When you bring it to your clit, you throw your head back and curl your toes and shout, “Fuck.”

“That good, huh?” Dennis asks, his eyes locked on your face as it twists up in pleasure.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Oh, God, Dennis. I’m gonna cum soon. Talk to me. Tell me how you wanna fuck me. Please.”

Dennis decides that, for the purpose of talking you through your orgasm and because he is almost ready to bust himself, he’s just going to let his inhibitions go and tell you exactly what he wants to do to you. None of it is realistic, of course; he doesn’t know if he can do any of these things (and he certainly can’t do them yet), but when he fantasizes about the ways he wants to fuck you, he doesn’t have to be realistic.

“I wanna fuck you from behind,” he begins, “hard, and I wanna watch your pretty ass bounce as I give you those long, deep strokes that have you clawing at the fucking sheets and screaming my name. I want to fuck you so good you can’t think, can’t fucking breathe, and then I wanna flip you over and throw your legs over my shoulders and bend you in half and fuck my cum so deep into you that you’ll be leaking me for days.”

“Oh, fuck. Oh my God. Yes. Yes. Keep going. I’m so fucking close.”

“I’m not gonna stop, either,” he continues. “You know I’ll get hard again when I’m still inside you and I’ll just keep fucking you and fucking you until you can’t cum anymore, and then I’ll make you cum one more time just because I can.”

“FUCK.”

Dennis watches your thighs tremble as you cum on your toy, your eyes staring straight at the camera—at him—and your mouth open wide with the sweetest sounds coming out of it. That’s all it takes to finish Dennis off, and as he shoots a load onto his stomach he thinks to himself that he’ll never get tired of looking in your eyes when you cum.

“Jesus Christ,” you say, chest heaving as you pull yourself up onto your knees and then flop down on your stomach, grabbing the phone from the nightstand. “You’re, like, really good at this, you know that?”

“I’m discovering new talents with you,” he replies, feeling a little smug, if he’s honest with himself, because he really is kinda good at this, huh?

“Three more days, baby,” you say.

“Three more days,” he replies.

PART TWELVE >>>

#dennis baker fanfiction #dennis baker x reader #dennis baker x you #dennis baker #chris evans #chris evans characters #take me home series

[super-ion]

For Ion & Emily prompts. The moment Jen finally reveals her identity to Emily.

Okay, come on Jen, you got this.

Okay. Okay... Ooooookaaaaaay.

Jen. Jennifer. Jenny (oh god, I hope nobody ever calls me that)

It is Sunday night. It is date night. It is Jen and Emily's date night.

I am a complete nervous wreck. I gotta tell her. I mean, yes, she already knows. But I never actually told her told her, you know? Sure, we talked around it, but I never got to do my grand reveal.

Have I mentioned that being a super villain is about being dramatic.

The doorbell rings and I bound for the door for the second time this weekend. Embarrassingly, I forget to skid to a halt and thump awkwardly into the door. Why the rush? Well, as you may recall, the last time I did this, Emily never showed up.

I fling open the door and heave a sigh of relief. It's Emily. It's not Umbra, thank god... Also, what the fuck? Umbra is Emily's brother?? Note to self - have conversation about... uh...

My brain screeches to a halt as I take Emily in. She's gorgeous. She took time to do her hair and makeup after work and it's impeccable and effortlessly Emily. She's got a vest and button down shirt, open enough to be just barely modest and inflict a bout of gay panic in my heart. She's got a bouquet of sunflowers... How does she know I like sunflowers??

"Emily... uh... hi!"

"Hi Jen," she says with a smile that makes my brain short circuit.

My mind is totally blank except for her. I stand there awkwardly for a few moments, just staring.

"Can I... come in?" she prompts. Her tone is warm and teasing.

"Uh yeah, I... Sure. Yes," I reply, opening the door wide.

She steps inside, into the scent of dinner that's almost done. She closes her eyes in apparent extasy.

"Oh my god, Jen. That smells so good," she says.

I close the door behind her, running over the words I've rehearsed in my mind all day... actually all weekend... actually since the first time I accidently kidnapped her. It's gotta be the right moment, right? But when?

"Are you okay?" she asks. She's looking at me, her brow slightly creased in concern.

I open my mouth and say the first thing that comes to my mind.

"EmilyIneedtotellyousomethingI'mactuallythesupervillainIon"

I clap a hand to my mouth and feel my face heat.

Smooth move, Jen. Gold star.

Her eyes widen in surprise.

"Oh, we're doing that... um... okay," she says.

"I... I mean..." I stammer. "Can I start over?"

She presses her lips together in effort not to laugh. God, she finds my awkwardness endearing. What is even going on?

"Yeah," she replies. "Go ahead."

I take a breath.

"Emily," I say. "There's something you should know about me..."

#ion & emily #my writing #supervillain oc #lesbian #transgender #writers on tumblr #ficlet #prompt

[forthedancingandthethriving]

I'm drained from writing the Confrontation, so take this summary for what happens immediately following it until I get my energy back.

So, everyone gets back to the castle, and of course, emotions are running on high. The CAL groups introduce themselves and get down to explaining what we already know. Of course, those who have met Leto are able to clock that this 'Coral' is probably Leto, and that spells nothing good for Root.

But the thing is.. no one can find Root. After her little scuffle with LC, Lumi led them back to the door and tried to go through it, only for it to not work. The Purple One trying to open a portal back also doesn't work. While at the time they don't realize how or why, it's because Leto got Bio-Lumi (what I'll refer to the Lumi under Leto's control as) to give her permission to lock anyone out of CAL: ALiTS unless Leto herself allows them in.

So, that's fun, and of course, they have to get the Admins involved because the last time Leto sunk her fangs into someone, it didn't end well. Especially for the universe involved.

Meanwhile, Umbra is out on a little scouting mission. There's been some signs of an illegal server (basically a server not being properly registered or made known of, along with the Admin(s) and Moderators), and he's been asked just to scope it out and see if there's anything else going on.

Disguising himself, he heads on in to Wave-Mania and, with his surface-level knowledge, takes note of the things he notices are wrong. The server isn't registered, and neither is the Admin or Moderator. There's only one Moderator.. it's a goddamn fighting ring..

Just when he's wrapping up to head back, he hears something about their 'Silver Champion'. Just a little intrigued, he stays to watch, and nearly fucking breaks something when he sees Root. Especially since she's wearing a sea-themed outfit.

Now knowing that something is definitely wrong, Umbra leaves after seeing some of Root's fights. And with how she's fighting, it's leading him to think there's something more behind that Admin who's running the show.

#raging riptides storyline #virus: root #program: leto #bio-lumi #admin: umbra #!posts!

[saltnpepperbunny]

Till World’s End- 8: Three Days Remain

PREVIOUS: Four Days Remain > NEXT: Two Days Remain >

COVER

Till World’s End is rated Mature. Viewer discretion advised. Content Warnings listed on the Cover.

* * *

Selkie’s flippered tail swished behind her as she paced the stretch of beach on the northern shore of Umbra Isle. Navy blue smears streaked across the sky, dusted with last remaining stars. Selkie had watched the stars move all throughout the night. She could see the beginning wisps of pink and soft baby blue on the other side of the jungle canopy, where the sun would rise to the southeast. Another dawn. Another day. Another twenty-four hours of cursed existence.

Selkie stared out to the water, the shadowed horizon before her. If she waded into the surf and swam straight on for many hours, she would reach Spectrum Island. The isle she wasted years of her life on, climbing rank in a Guild that would cease to be in three days. She chewed through her lip until blood dribbled between her teeth. Stupid. Stupid, stupid. Why had she expended so much pointless effort? She made Outlaw Capture Team Tempest and had nothing to show for it! No badges, no rank, not even a damn teammate!

So many years spent grinding her life to sand for a team, and here she was, in the end, alone.

The deal was sealed. The threat was neutralized. The pathetic little scrap of a human was dead. Lyn’s allies were powerless, and no one else knew the truth. Nothing would impede her happy ending now. Logically, Shadow should have been happy, right? And logically, if she herself could not feel happy, she instead at least should have felt the hollow ring of victory, welcome reprieve from her boredom, the spark of blessed excitement that came with overcoming a challenge. So, why? He was supposed to be the only one who could ever understand. So, why did he not understand? Why did he look at her with alien eyes of horror, the eyes of the Others who had never understood?

Why did her victory sting like defeat?

For Lyn, she felt nothing. He earned his death, quicker than he deserved, and Selkie refused to look back on it in regret. But she could not shake her frustration over what she could not take back. She had been called many things, called herself many more. She didn’t mind being a killer. But a murderer was never who she wanted to become.

Shuffling amongst the tide pools, Selkie came to the edge of a puddle and looked within. A popplio face stared back at her, freckled snout and murky brown eyes… Those were her eyes, no? Her popplio form had never felt like her, but then again, neither had her human form. Selkie tended to avoid mirrors; they reminded her she had a body, a physical existence in the physical world that could subject her to others’ abuse. It was a liability to exist. It was a form of powerlessness. And when Selkie looked into her own eyes… sunken, glasslike, vacant, tired… she knew she was ready to shed that powerlessness for good.

The sharp stench of rot touched her nose. Selkie lifted her head from the pool to locate the source. She shuffled amongst the rocks, dragging her flippered tail behind her, and came around a bend to find the bloated corpse of a buneary low in the surf. Where it came from on a deserted island was beyond Selkie; the tide must have washed it in and abandoned it here. Mud and wet sand caked its gray fur. Bacteria had already begun to eat away at the flesh. Selkie crept towards the body, face-down in the sand, and turned it over with her flipper. After shaking the slime of decay off her claws, she hovered over to look into the face of the corpse only to find empty sockets where its eyes should have been. Already devoured.

The world faded out like TV static as Selkie stared into the empty black pits of its face. Oh, the familiarity. It… had been a buneary, hadn’t it? In the garden all those years ago? Within the stench of the rot mixed the pungent odor of mowed grass and wildflowers. Flying-type pokemon chirped overhead as she stared deep into that buneary’s empty sockets. She remembered a different form of smallness.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud…

She listened quietly to the footprints crunching soft against the grass, and without turning around Selkie felt her father kneel down behind her. She heard so close the soft rustle of his bending jeans. His cool breath jostled the knotted fur of her back. Selkie’s breath hitched, but from those dark pits she could not pull away. She fixed her gaze, focused deeply, as if by ignoring the presence behind her, she could will it to evaporate.

“Hey, girl.”

Selkie let out a soft, shaking gasp.

She continued not to move but felt the shuffling and shifting of Dad getting comfortable behind her. Don’t turn around. If she didn’t turn around, maybe she could continue to pretend it was nothing but her imagination. Like the purrloin in the poisoned box, so long as she didn’t look, he could exist behind her in a state between existence and nonexistence. To turn around now would make him real. Please, she didn’t want him to be real.

But Dad continued to speak, his voice soft as a psalm behind her. “So… You do that?”

Selkie started to shake. She swallowed the phlegmy spit in her throat. Covered her face with her hands. “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.”

“No.”

“What’s that pokemon doing there, then? That’s one of Lopunny’s new kits, isn’t it? I saw one was missing. You take it?”

“No.”

She swallowed her scream as a fist grabbed her and yanked her around, and Selkie’s eyes shot up to meet the murky brown gaze of her father. The features of his face, long gone at this point, but she saw the familiar flash of blonde curls, the scruff of his shaved chin, those murky eyes aglow with an anger held back only by a shaking fist. His gripped her sleeve so tight she feared her arm would break off.

“What’d I tell you? Don’t ever lie to me, girl,” Dad snarled. “Is that Lopunny’s kit? Did you take one of my hatchlings or not? ANSWER ME!”

“FINE, I DID!” Selkie wrenched her tiny arm out of his grip. She hated when he touched her! “I was just playing with it! I wasn’t trying to break it, but now it doesn’t work! AUGH!” She jumped to her feet and reeled her foot back to kick the damn stupid buneary as far as it would fly, but Dad grabbed her again by the arm. She whipped around and screamed, “STOP PULLING ME! IT HURTS!”

“You damn stupid girl! Those hatchlings are the only paycheck we’re getting for the next month! You wanna starve? You like going without no breakfast or dinner?” When Selkie shook her head furiously, Dad continued, “Then don’t kill the damn buneary! They’re purebred for Giratina’s sake, they’re valuable!”

“I DON’T CARE!” Selkie screamed. When Dad reeled back his fist, she grabbed her face in her arms and braced…

But the impact never came.

Selkie peered through the gaps between her fingers to see Dad staring at his own shaking fist. His eyes bulged from rage, and he hissed and growled as she watched him fight with himself, the war waged behind his eyes. But then he lowered his fist and released the tension with a popping sigh. She was safe.

“You’re a fucking irritating kid, y’know that? You know how hard it is not to smack you all the time? But that’s not what I…” Dad trailed off. He pushed back his curls and wiped the sweat off his brow, and then crouched lower and stared hard at the dead buneary. “Let me give you some advice, girl. Don’t ever let them catch you killing things.”

Selkie blinked at him. “Huh?”

“Mean what I said,” Dad reiterated. When Selkie kept staring at him, he continued, “You know who I mean. The people who aren’t us. Folks like your mom or the neighbors. I don’t give a shit what you do, but they do. Don’t give them the power of showing them what you really are.”

“What am I?” Selkie asked.

“Different.” Dad got to his feet. His gargantuan form towered high over her head. Giant, where she was miniscule. Something, where she was nothing. “Never let them make you their example. Never, ever give up your power.”

And then he walked away. Selkie alone, once again, with the pokemon she killed. Back then, even after Dad left, she couldn’t fully comprehend what she’d done to upset him so. Dad was always in the shed behind the house, fussing around with the pokemon he kept there, especially now that his stupid lopunny made all those baby buneary. She hadn’t been trying to break the buneary she snatched from the nest. She just wanted to figure out what about it was so interesting that Dad spent all his time messing around with them instead playing with her. She rubbed her arm, bruised from the power of his grip.

What did he mean when he said that she was different?

The answer to the question wasn’t something Selkie ever figured out all at once. There was no spark of a moment when it suddenly all made sense. The nature of his words, of her difference, dawned on her over time, understanding trickling in slowly like the tide over the years. The first thing she ever understood about it was that her father shared her ilk, two members of the same species, allies in a world of alien beings. She found this understanding in the freedom of those moments when she and Dad would leave the supermarket giddy over their haul, thick coat pockets stuffed with boxes of instant ramen and frozen ravioli, dish soap and laundry detergent, cigarettes for Mom and caramel squares for Selkie.

Though they didn’t always get along, Dad was the only one who had ever been able to control Selkie. He was the only person she could look back on and understand that he’d held her respect. She could defy him, but they could also stand up and defy the world together, and Selkie relished in the power of walking alongside an adult who didn’t give two fucks about the rules. She skipped at his heel as they walked the streets with boxes of baby buneary, lived for the thrill of dodging police cars as they sold the hatchlings for thousands of poke a pop. It was their father-daughter business, Dad would say. Though tourists fell for it ever time when Selkie held up the box of baby animals and arranged her facial features into the picture of wide-eyed adorability, the real reward was Dad’s thumbs-up as he hovered behind the customers. Then at the end of each night, if Selkie made enough that day, Dad would buy her two pineapple slices at Uncle Plusle’s Pizza and Deli, and he’d count the earnings two times, then three times as Selkie chugged her Pepsi.

Then they’d come home to Mom.

The face of Selkie’s mother, like Dad’s, had faded from her memory like an old photo bleached by the sun. She remembered hair as black as night and a deep brown face mottled with old acne scars, evidence of a youth only recently left behind. Her mother always seemed like such a child to Selkie. The way she’d pout when she and Dad walked back in the front door with empty cardboard boxes and wads of cash. Then Selkie would scurry up to her room as the shouting started.

“Why are you taking her on the street all the time?! Don’t you see she’s gonna turn out like you?! Clean up your damn act!”

Selkie usually ignored the fights. Except for the one time, when she darted back downstairs, grabbed Mom by her curls, and yanked with all her strength, cutting the fight off as her mother shrieked in surprised pain. Mom smacked her aside and screamed, “WHY DID YOU DO THAT?! YOU HORRIBLE CHILD!”

“STOP YELLING AT DAD!” Selkie screamed back. She clutched at her bruised cheek but refused to be rendered powerless. “We’re out there making money while you just sit around smoking all day! Who do you think’s buying your packs?!”

Cheeks smeared with tears and cheap mascara, Mom whirled on Dad, who stood silent with shaking fists. “YOU’RE TURNING HER AGAINST ME! YOU’RE A MONSTER! YOU BROKE MY DAUGHTER!”

“GROW UP ALREADY!” Selkie screeched. “YOU’RE JUST A BAD MOM! I’M NOT BROKEN!”

No. No, for certain, Mom was not one of them. She was a liability, a sink in their resources. After every outing, a cut of their funds went to feeding the woman, buying her mountains of cigarette packs that were gone the next night. But it didn’t matter. Dad had few rules. By the time Selkie was six, she could stay out on the streets and come wandering back in the wee hours of the morning. Sometimes she brought back cigarettes for Mom and Dad. Other times, her pockets overflowed with coin or candy from Arceus-knows-where. Dad, who often pulled all-nighters staring into the faint glow of the TV in the den, would simply nod to her as Selkie came in, and that was it. Mom never bothered to speak up out of concern for the risk that Selkie would kick her in the shin or yank her hair if she protested.

And in the daylight hours, it was back to selling buneary on the streets, kits from the lopunny who lived in the back shed, a remnant of Dad’s glory days gone by. He had other pokemon in there, and sometimes, Dad would bring them out from their dusty pokeballs, and Selkie would roughhouse in the yard with beasts evolved two or three times. She remembered a hulking aggron and a hydreigon with a soul-sucking glare. But her favorites were his water-types, a greninja missing half a leg and a vaporeon that bit Selkie on the arms more than once. She got used to scrapping with her father’s beasts, loved the thrill of punching his raichu square in the nose as it burned her with lightning, and Dad would sip a beer and laugh, enjoy the show from the edge of the lawn. With his trainer days behind him, nothing was better entertainment, apparently, than watching his old progeny brawl with the new. And when Selkie managed to throw his pokemon to the ground and leave them gasping for air after she kicked them in the ribs, she’d turn around and soak in the beaming smile her father gave her, like sunlight on her skin. Then she’d whip around and clock the arcanine in the snout just for good measure.

Oh, how she lived to make him proud. Even when he got angry. Even when she once misplaced a chunk of their earnings and drew out from him such a rage that he beat her with the TV remote and locked her in her bedroom until Mom came home later, screaming at Selkie about the mess of piss and shit in the corner of the room. She stepped out of the bedroom then, Mom’s distressed shrieking drowned out only by the lake of rage boiling at the pit of Selkie’s stomach, and she lifted her chin to meet Dad’s eye with a blistering glare. Her face was bruised and swollen, she knew she looked ridiculous, but still she glared. Dad was the most powerful human in the world, and in that moment, his power to hurt her, punish her for messing up was insurmountable. But someday, that would change. Selkie would only grow from here. In doing so, she would fulfill to him the promise between them, the promise not to be powerless. She was a child now, but childhood didn’t last forever. Someday, he would swing for her, and she would catch his fist and twist till something broke. Someday, not even Dad would have the power to humiliate her ever again.

That would make him proud, right?

But the world was cruel. Her chance never came.

Selkie had long forgotten the catalyst of the storm, but it rapidly swept up her life. Things moved so quickly that she only had pieces of it in her memory. Fragments of the time. She remembered the police at the door one day, her dad’s stalwart form shielding from their penetrative entry. Next time they came, they shouted back and forth at the front door, then thrust their way past Dad into the sanctuary of the house. A police officer grabbed her arm, then yelped when Selkie bit him. A commotion in the back shed, and when they left, they took Dad’s pokemon with them: The aggron, the hydreigon, the greninja, the vaporeon, the raichu, the arcanine, and the breadwinning lopunny, stomach bulging from pregnancy. Selkie’s rage blazed inside her body, set her organs to boil. Those were Dad’s. Those were theirs. How DARE they take their rightful property?!

When they left, Selkie yanked Dad’s denim jacket sleeve. “Why’re you just standing there and letting them take the pokemon?!”

Dad sneered at her, fist shaking. “You can’t fight the people who have all the power, girl.”

Selkie gasped. Her grip loosened on his sleeve. What did he mean, the people who had all the power? Wasn’t the person with all the power supposed to be Dad? They dodged the law together, they got away with what no one else could! The police weren’t supposed to be strong, so where did this power come from now, the power to take away their pokemon? Vaporeon, Greninja, Arcanine… Lopunny…

What were they gonna sell off the streets now?

If the police were strong enough to take their pokemon… what else could they take?

Selkie found out soon enough. The next time the police returned to the house, they came for her.

Pounding on the door. Murmuring downstairs, then shouting and screaming. THUNK, THUNK, THUNK of boots up the stairs, and they breached her bedroom. Selkie’s shoulders tensed, her lips curled in a snarl. They smiled, approached slow, but she wasn’t stupid, she knew the danger. All bargaining attempts and placations failed. Eventually one stood, muttered, “I’ve had enough of this shit,” and seized her around the waist. Selkie screamed, bit him, clawed and kicked, but her efforts were nothing against their power. She caught a last glimpse of Mom and Dad as the cop shoved her in the back of their car. And Selkie screamed to them. Screamed for help, screamed in anguish, screamed for them to run to her, fight for her, please rescue her.

The door slammed, and with Selkie imprisoned within, the police car drove away. In the backseat, suffocated by the weight of the officers sitting on either side, Selkie dropped her head into her hands and cried. And cried, and cried, and couldn’t stop crying. Even when the officers rubbed her back and murmured kind words, she refused to accept the placations of the thieves who’d stolen her. How could a human have this much power, how? How could she be so weak?

After that day, she never cried again. As the storm swept up and shattered her life, Selkie’s heart responded with stillness. It grew still when the strange man and strange woman walked into the police station and claimed to be her aunt and uncle. It grew still when, like a stray lillipup, they brought her home. It grew still when they dressed her, bathed her, rubbed alcohol against her wounds. It grew still when Aunt reached to stroke her hair and Selkie flinched away. It grew still when Uncle reached to change the channel and she screamed. It grew ever still when her new fancy parents tucked her into her new fancy bed in her new fancy bedroom, kissed her gently, and told her they loved her. Selkie, like her heart, responded with silence.

School became a thing. That was hell. Apparently, it was something she was supposed to be doing since she was five years old, yet she was eight and had never heard of the concept. Aunt and Uncle enrolled her in the third grade, and within three days, the principal summoned them to recommend they try somewhere else.

“Refuses to follow any orders, violent with the other students! She won’t do what she’s told! And when Mrs. Rowanberry tried to give her a time-out, she threw a printer at her!” the principal, a weaselly pale man, hissed at Aunt and Uncle. “Maybe you ought to try a different institution. Or take her to a doctor, for Arceus’s sake.”

It was a whirlwind of school after school, a tornado of doctor’s appointments and therapy offices. So many words with no meaning, oppositional defiant and conduct problems and affective empathy and trauma. Selkie’s sole defense against the adults who sought to bend and break her into a good, well-behaved child: Her silence. She harnessed the power to sit in a therapist’s chair, puff out her cheeks, and stare at her shoes until the hour was up. The world had identified her, homed in on her difference, and all she could cling to was the power of her clenched jaw, her refusal to cooperate, to give to her captors the information that, if revealed, would render her powerless. They could suspect all they wanted, but she would never allow them to confirm who she really was. Against the world, she stood alone. Secrets clutched to her chest, she knew smallness.

She was eleven when she began to contemplate death.

In a world of powerlessness, an unending storm of aloneness, where else was a girl to turn? Police officers called her monstrous, doctors called her broken. Neighborhood kids gave her a wide berth. Aunt and Uncle said they loved her, but Selkie had no idea what that even meant. It did nothing to negate the fear in their eyes when she snapped and came at them with swinging arms. Google feigned its concern, offering her helpline numbers as she searched how to not exist (she called the number, they didn’t deal with kids), but the engine made no moves to stop her as she perused results. Selkie found herself swept up in fascination, reading for hours about poisons and hanging and guns and trains. Wow, there were so many different ways to die!

Aunt popped her head in the office door and asked what she was so busy with on the desktop computer. Selkie remained silent. This was a weakness she could not afford to divulge.

But despite keeping her secret, she failed to act. Selkie found the rush of life on the city streets, chased duckletts in the park, lifted caramel squares from corner stores. Bargained with the caramels to win the allegiance of street pokemon, a scruffy oshawott and a runt totodile and a nasty little mareanie who fought for her in the street battles she waged against schoolyard delinquents after class let out. With her pokemon, Aunt’s credit card, and a well-placed lie here and there, she soon won the allegiance of fellow young girls in town, none of which were quite like her but held an attitude against authority that Selkie could respect. For years, they prowled the streets, and Selkie climbed their ranks, amounting a reputation amongst the network of urban middle schools, unprecedented considering she belonged to none. She was dangerous, unhinged, not to be trusted. She’d lie to you and steal from you and kiss your boyfriend behind the dumpster if you crossed her. She’d spent more than one night behind bars. Sometimes, you could catch her sitting by the pond in the park with her pokemon, just… existing. Feeding them caramel squares when they waddled up to her. Looking at the sky, breathing.

She was eleven when she began to contemplate death. She was fourteen when she decided to act. But she knew again the world’s cruelty when her chance never came. Before she could act, she was called.

Selkie remembered nothing of her encounter with It, besides the brilliant light and Its command to save the world. Swept up in the winds of freedom and there she was waking up on the beach. A popplio, human no longer.

The transformation freaked her out, paralyzed her muscles, breath was impossible. She hated her new diminutive stature with every fiber of her being. She’d been growing in the human world, always petite but indisputably bigger, she weighed herself every morning to track the gain. The reversal of her efforts was striking. She wanted to claw her skin off. But she didn’t.

Once her initial panic fizzled out, Selkie took to the surf. Her human self never knew how to swim, but her pokemon form came with an affinity for the water. She swam the tropical Archipelago that It had dumped her in, exploring the islands, gathering info, adjusting to the new body. She came to understand that the world It had brought her to was one of pokemon. She thought this would make her happy; it didn’t, but it did bring relief. She came to understand that this pokemon world, bizarre in nature, was marked for death. She was the only one who knew. She was the only one who could stop it.

What made Selkie special, she wasn’t privy to. She was just a human girl spirited away from a miserable existence, chosen by It to become a hero. But why her? Why did It choose the delinquent, the broken monster, the one who always stood alone? Why did It choose the girl who, until the night she was selected, had resigned herself to death? She would never know; after that night, It never spoke to her again. Selkie sometimes questioned if It was real at all. Maybe she was just a popplio who hit her head, and her wretched human life was but a nightmare.

But no. Even here, humanity’s poison followed. It stilled her heart. Turned her cold. She stole food from the marketplaces, lied to pokemon to produce coin, got into scraps. Punching and kicking no longer worked, so she learned to fight like a popplio, the water at her command.

She drifted through the islands. Ended up on the shores of Spectrum Island, then on the doorstep of the Rescue Guild. Their resources provided what she needed to complete her task, and in the struggle to climb the Guild’s ranks, life sparked in Selkie once again. She was the most powerful being in this world, no? That’s how she climbed the Guild’s ranks with unprecedented speed. That was why It deemed a human necessary to save the world, instead of employing a legendary pokemon. She could save the world, she supposed, prove her might and throw these pokemon a bone. And in return, she’d force It to leave her be. There was no way she was going back to the shithole. Let her settle in this pokemon world where she was a master amongst mon.

Shadow changed everything.

It was supposed to be an everyday mission. Track down and apprehend Talonflame the Rogue and its goons, wanted for trafficking charges all across the Archipelago. After a few days of research and gathering intel, Selkie set off through the surf towards Umbra Isle, a deserted speck of sand nested far to the south, where Talonflame was rumored to keep its goods before shipping them off to Arceus-knows-where. Selkie couldn’t wait to get her claws on it. Pokemon outlaws were absurd in nature: Did they not realize they were mere animals? What was even the point in acts like robbery or trafficking? She loved to knock them down to their place.

Selkie scoured the isle without luck until she reached the Cave. It was a hollow cavity in the earth, unassuming to the onlooker, but its dark maw gave Selkie a foreboding feeling. She entered, creeping as quietly as her clunky popplio body would allow. Heard the murmurs and sharp chuckles of pokemon within, so much for a deserted isle. Pricked her ears to hear their chatter.

“When’s Rogue gonna sell the damn zorua? It’s been weeks! We usually don’t sit around this long.”

“Rogue’s taken a liking to him, dontcha think? He’s in there with the lil runt all the time.”

“I wish he’d be in there less. The screaming’s annoying. Watch a rescue team show up any day now.”

“Nah, man, no one comes around this isle. We’ve got a few more days before there’ll be trouble, at least.”

Selkie narrowed her eyes from where she hid behind the crates. She couldn’t make much sense of the goons’ chatter, but it did seem like there was a victim being held within the Cave. Ugh, how annoying. She’d hoped to catch Talonflame in between jobs, so she wouldn’t have to worry about carting off some crying little kid back to the Guild. She pushed back the fur on her head with a flipper. This mission was going to be an ordeal, wasn’t it?

Oh, well. She was here already. After snatching the set of keys sitting atop the crate, Selkie crept further into the winding tunnels of the cave. She braved the darkness and came to the end of a tunnel, found herself faced with a stone door, and with the keys she stole, Selkie pushed the door open and saw within only darkness. Welp. What a waste.

Wait… No. She saw the flicker of something within, the faintest of lights in the shadowy black. Selkie blinked to adjust her eyesight to the darkness, and within… Ah, the pokemon of the hour: A zorua! This must have been Talonflame’s most recent victim. Selkie stared into the depths of the cave, into the zorua’s electric blue eyes and watched it as it watched her. She cocked her head. There was something so strange about the creature’s eyes. They rolled like a storm; within, she could see everything within. Fear, anger, confusion, despair. Its eyes betrayed all, dripping weakness worn on the sleeve. It was… revolting.

Finally, in a high-pitched, yiping whisper, it spoke. “W-w-who…?”

Selkie stared longer, unsure how to respond. Part of her was tempted to abandon Zorua to its fate. Its stormy eyes betrayed a weakness that Selkie had little interest in rewarding with her rescue. This creature had clearly gotten itself tangled up in this mess, and that wasn’t her fault nor her problem. She resolved to turn around, find Talonflame, and beat it senseless to complete the mission. Someone else could come for this whelp.

A THUD echoed behind her.

Zorua’s breath hitched. “He’s coming… Quick, hide!”

Oh! Uh! Selkie looked around for a spot to hide. The tunnel around her was empty, so she darted into Zorua’s cell, ignoring its frightened yip at her oncoming speed, and slipped behind a pile of boulders in the corner of the tight space. Steadied her breathing. She could rush out and blast Talonflame with water, but for some reason, curiosity tugged her. Bristling to hold back her action, she waited and watched.

As the thuds grew closer, Zorua started to tremble. It was here that Selkie noticed the decrepit state of its body. The little thing was covered in scars and open punctures. Its dark gray fur was matted with knots and caked blood. Selkie watched as, in response to the oncoming footsteps, Zorua faced away from the open door and huddled down, cowered, squeezed its eyes shut and waited. Just waited.

Talonflame’s bright red feathers glistened like blood in the monochrome cave. The immense bird stopped at the doorway, glanced up and down and the open frame, and clicked its tongue. “Who opened this…? Do you know? Answer me.”

Talonflame stared at Zorua in wait. When no answer came, it sighed and sauntered into the room. “You weren’t thinking to escape, now were you?” No response. “Answer me, boy.”

But Zorua did not respond. It remained faced away, eyes squeezed shut. As if by ignoring the presence behind, it could will it to evaporate.

“Fine,” Talonflame spat. In a flash, it was on the other side of the cell, and Selkie watched Zorua choke back a scream as Talonflame grabbed it around the hindquarters with its talons. Selkie’s breath stopped. “If you won’t say who did it, I’ll just assume it was you! I was coming in to have some fun, but if you need to be taught a lesson again, very well.” With its talons, it grabbed Zorua by the muzzle and tilted its head up to meet its eye. Selkie’s heart seized.

“I’ll break you.”

Talonflame ripped into Zorua’s skin. When its scream pierced her ear, Selkie’s heart burst from terror. What was going on? Why was she so scared?! She ducked further behind the boulders and covered her ears, tried to block out the sound of its screaming, but Dad’s laughter was impossible to muffle. She heard the scream of her oshawott as a purrloin gouged its face in a street battle. She heard her screams and cries as the police dragged her away in their van. She felt the blows of the TV remote against her skin and bones, gagged from the stench of piss and shit that permeated the room. Trapped, trapped! She didn’t wanna be trapped! She didn’t want to be SMALL!

Fuck this.

Selkie leaped up from her hiding spot and blasted Talonflame with a burst of water. It stumbled back, spluttering in surprise, and Selkie pounced on it in an instant. Clawed and clawed, ripped through feathers into flesh, and Talonflame screamed as she dug through bone. When it started to flap its wings and claw at her with its talons, Selkie slapped it to the ground with her flippered tail. Pounced, blasted it with water, grabbed its head in her teeth, and yanked.

Something snapped. Beneath her, the talonflame shuddered, choked, and sobbed, and eventually, fell limp.

Selkie’s sides heaved. Though the disgusting wretch was dead, she bared her fangs. Her claws scratched at the earth and itched for more! She had no idea what changed, but this was no longer a mission, no longer sport. Her brain had turned red with an ancient fury, and this time, this time, she would be on top. She would show these monsters weakness. Selkie dashed out from the cell and, upon realizing Zorua hadn’t followed her, whipped her head around to bark at it. “Are you coming or what?!”

Zorua was staring at Talonflame’s corpse. Within those blue eyes, a mess of emotions, she saw the beginnings of tears beading at the lids. “You… Y-y-you…”

“Saved your ass, that’s what!” Selkie shouted. “Now, unless you wanna sit around for them to lock you up again, get off your fucking tail! Let’s go!”

Immediately, Zorua was at her side. Its breath struggled from fear as it leapt over the talonflame’s body, but still, it came. “What are you gonna do?”

“Fight.”

Something turned in her, her monstrosity unleashed. As Selkie clawed through the throats of the beasts, as she slaughtered pokemon after pokemon, as the blood spattered her fur, her furious anger blazed and burned like never before. This could happen here? This was the world she was saving?! A world where a zorua could be stolen, imprisoned, brutalized, and not even its own rescuer had given much of a damn! What the fuck?! Even here, a universe away, humanity’s poison followed. But no, not this. Not again. Selkie was going to drag this zorua out of hell, and not even It or Arceus above had the power to stop her.

Selkie did not leave that Cave until every single pokemon within was tracked down and killed.

And when it was over, when she and the zorua stood panting amongst the bodies and the blood, it looked at her with eyes so big, so frightened, so confused. It stared at her silent, grasping for words that would not come. In its eyes, a question. But Selkie had no answer.

It was habit, the way she bent down to rip a fang out of a cooling lycanroc’s jaw. The talonflame had no teeth, so this would have to do. But when Selkie looked down at her prize this time, her skin crawled. Like holding something dank and decaying. She had proven her strength, but this was no trophy she wanted to keep on her chains. So, instead of tucking it away into her treasure bag, Selkie handed the tooth across to Zorua. Its eyes stretched wet and wide. As it took from her the spoils of the victory, beginning to cry, the zorua wiped at its tears and softly spoke.

“T-t… T… Thank you,” he hiccupped.

“… You’re welcome.”

From then on, her Shadow kept to her side. So different from her and yet, in ways she couldn’t glean, so alike. It differed from her respect for Dad. It differed from her affiliation with those other delinquent girls. It differed from her alliance with the water-types she sat still with in the park. Selkie and Shadow’s togetherness was forged from fire, storm, and blood, but somehow had become so much more than that. The true nature of the shackling bond was beyond anything Selkie had the language for. It stirred a heart bound by stillness. It drew from her kindness and charity. It held within the power to end worlds and, for the first time, show Selkie that she was truly alive.

Was this love?

The answer must have been no… because now, Shadow was gone. With those alien eyes, he’d betrayed her. Selkie slumped down into the surf as the night settled around her. What was good in the world never lasted. It snuffed out weakness, difference, and innocence. And now, without her partner, she could not even relish in its demise. She should have expected, should have known, but for the first time in her life, Selkie opened herself. And Shadow had slammed the door shut. Like a predator stalking across the multiverse, misery always found her.

How could she have been so stupid?

#pokemon #pokemon fanfic #pmd #pmd fanfic #pmd fanfiction #pokemon fanfiction #pokemon mystery dungeon #pmd till world's end #prose #literature #fanfic #popplio #zorua #fanfiction

[autisminfinite]

Can you tell me more about umbra, please?

YOU JUST OPENED TGHE GATES TO MY OC AUTISM!!!!!!!!!!

under a read more cuz its probably going to be long

Umbra was a regular pink shadow android in eggmans army until one day she got her ass kicked by shadow and ended up thrown away in a dump where ozzie (another of my ocs) found and restored her as a hobby project, since all of eggmans coding was replaced by ozzie's, umbra ended up developing an unique personality compared to how she was under eggmans rule.

even tho she was reprogrammed, ozzie didnt erase her memories, so she unfortunately developed trauma from almost being killed by shadow & discarted by eggman. but she has good friends who care abt him so shes doing mostly fine ✌️

at some point my ocs discover an underground robot fighting ring and umbra is forced to enter, then she gets her ass kicked by another shadow android (lemonade) and ends up w only her head intact. so they take her head and like. make her an organic body w shadows dna so she can finally b a real organic girlthing!

thats the gist of it basically hsbdkshd

#long post #asks #umbra the android #sonic ocs

[androgynousbirdtale]

Get Ready for a Hybrid Solar Eclipse (total and annular combined)

On April 20, parts of the Pacific and Indian Ocean regions will experience a rare type of event called a hybrid solar eclipse.

Hybrid solar eclipses shift from total to annular as the moon's shadow races over Earth; in some places, the moon completely blots out the sun, whereas in others a ring of light is visible around the edge of our natural satellite. These eclipses are quite rare, occurring just a few times every century — and one will grace our planet's skies less than two weeks from now.

While not observable from the U.S., the hybrid eclipse will be visible from western Australia, East Timor, and eastern Indonesia beginning at 21:36 EDT on April 19 (0136 GMT on April 20) and ending at 2:59 a.m. EDT (0659 GMT) on the following day, according to In the Sky. (It will be April 20 in those regions where the eclipse is visible.)

Some skywatchers in this region will be treated to a total solar eclipse, whereas others will see a "ring of fire" annular eclipse. Still, others will witness a partial solar eclipse, with the moon taking a bite out of a portion of the sun.

There are two points on Earth where the eclipse will transition from annular to total to annular again. However, those two spots are remote locales in the middle of the ocean, Space.com’s Jamie Carter pointed out in an explainer about the April 20 hybrid eclipse.

This hybrid eclipse will appear as a total or annular solar eclipse when viewed from Western Australia from 10:29 p.m. to 10:35 p.m. EDT on April 19 (0229 to 0235 GMT on April 20), in East Timor from 11:19 p.m. to 11:22 p.m. EDT (0319 to 0322 GMT) and in Indonesia from 11:23 p.m. to 11:58 p.m. EDT (0323 to 0358 GMT).

The celestial event will appear as a partial eclipse from many more countries, including the French Southern Territories, where 93% of the sun will be eclipsed; Papua New Guinea, where 87% of the sun will be blocked; and the Marshall Islands, where 95% of the sun’s disk will be covered by the moon, according to In the Sky.

Hybrid eclipses happen due to the fact that Earth is curved and the moon’s shadow has different regions, particularly a darker central region known as the umbra and a lighter outer region, the penumbra. Hybrid eclipses occur when the moon is as far away from Earth as it can be in its elliptical orbit, while still having the umbra meet the surface of our planet.

"The moon is just at the right distance from Earth for the apex of its cone-shaped shadow to be slightly above the Earth's surface at the beginning and end of the eclipse path, causing the moon's antumbral shadow to move across Earth, causing an annular solar eclipse," Carter wrote in his explainer piece. "However, in the middle of the eclipse path, the apex of the moon's umbral shadow strikes Earth's surface because that part of the planet is slightly closer to the moon."

The last eclipse of this type occurred almost 10 years ago, on Nov. 3, 2013. The next hybrid solar eclipse after this month's will occur in November 2031 and will be visible from some parts of the contiguous United States. After this, the next time skywatchers will get to see a hybrid eclipse is on March 23, 2164. 😳

#space.com #2023 #hybrid solar eclipse #rare eclipse #space #earth #moon #our solar system #sun #April 2023

[ravenwitch45]

Imagine that Bayonetta decides to visit The Richest Cup one day. How do you think that would go down?

(And if you're feeling particularly creative, you could even have her bring Jeanne along too! 😈)

Oh my. These two make a scene wherever they go, so in a cafe mainly patroned by some of the most conservative demons in Hell, oh this will be fun I'm sure

Bayonetta and Jeanne visiting The Richest Cup.

We all know these two have expensive tastes. Apparently Nunning and Teaching pay quite well so they can more the afford it, walking in dressed in their finest clothes, and dropping a fine wad of cash on the receptions Imp's desk, Jeanne just replying "Keep the change" and there immediately led to an open table, sitting down and beginning to gossip as they do.

Now getting into a bit of headcanon, but I highly doubt with how most Goetia's are, that tips are commonplace in a establishment where the lower class serving you is treated like a selling point. So two human looking women making their entrance by dropping a huge wad of cash certainly makes them stand out the second they show up.

There more then used to being gossiped about behind there backs. Heiress dating an Outcast and all, so they just ignore the whispers as they talk and order their drinks and meals, holding hands paying noone any mind, except the very nice staff, which are very bewildred when the witches actually try to start a conversation with them, politely asking what's good around here, what food they suggest and all.

Overall they are truly probably some of the nicest patrons that's ever been there, treating the servers with respect and Jeanne going "Complements to the chef. They do good work, and of course generous tips cause that's just how they are in my eyes.

If anyone felt disturbed enough by the presence of just two women minding their buisness to walk up to them and complain, then oh I cannot see anything but Bayonetta sipping her drink before getting up making sure her heel stomps on the floor, and that foolish goetia gets a full Elektra Abundance style roast. Jeanne just smirking and chuckling the entire time.

"We are simply enjoying ourselves, and if you take offense in that, well you have less sense then Enzo, and class even lower. If you cannot handle seeing two ladies relaxed, then I suggest you head back to your pampered palace cause in my eyes your hardly ready for anything else"The witch spits with more Venom then any infernal, Making the goetia walk off, stunned into silence, not even scoffing. The two witchs just chuckling to themselves. "You always knew how to tell it Cereza."

They both enjoy the trip, always liking putting privelaged people and there place, and treating others with respect they deserve whether or not they often get it. A nice memory they'll remember fondly.

Okay that was fun! Haven't written Jeanne much so it was fun bringing her into this, Umbran Witches just keep making scene huh? XP

#bayojeanne #ask reply #helluva boss #bayonetta #bayonetta jeanne #crossover #The Umbra Take The Rings! #My writing

[magicalgirlagency]

WBMR for Bayonetta, please? If you know, you know.

Sadly, yes I do know. And I have my two cents to share on matter:

For starters, NO, they didn't "made Bayonetta straight". Bi/pan people exist, and we'd appreciate if y'all stopped erasing our existence all the time. Wanna be disappointed at the narrative choices? You can go right ahead and whine for as long as you like; just don't go spreading fake news like that.

People are upset because the revelation was a predictable easy-way-out of things that invalidates Bayo's relationship with Jeanne. Long Story Short: Queerbait. And before anyone comes with the argument that "BayoJeanne was never confirmed in canon, so it can't be considered queerbait", may I remind you that Bayo grows attached to her after regaining her memories, and she travels through HELL to save her despite Rodin's protests, that both of them were confirmed to live together, and THIS OFFICIAL ARTWORK OF BLOODY FATE:

Good Lord, you can cut the sexual tension here with scissors!

Like, Luka is cute, but Bayo's waaaaaay out of his league. Literally. Even Hideki Kamiya himself confirmed that she'd never involve with him romantically becuase he would end up dead long before she would, and the witch teases him constantly because she finds him annoying. The Trivia section on the series' Wiki says:

"She [Bayonetta] teases Luka; like a toy, but will never commit, he'd die long before her."

So, not only Bayo3's ending is queerbait-y, but it also reeks of Retcon and Character Assassination.

Basically, people have collectively chosen to ignore Bayo3 because the revelation was dumb and makes no sense, and Luka doesn't have the same chemistry that Jeanne has with our beloved Umbra Witch.

Guess Kamiya-san lost his marbles after blocking too many people on Twitter, huh. Wouldn't be surprised if he ruined his own series on purpose because of that (and don't get me started on the whole Hellena Taylor scandal).

Plus, I've heard that the story of Bayo3 touches upon the Multiverse Theory (like almost everything else on the market as of late), so if this is the path we're taking, I'm entering the ring, and grabbing a steel chair to beat canon to death with. There's no third Bayonetta game, folks; only a third Splatoon game.

Without any further ado, let's welcome this Queen to Wondaria:

Bayonetta/Cereza is now, Umbra Madame Bayo, S-Rank Magi, Assigned Gemstone is Phantom Amethyst, Essence is Darkness;

Her mascot/familiar is a white cat named Jeanne, after her beloved rival;

After discovering an universe where she marries Luka, she mysteriously disappears in shame and disgust, aiming to start anew somewhere else;

She then opens a mercenary agency in the kingdom of Arcadia with a group of flamboyant arcadian artists, with the occasional additional of a modelling side-gig;

Bayo is semi-retired. While she's running away from her old life, she doesn't plan on stop dancing so soon;

Is a history nerd who loves to collect ancient and intricate jewelry, specially ones with butterflies and roses;

As expected, she has several admirers. Most of them are queer women with anxiety who find her comforting;

Becomes the wondarian equivalent of Batman, with how many pupils she takes under her wing;

Bayo personally thinks that Wondaria's bouncy atmosphere clashes with her style, but she has already made herself comfortable, and people are instantly enchanted by her;

As a Magi, Bayo goes on to study about the Multiverse Theory, search for a new Universe, and live a life with no regrets.

#wondarian bureau of multiversal rescue

[saratogaroadwrites]

Toxic (3/3)

Toxic | saratogaroad rating: G+ wordcount: 1160 characters: Noctis Lucis Caelum, Gladiolus Amicitia, Prompto Argentum relationships: background Promptis other tags: background relationships, Canon-Typical Violence warnings: Canon Typical Violence chapter: 3/3

-

Gladio comes to a realization that has been a long time coming. Noctis realizes a thing or two as well.

=

Zegnautus Keep presses down like a weighty thing, a sword ready to fall on their heads. Prompto is safe, thank the Six, and so is Noctis. The four of them are together again.

Gladio's heart still sits heavy in his chest, a rock in the pit of his stomach as he sits and keeps watch. They've barred the door to the barracks, ripped the loudspeaker off the wall and left sparking wires in its place. Umbra, Six only know how he got in here to begin with, lays on Noctis' bare feet. Exhaustion clings to the mutt like a second coat, clings to all of them like capes. Prompto is conked out, half sprawled in Noctis' lap, Noctis himself is asleep sitting up against the cold concrete wall, Ignis is actually snoring on another bunk, shoes still on, and Gladio...

Gladio sits, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together, and watches. He watches their chests rise and fall in ease, listens to the snoring, and tries to push back the lump in his chest. They're all safe, no thanks to him, and have been keeping that way for a while.

Hell, Noctis survived a Malboro, getting stabbed in the freaking lung, and making his way through this hellhole of a fort with nothing but life-sucking magic and his father's sword. It's clear he doesn't need Gladio anymore. Maybe he hasn't for a long time.

Maybe that's okay.

"You tryin' to drill a hole in my head?" Noctis asks, voice sleep muddled. Gladio tenses as the prince--no, his King now, and he's been for a while--stretches his leg as best he can without dislodging Prompto. He rolls his neck and looks Gladio in the eye, tired but aware.

Gladio swallows hard and looks down.

"No," he says quietly, "Just...trying to figure out some things."

"Uh-huh." Noctis doesn't sound convinced. He quirks an eyebrow, pensive. Either he's too tired to speak or waiting Gladio out, but the silence pulls. Gladio licks his dry lips and shakes his head.

"I've been...kind of an ass."

Noctis raises his other eyebrow; they both disappear beneath his fringe in his shock. Shame colors Gladio's face as Noctis says, "Kind of?"

Gladio looks away. "Okay, a lot of an ass. And a really lousy Shield."

"That's what happens when you run off out of nowhere." Noctis shrugs a shoulder, voice oddly casual. "But I think--"

"Noctis," Gladio cuts him off. Noctis blinks at him, startled by the use of his full name, and Gladio sighs, because he knows he's lost the right to call him Noct, after all this. He takes a breath, squares his shoulders, and looks up to meet his King's gaze. "I need to tell you something."

"...What?"

"I'm sorry. A lot of the things I've done were out of line."

Noctis blinks at him again. Once, twice, three times. Then his shoulders sag and he tips his head back against the wall. Absently, he starts to comb his fingers through Prompto's hair, the Ring a stark contrast to the sunny color.

"I'm not," Noctis sighs, "Going to say it's okay, because it's really not, but I get it." He looks over, peering at Gladio through his bangs. "I get it. None of us are taking this shit well."

"No kidding," Gladio looks down at his hands, the blood caked beneath his fingernails, the calluses in the joints of his knuckles. "I just...I said some really bad shit to you. Did shit I shouldn't have." He swallows back acrid bile, "...You could have died because I was an ass."

"Gladio..." Noctis sighs, "I made that call and I was stupid about it, okay? That one's not on you."

"I made you feel you had to," He clenches his hands together. Once they'd gotten Noctis settled in the sleeping car, Prompto ever at his side, Ignis had taken Gladio aside and explained, in no uncertain terms, what Noctis had said. Ardyn had nearly made him a replicated image of Lady Lunafreya, a blade between the ribs meant to kill painfully slowly.

He would have died in the swamps, cold and alone, all because Gladio had been such an ass and forced him into feeling that he needed to go it alone. His knuckles go white beneath his grip.

"I made you think you needed to prove something," He says, grimacing as Noctis makes a choked noise in the back of his throat, "And that's..." He sighs heavily, stomach knotted somewhere by his feet. His father would have disowned him for his actions; Iris would have kicked his ass then made him get up and do it all over again. He'd have deserved both of their reactions.

He also deserved Noctis'. He can't deny that any longer. He forces himself to look up again, to meet Noctis' knowing, understanding look.

"I'm so sorry, your Majesty," Gladio says formally. He stands up, presses a hand to his heart, and bows low. Noctis makes a choked off noise again. "I hope someday you can find it in your heart to forgive me." Noctis is silent for a long moment. Gladio does not move, life in his King's hands.

"...I forgive you," Noctis says softly. Gladio looks up so fast his neck cracks painfully. Noctis is looking at the ring on his finger, the shard of crystal gleaming even in the dim light. He looks to Gladio. "So stand up already and get over here." He slips down against the concrete. "It's cold."

Gladio's heart skips a bit. Noctis shifts just enough to make room for him on the too-small bunk without disturbing Prompto.

"...you...really want to share with this big of an idiot?"

"No," Noctis shakes his head. "I want to share with my big brother." He smiles, though it's a tired, ragged edge thing "Family fights, right?"

His heart starts beating again. "Yeah," Gladio chuckles softly. He stands up just long enough to sit beside Noctis, toeing off his boots. "They do. They can be really stupid about apologizing, too." He settles against Noctis' side. Umbra lifts his head, sniffs the bottom of Gladio's foot, sneezes, and settles back in. "Works out, though."

"I hope so," Noctis says, leaning against his arm, "cause if you fought like this with Iris, I'd have to kick your ass."

Gladio can't help it: he laughs. Prompto stirs enough to lift his head and blearily blink at the two of them, but when no yelling pierces his half-asleep world, he burrows his face back into Noctis' stomach and drifts off again. Noctis sighs deeply, leaning his head on Gladio's shoulder.

"I'd like to see you try," Gladio finally says. Noctis barks out a half-asleep laugh of his own, but offers no contest. Before too long, he's asleep again.

Once more the dutiful Shield, Gladio returns to his watch with a lifted heart.

Whatever happens later, whatever they end up facing, he's sure of one thing: everything's going to be alright.

#ffxv #final fantasy xv #ffxv fic #noctis lucis caelum #gladiolus amicitia #!fic #series: crystalline shards #fic: toxic

[tapwrites]

Exposition is Learning

Stories aren't just made up of what happens, but of facts--fictional as created by the writer, or real-world facts that are important to the story.

Speculative fiction in particular has a lot of these, because they take place in a world different from our own. But real-world stories may have details a lot of readers don't already know. Imparting such facts about how the world/reality of the story works can be vital if the reader is to get the most out of the story... or even understand it at all!

We need to...

Teach about the story through the story.

Remember people read novels for the story. If it isn't clear how a piece of text adds to the story, they won't want to read it. So they won't want to learn from it.

How can we use that principle to teach the reader without them noticing?

It was the Fifth Corner in Althoria, with Lumina and Umbra intertwining where the tapestry of Veridium unfolds.

The reader has got to be able to understand what they're reading, even if that's guessing through context clues. Or they're not going to take in any of it in the first place. There are 5 new terms in that example, with no context clues to help the reader out.

We could rename some of them to make them easier to understand. But I'm going to avoid actually changing anything for now. Let's just add some context clues...

It was the Fifth Corner of the year in the kingdom of Althoria, with the Lumina and Umbra magicks intertwining where the royal tapestry of Veridium was being unfolded.

Okay, so the "fifth corner" is to do with time... like a season, or month perhaps. We've got a kingdom, two kinds of magic, and what seems like a literal physical tapestry that relates to them.

Is it teaching us anything about the story? Well, it's not very clear how it's related to the story. It seems to be just some facts about the world, but we're not motivated to want to know them. It's an info-dump.

There's no reason for us to read it apart from being told stuff about the world. Maybe it'll become relevant later in the book, but right now we just don't care to read this kind of stuff.

There are readers who don't mind a big ol' wall-of-text at the start setting up the world. Tolkien's tome starts very exposition-heavy. So you might get away with it. But then again, a lot of people have tried and failed to make it past the first chapter of Lord of the Rings.

For most readers it's much better, and more enjoyable to read, if the exposition is part of the story... sprinkled in through the book in places where it's relevant to what's happening.

And, of course, if you want the reader to already know something by the time they get to the relevant part... by all means, plant it earlier in the story. But still, make it relevant at the time they read it.

One way of making it relevant is having a character care about it.

"The leaves are falling! The Fifth Corner starts today!" Rav shouted, hopping on the spot. "Isn't it exciting?"

Woah there, Rav! Calm down! Okay, so this guy called Rav is super excited for whatever Fifth Corner is. Something to do with the leaves falling, so... autumn perhaps? I want to find out more--what's so exciting about it?

Let's add another detail back in. We'll give it more detail than a simple name-drop, by putting a knowledgeable character in front of it.

Gann sighed. "Yay for you..." she mumbled, planting a hand on his head to stop it from bobbing in front of her. They turned onto the bustling high street and moved with the crowds. She looked up at the palace towering at the end of the miles-long road, and watched the giant form wrapped about the spire slowly unfurl. The Great Tapestry. It was an ancient device that had laid dormant all year, until now--the Fifth Corner. As it stretched out, it drew in the magic of the land, enriching the earth in the process, and powering the celebrations that were soon to come.

What's happening, story-wise? Gann sees this Great Tapestry. Which, naturally, makes her think about what it is. And as she's the viewpoint character, we're seeing those thoughts and learning from them.

So, by itself, that last paragraph could be seen as exposition-only. But it's not just there for no reason. It's "motivated" by the narrative. The character would think about what they're looking at; that's part of the story.

Find a narrative excuse to teach the reader.

This is the fundamental trick to use. Give the reader an excuse, and you can talk about whatever you want to. At least for a little while.

Here, the object is seen. So the writer has an excuse to talk about it. Gann knows about the Great Tapestry, so when she sees it she thinks about what she knows about it. Simple as that.

Another common excuse is to have a character who doesn't know something that's relevant, and another character who does. Now the unknowledgeable character can learn things the writer wants the reader to learn.

Like Watson in the Sherlock Holmes stories; he may not do a lot to solve the cases, but he's very useful to have around so that Holmes has someone to explain things to.

So we could re-write the previous example like so:

The palace towered at the end of the miles-long road. Rav's eyes went wide. "Woah," he said, in hushed tones. "What's that huge thing on the palace?" Gann looked up as the giant form wrapped about the spire slowly unfurled. "The Great Tapestry," she said. "Know what that is?" Rav shook his head.

You can use any character who doesn't understand whatever you want to teach the reader. They're in the same position as the reader; they know as much as the reader does about the topic. So they can find out the same way the reader could if they were in the world. They can ask questions, they can be taught by others. They can learn by investigation.

Just make sure they're an actual character though. If they only exist to stand there and be told things, they're just a prop. But they should have their own stuff going on, and be part of the story too.

And you don't have to rely on that same character all the time; different characters might know and not-know different things. Rav is young and doesn't know about the Great Tapestry. Maybe Gann is from another realm, and doesn't know much about the kingdom of Althoria apart from the magic. They can teach each other things as needed, and the reader can listen in.

This principle also lets you "emote" with a character the reader identifies with--in awe, or terror, or curiosity. And, as the reader identifies with them anyway, that's a cue for how they should be feeling while reading as well!

Note, this is different to "maid and butler dialogue," in which two characters that both know the facts just tell each other what they already know:

"As you know, the mistress is coming back from town today," said the maid. "Yes, and as you know, her son has been crying for her ever since she left," said the butler.

That's not how people talk to one another in real life. People usually skip giving all the context, relying on the context they think the other shares, and talks about new stuff.

"Everything ready?" said the maid. The butler laughed bitterly, under his breath. "It will be. Barely." He leaned in and whispered, "As long as it stops the kid from yowling, I can cope with a swift return at the drop of a hat."

This is a lot more natural. And while it gives the reader some hints, it lets them discover the details more naturally as things unfold.

Plus, when the characters are conversing naturally, instead of machines for spouting facts at the reader, we get a better sense of how they feel about the situation, and who they are as people--making them feel more real in the process.

#writing #story #exposition #infodump #teaching #learning

[evening-in-a-reflection]

Cross posted on Ao3

A Bitty Drabble Series

- || Chapter IV -

< Previous || Masterlist || Next >

- || Summary -

A series about you and your bitties.

Redoul was your first bitty. He was an unknown kind of Fell bitty that ended up being sold to a bitty fighting ring when he was still young. He was able to escape with the help from his cellmate and his cell’s neighbor, who helped him sneak out and run away.

Redoul, who’s life was saved by you, ended up falling in love with you... and you accepted those feelings and returned them.

...But as the story goes on, you eventually find and meet those old friends of his, and they become just as important to you as Redoul is.

Of course, you don’t stop at just your three LV ridden bitties, and take in more as time goes on.

...Although, none of your more recent bitties have quite the same amount of LV as your first three do, and they might just be a little scared of the trio at first, but with time they do get along and eventually do find comfort in one another.

     “Boys, I’m back.” You announced as you opened the door. It had been only about 18 minutes since you left, and you were silently glad that you made it back before the 20 minute mark you had unintentionally made for yourself.

     The trio seemed to be talking about something when you walked in, making them look up at you when you called out to them.

     “Ma Chère! It’s About Time You Got Back!”

     “look who it is, welcome back.”

      “We were just wondering when you would be back.”

     You smile at them. You can’t help but like the attention they were giving you.

     “Yep! And I have a surprise! Or, well, a request? Depends on how you want to see it.” You step away from the door and enter the room. You bring forward one of the chairs in the room and set it next to the table they were on, sitting yourself down in it.

     “I wanted to word this in a more fun way, but I figured it would be best to just be upfront about it. I signed some more papers—thankfully not as much as before—and have received the green light to bring you guys home with me and Redoul, if you want to come with us.”

     …

      “I’m—I’m sorry? What?” Umbra stuttered out.

     Redoul then spoke up with a mock glare on his face. “Oh I Knew You Were Up To Something. Why Didn’t You Tell Me!?”

     Cos stayed quiet, looking as shocked as Umbra sounded.

     You laugh at Redoul’s shout, and gently replied to both of their questions. “Well, if I had it wouldn’t have been a surprise. And of course, if this is a little to fast and you would rather stay here for a while longer—“

     “— no! no, we’ll go. please.” Cos spoke up at your words, sitting up from his position on the pillow.

     Umbra stood up and walked over to you, once again wrapping a tendril around your arm. “We would love to go with you, My Dear—” You blink at the nickname, mildly surprised. “—But are you sure? I will agree, this is rather sudden, but I would believe it be more-so for you. We would hate to intrude.”

     Redoul only scoffed. “As If You Would Be Intruding .”

     You nod in agreement and smile. “Our home is your home, of course you're welcome.”

     Cos and Umbra looked at each other, sharing unspoken words, before looking back to you. “Then, if that’s the case, we would love to come with you.”

     —You felt a sudden weight drop on your shoulder, making you jump slightly. You look over to find Cos sitting there, smiling a smile that was warmer than any of the ones you’ve seen on him before. He looks away shyly when he sees your eyes on him. “thanks for taking us in, really,” he looks back at you and his smile somehow gets even bigger—and softer. “hope you’re ready to be stuck with us~”

     Umbra hums in agreement and wraps the rest of his tendrils around you. “Indeed. Don’t expect to get rid of us now.” He smiles teasingly.

     You and Redoul share a smile, and he hops up onto your other shoulder—the one he’s usually on.

     “I wouldn’t even dream of it.”

     …

     “ …*snicker*… hehe, you wouldn’t even dream of it.”

     …

     “…OH DAMN IT COS!!! NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR PUNS!!!— You Ruined The Moment!! ”

     Your eyes flicker down to Umbra, feeling his tendrils tighten slightly around your arm.

     He was pressing his, er, lips(?) together to prevent himself from laughing, trying to remain as stoic as possible, as he stood there shaking slightly.

     …

     ‘ Oh my freaking— They’re. So. Damn. Cute!!! ”

     You brought your free hand up to your face and pressed it to your mouth, trying to muffle your giggles.

     “Ma Chère Not You Too!!!”

     Cos was absolutely ecstatic at your reaction, and went on to ramble off various different sleep related puns for the next few minutes.

     You and Umbra proceeded to die a little over the next few minutes, not being able to breath as you try to contain your laughter.

     Redoul was fuming the whole time.

     Eventually, you and Redoul, along with your two newest members of your household, made it up to the front desk. Rynell had said that once everything was settled between the four of you you were allowed to bring them to the front to finish signing the last of the papers.

     “Alright, all that’s left now is for you to sign here,” she pointed to a blank line on the page, “and to see if your new bitties want new names, because if they do you’ll need to write them down on these papers and sign again.”

     You hum and look at Cos and Umbra, asking “Well, what do you think? Do you want new names, or do you want to keep your old ones?”

     The two of them both smile and nod. “We’ve already thought about it, and have decided that we want you to give us new names. We want to take a page out of Redoul’s book, so to speak, and leave our old names with the ring.”

     Redoul smiles with them. “It’s Only Fitting; New Names For A New Life.”

     A wide grin stretches across your face as you answer. “I would love to give you new names, but you’re gonna have to give me a few minutes to think of something good for you two, ok?”

     Cos answered, “sounds fine to me, but i gotta ask; where is redoul’s name even from? i’ve never heard of it before.”

      “I am also curious.” Umbra spoke up from his spot in your arms.

     You laugh and look to Rynell. “Would you mind if we go sit down while I think of some names? And tell them where Redoul got his name too, of course.”

     “Go right ahead, take all the time you need.”

     “Thank you.”

     You take a seat in one of the chairs at the side of the room and explain where Redoul’s name is from.

     “Well, I would assume you know of Redoul’s rather… venomous nature,” they both nod, “and as such, I thought the name of a poisonous plant would be fitting. As I searched, I eventually stumbled across redouls. Redouls are poisonous berries that, ironically enough, slightly resemble blackberries. So, naturally, I thought the name was only fitting for someone who was a new counterpart to all the other berry-named-bitties. And thus is the origin of Redoul’s name.”

     (The irony here is that the other Swap Sanses are named after berries. Blueberry, for Underswap (affectionately called Baby Blue); Raspberry, for Fellswap Red; Blackberry, for Fellswap Violet; Wineberry, for Fellswap Gold.)

     ((As a bonus, here’s the names I’ve decided on for the Swap AU’s Papyruses: Honey, for Underswap (unsurprising); Hound, for Fellswap Red; Coin, for Fellswap Violet; Coffeebean, for Fellswap Gold (I was so proud of that one))

     “ok, i’ll admit, that’s pretty good. especially since it could be counted as a pun.”

     “Don’t Ruin This For Me.”

     “i make no promises.”

     Umbra ignored the other two’s banter as he addressed you. “Do you have anything in mind for us, then? I must say, I admire the amount of thought you put into Redoul’s name.”

     “Haha, thank you, but…” you trail off, thinking. “Well, I have some ideas, but they might be a little… dark?”

     Umbra only hummed, listening. Your words seemed to have caught Cos and Redoul’s attention as well.

     “well, don’t worry about offending us or something, tell us!” Cos said from your right shoulder.

     “I Highly Doubt That They Will Dislike Any Name You Pick For Them. Just Tell Them.” Redoul reassured you from his usual spot on your left shoulder.

     “Oh, fine. Well, for Cos, I was thinking of Nebul. It’s the German word for Nebula—unsurprising. A nebula is what is usually left over from a dead star, and is, technically, made up of stardust. Given your history with… dust, I thought it would be fitting.”

     Cos stared at you for a moment, processing the information, before grinning. “Nebul, huh? i like it.”

     You return the grin. “I’m glad.”

      “And for me?” Umbra asked.

     “Mh, well, this one might be a bit of a stretch, but I’ll say it anyway. Have you ever heard of the word ichor?�� All three of them blinked, and Umbra shook his head. “Well, ichor is the word people would occasionally use to refer to the blood of a god with. Typically, it’s depicted as gold, and while you may not be completely gold in color, you do reflect it slightly. For whatever reason, your color reminded me of it, so I thought Ichor might be a fitting name. What do you say?”

     He smiled, and—oh, was that a gold blush? “It’s  a wonderful name. I would be delighted if you were to call me Ichor.”

     Redoul nodded along, smirking proudly. “Ma Chère Would Only Pick The Best Names, So Of Course You Like Them.”

     You laugh at Redoul’s words. “Then it’s settled. Let me fill out these papers for your new names and then we’ll get to head out—oh, I meant to ask, do you want head to the store to get you two some personal items for you to use—like clothes—or do you just want to head home first and go out at another time?” You ask.

     Cos, now Nebul, hummed. “hm, i’m fine with whatever.”

      “While I would like to go and see our new home sooner rather than later, it would probably be wise for us to go and get some proper clothes before anything else.” Ichor decided.

     You nod and let out an affirmative sound, filling out the papers for their new names as Ichor sits in your lap patiently. Redoul and Nebul continue to playfully tease and pass jibes with one another from across your shoulders. Nebul would throw out a pun every once in a while and make Redoul growl something out in response, but you could tell it was all in good humor.

     With the last of the papers signed you carefully stand up, allowing Ichor to sit in the nook of your arm and cling to it while holding your papers in your free hand. You felt Nebul tighten his grip on you at your movement, vs Redoul who didn’t move much, already long used to being on you as you moved around.

     You quietly huff a laugh as you think of a bad pun, but the sound doesn’t escape Nebul’s notice.

     “oh? what’ch’ya thinkin’ about?” He asked playfully.

     “Just thinking of bad puns. You’re a bad influence on me.”

     “Oh Stars No. Don’t.”

     “no no, please do share.”

     “It’s really bad, I shouldn’t.”

      “I think you should.”

     “…sorry Redoul, it’s two against one.”

     “I Hate You.”

     “I love you too. But anyway! I was just thinking that hopefully you’ll be able to get used to sitting on my shoulder as I move around, and, y’know, get a grip on it. ”

     “ *snirk—* what are you talking about? that was great , hehehehehe…”

     “It wasn’t and you know it.” You say, ignoring Ichor as he tries to contain his laughter.

     You arrive at the front desk with two snickering bitties along with one scowling one in your hold, making Rynell smile with humor at the sight. “I see you're done signing the papers.” She said.

     “Yep, along with the new names. Umbra is now Ichor, and Cos is now Nebul.” You bring your free hand over to Ichor, allowing him to wrap a tendril around your fingers. He stared at it for a moment, seeming to be thinking about something, before bringing your hand to his head and bumping it into your fingertips, silently asking you to pet him.

     You felt your heart swell with affection at the action, and in the back of your mind you remember that Ichor can feel your emotions, and— wait is he vibrating.

     … fuck he’s purring.

     You could cry right now. You can’t get over how cute they all are.

     You’re brought back to reality by Rynell’s voice.

     “Good names. Let me just check over the rest of these and you’ll be all set to go, so give me just a moment.”

     You nod and hum. “Mhmm, thank you.”

     You catch Redoul smirking out of the corner of your eye, and you send him a questioning look. He huffs, amused, and answers, “I’m Just Amused That He’s Settled So Quickly; I’ve Never Seen Ichor Act So… Docile , With Someone Other Than Us. He’s Always Been Rather Clingy, So It’s Nice To See That He Gets To Indulge In That Now.” By the time he was finished talking, his smirk had settled into something much softer.

     You couldn’t help but feel your heart (your soul?) ache for your bitties. They have been through so, so much, and you can’t even imagine how they must feel now—to finally be free and reunited. You really, truly couldn’t imagine.

     “…alright, everything has been checked and filed. Here is a copy of your papers for you to keep—I recommend putting those somewhere safe and easy to remember, so nothing happens to them. They will let anyone who reads them know that Ichor and Nebul are rescue bitties and are to be treated with respect, as well as let the reader know that they are your bitties, and are under your care. All of that is for—guess what— more legal reasons so that no one gets arrested… sigh, the fact that these “warnings” are even needed is ridiculous. But, I digress. If you ever need a vet that specializes in bitties, there is one right next door that we collaborate with for our rescues. Other than that, you’re all set to go!”

     You smile and answer. “Thank you for everything , really. I was serious about my offer before, if you ever need help with something, please call me. I’d be happy to help.”

     She laughed, and jokingly said, “Well, would you ever be interested in foster care? Probably not now , but…”

     You laugh. Loudly . “Hah! No, I could never. I would get too attached and never give them back.”

     The two of you laugh and wave goodbye as you walk towards the door, “Feel free to call me, even if it’s not related to your bitties, I’d love to keep in touch!” She says, just before you step out.

     “I would love to, and thank you again! Bye!” And with that, the door closes.

     …

     “…man, I cannot say just how lucky we got when you showed up. Geez… ” Rynell muttered.

     “Tell me ‘bout it.”

     Rynell jumped at the new voice, and turned around to see her boss. “ Stars…! You startled me! How long have you been there?” She asked.

     “Hm, ’ve been in the hall fr’ a while now. Takin’ a break from all the paperwork. We really ‘re lucky that girl showed up when she did, don’ know what we would’a done if she hadn’.” He lifted his arm and rubbed the back of his head, as if he was trying to alleviate a headache.

     “Yeah, I was really worried when the team had found a Shattered Dream of all bitties in that place. I’m glad we were able to keep that away from the media, otherwise people would have gone crazy and who knows what kind of people would have come to try and adopt him.”

     “Mh, nobody good, that’s fr’ sure. If someone were to come around an’ try to adopt one of our bitties just because they’re rare , I would’a kicked ‘em right out.”

     “While I do agree with you, this is the reason why I work at the front desk and you don’t. You would kick anyone you don’t like out.”

     “True. Though, I gotta ask, what was with the bitty that came with the girl? Never seen one like ‘em before. He was buddies with the other two, right? In the ring.”

     “Oh, Redoul. Yeah, he was. And I don’t really know. I wanted to ask, but it felt rude, so I didn’t. Hopefully I’ll be able to at one point without making anyone uncomfortable…”

     “Eh, whatever. It doesn’ matter as long as the girl is takin’ care of ‘em. If ya’ find out, let me know, ‘m curious, but don’ sweat over it.” He sighed loudly. “I gotta get back to work. I’ll see ya’ later.”

     Rynell huffed a laugh. “See you later, Mr. Levat.”

     “Mhmm,”

     Mr. Able Levat, the owner of the Great Lake Black Rescue Center. He was an odd man, one that Rynell didn’t really know much about, but what she did know was that he loved all kinds of creatures. From animals, to bitties, to even full grown people, he did everything he could to help them and find a good place for them. Most of the people that made up the team who actually went out to do rescuing were people from broken backgrounds of all kinds. Mr. Levat seemed to draw these people in like cats to catnip, and he’d end up taking them under his wing and help them set their lives straight again. He absolutely had no people skills and was unfairly good at doing paperwork, no matter how much he hated it.

     Rynell was one of the few people who actually wasn’t from a horrible background. She ended up working for Mr. Levat 5 years back, when he randomly came up to her and asked her to man the front of his store—because apparently nobody in the center had any proper people skills and they desperately needed someone. It was a spontaneous decision when she agreed, but she never once truly regretted it.

     They had been worried when Ichor had arrived at the rescue center, people would find out and flock to the place and try to “buy” him off of them. People like “bitty collectors”, who only wanted bitties for their rarity rather than companionship. Or worse, someone more official that would have the poor thing be researched on, so that they could find out why and what causes some Dream bitties “shatter” while others don’t.

     It really was a miracle when you came in with Redoul.

     Rynell was a good enough judge of character to know when someone was a good person and when someone would lie to her. She could tell you had only wanted the best when you asked if Ichor and Nebul were there. You were so nervous, and Redoul looked about ready to cry if she had said that they weren’t there.

     “Now that Ichor is already adopted by someone he should be much safer… and he seemed pretty happy in her arms there, so I don’t think this could have turned out better.”

     “…aghhh, well. Back to work.”

     You make it out to the car and open the door, stepping inside and sitting down.

     “Alright boys, go ahead and find a place to make yourselves comfortable—although I don’t recommend sitting up here,” you point to your dashboard, “if I have to speed up or slow down suddenly I don’t want you flying off my dashboard.” As you spoke, Redoul hopped off of your shoulder and down into his usual spot in the passenger seat, in the pile of blankets.

     Redoul called out to the other two, “Come Sit With Me, This Is Where I’ll Usually Be For The Dive.” He said.

     A second later and Nebul was already in the pile of blankets, laying face first in it. What did Redoul say that was… a shortcut?

     “it’s so soooooft… i’m never leaving.” Nebul mumbled from the pile.

     You and Redoul laugh. Ichor takes a moment to move, stepping away from your lap and into the pile with the other two. He settles, and once again laches his tendrils onto his packmates.

     “Alright then,” You say as you buckle yourself in, “let’s get going.”

     Arriving at a bitty shop, you park your car and turn it off.

     “Ok, we’ll try to make this quick. We will browse for a little while and see what we find, along with getting some essentials for you two, then we can head home.” You step out of the car and hold the door open for your bitties. Nebul shortcuts to your right shoulder, and Redoul was already on your left when you stepped out. Ichor pulled himself up into your arms and you cradled him in your left. With your free hand you shut the door and lock it.

     You’ve only been to this shop a few times for Redoul, buying things for him occasionally when it was needed—or to buy him a gift, but that was rare.

     You walk into the building and look around, viewing the familiar scene. The walls were a light cream color and there were various different aisles of things to buy. There was a desk up against one of the walls to your left, and beside it was a large glass wall with many different bitties behind it.

     You quietly look away just before the woman behind the counter looks up. You walk away and grab a cart, gently placing Ichor on the top of it so that you could use both of your hands to push it. He kept a tendril around one of your arms as you pushed.

     “We’ll head to the clothing aisles first, since we only really need to get some clothes for you two. I already have basically everything else we would need back home. After we pick out some clothes we can look around for anything that catches your eye, okay?”

      “Sounds good.” Ichor said.

     Nebul only hummed, leaning further into your neck from where he sat on your shoulder.

     The next few minutes pass with you strolling down the different aisles as your bitties point out the things they want. Nebul found a Outertale jacket that he absolutely fell in love with. It was blue and yellow, like most, but instead of the stripes going across the middle of the jacket they went across the bottom, and on the left side of it was an impressively small embroidered star. Most Outertale jackets had fluff lining both the hood and the bottom, but the one he found only had it lining the rather large hood, and the color of the fluff was a light shade of yellow instead of white. It was honestly a bit big on him, as you're pretty sure it was made for an Outerswap Papyrus, but it was the only one left and he insisted.

     Ichor on the other hand seemed to gravitate towards some of the looser and more comfortable clothes they had to offer. He found a top that could be considered a long cardigan, with the way the bottom split open like one, but had a top that was closed like a normal shirt. The sleeves were in the style of bishop sleeves and were long enough to cover his wrists. A sewn-in band of cloth separated the two parts of the shirt(?) at the waist, and the neckline was a boatneck cut. He then picked out a pair of pants in a straight cut that stopped mid calf… or mid tibia? Each article of clothing was made of a thin, comfortable material.

     They picked out more clothes than this, but those seemed to be their favorites. You learned how to sew a while back, and asked them if they wanted you to make any adjustments to anything they got, like make Nebul’s jacket fit slightly better, or make an opening for Ichors tendrils, but it seems that it wasn’t needed. Nebul was happy with the jacket being oversized (understandable), and Ichor’s tendrils could form on top of clothing when he wanted them to, so the opening wasn’t needed.

     You had caught more than a few people staring at Ichor, which was something you expected to happen, given that Ichor is one of the rarest bitties out there, but it didn’t stop you from worrying about his comfort under all the staring.

     He must have sensed your worry, as reached out another tendril to wrap around your arm.

      “You don’t need to worry about me. While it may be unfortunate, I am quite used to the eyes of spectators being on me.” He said.

     You sigh, looking down. “I know, I just wish they would… I don’t know, have more manners? I know your appearance is surprising, but they could at least not stare.”

     He smiles at you sadly. “Perhaps, but unfortunately they still do, so I have no choice but to ignore them. It’s only in my benefit to do so.”

     “you really don’t need to worry about us, them staring a little isn’t gonna kill our mood, so you shouldn’t let it kill yours either.” Nebul said from the shelf next to you, holding a light bluish-gray hoodie up to look at.

     You let out a small laugh, smiling down at them. “Yeah I know, it’s just annoying that they just seem to have to do that. It’s kinda ridiculous.” You say sarcastically.

     “It Is Kind Of Ridiculous How Much Some People Just Stare At Us. I Still Have People Staring At Me From Time To Time When They Notice That They Can’t Pinpoint What Kind Of Bitty I Am. If They Want To Know, Then They Should Just Ask! It’s Not Like I’ll Get My Feelings Hurt Over Someone Being Confused . It’s Not Exactly A Secret, Either.” Redoul scoffed at the thought. You had both decided a while ago to not bother with trying to hide his identity as a new bitty type, not seeing the point in it when it’s kind of obvious to anyone who pays attention.

     “well, guess i got lucky on that part. i am, for the most part, just a normal bitty. i just happen to have a crack over my socket; nothing too surprising there.”

     “A Crack, And LV.”

     “that too.”

      “Maybe so, but all three of us have that. Not to mention you have more cracks than Nebel does.”

     “i guess that just makes us special~”

     “I Don’t Think Special Is The Right Word.”

     You felt yourself smile at their banter.

     You’re so glad they’re back together again.

< Previous || Masterlist || Next >

Thank you for reading!

#bitty drabble series #mirror’s writing #undertale x reader #bittybones #bittybones ocs #Redoul #Nebul #Ichor

[bitofanattitudeproblemherondale]

‘Home is where the heart is’, was the first thought that came to her mind as Tessa woke up to a new day. The wait was finally over, Will was coming home tonight. The past three months had been hell. Will had to go to the States, her previous home as a representative of Enclave to procure and train shadowhunters there. She couldn’t accompany him because no one else would run the institute in his absence. Three months of communicating through correspondence that arrived days later had been infuriating but they both knew they had to do this, the fact that they got through it just made their bond only stronger. It is true that you get so used to having someone around that you end up taking them for granted, unintentionally.

She got out of bed to wash and change into a blue dress that matched the color of his eyes, her favorite shade of blue. Will had the sort of eyes one could get lost in. A blue so deep, she want to jump into them without a care in the world because she knew he would always catch her. Just then, the curtains rustled to give her a perfect view of the Thames from where she was standing, it wasn’t too cold for October, the sky was clear and the air was crisp. It was as if the city knew, its savior was coming back.

So lost in thought, Tessa couldn’t help but reflect on the last couple of months, between the institute duties and staying up late writing to Will, she had lost some pounds. There were dark circles under her gray eyes because of all the sleepless nights spent thinking about what he must be doing on the other side of the world. Worry etched into her veins, she cannot count the number of times she woke up in the middle of the night restless and calling out to him, thinking of what monster he was slaying. They had been through so much together but danger ran through every part of a shadowhunter’s life. They gamble with death every day, and most of the time, gambling is pure luck.

The striking of the clock to noon startles Tessa, his ship is just about to arrive, she rushes to grab her coat and calls for Stephen to drive her to the shipping docks in the institute carriage. No matter how much time she spends in London, the city never fails to fascinate her, New York might be the city that never sleeps but London is truly the city of wonder and magic. The institute doors open with a creak to let them into the street giving Tessa just enough time to read “Pulvus et umbra sumus” engraved on them. We are dust and Shadows. It had just become her habit to look at these words every time she entered or left the institute because they always took her back to the night when she had just first arrived at the institute and was wandering the dark halls because she couldn’t sleep knowing that Nate was in danger. These words from a blue-eyed boy with rued black hair that kept falling onto his forehead had comforted her and had unlocked feelings in her that she never knew she had the ability to feel.

They arrive at the docks at quarter past four, just as the captain docks the last ship of the day. The final bell rings and people start to line up to get o the ship. Tessa stands there waiting, shaken to her very bottom with nerves, eager to see him, thinking of all the things she wants to tell him. She stands on her tiptoe looking for messy black hair and a long coat, and just then she spots him, he is climbing down the stairs, looking as handsome as ever, in a blue knitted sweater and black coat, his blue eyes remind her of hope and the band on his finger that reads ‘the last dream of my soul’ is a promise of forever. He is walking towards her now with a smile on his face that could light up even the darkest corners of the city. In a flash, he is next to her and Tessa realizes there are tears pouring down her face without even her wanting to cry.

“Of all the emotions I thought of, sadness was definitely not the one I thought you would feel when you saw me after 3 months, Tess,” he says jokingly.

“There’s something called Tears of happiness, you would know if you read the right books.” Tessa retorts back.

There’s not even a hint of awkwardness between them after being apart for so long. They had always been like that, even the letters to each other over the months had been full of their usual banter.

“Well, I am just thinking about all the emotions I am going to make you feel tonight, my love.”

Will says and kisses her and the world fades away, it is a sort of kiss that is full of meaning, it is a sort of kiss that feels like damnation and the start of a new day all at once. When they pull apart, Tessa’s heart is finally at peace after three months.

Sometimes a little distance is a good thing because you know at the end of it, you are going to be home.

#shadowhunters #chain of gold #cassandraclare #will herondale #the last hours #the infernal devices #clockwork angel #james herondale